Revenge in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  “It’s a mistake,” I said. “And it puts law enforcement at risk. Campos wouldn’t dare try and strike a ship like the Grasp. But a small convoy and an armored truck are well within his capabilities.”

  Sprague sighed. “I agree with you, Logan. But as I’ve said, I have my orders, and we have it on good authority that he’s nowhere near Florida.”

  “You’re all underestimating this guy,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s been doing this successfully for years. He knows what he’s doing.”

  Sprague assured us that he was doing everything he could to help the situation as we headed back down to the deck. The Grasp was already making preparations to get underway, wanting to take care of the ordnance as quickly as possible. By the time we reached the small inflatable skiff, the orders were already going out to raise the anchors.

  We said our goodbyes to the crew, wished them good luck with the rest of their trip, and jumped onto the small boat alongside Wade and two other crew members. It was now just after fourteen hundred and the winds had picked up a little, creating a good amount of chop on the surface. The small boat bounced up and down as Wade pulled us up along the stern of the Revenge.

  As the two other crew members held on to the transom to keep the inflatable relatively steady, the three of us climbed up and over the transom.

  “It was nice to see you still got it,” Wade said, standing behind the helm and staring over at us. “You better call me if you’re ever up north.”

  “Likewise,” I said. “You should take some leave and come down to the Keys. The islands are a lot more enjoyable when you don’t have to work the whole time.”

  He laughed and said, “I’ll do that. Just save some lobster for me to catch, Logan.”

  With that, the two crew members let go and Wade punched the throttles, sending the inflatable bouncing over the surface as it cruised back towards the Grasp.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “I don’t like this, Logan,” Ange said. “The report was that they believe they saw him, but he’s yet to be captured or identified. It just makes no sense. Why would he travel to Texas?”

  “I’m with you guys,” Jack said. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  “It doesn’t feel right because it’s not,” I said. “Campos isn’t in Texas. It’s all a ruse to make everyone think that he is.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Jack said, “So what do we do? There’s only one road in and out of the Keys. Do you really think he’d be stupid enough to come down here, bro?”

  I shrugged. “All I know is I’m not letting that convoy out of my sight. As for tonight, I’ll take the first watch, and we’ll all be up by four in order to haul up the box. I for one am curious as hell to find out what’s inside of it.”

  We watched as the Grasp started up its two massive Caterpillar diesel engines and performed a wide turn to starboard before reaching their desired heading of due northeast. Designed with towing capability in mind rather than speed, the Grasp could only hit about fifteen knots, so it took a while to disappear on the cloud-covered horizon.

  The three of us decided to stay the night on the boat, and at twenty hundred, we ate some lobster rolls while watching the sunset. The dying sun illuminated the cloud-covered sky with unique shades of dark purple just before it dropped down behind the Lower Keys. At twenty-two hundred, Ange and Jack hit the sack, and I moved out onto the deck with my cell phone. Punching in a few numbers, I called Scott and was quick to tell him how I thought we were playing with fire on this one.

  “Look, Logan, we’ve received intel that a terrorist organization has learned of the biological weapon,” he said. “Getting it taken care of was the most important thing. As for the money, trust these guys to do their jobs and bring it up north safely.”

  I sighed. “Right.”

  He paused a moment. “But you and I both know you can’t do that.”

  “Yes,” I said. “We do both know that.”

  After ending the call, I stood against the railing and stared out over the dark ocean. It wasn’t cool by any means, but the breeze coming off the water and the absence of sunshine was a nice relief from the heat of the summer days. I let my mind drift, thinking about my dad, and about the Campos brothers and how they’d murdered him. This was a job my dad had started years ago, and I wasn’t about to sit by now. If Pedro was still in the States and he decided to try something stupid, I was gonna be there to stop it.

  At twenty-four hundred, Jack showed up on the bridge and poured a cup of coffee. I hit the rack and woke up four hours later to the sound of the alarm on my phone going off. I got dressed in a pair of swim trunks, tee shirt and flip-flops, then headed out into the salon. After eating a quick breakfast of blueberry muffins and a banana, washing it down with coffee, the three of us went to work.

  I used a crowbar and the crane to dislodge the metal box, and we had it up on the surface in less than an hour. Climbing up onto the deck, I removed all my gear, leaving only my wetsuit on as Jack eased the metal box down onto the stern with a loud thud. The once-shiny metal was covered in a thin layer of grime and riddled with dents. The lid was secured by a large padlock.

  “This thing’s heavy as hell,” Jack said. “I’d say around four hundred pounds.”

  Grabbing the crowbar, Ange handed it to me. “I think you should do the honors.”

  I gripped the crowbar with both hands, wedged the tip into the space between the hasp and broke it free with one strong motion. As the broken lock rattled onto the deck at my feet, I set the crowbar aside and pushed up the lid.

  The grime and corrosion from being at the bottom of the ocean for so long caused it to stick a little, but once I got it loose, the entire lid swung open. The three of us stared in awe for a moment as we gazed at the contents of the box. We riffled through it and realized that the bottom half was covered in stacks of gold bars, and the top was filled with bags of diamonds and bundles of US hundred-dollar bills.

  “Damn,” Jack said, then knelt down and sifted through the loot. “How much do you think is in here?”

  “Hard to say for sure,” I said. “What are those, one-kilo bars?”

  Jack nodded. “And there’s got to be well over a hundred and fifty here.”

  “And that’s over two million in cash,” Ange said. “But these diamonds are the real moneymaker here.” She had one of the bags of diamonds in her hands and was sifting through them. “These are big and great quality. I’d estimate there’s tens of millions of dollars’ worth here.”

  We spent about five minutes going through the box, then shut it back up. All told, we estimated that the haul was worth somewhere around fifty million dollars. I glanced at my dive watch and saw that it was zero five thirty, which meant we had an hour and a half before the scheduled time to meet with the convoy in Bahia Honda.

  Dark black clouds swirled in over the eastern horizon, and as I rattled up the anchor chain using the windlass, raindrops began to splash against the topside of the salvage boat. Jack stood on the bow and communicated with me as the anchor broke free of the surface, letting me know when it was in place and securing the safety strap.

  I fired up the two 375-hp John Deere engines and we cruised northwest, a strong wind building and flapping against the starboard side. Whitecaps formed on the surface, causing the boat to rock up and down. Bahia Honda Key didn’t appear behind a blanket of dark clouds until we were less than a mile from shore.

  Bahia Honda is nestled between Ohio Key and Summerland Key, and about twelve miles west of Marathon. The entire island is a state park and is known for its pristine, secluded beaches and some of the best snorkeling around. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, or NOAA, has a private dock near Calusa Beach on the western side of the island. That was where we were informed the convoy would meet us.

  We cruised around the southwest corner of the island, motoring right between a hundred-foot-long removed section of the old Bahia Honda bridge. Cruising past Calusa on the starboard
side, I eased us slowly into the private channel, then up against the NOAA dock. The NOAA dock and small sand-covered driveway were adjacent to the boat ramp and main parking lot for the state park. The area around the dock is flat and mostly white sand, aside from a few palm trees and a patch of purple-flowered morning glory bushes. Since most of the small dock was being used by two other moored boats, I backed the stern in, which would also make it easier to unload the box.

  We spotted the armored truck and two police vehicles idling beside a boathouse when we pulled in. I glanced at my dive watch and saw that it was zero seven hundred on the dot. Shutting off the engine, Jack and Ange tied us off as I took a quick look around. To my surprise, other than the convoy and a few trucks over in the parking lot, the place was empty. I guess it was still pretty early in the morning and the poor weather most likely turned off a lot of people. Though it had been barely sprinkling when we left the wreck site, it was pouring now and showed no signs of dying down anytime soon.

  Before meeting the convoy, I stepped down into the main cabin and quickly changed clothes. Removing my cargo shorts, I pulled on a pair of black tactical pants and boots. Then I tightened a thin bulletproof vest over my body and hid it beneath my tee shirt. I stowed my holstered Sig and extra magazine to the back of my waist. Then, grabbing my dive knife, I strapped it to my right thigh, then threw on a rain slicker and headed back up into the cockpit.

  Glancing towards the convoy, I spotted the tall, dark frame of Charles as he walked towards the Revenge alongside two other guys. Charles, along with the guys beside him, was wearing a bulletproof vest and tactical pants and had an MP5 SD6 strapped across his chest. He was also wearing a Key West Police Department hat. I didn’t recognize the two guys he was with, but they both looked like they hit the gym on a regular basis.

  “Right on time,” Charles said, stopping when he reached the transom. He motioned towards the guys standing on either side of him. “This is Officer Walker and Officer Smith from the Homestead PD. They’ve come to help us move the package. Guys, this is Logan Dodge.”

  I shook both of their hands, then welcomed the three aboard. As the tropical rain soaked our bodies, Jack opened up the storage space, revealing the metal box below.

  “I was glad to hear about the torpedo getting removed,” Charles said. “I’ll sleep easier knowing it’s no longer in the Keys. What’s in the box, anyway?”

  “Diamonds,” Ange said. “Extremely valuable ones. And about five million in gold bars and two million in US dollars. All told, we figure close to fifty million.”

  All three of their eyes grew wide in unison and in an instant.

  I dropped down into the space that was filling with water and said, “Yeah, look, let’s get this thing out of here. We can discuss what’s inside later.”

  The men nodded and helped me heave it out of the space. Using a heavy-duty fishing net, we were able to distribute its weight easier, and the six of us carried it over to the armored truck. Loading it up into the back, two more men appeared, fully dressed in tactical body armor, and locked it up. Seconds later, everyone was climbing into their respective vehicles and preparing to leave.

  “How many men do you have in all?” I asked as I looked around through the thick sheets of rain.

  “Seven including me,” Charles said. Then, seeing the look in my eyes, he added, “You’ve done enough, Logan. Let us take care of this.”

  Standing still for a moment with the rain beating against me and drenching my clothes and hair, I finally nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. Just be careful, and keep me updated.”

  Charles looked surprised, then said, “You did good, Logan. All three of you did good.”

  He glanced at Ange and Jack, who were standing beside me, then turned around and hopped into the driver’s seat of the lead police car. A second later, he had it in gear and cruising out of the driveway, followed closely behind by the armored truck and the trailing police car. Their tires sloshed through the puddles, and a moment later all three disappeared around the corner.

  When I turned around, Ange and Jack were staring at me in confusion.

  “Really, Logan?” Ange said. “You feel the same way we do about this, and you’re just gonna let them go without trying to help?”

  Just as the words came out of her mouth, my black Tacoma started up in the parking lot adjacent to us and cruised down the driveway, stopping right against the dock. Through the windshield wipers gliding back and forth, I could see Pete sitting in the driver’s seat. Ange stared at the truck, then looked at me.

  “Come on, Ange,” I said. “You know me better than that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Despite all of my protestations, I knew that there was nothing I could do or say that would keep Ange on the boat.

  “Your stubborn ass isn’t going alone,” she said.

  I nodded, then climbed back onto the boat, entered the salon and came back out a few seconds later with my black CamelBak over my shoulder, a waterproof duffle bag in one hand and a bulletproof vest in the other. Everything was soaked after just a few seconds as I moved swiftly towards my Tacoma and threw everything onto the backseat.

  Leaving the truck running, Pete stepped out and said, “I sure hope you’re wrong about this, Logan.”

  “Me too.”

  Pete nodded. “We’ll take her back to the marina in Marathon.”

  “You sure you don’t need another body?” Jack asked.

  I shook my head. “Just take her back to the marina and be safe. You guys can take the Baia back up to Key West and we’ll meet you there when this is over.”

  Without another word, Ange and I jumped into the truck. After a quick wave through the rain-splattered windshield, I put her in reverse and spun through the mud for half a second before the tires gained traction and shot us backward to the end of the driveway.

  When I reached the main sandy road leading to the beach and parking lot, I turned the wheel sharply counterclockwise, skidding the tires, then put it in drive and floored the gas pedal. Within seconds we were on US-1, heading northeast through the heart of Bahia Honda.

  “Put this on,” I said, reaching to the seat behind me and grabbing the bulletproof vest.

  Ange held it for a second, then said, “Where’s yours?”

  By way of an answer, I pulled down the collar of my soaked tee shirt, revealing the one that I was wearing underneath. As I accelerated us to over sixty miles per hour, Ange tore apart the Velcro with a loud crackling sound and strapped it around her tank top. Reaching behind her seat, she grabbed a fresh towel and dried off her dripping-wet hair.

  “Hold on,” I said as I hit the gas, passing a row of three cars before hopping right back into my lane.

  Hitting a large puddle of water, the Tacoma hydroplaned a little, causing a momentary loss of control before I regained it.

  “Jeez, Logan. You trying to get us killed?”

  “Just gotta catch up. I can see them up ahead. They’re about to get onto the Seven Mile Bridge.”

  The Seven Mile Bridge is the longest bridge in the Keys and would be the best place for Campos to make his move—that was, if he was even in the Keys. Seven miles of two-lane road with nothing but a small railing and water on both sides is a good place to ambush someone. My mind instantly jumped back in time to when Black Venom had done just that, ramming Sam and me off the road and taking us captive.

  A loud lightning strike snapped me from my thoughts, and I saw that Ange was shuffling through the duffle bag.

  “Just my MP5N and an extra Sig, firepower-wise,” I said as I slowed to match the speed of the traffic in front of me.

  I was only two cars behind the convoy by now, a good distance to watch without drawing attention to myself. The drive across the Seven Mile Bridge was slow, as there appeared to be some kind of congestion heading into Marathon. As I stared through the windshield at the torrential rainstorm, I let my mind drift to what Scott and Commander Sprague had said. Maybe I was wrong about Cam
pos. Maybe he was thousands of miles away and had never intended to come back for his loot. I knew that tracking down a guy like him in Mexico wouldn’t be easy, but what choice did I have? The guy had murdered my dad, and he’d tried to kill me too. It would take a while, but I would find him wherever he was and rain painful justice upon him.

  “What in the hell’s going on up there?” Ange asked, snapping me from my thoughts.

  Looking forward through the waterfall that cascaded over my windshield, proving too great of a task for my wipers, I saw that traffic up ahead, about half of a mile from the end of the bridge, was at a standstill. As we drove closer, I saw a big white truck blocking half the road and about five construction workers wearing bright orange vests and helmets directing traffic. There were eight vehicles ahead of us, including the convoy, as we came to a stop.

  I didn’t make the drive up north in the Keys very often. If I had to make a trip to Key Largo, the Everglades or Miami, I almost always took the Baia. Cruising offers more freedom, and I’ve always preferred piloting a boat to driving a car. But I’d heard that traffic could be terrible at times, and though I’d never been caught in construction in the Keys before, I’d heard many stories from the locals.

  “Looks like they’re just letting one lane go at a time,” Ange said, as a row of cars moved slowly towards us in the opposite lane.

  As we waited, I took a look around and watched as a center-console fishing boat passed just beneath us, cruising north under the Florida Keys Overseas Heritage Trail, which ran right alongside US-1. Through the rain, I could see the dark outline of Boot Key to my right and a few buildings on the outskirts of Marathon ahead of us, including the Sunset Grille, one of my favorite seafood places in the Middle Keys.