Revenge in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  I moved towards his dying body, my boots sinking into the wet sand. As I got closer, I realized that my knife had sliced straight through his heart and that he would only have a few more seconds before it was all over. He struggled for every breath. Blood spilled out from his mouth. His eyes looked at me one more time before he took one final breath and closed them forever. His shaking body went limp, and his head dropped back onto the sand.

  I stepped towards him, knelt down beside his corpse and removed my knife. As I rose back to my feet, I looked off in the distance at the sheets of rain and whitecapped ocean. The Revenge suddenly appeared into view, cruising around from the northern side of the island. Jack was still standing on the bow, his Desert Eagle raised and aiming my direction. When he realized that I was still alive and that Pedro was dead at my feet, he lowered the weapon.

  I looked one last time at Pedro’s corpse and thought about my dad and the countless others Pedro had murdered. No more, I thought. Their entire drug-running operation was over, and neither he nor his brother would hurt anyone else ever again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “This feels like déjà vu,” Charles said, smiling up at me as he lay on a hospital bed with a stack of three white pillows behind his back. “You know, except this time it’s me in the hospital.”

  I laughed. “I made off pretty lucky this time around. Dr. Patel just gave me a few stitches and then that was it. I’m glad to see you’re healing up well.”

  Fortunately, the bullet had lodged into Charles’s chest without hitting an organ or an artery, so the doctor said he should be out of the hospital in just a few days.

  Charles shook his head. “It’s not luck, Logan.”

  “Well, if you need anything, just give me a call,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “Jack, Ange, and I will be going to work exploring the U-boat.”

  As I moved for the door, he said, “Thanks for taking down Pedro.” I turned around and he added, “You were right, and he’d probably have gotten away without you.”

  My eyebrows rose high into my forehead and I said, “I was right? I might need to get that recorded.” He laughed and I continued as I turned back for the door, “Just get back on your feet. Key West needs its sheriff.”

  After a few days of late-night celebrating, we went back to work on the wreck, further exploring and striving to identify it. Professor Murchison proved incredibly helpful as both a source of knowledge and as a diver, joining us on our expeditions at least once every week. He encouraged me to get in contact with the divers who had identified U-869. After getting ahold of them and spending a few hours on the phone, I learned how they’d identified the wreck by finding a small box of spare parts in the engine room. It was this information that soon brought a successful end to our quest.

  Using the ROVs to explore the insides had been informative, but we hadn’t been able to bring any artifacts to the surface. Though there were ROVs with robotic arms and carrying capabilities, none of them were small enough to fit inside.

  After spending weeks down at the wreck, Jack and I had found a way to swim inside the hull. The aft escape trunk had been damaged to the point where it was inoperable, and the forward trunk was too small for us to enter with all our gear. However, based on the diagrams, the trunk built into the conning tower would theoretically be just big enough for us to swim through—provided it too hadn’t been seriously damaged.

  It took us a few days to clean off all of the grime and sediment from the trunk. Professor Murchison showed us design plans for the model XXI, showing us how the trunks were designed to be able to be opened from the outside of the hull in the event of an emergency.

  Less than a week after penetrating the hull, we searched the engine room and found a small metal box of parts. Returning to the surface with it, we gathered around and washed it off.

  “There it is,” I said, staring at a series of numbers that were visible after the grime was washed away. “U-3546.”

  The stern of the Calypso erupted into a chorus of loud cheers as we celebrated the milestone. Pete came out of the salon with bottles of champagne, and the rest of the evening was a wild blur after we returned to the marina. The celebration continued long into the night, and when it was over, Ange and I crashed together in the main cabin of the Baia.

  It had been two months to the day since I’d killed Pedro on Molasses Key, and we had our wreck. Professor Murchison did heavy research on our new discovery, even traveling to Germany and parts of France, but could find very little information about the U-boat or its mission. Nowhere in all of the Nazi records and volumes that remained since the war was there any mention of U-3546 ever being commissioned.

  Finding a lost German U-boat doesn’t happen often, and it always gets global attention from news outlets. But finding one that nobody even knew existed was another thing entirely. I’d received more attention than I desired from the discovery of the Intrepid, the ship that had sunk south of the Marquesas Keys while transporting the Aztec treasure. And I was determined to ensure that any article written about the U-boat mentioned Owen Dodge and Joseph Campbell as the discoverers and Mobile Diving and Salvage Unit Two as the salvagers. Few people outside of some of the locals in the Keys knew that I’d been involved at all, and I preferred it that way.

  As for the metal box and all of its contents, it eventually did reach the US Treasury Department building in Birmingham. Once there, all of the diamonds and cash were assessed and then appropriated by the US government. I never got an exact figure as to how much the loot was worth, but Scott told me that he’d learned that it was pretty close to the fifty million dollars we’d estimated.

  Ange and I spent Christmas and New Year’s in the Keys, which marked the first time I’d celebrated the holiday season in the Keys since I was thirteen years old. Key West is a wild and crazy town, and the holiday season is no different. The city transitioned into a colorful and festive tropical paradise in the weeks leading up to December 25.

  Coconut trees and palm trees were decked with Christmas lights and holiday cheer. Bright red stockings hung from fence posts, wreaths strung with ornaments covered doorways, and ribbon-wrapped bicycles pedaled by in the busy streets. The Beach Boys’ “Little Saint Nick” and Bing Crosby’s “Mele Kalikimaka” echoed across the air, combined with the happy laughs and glees of carefree, alcohol induced pedestrians. Ange and I especially enjoyed watching Coast Guard boats cruise by and illuminate the tropical night sky with brightly-colored lights in the annual Lighted Boat Parade.

  For New Year’s, we moored just off Islamorada, watched the fireworks show and listened to the live music from Pierre’s Restaurant and Morada Bay Café. Ange and I sprawled out on the Baia’s sunbed and drank tequila out of the bottle while watching the vibrant explosions light up the night sky. We stayed out in the sunbed long into the night, talking about everything and anything for hours after the final fireworks went off. I thought about the previous year and how so much had changed in my life. Looking forward, I couldn’t help but wonder at the adventures that 2009 would bring.

  Near the end of January, Ange and I ran the Key West Half Marathon. The popular race starts right beside the Conch Harbor Marina, runs south through downtown, cuts east at the southernmost point marker, then runs along the waterfront to the turnaround at Cow Key, where the course loops back to the starting point.

  I’d spent months leading up to the race following an intense training regimen alongside Ange, and I was confident that I had a shot at winning. Unfortunately, a few professional long-distance runners from Kenya had signed up at the last minute. I kept up with them for the first nine miles before they broke away from me, their lean bodies gliding across the pavement effortlessly.

  I met them after the race, and they told me that I’d put up a strong fight. I knew that they were just being polite though, given how I’d finished in third place. I ran across the finish line a solid five minutes behind them, with a final time of one hour, twenty-three minutes and thirty
-six seconds. Ange, however, finished first among the women with a time of just under an hour and thirty minutes. I didn’t hear the end of it for over a week.

  The race took place less than a week after US Airways Flight 1549 landed in the Hudson, in an act that quickly became known as the “Miracle on the Hudson”. After the race, we headed over to Pete’s place and watched as our country elected its first black president into office. We were still in January, and the year had already kicked off with an interesting and historic start.

  On February 12, Ange and Jack surprised me with a party at Salty Pete’s to celebrate my thirty-second birthday. He had a buffet of my favorite seafood sprawled out on tables on the balcony, including seemingly endless lobster, grouper, and shrimp cocktail. Scott even made it down for a few hours, and we all enjoyed the food and drinks while listening to live music by the Wayward Suns, a band I’d heard live a few times and was quickly becoming one of my favorite bands.

  After getting everyone’s attention, Pete and Oz rolled out a cart with a massive U-boat cake, covered in what seemed like too many burning candles. After blowing them out, I gave a toast to all the lost sailors aboard U-3546 and every other submarine lost to the sea. The heroes entombed by the sea on eternal patrol.

  After the food and dessert were finished and it was well past midnight, I thanked Pete and everyone who’d showed up and then Ange drove my intoxicated butt back to my house on Palmetto Street. A few trips to the local hardware store and a week’s worth of sweat had returned my home to its formal glory. Due to the happy trigger fingers of Campos’s goons, I had to replace two of the living room windows and patch up the walls, which had been riddled with bullet holes.

  Once we arrived, I chugged three large glasses of coconut water, the best hangover remedy I’d ever tried, and met Ange out on my terrace. We sat on the hammock together and watched the stars and their reflections on the calm water below.

  “Well, what’s next, Captain Dodge?” Ange said, shooting me that sexy smile that always managed to take my breath away.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s been four months since we found the U-boat and took down the Campos brothers. So, what’s next?”

  I laughed. “You make it sound like I go looking for trouble. The truth is, it usually finds me. At least, ever since I moved here.”

  “Well, I hope something happens soon. We could use a little more excitement around here.”

  I shook my head. “We live in a tropical paradise. We go diving on the reefs, wrecks and ledges every week. We catch fresh lobster, spearfish and enjoy some of the best restaurants in the country.” I took in a deep breath of the fresh Caribbean air and let it all out, emphasizing my relaxed island mood. “I think I’m enjoying this laid-back lifestyle we’ve had these past months. And I think I could sure as hell get used to it.”

  I took a few sips of my coconut water, then looked out over the dark ocean and the star-covered night sky above.

  “Yeah, right,” Ange said. “The Logan Dodge I know doesn’t stay still for long.” She stood up, looked out over the water, then placed a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s just not lose the edge, okay? I’ve got a feeling something’s coming on the horizon.”

  I smiled as she wrapped her hands softly around my neck and leaned in close. “Maybe you’re right, Ange.”

  EPILOGUE

  A few days after my birthday, I was sitting on the sunbed on the Baia, reading a book and enjoying the afternoon sun, when I spotted a familiar boat pull into the marina. It was early afternoon, with the sun shining down from directly overhead and a nice steady breeze blowing in from the east.

  It was seventy-five degrees with not a cloud in the sky, and the marina had been bustling with activity all day. It seemed that there was a never-ending stream of pleasure boaters, fishermen, jet skiers, paddleboarders, and the ferries running to and from Dry Tortugas. But this boat was the first to cause me to lower my book down onto my lap, drawing all of my attention.

  It was a sleek, fancy-looking yacht with a shiny dark blue hull and brilliant white trim. It had a similar design to my Baia, though it was bigger and much more expensive. Before it had even cruised close to a temporary mooring space at the end of the dock, I knew that it was a fifty-two-foot Regal. An extremely high-end yacht.

  I folded the corner of the page I was on, then set my book aside. Reaching into my nearby Yeti, I pulled out a coconut water and sat up on the sunbed. As I took a few sips, I watched the yacht ease up against the dock and tie off. A woman and a young girl jumped over the gunwale and tied the mooring lines around the cleats.

  I smiled as I watched them, unable to believe that it could be the same yacht that I’d last seen on Loggerhead Key, crashed against the beach with her hull covered in bullet holes and cracked to shreds from the nearby reefs.

  Less than ten minutes after pulling in, Chris, his wife and their two daughters walked down the dock towards me, heading for the shore. Chris Hale was an attorney from Miami whose family had been hunted down by Benito Salazar, following his escape from prison. Salazar was a notorious Cuban gang leader, and Chris had played a pivotal role in making sure he was sentenced to life in prison.

  His yacht had crashed against Loggerhead Key, and I’d just happened to be cruising by the island when I had seen the wreck and heard gunshots. After fighting off all of Salazar’s thugs on the island, coming inches away from biting it multiple times, I’d managed to get the young family out of it alive. Scott and I had tracked down Salazar a few days later, killing him as he tried to shoot us and sending his corpse to a watery grave in over three hundred feet of water.

  I hadn’t seen Chris or any member of his family since the incident over six months earlier and was surprised when they pulled into the marina. The four of them walked briskly over the cypress planks. Upon seeing me, the two girls ran for the boat.

  “Logan!” Alex screamed.

  She was the youngest of the two at thirteen but was already taller than her mom. Both girls had their mother’s brunette hair and hazel eyes. They were wearing sunglasses, shorts and flip-flops.

  “Girls,” Chris said, quickening his pace to catch up to them. “Remember proper boating etiquette.”

  The two girls froze and smiled at me as I rolled over onto the deck.

  “Captain Dodge,” Alex said. “Request to come aboard.”

  I laughed and said, “Come on over.”

  The two girls jumped onto the swim platform, then up over the transom with light steps. I held my arms open and they ran into me, laughing and telling me how good it was to see me.

  “It’s good to see you too,” I said as we came apart and I got a good look at them.

  I was amazed at how much older they looked since I’d last seen them. Jordan, who I later learned had recently turned sixteen, looked more like a young woman than a young girl. “Alex, how much taller are you gonna grow?”

  She smiled and said, “Hopefully a few more inches. I’m a middle hitter now.”

  “Volleyball,” I said, nodding.

  “She’s very good,” Chris said, having reached the boat alongside his wife. “They both are.”

  Chris was wearing one of those nice ball caps, the kind you usually see golfers wear, along with a pair of sunglasses, a blue polo shirt, plaid shorts, and a black backpack over one shoulder. His wife Cynthia was wearing a vibrant purple sundress and stylish but simple brown sandals.

  “Well, we should play sometime,” I said. “I’m not terrible myself.”

  I’d enjoyed playing beach volleyball while I was stationed in California and had been looking to get a group together on occasion.

  “It’s good to see you, Logan,” Cynthia said, smiling as I stepped onto the dock and greeted her and her husband.

  “It’s good to see you all too,” I said. Then I glanced over at their yacht and added, “I see you replaced your Regal.”

  “It’s the same one, actually,” Jordan said.

  I smiled and shook my
head, turning to Chris, “Exactly how much money do you make, anyway? Must have cost more to fix her than replace her.”

  He laughed. “Actually, the insurance covered most of the damage.”

  “Well, what brings you to Key West?”

  The girls chimed in, telling me how their great-uncle had died and they were on their way back from Pensacola, where his funeral had taken place.

  “We had to fill up the tank,” Chris said.

  “We were hoping we might see you too,” Jordan added.

  “Well, I’m glad you pulled in,” I said. “I’ll get Gus to fill her up. You guys hungry?”

  The five of us headed down the dock, then along towards the Greasy Pelican for lunch. On the way there, I popped my head into the office and asked Gus if he could fill up the Regal over at temporary slip three. Chris handed him enough money to handle a day’s moorage and enough diesel to top of his yacht, but Gus only took the money for the fuel.

  “A friend of Logan is a friend of mine,” he said. “The moorage is on the house.”

  Chris thanked him, and we made our way to the large covered outdoor patio that extended right over the water in front of the restaurant. Lucy, my favorite waitress at the Pelican, came out and got our orders, and we were soon enjoying each other’s company while feasting on some of the best seafood in the Keys.

  I texted Ange, who’d been running errands in town, and she showed up just as the main courses were being set on the table. She was wearing a pair of skintight jean shorts that complemented her legs well and a white tank top. Her hair was tied back, and she was wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses and flip-flops on her feet.

  The two girls stared at her as she stepped out onto the patio. It was the usual response people gave when they saw her for the first time.