Predator in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

Dark clouds swept across the sky as Ange and I gathered up our gear. It was 1300 by the time we hopped onto the shore and headed across a long stretch of swampy prairies toward the island. Thunder roared far in the distance. The wind picked up, causing small whitecaps to form even on the narrow river.

  Half an hour later, we reached the shoreline we’d chosen to enter from. A tiny curve in the water and a cluster of thick cypress trees blocked the island from view. But we knew where it was. We’d spent an hour on the boat going over our route. In order to minimize the risk of being seen, we’d need to navigate our way nearly a quarter of a mile through unknown depths and murky water.

  As we donned our gear, we felt the first raindrops. Seconds later, we were being drenched as the heavens opened up, pelting us with thick sheets of water. Thankfully we both zipped up our drysuits just in time. I also had all of my gear, including the hardcase with the tranquilizer gun, stowed in my waterproof bag. The only thing I’d allow to get wet was my Sig, which I strapped to my leg outside my drysuit. The SEALs handgun of choice for years was designed to be fired even underwater if necessary. In all the years I’d shot the handgun, the thousands of rounds I’ve put through it, I’ve never had a misfire. Rain or shine, it’s as reliable as a weapon can get.

  Once we had our drysuits on it was time to set up and don the rebreathers. The beauty of rebreathers is that they’re a closed-loop system, so instead of exhalations bubbling up to the surface, gases breathed out are scrubbed, mixed, and returned to be used as breathable air. It makes the advanced diving apparatus the optimal choice when stealth is a factor. Rebreathers also make buoyancy control in the water much easier, since you don’t constantly bob up and down with each breath cycle. The only downside is they’re far more expensive and complex than scuba gear, requiring a high level of knowledge to operate. I’ve used them for years, and I still occasionally forget to do something in the start-up process.

  It took a few minutes, but once we were done, we strapped them onto each other’s backs. Once the diving apparatuses were ready, we set up our dive computers. The thunder grew louder and mixed with occasional strikes of lightning. Rains continued to slam against us, holding nothing back as the wind pounded the drops against our bodies and gear.

  I smiled as I dummy-checked all of Ange’s hoses, straps, and gauges. We made brief eye contact, and her expression quickly shifted from serious to confused.

  “What could possibly make you so cheery at a time like this?” she said, her Swedish accent stronger than usual.

  “I was just thinking about that island in Tahiti,” I said. “It would sure be nice to be there right now.”

  “Nah,” Ange said sarcastically. “I’d much prefer to be hanging out in a swamp, diving into water with zero viz while heavy rain beats down on me and massive alligators lurk nearby. That sounds much more exciting.”

  I gave a slight laugh.

  “You forgot the serial killers. Relaxing with nothing to do on that island sure looks good. Maybe we’ll head back there. Kick back in a place with a little less trouble.”

  Ange smiled and shook her head.

  “Don’t kid yourself, Dodge. A few months of that lifestyle and you’d be antsy, itching for your piece of some kind of action.”

  She knew me better than anyone else. I’d run into trouble many times in my life. Sometimes it was the product of my looking for it; other times it had fallen in my lap. But one way or another, I’d found myself in dangerous situations time and time again. That was just the way my life had been. I enjoyed it, though. The rush of the chase, the feeling of adrenaline during a fight, and the sense of purpose when you stop evil in its tracks. It’ll get me killed one day if I don’t keep it in check. Maybe one day it’ll fade away and I’ll be… content.

  Ange waded into the water, her boots sinking into the mud with each step. I slid my mask over my face and moved in right beside her.

  It won’t be today. Today we’ll look danger in the eye and show anything but fear.

  We both donned our fins when the muddy water reached our chest. I glanced at my dive computer, which had a built-in compass, to make sure we were oriented in the right direction. We nodded to each other, both took one more look at the world above, then dropped down into murky darkness.

  Moving side by side, we kicked forward and flattened out our bodies. The soft bottom of the river was so close I could stretch out my hand and touch it. Reaching across my body, I pressed a button on my dive computer to illuminate the screen. We were in six feet of water, shallow by diving standards but plenty deep enough to keep ourselves hidden. Staying in line with each other, we took off across the river, finning with smooth strokes.

  Having a plan is an essential part of any dive, recreational or otherwise. This is especially true when diving in water with zero visibility where the depths are unknown. River diving, regardless of how slow-moving the water is, also presents a number of potential hazards, including shifting, unknown obstacles. It was far from an ideal, safe dive, so we’d prepared for it earlier on the boat as best we could before heading out.

  The key to diving when you can’t see anything is being aware of how far you travel with every kick cycle. Different gear configurations yield different results due to weight distribution and drag. Ange and I both knew the approximate distance we traveled with that gear underwater with each cycle. Mine was about twelve feet and hers was about eight, so I kicked softer and she kicked harder so we could stay in line with each other. We had roughly thirteen hundred feet of distance between us and the island, so that meant approximately one hundred and thirty kick cycles. It wouldn’t be exact, but it would give us a pretty good idea of where we were in relation to the island at all times.

  We finned to a rhythm, occasionally adjusting our course to stay in line. The cooler water near the bottom was a welcome relief to the hot, humid air above. I did my best not to think about what deadly creatures could be lurking nearby and tried to focus on each kick and prepare for what I’d do once we reached our destination. We ran into a few branches and navigated around two shallow banks, but for the most part, the dive went smoother than I’d expected. Ten minutes after dropping beneath the water, I counted the final kick cycle. We touched the bottom of a muddy shoreline just moments later.

  I removed my fins, clipped them onto my waist, and snatched my Sig from its holster. Slowly and quietly, we planted our boots and rose up out of the water. Our masks broke the surface at the same time as the barrels of our weapons did. Surprisingly, the rain still splashed down around us, though it was clearly dying down. We stayed still for a few seconds, just barely peeking over the dirty surface while our eyes scanned the mud-lined bank. It was clear of all movement aside from the breeze swaying branches and the tree canopy overhead. There was no sign of life aside from two massive gators sprawled out on the shore. One was lying less than fifty feet in front of us. The other was down the shore a ways.

  I tilted my head, glanced over at Ange, then gave a slight nod of my head. We switched off our rebreathers, then slowly and silently moved out of the water. We rose up onto a patch of grass, and I quickly snatched the hardcase from my waterproof bag. Before removing any of my gear, I opened the case, grabbed the already-loaded tranquilizer gun, and took aim. The closest gator was eyeing us suspiciously. We were just one wrong move away from making the territorial carnivore charge at us, so I wanted to subdue it first thing.

  Ange covered my six as I pulled the trigger. A nearly silent and instantaneous hiss of CO2 launched the dart, sending it flying through the air and stabbing into the center of the gator’s body. The needle punctured deep through the gator’s thick skin, causing it to snap open its jaw and jerk for a few seconds before becoming lifeless in the mud.

  With the closest threat neutralized, we quickly unclipped and slid out of our gear. Once unzipped, the drysuits came off easy, and in less than a minute we were ready to go. We hid everything we wouldn’t need under a tangle of mangroves, then turned to head down the shore
toward the other gator. We couldn’t tell exactly how long its chain leash was but reasoned that there was a good chance it could reach us if we didn’t put it to bed.

  I loaded another dart in the gun, and before we’d taken two steps down the shoreline, Ange nudged me.

  “Remember what Mitch said.” She glanced back at the motionless gator. “Two for the big ones. I’d say these monsters fit the bill.”

  I nodded, turned around, and put another dart in the first gator.

  We kept a sharp eye out for the Harlan brothers as we turned and closed in on the second gator. When we were well within range, I reloaded another dart and sent it flying. The massive gator reacted much like the first had, with a few snarls and quick movements before going still.

  But as I reloaded another dart, it lifted its head and stared straight at us.

  “Logan,” Ange said, watching the creature intently.

  Suddenly, its jaw snapped open and it took off down the shore, sprinting right for us. I’d read that alligators could sprint in short bursts in excess of thirty-five miles per hour. Seeing the massive creature take off sent a chill down my spine as I quickly raised the gun to give it a much-needed second dose of knockout juice.

  I pulled the trigger and heard a quiet click, but nothing happened. The gun had jammed.

  So much for never disappointing.

  I dropped the gun and quickly snatched my Sig. I watched and listened as the angry gator made a beeline straight for us. The rusted chain holding him in place rattled, went taut, then snapped at a weak link.

  You’ve gotta be kidding me.

  I kept my Sig raised and aimed it straight at the fast-moving gator, though I knew that a barrage of 9mm rounds wouldn’t do anything aside from pissing it off even more and alerting anyone on the island to our presence. It closed the gap in a matter of seconds and snapped open its jaw, revealing rows of large jagged teeth. Just as it was about to try and turn me into a snack, Ange lunged from the corner of my eye and slammed the tip of her knife into the top of its head.

  In an instant, the angry carnivore’s eyes shot up into its skull, and it collapsed limply on the mud. Ange withdrew her knife and the gator rolled lifelessly into the water. I kept my Sig aimed at it for a few seconds just to make sure. But it was dead, killed instantly by the sharp tip of Ange’s dive knife.

  We both fell silent and looked around, making sure no one had heard our little scuffle. Ange washed the blood from her knife in the water, slid it back into its sheath, and grabbed her Glock.

  After a few moments, I whispered, “That was a money shot.”

  Killing a large gator isn’t easy. Shooting it in the tail or in the head won’t do anything. Shooting its underbelly might kill it eventually, but won’t help you short-term. But there’s one surefire way to take down a gator, and it’s called the kill spot. Roughly the size of a quarter, the kill spot is located just behind a gator’s skull. Shoot or stab at this spot, at just the right angle, and you can reach their small brains, killing them instantly. But it isn’t easy, especially when the gator’s running full speed.

  I patted her on the shoulder, thanked her for saving me.

  “And to think you were planning on coming alone,” she said.

  We moved up the bank and into the dense jungle. After a few steps, we heard voices coming from the center of the island. They were male. Low, rough baritones. Just like the guy I’d shot and thrown into a sinkhole the previous night. It was the other Harlan brothers, and if they were talking normally, it meant that they didn’t know we were there.

  I paused a moment, eyeing the ground. Ange pushed aside a dense branch and took one step ahead of me. Spotting something strange, I grabbed the back of her right arm and pulled her back to me. She eyed me like I was crazy, then looked down at the ground as well. There was a thin, nearly impossible to see fishing line strung out just above the sand and dirt. Following the line, I saw that one end was tied off to a tree trunk and the other to a metal device covered with leaves. An explosive of some kind.

  Ange gasped. “I guess now we’re even.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Maybe you should go first,” Ange said, taking a step back.

  Her gaze was still glued to the booby trap in front of us.

  “What happened to ladies first?” I said with a smile.

  I dropped down to one knee and lowered my head under the brush line for a better look.

  “Get with the times,” she said jokingly. “That’s sexist talk these days.”

  I shook my head, cracked a little smile. Opening doors for women and letting them go first was a part of me that would never change, regardless of the times. But if she insisted, I’d take the lead given the circumstances.

  I leaned forward carefully, examining the booby trap. It looked like a typical tripwire mechanism. The taut fishing line most likely led to some form of fragmentation or bouncing mine. I’d encountered and been trained on how to disarm a tripwire explosive. Given the highly advanced and sophisticated nature of the US military, we’d oftentimes resorted to using Silly String to spot tripwires during missions in the forested regions of Iraq. The lightweight strings would settle on the ground in areas with no wire and would rest on taut wires without being heavy enough to trigger the explosive.

  Since I didn’t have the proper tools to disarm it and we wanted to move fast, we opted for the “carefully stepping over the line” method.

  “I’ve never been more thankful for your good eyes,” Ange said after we carefully traversed it.

  We moved slowly, keeping a sharp eye out for any more traps. As I’d expected, these guys had a few tricks up their sleeves. They weren’t inept, that much was clear. Murdering criminals, yes, but not dumb. That was how they’d been so successful all these years, how they’d managed to kill and sell drugs without being caught.

  I raised a hand and we both froze as voices emanated from the center of the island once more. They were louder, though not loud enough to understand. We were getting closer.

  “Would you look at that?” Ange whispered. She pointed to our left at what looked like a small footpath that cut right through the dense foliage. “Not exactly a yellow brick road, but it’ll work.”

  I smiled and we both carefully stepped over to it. Since we were close to the center of the island and now had an easy route to follow, I grabbed my sat phone and called Jack.

  “They’re here,” I said quietly. “Time to spook these pests.” I paused a moment, then added, “Steer clear of the land for now. It’s rigged with traps.”

  “Roger that,” Jack said. “T-minus one minute to game time.”

  The second I hung up, I started the stopwatch on my dive watch. Bent low and hunched out of sight, we closed in. The path was narrow and zigzagged a few times, but we didn’t run into any more traps. The thick tangles of brush gave way at the center of the island, revealing a clearing. We dropped down near the base of the tree and leaned around for a better look.

  A few hundred feet from us, we could see a pair of long, skinny tin roofs that were covered in overgrown vines. In the distance, I saw a large covered dome with a door. We’d reached their hideout, but the voices had died off, so there was no way of knowing where they were.

  I glanced down at my dive watch. Just as the counting numbers hit sixty, I heard the sound of an engine start up in the distance. It grew louder and louder within seconds as the airboat flew toward the island from the east. The sounds of voices returned. They were slightly muffled, but we could make out what they were saying.

  “Get the fuck up there and take them out!” a loud, powerful voice yelled.

  Ange and I were kneeling beside each other, our handguns scanning over the hideout. We’d heard them but couldn’t see them. It was like they were ghosts.

  What the hell is going on?

  “You see an—” Ange said, then cut herself off in an instant.

  A tall, round-bellied man wearing a cutoff camo shirt and torn-up muddy jeans suddenly app
eared out of nowhere. He was clearly one of the brothers, the one I hadn’t seen yet. Unlike his bald-headed kin, he had short dark hair with an ugly receding hairline and a long scraggly beard. He wore a serious expression on his face and gave a loud grunt as he moved toward something out of view. He looked like he had a knee injury due to the way he labored and struggled to run. In his hands, he gripped what looked like a Thompson submachine gun.

  “Shit!” Ange said.

  We both locked on to him with our pistols. But as quickly as he’d appeared, he vanished behind a row of branches and bushes. We couldn’t see where he’d gone, but his intentions were clear. He was planning to take down our backup on the approaching airboat.

  “Come on!” I said.

  Before the words left my lips, we were both sprinting in a low crouch along the edge of the camp. We kept our eyes forward, taking intermittent glances just in case the other brother decided to make a move on us. By the time we got a clear view of the long-bearded guy, he was halfway up the trunk of a large cypress tree, using blocks of wood they’d nailed in place to create a ladder.

  He reached a small platform thirty feet in the air, situated where two branches intersected side by side into the trunk. It was like a duck blind, covered with green growth in all places aside from a wide window that had a clear view of the river.

  The sound of the airboat’s engine and propeller were getting louder with every second. They were closing in on the island. We took cover behind a large stump and watched as the big guy lifted his Tommy gun, the tip of the barrel visible through the opening.

  The jig was up. It was time for us to make our presence known.

  Before he had the gun butt against his shoulder, Ange and I both opened fire. We each sent a single round splintering through the side of the platform. The brother groaned, dropped the gun, and lost his balance. The force from the rounds forced his body sideways. He toppled over the side, letting out a primal yell as he went into a free fall. His big pudgy frame spun twice before slamming hard into the ground.