Wild Gold

by Tripp Ellis

I pushed all those thoughts out of my brain. They were neither here nor there. There was nothing I could really do about it, anyway. I either would, or wouldn't, be convicted of felonious assault. The studio would either be successful in their $4.5 million suit, or they wouldn't. My life had bottomed out before and I had clawed my way back. No matter what happened, I knew I would pick myself back up again. Adversity only makes the spirit grow stronger, right?

  At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

  Life is a never-ending series of challenges, until you reach the final one, which is insurmountable. I tried not to let myself take such a dim worldview. But it is that unsavory eventuality that gives the present moment its power and worth. Savor every moment, I kept reminding myself.

  I planned to do just that.

  That afternoon, Jack and I took the Vivere to Barracuda Key Island, then headed north. It was a perfect afternoon. Deep blue sky, with a few clouds lingering overhead—but nothing ominous. Not yet. There was another tropical depression out there, threatening to meander our way. The tracking models looked like a bowl of spaghetti, each one projecting a different landfall. I was keeping an eye on it. The last thing we needed was another hurricane. The island was just now starting to bounce back. But today, the water was calm, and the breeze was cool.

  JD unpacked the sonar drone from its secure case, then launched it into the water. He used his cell phone to program the search pattern and let the automated drone do the work. Afterward, he tossed me an ice cold beer from a cooler. The bottle hissed as he twisted the top. We clinked in a toast, "To sunken treasure!"

  We sat in the aft deck, enjoying the serenity as the Vivere rolled with the gentle swells. JD watched the screen of his cell phone intently as the advanced sonar provided images of the ocean floor.

  I was starting to care a little more about finding the treasure. At first it had just been an adventure to pass the time. Now, I couldn't help but think about how it might solve a few cash flow problems. But actually finding the treasure would create another set of problems.

  We grabbed the fishing rods and cast our lines into the deep blue water—a little something to occupy ourselves while the drone did its work. We spent the afternoon on the water, getting a few nibbles here and there, coming up empty-handed on the sonar.

  After a few hours, JD recovered the drone, and we decided to search another area. We weighed anchor and cruised across the water as the sun hovered on the horizon. The sky looked majestic, painted in pastel hues of pink, purple, and orange. Gulls squawked overhead.

  "One more spot, and we’ll call it an evening," JD said.

  He manned the helm and cruised the Vivere a little farther north. We redeployed the sonar drone, and I twisted open another bottle of beer.

  "It's a process," Jack said. "I don't expect to find this right away, but if we keep looking, eventually we’ll cover every inch of seafloor in this area. It's gotta turn up sometime,"

  "If it exists at all," I said.

  Jack frowned at me. "It exists. I know it."

  "There is a distinct possibility that Jacques De La Fontaine is embellishing his own accomplishments. Maybe there is no treasure? What if his ship never sank? What if he went to the grave sending us all on a wild goose chase?"

  Jack shrugged.

  "Hell, it could be buried on one of these islands!”

  "There are other sources that confirm the Black Rose went down."

  "And we have no way of knowing if these other sources are accurate or where they got their information from."

  “Negativity will get you nowhere," JD said. "You need to think positively."

  "I'm thinking positively. I'm just also a realist. Entertaining the possibility that the treasure doesn't exist is something we must consider."

  Jack scowled at me. "Where is the fun in that?"

  I conceded. "You're right. I'm down to search as long as you are."

  We clinked bottles again and watched the sky turn dark.

  The Vivere bobbed on the swells in the inky blackness till well after 9 PM. Nothing notable appeared on sonar, and we got nothing more than a few nibbles on our lines. Jack suggested we get back to Coconut Key in time to prowl Oyster Avenue.

  I had to admit, the idea of visiting Dita at Forbidden Fruit was rolling around in the back of my mind. How could it not be? Dita was funny, adventuresome, and her beauty was mesmerizing. I'm sure she came with more drama than a community theater, but in the short term, it could be interesting.

  We weighed anchor again, and Jack took the helm. He arced the boat around, heading back toward Coconut Key. I sat in the lounge in the aft deck, watching the frothy white wake fade into the abyss. We'd only been cruising for a few minutes when something on the port side caught my attention.

  I sprang from the lounge, sprinted into the salon, and grabbed a pair of night vision opticals from a storage compartment. Jack had slowly been rebuilding our arsenal. Our Draeger re-breathers had been aboard the Wild Tide when it was stolen. We lost several guns, magazines, tactical accessories, you name it. The theft completely wiped us out in that regard. I don't know who his connection was, but Jack had acquired two more Draegers, and a crate of fragmentation grenades, smoke canisters, and NODs (night vision optical devices). We were almost back to our previous capacity, minus the sniper rifle. I had built another AR 15 with an ambidextrous billet lower, an FCX upper with a 14.5 inch barrel with a flash suppressor that was pinned and welded to bring the weapon to a legal 16 inches. It had a SOPMOD stock, IR laser sighting, tactical flashlight, titanium pins, and a Pro X7 trigger. It would do everything but wipe your ass.

  I dashed back to the aft deck brought the opticals to my eyes. The NODs illuminated the darkness, and I was able to clearly see what was happening out there.

  I knew I needed to contact Sheriff Daniels right away.

  25

  A semi-submersible hovered on the water line, its deck barely visible. The small conning tower protruded from the water like a shark fin. Several men stood on the deck and heaved bags from a cargo area, tossing them aboard a neighboring boat.

  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on.

  The boat receiving the merchandise was a 35 foot sportfish. The name was painted across the transom: Bling Bling.

  My jaw dropped.

  It was Chuck Carson's boat!

  I moved back into the salon and filled Jack in on the details. I told him to keep moving and act like we hadn’t witnessed a crime in progress.

  I called Sheriff Daniels and told him about the situation. He said he'd meet us at the Pirates Cove Marina with the Coast Guard. That’s where the Bling Bling would be headed.

  Chuck Carson was already on the move. By the time the Coast Guard got out here, the Bling Bling would be long gone. We’d nab Chuck as he pulled back into his slip at the marina.

  Once we were out of sight, JD cut the engines and let the Vivere drift. We killed the running lights and waited, floating in the inky blackness.

  15 minutes later, the Bling Bling cruised by, several hundred yards away on the port side. The boat raced across the water on plane, oblivious to the Vivere floating in the darkness.

  JD cranked up the engines and we followed.

  Our large vessel was no match for the faster sportfish. The thugs that offloaded the contraband from the semi-submersible would get away, but I was more interested in Chuck Carson.

  By the time we made it to the Pirates Cove Marina, the Coast Guard had already boarded the Bling Bling. Daniels stood on the dock, overseeing the operation.

  Jack pulled the Vivere into an empty slip, and I tied off the lines. We crossed the gangway and jogged down the dock to greet the sheriff. The Coast Guard had Chuck and Ivy in the cockpit, handcuffed, while they searched the boat.

  "You're not going to believe this," Daniels said. “Take a look.” He nodded toward several black duffel bags sitting on the deck.

  "I'm telling you, it's perfectly legal," Chuck said.


  "Not if you don't claim it with customs when importing," a Coast Guard officer quipped.

  I scaled the transom of the Bling Bling and opened one of the bags. I couldn't believe my eyes. Each bag contained crudely smelted bars of gold bullion. They were stamped and numbered. Each 1 kg bar was currently valued at $48,026.76.

  There were hundreds of bars.

  JD's eyes rounded. "That would solve your money problems."

  "Indeed, it would,” I said.

  "I have a certificate of origin. Everything is perfectly legit," Chuck said.

  "That's why you're out there in the middle of the night, unloading this stuff from a drug sub," I said, dryly.

  The Coast Guard confiscated the gold bullion, then turned Chuck and Ivy over to the sheriff. The perps were stuffed into the back of a patrol car and we followed Daniels down to the station. The two were separated and put into interrogation rooms.

  Sweat sprouted on Carson's forehead.

  JD and I sat across the table from him.

  The importation of illegal gold was a massive problem in South Florida. The operations were often controlled by narco-traffickers and guerrilla groups in Latin America. The gold came from illegal mines that wreaked havoc on the local environment, spewing toxic chemicals into rivers and lakes, poisoning local populations. Slave labor was often used, and sex trafficking rings were prevalent around mining areas.

  "Where does the gold come from?" I asked, having my suspicions.

  "Like I said. It's legit. It’s certified conflict free gold."

  "Then why not declare it and bring it in legally?"

  Chuck didn't have an answer. "I want to speak with my attorney."

  "That's your prerogative. But I think you're in a lot more trouble than you realize." I paused for a moment. "Then again, maybe you do realize just how much trouble you're in. Who does that gold belong to?"

  I technically had to stop asking him questions once he asked for an attorney, but I let him stew in his own juices for a moment. His eyes darted about the room nervously, and the amount of sweat on his forehead grew.

  "If I talk. I need protection for me and my family."

  "Protection from whom?”

  His face tensed. There was a long moment of silence as he contemplated the lesser of two evils. "I need protection from the people who killed my wife."

  That hung in the air for moment.

  "Go on,” I said.

  “Look, I tried to get out of this, but I couldn't. You have to understand," he pleaded. His brow knitted with worry. "The business was failing. We needed the cash influx. It was only supposed to be a one time deal. Then we got addicted to the money. That's when Olivia's custom jewelry took off. The business skyrocketed, and we didn't need to do this anymore. I wanted out. So did she. Killing her was a warning."

  “From whom?”

  He hesitated for a long moment. "You have to guarantee me and my daughter protection."

  "What about Ivy?" JD asked.

  "Of course, Ivy too,” he said, scowling at Jack.

  "Fernando Gallo."

  My jaw dropped.

  "I've only met him a few times. He coordinates the shipments. I pick them up. The invoices and the certificates are all faked. I sell the gold to a refinery that melts it down and turns it into bracelets, rings, earrings, watches, you name it. I take my cut, and the money goes back to Gallo."

  "Do you know where it goes from there?"

  Chuck grimaced. "I don't ask questions. But I know where it goes. The gold comes from Venezuela, and that's where the money goes back to."

  My jaw tensed. Venezuela was using illegal mines to fund the regime since the collapse of their oil empire.

  "Do you know how many people get harmed in this process?" I asked.

  "I did what I needed to do to feed my family at the time. It was a mistake."

  "And you’ll testify to all of this?" JD asked.

  "You keep me safe and put me in a witness relocation program… Absolutely. I just want out."

  I was pretty sure we could get the DA to agree to a deal. But the main thing was keeping Chuck alive long enough to testify. I had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t last a day in general population. Even in the protective custody unit at the county jail, Chuck would be vulnerable. A man like Gallo had unlimited resources. If what Chuck said was true, Gallo was dangerous.

  And I had slept with his girlfriend.

  26

  Daniels had a shit-eating grin on his face when we told him about Gallo’s suspected involvement. His main political rival was now tied to a kingpin with an illegal gold importation business. Not exactly the thing that makes political careers.

  "There's one slight problem," I said. "We may have persuaded Fernando Gallo to make a donation to your campaign as well."

  Daniels’s grin faded. "Why would you do something like that?"

  I shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time."

  "I think there's enough here to get a warrant for Gallo’s arrest," Daniels said. "I'll talk to the DA and call the federal marshals. If it looks like we've got a deal, the marshals will take custody of Chuck and handle his protection. In the meantime, find his daughter. Take her over to the Seven Seas, and I'll assign a deputy to stand watch. When she's secure, we’ll ready the tactical team and take Gallo down." Daniels could barely contain himself.

  He could smell election victory.

  I ran into Denise as we strolled through the station, heading toward the exit. The fiery redhead's eyes blazed into me. "I'm mad at you."

  "What did I do now?"

  "When I said we should keep things professional, I didn't mean that we should cut off all communication!"

  "We still talk?"

  "Yeah, but not like we used to."

  I grimaced, unsure of how to proceed. "You wanted to stop hanging out casually. I took that to mean no more invitations to happy hour. No more non-professional phone calls."

  "We're still friends, aren't we?"

  "Of course, we are." I sighed. "I didn't want to blur the lines."

  "I don't want to blur the lines either. It doesn't mean we can’t have a drink sometimes."

  "You told me you didn’t want to have drinks anymore," I said, frustrated.

  She shrugged and looked at the floor, then meekly said, "Well, maybe I didn't mean it."

  I rolled my eyes.

  "I mean, maybe, possibly, I miss you, a little?"

  I took a deep breath, then conceded, "I miss you too... a little."

  She tried to hide a smile. "So, it's settled. We can be friends, and we can hang out from time to time. We just won't… you know…"

  "Try to bang each other?" JD interjected.

  She scowled at him and smacked his arm.

  "Careful, you'll get fired for talking like that," I said.

  Denise rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying, you don't have to avoid me like the plague."

  I smiled. "Good to know."

  She spun around and sauntered down the hallway, somehow making that polyester uniform look inviting.

  I called Sarah Carson before we left the station and told her we were coming to pick her up and put her in a protected environment.

  "What's going on?" she asked, her voice heavy with concern.

  I told her that we had arrested her father and gave her the details of his involvement in Fernando Gallo's criminal operation.

  "Uh, okay," she stammered. "I'll pack a bag."

  "We'll be there in 10 minutes."

  I hung up the phone, and we strolled through the parking lot to the lizard-green Porsche. A few moments later, we pulled to the curb at Sarah Carson's apartment complex. She greeted us out front with a small roller-bag in tow. I tossed it into the trunk, then held the door for her as she climbed into the passenger seat.

  A confused look twisted on her face. "What are you going to do?"

  "I'll catch a cab over to the Seven Seas."

  Her face scrunched up. "I can sit on your lap. It's no
t a big deal."

  I’d feel better if you were buckled in," I said.

  "If you say so, but you don't know what you're missing," she added with a wink and a flirty smile.

  I chuckled and waved as JD launched away from the curb.

  I caught a cab over to the Seven Seas, and by the time I arrived, JD had already secured a private cabana that opened to the beach. The hotel had imported fluffy white sand that was soft underfoot, unlike the crunchy shell beaches that were prevalent in the area.

  "Are you sure the cabana is such a good idea," I asked as I explored the room. I hovered by the sliding glass door that led to the ocean.

  "Nobody knows she's here,” Jack said. “There will be a deputy out front all night. Besides, it's what Sarah wanted."

  "I'll be fine,” Sarah insisted. "It's not really that big of a deal is it?"

  A first floor room with a sliding glass door wasn't the most secure area in the world.

  "I have her registered under a fictitious name," JD assured. "I don't think there's anything to worry about.” Then he said to Sarah, “This is just a precaution.”

  "I trust your judgment." She frowned, and a long sigh escaped her lips. "I can't believe this is really happening. Is my life really in danger?"

  "We believe that Gallo, or more likely his men, killed your mother in an attempt to keep your father in the business of importing illegal gold," I said.

  She had a horrified look on her face. The muscles in her jaw flexed. "I can't believe he would do such a thing."

  "We need you to stay here,” I said. “Don't go out of the room. That means don't go to the beach, don't go to the pool, don't go to the restaurant, don't go to the bar. Just let the deputy on duty know whatever you need. He'll vet room service and the cleaning staff before he allows anyone into the room. The main thing is that you stay safe and under the radar. Your dad needs to feel comfortable testifying against Gallo. Without your father, we don't have a case."

  Sarah nodded.

  I called Daniels and let him know Sarah was in position. He sent Deputy Reyes to take over. I introduced the two and told Sarah to call me if she needed anything.