Revenge in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  Turning back to Ange and Jack, I said, “Wade, this is Angelina Fox and Jack Rubio.”

  After the introductions, we hopped aboard the inflatable and motored over to the Grasp. It was a calm day, with only a slight breeze blowing in from the east and patches of clouds covering about half of the sky. The small skiff pulled alongside the port side of the stern, where an opening in the gunwale allowed us to climb up onto the ship.

  There was a lot of activity on the deck. Service members and civilians worked in preparation for a long day of diving, bringing out dive suits, metal cage structures, hoses, cabling, and various other pieces of equipment.

  Wade introduced us to a few members of the crew, including the lead civilian project managers and a few of the divers, including the lead diver, Master Chief Snyder. He was about my height, well built and with a clean-shaven head.

  “I knew your father, Logan,” Snyder said. I wasn’t surprised, since most everyone in the US Naval diving community had known him or known who he was. “I was sad to hear of his passing. He was a damn good sailor and the best diver I ever met.”

  I thanked him for his condolences, and after meeting most of the crew, Wade took the three of us up to the bridge and introduced us to Commander Sprague, the temporary commanding officer of the Grasp. He looked to be in his mid-forties and had a lean, athletic build, tanned skin and thinning black hair. After meeting him, Master Chief Snyder met up with us for a brief.

  “We really appreciate all of you coming down,” I said to the small group assembled. “I know how hard it can be to be away from family.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Commander Sprague said in his Southern accent. “We should be thanking you. I’m not sure I could handle another northern run right now. We’ve had three trips up to the Arctic in a row, and we’re happy to be down in paradise for a few days. Now, tell us about this U-boat.”

  We told them everything we knew about the wreck, including depth, size, condition, and of course mentioning the torpedo we had good reason to believe was a biological weapon. I also showed them pictures, sketches and digital scans showing details of the wreck and how it sat on the bottom.

  “These are great,” Sprague said, looking them over with awe. “Are you some kind of professional salvager?”

  I laughed. “More of a treasure hunter. The truth is, it’s been a while since I did much salvaging.”

  “Don’t let him fool you,” Wade said. “Logan here was a SEAL, and a damn good one at that. He still holds the record for the highest grade in Improvised Explosive Devices at EOD school. That’s right, he’s that guy whose name’s on that plaque in the Kauffman Training Complex. He was also one of my instructors when I went through the training.”

  “I see,” Sprague said, thinking it over for a moment. “Well, from what I hear, you’ve been diving the site for a few days now. What do you recommend?”

  I gave a quick rundown of how I would go about bringing up the ordnance if I was them, keeping short, concise and articulate, the way hardened Navy men usually communicate. But I made it clear that they were simply my opinions and that I encouraged them to use their judgment and experience to make the call.

  While in the SEALs, I’d been trained heavily in explosive ordnance disposal and had utilized my training many times in combat. I was good at disarming and handling explosives, but these guys were the best. The most highly trained divers and EODs in the United States military, masters of their craft. The best in the world. With that being said, I was happy to have them team up with us and happily deferred to their judgment regarding how to go about raising and disposing of the torpedo.

  “We agree with your line of thought completely, Logan,” Commander Sprague said. “Which is why we must strive to execute with minimal contact to the ordnance. As you said, we don’t know what kind of weapon it is or how exactly the firing mechanism operates. We also must take the toll of the ocean over the years into consideration. But based on these surveys you’ve shown us of the outside of the casing, we concur that it appears to be a biological weapon of some kind.”

  “Professor Murchison predicts that it’s probably a chimera virus,” I said. “A hybrid modified biological weapon containing variations of viruses such as anthrax, plague, and smallpox. Which means it could spread through the air, making isolation of the package before it exits the water a priority.”

  The commander nodded. “Let me show you what we have in mind. If you’ll all follow me, we have a briefing room just down the passageway.”

  Sprague led us down the main passageway, into a room with dry-erase boards and a projector screen covering the far wall and littered with those chairs with built-in fold-up flat surfaces for writing on. It was eerily familiar and made me feel like I was back in the Navy again, awaiting the brief for our next mission along with the rest of my team. The talk didn’t take long. Sprague and Snyder wasted no time and, using a dry-erase marker, they sketched out the basis for how we would bring up the payload.

  “We used a similar technique when we brought up the USS Monitor’s steam engine back in 2001,” Snyder said, describing a metal cage that they planned to lower and clamp around the torpedo. “That old hunk of metal was so fragile you could practically tear it apart with your bare hands.”

  “What about the fact that it’s stuck in the rock?” Jack asked. “How can we get it out without potentially detonating it?”

  Sprague nodded. “It’s a good question, and one we’ve been thinking about these past few days while cruising down the coast from Virginia.” He grabbed a marker and drew the rocky surface nearly half of the torpedo was buried in. “We’ve welded a set of hydraulics here and here,” he said, pointing to the drawing of the metal cage, “and attached flat metal surfaces to the end of the plunger so we can carefully ease it out of place.”

  “Then once it’s out, you’ll cover it?” Ange asked.

  Snyder nodded. “We’ve rigged an inner shell to the cage that’s rubber-coated. Once the torpedo’s out and resting on the shell, we can enclose it and bring it up to the surface, perfectly contained.”

  As I’d expected, they’d arrived more than prepared, and we all sat silent for a moment, thinking over the plan.

  “It really is an incredible find, Logan,” Sprague said. “How did you manage to discover it?”

  “I didn’t,” I said, surprising him with my answer. “It was my dad who found it. He left me clues that led to it before he was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” Snyder said gravely after a brief moment of silence.

  I nodded. “By the same assholes that are after this site.”

  The room was quiet for a moment as the men realized the entirety of the situation.

  “We also wanted to discuss that with you, Logan,” Sprague said calmly. “Senator Cooper has informed us of the situation and, as of earlier this morning, Pedro Campos is still at large.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “We ambushed his compound last week, but he managed to escape. Sheriff Wilkes of the Key West Police Department informed us that he stole a car, which was later found just outside of Miami.”

  “The main priority is securing this weapon,” he said. “Though I’m told that isn’t what Campos is after.”

  “Right. As far as I know, Campos doesn’t even know about the U-boat. He’s after this.” I set a picture on the table of the metal box lodged into the rock beside the wreck. “My guess is its filled with cash. They murdered my dad after he’d done a large run for them while working undercover to take them down.”

  Sprague thought it over a moment. “Okay. Once we have the ordnance topside and secured, we’ll take care of this as well.” Then, turning to Snyder he added, “Make immediate preparations. I want three divers in the water using surface-supplied air down at the bottom, examining the wreck and handling the rigging. I want two more divers with nitrox alternating in shifts to oversee the lowering of equipment. Let’s take our time and do this right.” Then, turning to the three of us he said, “I�
��ll have eight guys armed and ready, monitoring the horizon, and I have a team of radar techs aboard. If anyone comes within five miles of this site, we’ll know it.”

  “Sir, I’m very familiar with the wreck,” I said. “Since I’m one of the three guys who have dived the wreck before, might I request to be one of the guys on the bottom?”

  Sprague glanced over at Snyder. “His dad was the best diver I ever knew,” Snyder said. Then turning to me, he added, “If the apple fell anywhere close to the tree, then we could use you.”

  “Right at the trunk,” Wade said confidently, patting me on the back.

  Sprague nodded. “Get suited up, Logan. This concludes the brief.”

  As Sprague and Snyder walked out of the room, I turned and smiled at Wade.

  “Well, all the talking and pictures in the world won’t do this U-boat justice,” I said. “Let’s get you guys in the water so you can see her for yourselves.”

  “Sounds good, Chief,” Wade said with a grin.

  I hadn’t been called chief in years, unless you counted Scott’s occasional slips. And though I was proud of what I’d accomplished and the people I’d worked with, I much preferred to go by my real name. And boy, did Wade know that.

  I grinned back. “If you keep this up, don’t be surprised if you find a bug in your dive helmet.”

  He laughed, and the four of us headed back out onto the deck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Thirty minutes later, I was fully geared up for surface-supplied diving, donning a three-millimeter wetsuit complete with neck lining, weights, and a tank of air strapped to my back just in case. I donned a Kirby Morgan stainless-steel dive helmet with a built-in two-way communicator, as well as mounted lights and video cameras so everyone topside could watch what was happening below. Three lines led into my helmet: the main air hose, the communicating line and a bailout hose supplying oxygen in the event the main hose failed. Military and commercial divers always have a backup for everything whenever possible.

  Checking the pressure gauge, I saw that I had just over two hundred bar, or about twenty-nine hundred PSI. A bar is a unit of pressure equal to roughly 14.5 PSI, or slightly less than the atmospheric pressure at sea level. Utilizing an air compressor topside, MDSUs pump a special blend of eighty-five percent helium and fifteen percent oxygen, allowing divers to stay down much longer and avoid experiencing nitrogen narcosis, also referred to as the bends.

  Once the other two divers were ready and we’d verified that all of our gear was functioning properly, we stepped towards the starboard railing. From the outside looking in, a highly technical dive operation such as this one can appear chaotic. But every hose, wire, tank, and all of the various pieces of equipment scattered about had a purpose. The sound of diesel engines, metal gears, and massive cables unraveling filled the air as the crew slowly dropped the massive metal cage into the water. The surface was relatively calm, and though clouds filled most of the sky, it was a nice day out on the water, with very little wind.

  I moved to the edge in my fins and was the first diver in the water, splashing down and floating on the surface. The two other divers, Wade and a first-class diver named Hartigan, held on to the metal cage and were lowered into the water by the massive aft crane. Slowly and cautiously, the three of us released air from our BCs and began our descent.

  Soon, the incredible visibility of the water allowed us to see the ledge below, its dark rocks extending as far as you could see to the northeast and southwest. I’d been down to the wreck many times over the past few days, but it was still difficult for me to pinpoint exactly where the different sections of the U-boat were from afar. It was easy to see how, given the depth and massive amounts of coral, rocks, sponges, anemones, and silt covering the wreck, it could go unnoticed for so many years.

  “There she is,” I said into the com, pointing to a spot about thirty feet beneath us where the top portion of the U-boat’s hull rested against the ledge.

  Using the grid and coordinated imagery I’d created over the past few days, we were able to position the Grasp with its stern right over the location where the torpedo was lodged into the rock. The crane could rotate and extend, allowing some versatility, but as I looked down, I could see that we were descending almost perfectly right above the torpedo.

  “Alright, Snyder,” I said. “We’re about one-five feet above the target. We’re gonna drop down to the rock beside the ordnance and direct the cage.”

  “You’re gonna drop down and direct the cage, aye,” Snyder said, giving a typical Navy verbatim repeat back. “Standing by at the crane control station.”

  Surface-supplied diving is all about trust. If one person messes up, it can mean the end for a diver. Each and every time they drop down into the water, they’re counting on those that are topside, trusting them with their lives.

  Wade and I descended down onto the rock just a few feet away from the torpedo, leaving Hartigan with the cage. I watched Wade’s eyes light up as he gazed upon the barnacle-and-algae-covered shell with its old rusted propeller sticking out of the back. I moved closer and carefully pointed to the markings on the side.

  “Here’s the word and the symbol,” I said.

  “This is incredible, Logan,” he said as he finned slowly over to where the front of the torpedo was lodged into the rock. “Sure looks stuck, though.”

  The process of lowering and carefully setting up the metal cage, clamps and hydraulics was slow and methodical. The last thing we wanted was to work too fast and cause accidental shock to the ordnance that might cause it to detonate after all these years. Once the cage assembly was in place and the torpedo was clamped securely, we carefully fired up the four hydraulics, forcing the flat metal pistons against the rock face with gradually increasing pressure at a slow and controlled rate.

  As we brought the hydraulics to just below full strength, I noticed the front of the torpedo start to move.

  “Ease back,” I said. “She’s coming loose.”

  A second later, the torpedo slid out of the rock, moving in a slow and controlled manner backward and resting against the rubber-edged round clamps. Damn, these guys are good, I thought as the three of us went to work setting up the metal enclosure that would prevent the biological weapon from releasing any of its toxins into the atmosphere. It made me proud to watch Wade and see a former student handle his work with such expertise. After four hours of work, we had the torpedo dislodged, secured and ready to be raised.

  Once on the surface, the three of us removed our dive helmets and posed for a picture with our haul, grinning from ear to ear. But the job was far from over. The next few hours were spent transitioning the torpedo into a storage device capable of containing it in the event of detonation. EODs went to work, examining it and preparing it for its trip to the Anniston Chemical Agent Disposal Facility located in Alabama, where it would be taken apart and disposed of properly.

  There were occasional times when I missed my days in the Navy. Hanging out with the other guys on the Grasp made me reminisce about those days. I’d have been less than six years away from retirement by now and probably would have had a gold star or two to give the anchor on my uniform company. But I love what I do. Having freedom both financially and occupationally and living in the Florida Keys is a life I wouldn’t trade for any other.

  “Hell of a job,” Snyder said after I’d removed all my gear and changed and was toweling off beside the starboard railing, watching the technicians go to work alongside Ange, Jack, and Wade. “The CO wants to speak with you up on the bridge. He says he has news.”

  Wade stayed behind to finish helping out the crew, but Ange, Jack, and myself headed up to the bridge. Commander Sprague was hovering behind a row of sailors seated in front of monitors and turned as we arrived.

  “Nice work,” he said, walking over and patting me on the back. “You three handled that perfectly.”

  I shrugged. “It helps when you have the right gear and the greatest crew in the world. Sny
der said you had news for us?”

  He nodded. “I just got off the phone with CIA Deputy Director Wilson, and there’s been an update on Pedro Campos’s movements. Apparently, he was spotted in Fort Hancock just a few hours ago. They even got a credit card swipe from a Visa in his name.”

  “Texas?” I said with raised eyebrows, making sure I’d heard him right.

  “That’s right,” Sprague said.

  Jack shook his head. “You guys think he’s making a run for Mexico, don’t you?”

  “It appears that way. And a guy with his kind of reputation probably won’t have a hard time making it across the border.” Sprague looked down at the floor and sighed. “I’m sorry, Logan. But it looks like he won’t be caught anytime soon.”

  I was silent for a few seconds. Something wasn’t right here. A credit card swipe? I knew that Pedro would never be careless and stupid enough to pay with anything except cash.

  “And what about the metal box down by the wreck?” I asked, changing the subject.

  Sprague shook his head. “An armored truck will be waiting at zero seven hundred tomorrow morning, along with Key West Police vehicles for escort. It will be taken up to Homestead and then transferred to the US Treasury Department building in Birmingham.”

  “Why not just take it with you guys on the Grasp?” I asked, confused as hell.

  “With Campos leaving the country, it’s not a priority,” he said. “Right now, we have to get this ordnance up to Savannah, then put on a train to be taken to Anniston and be disposed of as soon as possible. Your ship’s crane will have no trouble bringing the box up.”

  “We could bring it up in less than an hour,” I said.

  “I follow orders. And right now, my orders are to leave as soon as possible. You were a military man, so I know that you understand.”

  I did understand. All too well. I’d had to follow bad orders before. The kind that were given by men thousands of miles away, sitting comfortably behind a desk, who oftentimes had little to no interest in the opinions of the men on the ground. It was one of the major reasons I’d gotten out after eight years and refused government employment. The red tape, procedures, and unwillingness to change had driven me away.