Revenge in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  As I glided through the dark water, I passed by hundreds of fish, their scales reflecting the little moonlight that trickled down from the night sky above. I swam right over a few large flounder that lay nestled in the sand and mud below, their flat bodies scurrying away as I moved passed them.

  Roughly fifteen minutes after dropping into the water, I reached the opening into the channel that led straight into the compound on Blackett Key. The channel was only about ten feet wide and five feet deep at its shallowest point. The current in the channel was strong as water flowed down into it and swirled around, kicking up dirt and sediment from the bottom. The visibility wasn’t great, but all I had to do was follow the channel and I knew that I’d eventually reach the compound.

  Keeping my head aimed forward and my eyes focused through the swirling, shallow water, I spotted something dark ahead of me. A moment later, I realized that it was the rocks that surrounded the island, forming a complete circle aside from the small opening ahead of me.

  Bingo, I thought as I eased back on the throttle. No longer requiring the sea scooter, I slowed to a stop and then turned it off, losing all forward momentum. It didn’t take long for the shifting current to show me who was boss and push me up against the left side of the channel. Holding my arm out, I absorbed the shock and propped my back against the hard bedrock.

  I set the sea scooter down under a small jutting rock, making sure that it was secure before forcing my legs into the side and shoving off as hard as I could. My body launched forward and I gave a few hard kicks until the current stopped and the water turned relatively still around me.

  I’d just passed by the rocks and could see the moat surrounding the compound that stretched in both directions beside me. The water inside the rocks was only five feet deep, so I moved slowly and stayed as close to the shoreline as possible.

  I moved past two rows of wood braces that held up the dock overhead and saw the three boats tied off, the dark outlines of their hulls bobbing up and down slightly. I grabbed the nylon rope strapped to my BCD, uncoiled it, and cut it into three separate lengths. Then I used each length to foul the props clamped to the stern of the three Cigarettes. These guys aren’t going anywhere, I thought as I glanced in approval at my handiwork.

  Finning a little farther along the bottom of the dock, I knew that I was getting close to the exit point I’d chosen. When I reached a point where the dock widened, I slid out of my rebreather and took one final breath before shutting it off and letting it rest against the seafloor.

  My waterproof bag in hand, I unclipped the carabiners and slowly stood up, my six-foot-two frame easily breaking the surface. As my head broke out into the night air, I slid my mask down, then took a look around, getting my bearings and checking for any sign of movement. The only sounds I heard, however, were the rocking of the boats against the dock and the gentle flapping of a flag hanging atop a nearby pole.

  As my ears adjusted, I heard what I thought was a television coming from the inside of the compound. I reached down into the water and slipped off my fins. Grabbing onto the wooden support braces, I pulled myself along the bottom of the dock and looked at the large concrete wall that surrounded the complex.

  When I didn’t see anyone nearby, I swam forward and pulled myself up onto the rocky shore. Moving in a crouching position, I kept my body hidden beneath a metal footbridge that led from the dock to a door built into the concrete wall. I moved across the few feet of white sandy beach between the rocks and the wall.

  Once I reached a spot at the base of the wall beside two small palm trees, I slid out of my dry suit. Then I opened my waterproof bag, grabbed my small towel and put on my pair of black low-top tactical boots. After spending a few seconds drying off, I pulled out my Sig and holstered it to my right thigh, then strapped my dive knife to my calf just below it. Reaching for the radio, I inserted the earpiece and switched it on.

  “Reached the island,” I whispered. “No tangos outside walls. Stand by.”

  A second later I heard Scott’s voice as he said, “Logan, we’ve spotted three tangos outside the house using the drone. One on patrol and two up on a second-story balcony.”

  “Roger that,” I replied.

  I slid the earpiece wire under my shirt and clipped the small radio to the inside of my pants. Then I gathered up my dry suit, booties, fins, and mask, stowed them inside my dry bag and hid it in a tight space between one of the palm trees and the wall, completely hidden from view.

  “Alright,” I whispered to myself as I shifted along the base of the wall, listening for any sounds.

  I soon realized that the sound I’d thought was a television was actually a radio, though I couldn’t see its source. I only knew that it was high up, probably coming from an open second-story window or a porch. Moving along the wall, I soon found a portion of the top that dipped down a little.

  I took one final look around the outside, then moved away from the wall, turned around, and took two powerful strides back towards it. Forcing my left heel into the sand, I launched my body high into the air, gripped my right boot along the wall and kicked myself up. I extended my arms above me, easily reaching the top as I wrapped my fingers around the rough concrete edge. I waited in that position for a moment, with my elbows bent at ninety-degree angles and my head slowly rising over the crest to get a view of the inside.

  The inside of the compound was mostly dark, with only a few dim lights glowing from inside the first and second floors of the house. The only movement I saw initially was two men on a second-story porch that was partly covered and separated from the main house, making it look more like a lookout tower than a place for a celebrity to get away and relax.

  One of the guys was sitting inside a covered area, listening to the radio and the other was standing along a handrail and staring out over the ocean. The structure was almost hidden from view around the right side of the house and was surrounded on both sides by rows of coconut trees. The grounds were very well kept, and to the left I spotted a large swimming pool with a waterfall, though it wasn’t flowing, and a diving board.

  As I drew my gaze down towards the inside base of the wall, I spotted a guy slowly walking counterclockwise around the house. He took intermittent puffs of a cigarette in his right hand and had what appeared to be an AR-15 rifle hanging by a strap across his chest. I took one more look around, making sure that there was no one else in sight. As the guy below walked right underneath me, I pulled my body up quietly. Crouching on the top of the wall for a split second, I threw my body over the side and dropped towards my unsuspecting enemy below.

  I slammed into his upper body, knocking him to the ground as I forced the tip of my elbow into the back of his head. His body went limp as I hit the grass, causing him to collapse onto his back. In less than a second, it was over. The guy didn’t have time to realize what had happened, let alone make even the slightest sound.

  I went silent and looked around the compound, making sure nobody had heard my attack, then grabbed him by his shins and dragged his unconscious body behind a large dried-up fountain with a cherub statue in the middle. He’d wake up in about an hour with a terrible headache, but other than that, he’d be fine.

  Once he was out of view, I directed my attention back to the two guys up on the terrace. As I’d hoped, they hadn’t moved at all, nor had they given any indication that they’d heard something happen. I moved in the shadows of the compound, stepping from a patch of green grass and onto a cobblestone pathway that weaved in and out of old-style statues, planter boxes, flowering bushes, and small koi ponds. I could hear voices coming from inside the house beside me, but they were too muffled to understand what they were saying.

  When I reached the terrace where I saw the two thugs, I quietly jumped, grabbed hold of an overhanging support beam and pulled myself up. I kept my knees bent and my body low, my chest pressed against the wall. Just a few inches above my head was an open window with light bleeding out and the sounds of a Spanish radio station. />
  Peeking over the windowsill, which was only partially blocked by a fancy curtain, I saw one of the thugs seated in a white wicker chair. He was well built, with coffee-colored skin and a solid black goatee. He wore a blue polo shirt and a faded pair of jeans. In his lap was a radio, and on the end table beside him was what looked like a .44 Magnum revolver.

  Leaning back into the chair, he closed his eyes and almost dozed off before jerking his head and blinking a few times.

  “How in the hell does Pedro expect us to stay awake with only this damn radio?” the guy sitting down said. But the guy standing against the railing just outside the open doorway didn’t respond. “Carlos, bring up more coffee.”

  I didn’t have a good view of the guy outside the door, but he sounded younger.

  “That’s Manuel’s job,” the guy outside said.

  “Well, then, go and tell Manuel to bring more coffee!” the man fired back.

  The younger man sighed. “Fine. I’ll try him on the radio.”

  Shit, I thought, assuming that Manuel was the man I’d encountered a few minutes earlier who was snoozing under a fountain. The guy outside was holding an assault rifle in his hands and I knew that the older guy could grab his revolver and have it trained on me in half a second. Reaching for my earpiece, I held the button and whispered into the small microphone.

  “Ange, do you have a visual on the two guys on the sundeck?”

  “I see only one guy,” she replied. “He’s holding what looks like a rifle and standing against a metal railing. Wait, he’s reaching for something in his pocket.”

  I didn’t have time to explain the situation. If he tried contacting Manuel, he could sound an alarm and screw up everything.

  “Five-second countdown on my mark,” I whispered. “Ready, mark.”

  Sensing the timer tick down in my head, I grabbed my silenced Sig from my leg holster and adjusted my footing. I had my boots planted firmly, each on a separate brace about three feet apart. Rising up, I’d just glanced over the windowsill when I heard a bullet strike the body of the guy outside.

  His body lurched backward, and before he’d even hit the ground, I was standing with my Sig aimed straight at goatee’s face. His eyes grew wide and he tried to say something as his right hand gravitated towards his revolver on the table beside him. Before a sound came out of his mouth, I squeezed the trigger, sending a 9mm round screaming across the room and exploding into the thug’s forehead.

  His head jerked backward in a mushy mess, blood and brain splattered along the wall behind him. Sliding my Sig back into its holster, I pushed myself up through the window and landed silently on the hardwood floor. I moved past the dead guy sitting in the wicker chair and found the other guy on the ground just outside the door. His body was bent awkwardly with his back against the wall and his legs dangling down the top two steps of a staircase.

  Ange’s sniper rifle had a top-of-the-line suppressor, allowing her to fire the .338 rounds while barely making a sound. Glancing in Ange’s direction, I smiled and mouthed the words thank you. A second later, her voice came over the speaker in my earpiece.

  “That’s a case of Paradise Sunsets,” she said.

  I shook my head as I bent down and dragged the corpse into the cover of the room, placing him on the floor at the other guy’s feet. Then I moved silently back outside and down the wooden stairs. I knew that it was only a matter of time before someone tried to contact one of the three incapacitated thugs, so I moved with purpose.

  The outside looked clear of all hostiles, but I still kept to cover in case someone inside the house was watching through a window. Moving towards the northeast side of the compound, I came to a small shed, pressed my ear against the wall and heard a large rumble from within.

  Grabbing the brass doorknob, I entered the shed, shut the door behind me and flipped on a small overhead light. The rumble I’d heard was exactly what I’d thought it was: the generator. It looked to be industrial grade and was about six feet wide and four feet tall. On its side it had a label plate that said that it was sixty kilowatts and also had controls for turning it on and off.

  I glanced over the simple instructions momentarily, then pulled open a square of metal backing, revealing wires and hoses connecting to the engine. Reaching for my earpiece, I held down the small button.

  “Stand by for securing power,” I said. After hearing a quick reply from each of the four on the line, I added, “Securing power.”

  I removed my hand from the earpiece, then grabbed my flashlight from my pocket and switched it on. Removing the plastic cover surrounding the controls, I quickly depressed the red emergency shutoff button, causing the engine to sputter for a second and then go silent. As the light overhead went out, I shined the beam of my flashlight into the back of the machine.

  With a firm grip, I ripped the power cord free where it connected to the generator, then did the same with the fuel line, causing a small amount of fuel to flow out onto the ground. It had only taken a few seconds to turn off and disable the generator, but I knew I had to move.

  Switching off my flashlight, I shouldered through the door and exited back into the warm evening air. I heard a few shouts coming from inside the mansion, followed soon after by heavy footsteps moving in my direction. Charles had said it would take them three minutes to reach the compound, and I estimated it would take Scott around two. That meant that I had time to kick some ass before the cavalry arrived.

  I saw the dark outline of two thugs stomping towards me just as I crouched behind a small Jamaican caper tree. They were both well built, and both carried a pistol in one hand as they moved confidently through the door and towards the generator shed. I waited until they were right beside me, then pounced on them from the shadows, grabbing the first guy forcefully by his gun hand and jerking his body around while simultaneously punching him square in the jaw.

  As his body lurched and headed for the ground, I hit the second thug with a sweeping kick just as he was about to level his pistol at me. His legs flew out from under him and he launched backwards, his head slamming against the cobblestone path. In an instant, I grabbed a nearby potted plant and slammed the hardened clay against his forehead, causing it to shatter and his body to go limp.

  With both guys down, I dropped the guy’s pistol, then retrieved my Sig from my holster as I headed for the partly open door just a few big strides in front of me. Clearly someone had heard the commotion outside and was yelling just inside the door. Keeping my Sig raised, I ducked to the side and waited for the door to swing open wildly before taking a shot. A big-bellied guy with a white button-up shirt looked like a deer caught in the headlights as I put two rounds straight into his chest, causing him to fall backwards and drop the sawed-off shotgun in his hands.

  Hearing shouts and the barking of orders coming from the center of the house, I stepped over the large dead thug and moved swiftly through the open door. Instead of a hallway or side bedroom, I walked right into the massive living room of the open-concept mansion. The emergency lighting had already switched on, illuminating only portions of the room and leaving the corners in darkness. There was a kitchen to my left, and beyond a sea of scattered sofas, recliners and tables was a wall of windows and a sliding glass door that led out to a swimming pool beyond.

  I moved quickly along a side wall, keeping to the shadows as I heard the sound of footsteps coming from the second floor. Just a few seconds after entering the house, I spotted movement coming from a wide, fancy wooden staircase. The shadow materialized into a thug holding an Uzi and staring straight at me. He was running down the stairs, and as he spotted me, he sent a spray of bullets in my direction that splintered the furniture and shattered the glass doors of the kitchen cabinets behind me.

  I dropped to the deck as bullets whizzed just a few feet above me, then fired off a round that struck him in the left knee. His left leg gave out beneath his weight as he moved down the stairs, and his body flew forward, tumbling violently before coming to a st
op headfirst on the hardwood floor. In addition to multiple other bones, I distinctly heard his neck crack as he hit the bottom and watched as his body turned lifeless.

  Rising to my feet, I ran for the stairs, keeping my Sig raised and ready to pull the trigger at the slightest sign of movement. I made quick work of the stairs, taking them three at a time until I reached the top. I came to a long, wide hallway with rows of white wooden doors on one side. As I moved towards the source of the sounds, I saw a door crack open in front of me. Sprinting towards the door, I fired off two shots into a thug as he appeared through the crack, then tackled him to the ground, shattering the door from its frame.

  As his body slammed into the ground beneath me, I rolled into the room and raised my Sig. In an instant, I was greeted by a metal baseball bat that struck my right shoulder, causing my body to jerk sideways onto the hardwood floor. Intense pain shot through my body, radiating from my shoulder.

  A thug kicked my Sig from my hands, then bent down and grabbed me tightly by my shirt collar. He was short but built like a bull, his muscles screaming out of a black tank top as he lifted me over his head and threw me onto a massive bed. I rolled to minimize the effect of the blow, slid off the silk sheets and gazed back at my opponent. He had dark skin and was wearing a backward ball cap as he snarled and moved towards me. As I searched for a weapon, I heard a loud, booming voice from a dark corner of the giant master bedroom.

  “Stop!” a man growled from the shadows, causing the beast of a man in front of me to grudgingly freeze in his tracks.

  It was a voice I recognized instantly, and a second later, two massive frames appeared from the far side of the room. Both men moved with powerful strides towards the center of the room, where a pair of emergency lights shined down from the ceiling. Pedro Campos was the first to enter the light. His gigantic frame and his jet-black Mohawk that streaked across his clean-shaven head were unmistakable. His dark brown eyes stared fiercely into mine, and he had a grotesque burn scar along his left cheek. A second later, his brother, Hector, moved into the light beside him.