Revenge in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  Half an hour later Ange woke up, her face sliding up my body, stopping only when her lips met mine. She smiled as she blinked her eyes awake, revealing the crystalline shades of blue and turquoise behind her eyelids.

  We took our time crawling out of bed and made our way barefoot into the salon for breakfast. The rains continued their torrent frenzy, pelting sheets of water into the windows and hatches and making it difficult to see much of anything outside. We sat around the dinette as we enjoyed a small fruit breakfast, talking over the events of the previous night.

  “I think Sheriff Wilkes is wrong to have a large group storm the compound all at once,” Ange said after taking a juicy bite of mango. “I read their files thoroughly, and these Campos brothers are notorious for booby traps and using explosives to take down their enemies. If we surround that place and just flood it with bodies, we’ll take them out, yes, but we’ll probably rack up a large body count of friendlies.”

  I nodded as I listened. Over the years, I’d learned that Ange was a brilliant tactician, and I agreed with her wholeheartedly. We both knew that a stealthy approach was the way to go about this situation. Taking down an enemy compound is good, but doing it without them even realizing that you’re there until they have a gun aimed at their head is even better.

  “But with these high walls and the flat landscape surrounding them, they’ll be able to see approaching boats miles away,” Ange said, staring at a map of the Content Keys and pointing at the small island where the drug runners were hiding out. “If someone were to sneak up on them underwater, they’d probably have to start from miles away to be safe.”

  Her words shoved an idea into my mind. “No farther than the Marquesas Keys are from Neptune’s Table,” I said with a grin, referring to the time when Scott and I had used powerful sea scooters along with our rebreathers to sneak up on Black Venom from six miles away.

  She glanced up at me, then looked across the salon, biting her lip in that cute I’m thinking it over way that she usually did when mulling over an idea.

  Her eyes drifted back to meet mine, and she smiled. “I think you just want an excuse to use your favorite toys.”

  I laughed and smiled back at her. “Of course I do. Those things are fun as hell. But that doesn’t mean that I’m wrong.”

  By noon, most of the rain had abated, leaving behind patches of deep blue sky above the humid air. Stepping outside for a moment, I felt a nice ocean breeze blow against my face, bringing with it the scents of the Caribbean. I’d only been standing out in the cockpit for a few minutes when I heard the sound of flip-flops shuffling towards me down the dock.

  Glancing in the direction of the sound, I saw Jack walking towards my boat, holding a small cooler in one hand and a black mesh bag full of spiny-tailed lobster in the other. Lobster season had just opened up a few months earlier, so I knew the bag would be full of bugs well beyond regulation size.

  “Fire up the grill, bro,” he said, handing the bag to me over the gunwale. “I’m starving after yesterday, and I’m betting on another long night tonight.”

  “You just woke up?” I asked, genuinely amazed.

  He shrugged. “When you’re born into a line of beach bums five generations back, you get pretty good at it.” He winked, then climbed aboard.

  Reaching behind the helm chair, I pulled out my grill that folded sleekly into the side. Then I opened the propane valve, pressed the starter button and had the grill hot in under a minute.

  “Got these just yesterday afternoon after cruising over the wrecked U-boat,” he said, grabbing them one by one from the bag. “We anchored down at Neptune’s Table. Everybody always wants to see that wreck now. It’s got to be the most popular dive site in the Keys ever since you found the Intrepid.”

  “You mean ever since we found it,” I said. “And I’m willing to bet that in just a few short months, it won’t be the most popular dive site anymore.”

  “Yeah,” he said, killing each lobster as humanely as possible, removing the tails and handing them to me so I could douse them in Swamp Sauce and set them on the sizzling grill. “People will come from all over to see that.”

  The hatch door opened and Ange appeared with her head tilted upwards, clearly enjoying the smell of the fresh-grilled seafood as much I was. Of all the many reasons why I loved living in the Florida Keys, the supply of fresh seafood was right near the top of the list.

  Before firing up the grill, I’d sent a text to Scott, and he arrived at the marina just as we sat down to eat. Ange and I told him the ideas we’d come up with, and he told us a few of his own, including his plan to use a government-issue advanced drone with a night vision camera to observe the compound during the strike.

  “It’s got a long range and is incredibly quiet,” he said. “I’ve seen it flown within a hundred feet of people without them even realizing it was there.”

  I cut into a couple of lemons and squeezed the juice over my plate of lobster tails. It tasted delicious, and I ate four of them myself before calling it quits.

  “The plan is set for tonight, then. I’ll swim into the compound using my rebreather and sea scooter. Then, with Ange providing support from Cutoe Key, I’ll take down the guards patrolling around the wall. Once the outside of the compound is clear of tangos, I’ll take out their generator and radio in for support. Scott, you’ll be on my Zodiac. Its draft is shallow enough to where you’ll have no trouble cruising all around the rocks. Jack, you’ll be on the Baia and cruise in with the patrol boats to provide backup and to extract us. Charles has informed me that he will have two police boats hidden from view to the north of the island that will be able to reach the compound in less than three minutes.”

  “Hooyah,” Scott said. “These pirates won’t know what hit them.”

  I nodded. “That’s the idea.”

  “And how many bad guys do you think will be there?” Ange asked.

  “Based on the satellite imagery I’d estimate around ten,” Scott said. “But no more than fifteen.”

  “I agree,” I said. “It’s hard to tell for sure since we’ve taken out a handful already. But we’ve got to plan for the worst.”

  After we finished stuffing our stomachs full of all-we-could-eat grilled lobster, I called Charles and told him the finalized plan. I went over every detail, making sure he understood everything. One small misunderstanding or miscommunication can bring down an entire attack; I’d seen it happen before. After I finished, he thought it over for a moment.

  “And we’ll be on comms the entire time?” he asked.

  “Yes. You, myself, Scott, Ange, and Jack will all be tuned in to the same frequency. I’ll be in contact when I reach the compound and inform everyone once the outside is clear.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll cruise over there with two police boats just after sundown. We’ll approach from the northwest and remain out of sight until you contact me.”

  “Understood,” I said. And once we were in agreement and he was about to hang up, I told him to hang on. “One more thing. Ange has been researching these Campos brothers pretty extensively. She found patterns of use of explosives and booby traps. We have to assume that they have the place rigged to blow sky-high.”

  “Great,” Charles said. “I’ll have the men informed. See you tonight.”

  By three in the afternoon, gray clouds again blotted out the blue sky and warm tropical sun. A few drops of rain hit the deck, and the four of us headed into the salon.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The distant sun sank down into the western horizon, glowing streaks of vibrant reds and oranges shining through the cracks in the cloud-covered sky. I try to make a habit of watching the sunrise and sunset every chance I can. There’s something about watching the light disappear from the sky, watching the symphony of colors play their tune, bringing an end to the day.

  With the help of Jack and Scott, I pulled my orange Zodiac up over the large swim platform jutting out the stern of the Baia and secured it tightly. The
n I headed down the dock and along the waterfront towards the marina office. Glancing through the glass, I saw Gus lounging on a beanbag chair and staring into a boating magazine. Hearing my approach through the screen door, he came to his feet and walked over to me.

  “Logan!” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Just need to get into the shed, Gus.”

  He nodded, then pushed open the door and strode beside me. Grabbing a ring of keys from his pocket, he picked a small one and stuck it into a small padlock securing two large wooden doors beside the office.

  “I should really make you a copy,” he said as he pulled open the wooden doors with a loud squeak of their hinges. “Your kayak’s right where you left it. Paddles are on top.”

  “Thanks,” I said, using a small cart to roll it out.

  “No problem. Pretty nasty evening for a paddle, though.”

  I smiled. “Maybe it will pass.”

  A few minutes later, I rolled it over to the Baia, where Jack and I lashed it to the deck at the base of the sunbed.

  “Ah, I remember that kayak,” Scott said, reminiscing about just a month earlier, when he and I had paddled to Monte Cristo Island and had taken down Benito Salazar, the notorious Cuban gang leader. I’d bought it at a garage sale and had always loved the sit-atop styles, which are easy to climb in and out of even on open water.

  Glancing at my dive watch, I saw that it was just past 2000.

  “Alright, everyone ready?” I asked, glancing around at the group.

  I unhooked the power cable and the freshwater hose, then untied the mooring lines form the cleats. Starting up the Baia’s massive twin six-hundred-horsepower engines, I eased us away from the dock and out of the marina. Once I’d cleared the no-wake zone, I quickly brought us up on plane, cruising through Fleming Cut and around Garrison Bight Mooring Field. I put us on a course heading due northeast towards the Contents. Moments later, the final remnants of the sun vanished beneath the Gulf of Mexico.

  By the time we reached National Key Deer Refuge, the sky was dark, the silver half-moon only visible through occasional breaks in the clouds. The rain had picked up while we’d cruised, but as I pulled alongside the southern end of Cutoe, there was only a faint drizzle. Since the Baia’s draft is three feet and the waters surrounding Cutoe are just a foot or two deep, I’d brought my two-person kayak so Ange could paddle to the shore.

  After being down in the salon for about fifteen minutes, Ange appeared through the hatch, wearing black all-weather pants, tactical boots, and a skintight long-sleeved camouflage shirt. Her blond hair was tied back and hidden behind a black beanie, and she had streaks of dark war paint across her face. I’d seen her dressed that way during operations before, but it always amazed me how such an innocent-looking blonde woman could transition into a warrior badass.

  “I’ll set up a sniper station just there,” she said, pointing towards the western shore of Cutoe. She’d grabbed a plastic hard case that contained her collapsible Remington .338 Lapua Magnum sniper rifle, a weapon she was so proficient at firing that it was more like an extension of her own body.

  “Call me on the radio once you’re in position,” I said, unlashing the straps from the kayak and easing it slowly down into the water.

  The current was stagnant for the moment, so I was able to let it float beside the starboard side of the Baia while Ange loaded it up. Since she only needed one paddle, I left the second one stored against the inside of the gunwale, then offered my hand as she stepped over the side. She sat down in the rear seat, then secured all of her gear in front of her.

  Grabbing the paddle, she glanced up at me, then smiled and said, “Good luck.”

  “You too,” I replied, smiling back at her.

  She dipped the paddles into the water, gliding across the surface in a sharp turn to starboard before heading straight for Cutoe. After watching her paddle into the darkness a few hundred feet, I turned around and went to work getting all of my gear. I already had my rebreather out on the sunbed along with my fins, mask, and snorkel.

  While Scott performed the predive checks on my rebreather, I headed into the guest cabin and grabbed a large plastic hard case from the closet. Carrying it out onto the deck, I unclasped the hinges and pulled open the lid, revealing a top-of-the-line Aquanaut Pro sea scooter. It was one of the ones Arian Nazari, the billionaire oil tycoon who’d helped us with the Aztec treasure, had given to me, and it was capable of dragging someone through the water at over seven knots.

  After checking that it turned on without a hitch and that the battery was good, I switched it off and set it beside the rest of my gear on the sunbed.

  “Rebreather’s all set,” Scott said. “The tanks are about half-full but will be fine for this short of a dive.”

  “I have a full one down in the guest cabin,” I said. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  Nodding, he headed through the hatch and came out a second later with the replacement. As he switched them out, I helped Jack untie my Zodiac and lower it off the swim platform and into the water.

  “Just be wary of the currents in these shallow waters, bro,” Jack said. “Tide’s about to turn any second, and I’ve seen it push four knots in places around here.”

  I nodded and glanced over the starboard bow at the dark outline of Cutoe. We were a little over a mile from Blackett Key as the crow flies, and I decided that this would be as good of a starting point as any. We had cover from behind Cutoe Key, and I could follow along the reef line, swimming around the point before changing course and heading towards Blackett.

  I knew it wouldn’t be an easy dive. As if Jack had summoned the tides himself, I could already notice the water on the surface begin to flow by us ever so slowly. There are also hundreds of tiny islands, shoals, and sandbars scattered all over this part of the Keys, making underwater navigation difficult, especially at night.

  Twenty minutes after Ange had paddled into the darkness, I heard her voice over my radio earpiece. I’d installed the earpiece so I could communicate in the compound without giving away my position and had been waiting for Ange’s com.

  “In position,” she said, her voice calm.

  “Roger that,” I replied.

  I set the radio down on the seat beside me, then grabbed my black O’Neill dry suit and put it on over my clothes. Once it was on and snug, I grabbed my rebreather from the sunbed and strapped it onto my back. I had my Sig, a silencer and an extra magazine sealed in a waterproof bag, along with a pair of tactical boots and a small towel.

  Grabbing my fins, mask, and dive knife, I stepped onto the swim platform and plopped back onto the transom. Once there, I slipped into my neoprene booties and strapped my titanium dive knife to my inner right calf.

  “You’re all set back here,” Scott said, and I heard the distinct low-pitched sounds of the rebreather starting up.

  Jack handed me the radio, and I spoke into the mouthpiece. “Charles, I’m entering the water now.”

  “Understood,” he said a few seconds later. “We’re standing by.”

  I placed the radio inside the waterproof bag beside my Sig, then sealed it back up and secured it to my BCD using two carabiners.

  “Hand me the scooter,” I said, and a second later, Jack held it on the transom beside me.

  He also handed me a long coil of nylon rope and said, “For the three Cigarettes.”

  I smiled, strapped the rope to the side of my BCD, and replied, “That’s good thinking there, Jack.”

  I donned my fins and mask, then turned to them and said, “See you guys on the other side.”

  Then I gave them both a fist bump, positioned the mouthpiece between my teeth and stood up. Gripping tightly to the sea scooter, I faced my body aft and took a giant step out into the dark water.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I splashed into the warm water and quickly sank to the bottom only five feet below. Still facing the same direction I had been when I stepped in, I flattened my body and kicke
d for about thirty seconds before reaching slightly deeper water.

  Once I was in ten feet or so, I held my sea scooter out in front of me, switched it on and accelerated the propeller. My grip tightened to prevent the device from running away, and within a few seconds I was slicing through the water at its max speed of seven knots.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I navigated west through the channel with the shallows surrounding Cutoe just a few hundred feet to my right. In order to approach the compound unseen, I had to rely on the little moonlight that trickled through the clouds above instead of my flashlight. While in the Navy, I’d trained extensively at night and had learned to use my number of normal kicks in order to determine an approximation of how far I’d traveled. Using the sea scooter made determining my location more difficult, but I was able to navigate around the western edge of Cutoe without much trouble.

  Turning the sea scooter to the right, I performed a long sweeping turn and put myself on a direct line with Blackett using my compass for guidance. I’d studied satellite imagery of the water surrounding the compound for a few hours the day before and had planned out my route, so I had a pretty good idea where I was going.

  Jack had been right about the current. The longer I stayed underwater, the worse it got as the gravitational pull of the moon shifted with the rotation of the Earth. As I entered a shallower section of water past the tip of Cutoe, the current nearly forced my body into a barrel roll as it tried to pull me north out towards the Gulf. I countered this by aiming the tip of the scooter to the right, keeping myself on as straight of a line as possible.

  Occasionally I’d have to adjust my course to deviate around a shallow section of water or a small patch of mangroves, but for the most part, I kept Blackett straight ahead of me.