~~~
THE COURTROOM WAS STUFFED like a Bahamian pig. The jury had not entered yet but Campinera sat in the defendant’s seat scanning the crowd. He saw me and smiled. I sat between Hawk and Katie. Vicky still hadn’t shown up. We had not heard from her since Hawk and I went fishing.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find AUSA Arnez standing in the aisle. He motioned for me to follow him outside.
When we reached the hallway he said, “I thought you should know before court convenes. Bad news. It’s about Vicky.”
“What’s bad about it?”
Arnez stared at the floor. “She’s dead.”
I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and looked Arnez in the eye. “What happened?”
He looked away and said, “She was called into a drug bust in South Beach. The lead came through Dino Bachero’s unit. It was a trap and Vicky was shot in the back of the head.”
I felt my blood pressure rise, did a slow count to ten and grabbed his shoulders. “Are you sure?”
“I got a call early this morning.”
I looked at the courtroom door. “Campinera’s people involved?”
Arnez continued avoiding eye contact. He shrugged loose, gathered himself and said, “Campinera will appeal if the verdict is guilty. He’s eliminating obstacles in advance.”
“Like the attack in Key West?”
Arnez said, “We can’t prove it, but we believe Campinera contracted the hit. Watch your back, Charley. Let’s go in to hear the verdict.”
I shook my head while my insides burned with anger. I stayed in the hall for a bit. Vicky’s dead? No… I don’t believe it. There’s more going on here and I’ll find out what it is.
~~~
JUDGE RODNEY SIMONS strode into the courtroom and plopped into his chair, motioning all to be seated. Defense Attorney Michaels remained standing and said, “Your Honor, I have just received some information about the Assistant U.S. Attorney that you should hear before continuing this trial.”
The judge gave Michaels a stern look. “This is highly irregular, Counselor. The jury has reached a verdict and will enter my courtroom as soon as I call them. It better be good.”
“Oh, it’s good, Your Honor. Mr. Arnez has outstanding debts owed my client. A conflict of interest that prevents Mr. Campinera from receiving a fair trial.”
Arnez face turned crimson. Judge Simons glared at both attorneys and said, “Counselors, please approach the bench.”
I was seated in the first row behind the prosecution team, close enough to hear the judge scolding the men.
Judge Simons said, “Mr. Michaels, I assume your information can be substantiated.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge fumed. “Why the hell didn’t you make this court aware of it sooner?”
“My client only told me about Mr. Arnez’ debt a few minutes ago. His business manager brought documents with Mr. Arnez’ signature on them. He owes my client more than nine hundred thousand dollars for gambling debts.”
The judge looked at Arnez, who was sweating visibly. Arnez didn’t say a word.
Judge Simons grabbed his gavel and suddenly stood. I thought he was going to hit Arnez on the head, but he slammed it on the bench and declared a fifteen-minute recess. He ordered the attorneys to follow him to his chambers. The courtroom buzzed. I looked at Katie and Hawk. This is not good. Vicky’s been killed and Arnez is fucking up the trial. Could it have been on purpose?
Katie said, “Why didn’t Arnez excuse himself? He must have known it would come out at some point.”
I shook my head. “It was deliberate. Campinera got to him. Best insurance drug money can buy.”
Ten minutes later, the judge returned to the courtroom. He hammered his gavel and said, “I am not happy about the situation, but I have no choice. I am declaring a mistrial. The prosecutor has failed to recuse himself and withheld information about a conflict of interest.”
The courtroom erupted. Reporters streamed down the aisle to alert their editors. Everyone was talking at once.
Judge Simons pounded his gavel for order and said, “The defendant is free to go after posting bail of one million dollars. The indictment still holds. A different prosecutor will be assigned, and a new trial scheduled as soon as possible. Mr. Campinera, you must remain in Miami. I will release you with that understanding.”
Defense Attorney Michaels said, “My client is innocent of these charges and will comply with the wishes of the court, Your Honor.”
A stunned look shone on everyone’s face except for the smirk on Jorge’s. He looked at me and pointed a finger, like a gun, and winked. I saw Arnez make eye contact with Jorge for a second. Jorge waved.
I said to Hawk and Katie, “We have work to do. My bet is Campinera walks, permanently. Posting a bail bond won’t be a problem for him.”
Katie dug her nails into my forearm and looked at the judge heading for his chambers. “Judge Simons is naïve if he thinks Jorge will stick around for a retrial.”
BREAK TIME
NONE OF THE EVENTS during the past few weeks seemed real. I needed to clear my head. Hawk and I headed back to the Wall.
I slipped a Black Bart lure between two teaser bait-lines Hawk had set from the gunwale rocket tubes. Feeding out a few hundred feet of eighty-pound line, I checked the drag on my reel and strapped into the fishing chair. With only two of us for crew, we kept it simple. Normally, five to seven baits are set in a pattern with outriggers to keep the lines from crossing. Too complicated. I needed to think.
Hawk looked back from the helm after setting our speed to eight knots. We headed northeast along the one hundred fathom mark above the Wall. “Hey CJ, think there’s a diamond-stuffed wahoo down there?”
I swiveled the chair around to check out the sunrise off the starboard bow. “Not likely. I’m happy to cruise out here all day. Don’t care if I get a strike. Just thankful to be alive. I need some quiet time to decide what to do about Campinera. You know he’ll disappear.”
Hawk nodded and gazed at the eastern horizon. God-rays pierced puffy clouds and lit up low patches of morning fog. Overhead, clear sky brightened from pre-dawn gray to cerulean. “It’s a lot better out here than that shit hole in Afghanistan.”
I cringed at the memory. It was my final tour, just two days to go when I was captured by the Taliban in the Khyber Pass. In a cave a hundred yards into the side of a Spin Ghar mountain in no-man’s land between Afghanistan and Pakistan. Tortured, hog-tied and dropped into a ten-foot hole filled with human excrement and piss. I struggled to keep my head up, to breathe the foul air. I was ready to give up when I saw a light spill over the edge of the opening above. Then I heard a familiar voice. “CJ…are you in there?” It was Hawk. He’d come back, looking for his SEAL teammate.
I shook my head to chase away the bad memory and looked at Hawk. “I owe you, bro. I could not have lasted much longer. The bastards pissed all over me before they left.”
“No worries. You’d do the same for me. Leave no man behind, right bro?” He looked me in the eye. “Do you still get the dreams?”
The line snapped tight, almost ripping the rod from my hands as the chair spun around. The drop strap held fast and the reel smoked hot as line screamed out. I yelled over my shoulder, “Not anymore, Hawk.” I started cranking. “This is a big one. I hope it’s not Jawselle again.”
Before I could crank in another foot of line, the fish breached, shaking the lure violently until it broke free. The fish was a wahoo. Maybe the wahoo? I replaced the lure with some live bait.
We trolled for the rest of the morning. Didn’t get even a nibble. I chilled in my chair. Thinking about how I get Campinera for what he did to my family and to my friend.
JAWS OF JUSTICE
CAMPINERA HAD VANISHED since the mistrial. What a surprise. Hawk just heard from the Coast Guard. They spotted a two-hundred-foot mega-yacht anchored south of Cay Sal. On the edge of Cuban territorial waters. The yacht’s name is Angel
ina, registered to Campinera. The man has brass balls, hiding in plain sight. Is he inviting a showdown? He must know I’ll be looking for him. No doubt he’s fuming about the hundred million dollars in lost diamonds. I’m sure the DEA appreciates the ninety-million-dollar donation and the rest is swimming somewhere out in the straits.
The case had fallen apart. Without Vicky pushing, there were no new arrest warrants, no ongoing investigation. The U.S. Attorney had backed off for some reason. Some is likely another bribe. There’s no evidence officially connecting the drug lord to Hilly’s or Vicky’s death, but I know better. I don’t believe in coincidences. I’ve decided to make sure Campinera is either brought back to the States for a re-trial or has a fatal accident. The corruption rampant within the justice system leads me to favor the second option.
Campinera could leave anytime to any ocean on the planet in his yacht, so we had to form a plan and move fast. Slim chance the bureaucrats will request extradition, especially if Jorge stays in international waters. With ninety million dollars in diamonds in their slush fund and Jorge’s penthouse locked up, the DEA is in no hurry to mount an offshore arrest. Not going to happen.
We loaded our underwater gear, two sea scooters, and weapons. Hawk punched in GPS coordinates his CG buddies gave him for the last known location of the Angelina. Once we find her, we’ll proceed from below the surface.
We made a big show of loading up Too Fast For U at the marina dock. A full complement of big fish gear stuck out the rocket launcher tubes of my fish-fighting chair. We topped off the fuel tanks and cruised southward to my favorite fishing spot near the Wall. Just Katie, Hawk and me. Our real reason for the trip would remain a secret between the three of us.
Katie took the helm and said, “You boys relax, you have a long swim once we get close.”
“Roger that,” said Hawk as he sprawled on the rear bench seat.
Flat water and no wind, we reached the Bank in an hour, cast out lines and began trolling in a spiraling circle pattern along the edge of the Wall. Two miles to the southeast sat the Angelina. Sunrise still two hours away, I surveyed the situation with my night-vision binos. Didn’t expect much activity at four in the morning but there were two sentries, one on the upper deck, the other near the stern.
Hawk stretched after waking from his nap and said, “Are you ready?”
I nodded and we both went into the cabin to suit up; wetsuits, rebreathers, knives, tasers and pistols. This sortie might be wet in more ways than one.
At 0445 we slipped over the side facing away from the Angelina . With the sea scooters it took only fifteen minutes to reach the mega-yacht. First order of business, we disabled the sentry posted near the aft gunwale. Easy peasy. He was leaning against a bulkhead, half asleep. Hawk put a full choke hold on him and eased him to the deck. Zip-tied and gagged, he would not be part of this fight.
We started for the upper deck but stopped when a radio squawked from the sentry’s pocket. I grabbed the radio and mumbled some Spanish into it as Hawk and I made a beeline for the second sentry position two decks up.
The topside sentry was clambering down the stairs to the middle deck at the same time. He held a walkie talkie to his ear, not paying attention to the threat coming his way. Without breaking stride, Hawk arm-barred him in the larynx followed by a rabbit punch to the back of the neck. A quick zip-tie and gag left us with nothing but silence outside the main stateroom. A light came on inside.
Peeking in the stateroom porthole, I could see a man standing next to the lamp table. He spoke into a satellite phone. A dish antenna, aimed through an open ceiling hatch, sat on the table. He turned slightly. It wasn’t Campinera. Shit. I looked at Hawk and mouthed, “ Where is he?”
Before we could search the rest of the upper deck, we heard the drumbeat of helicopter blades. Approaching from the south, it landed on the helipad located at the stern of the Angelina. The flood lights on the pad lit up the face of the pilot as he unstrapped and exited the chopper.
Hawk saw him first. “There’s your answer.”
Jorge must have had a late dinner with the Castro brothers. We flattened on the deck in the shadow of the aft bulkhead. Jorge’s man in the stateroom came out to meet his boss. They shook hands and went back inside.
I peeked in the open porthole and saw Jorge standing next to his bed, reaching into the nightstand drawer. It looked like a pistol. I motioned to Hawk—gun—and then we kicked the door in, tasered the man next to Jorge and shut the door behind us.
“Hold it right there, Jorge.”
He looked bemused. “Why it’s my favorite SEAL friends playing black ops patrol. What do you want?”
“What do you think, Jorge? We want to take you for a swim. Leave the gun in the drawer and lie down on the floor.”
Hawk moved in to zip-tie the drug lord and his tasered bodyguard. As he stood back up, the door to an adjacent stateroom burst open. Dino Bachero rushed in with pistol drawn. Instinctively, Hawk’s SEAL training took over. In one motion, he slipped his SOG knife from its scabbard and flung it, center mass, at the threat. The knife sunk deep into Dino’s chest. End of threat. A death too quick if you ask me.
“Time to go, Hawk.” He nodded and retrieved his knife. We were never here.
Odd that Campinera had only two sentries and one bodyguard besides the dishwasher on board. In case Jorge had Cuban gunboats escorting, we kept to our underwater exit plan. We dragged Campinera over the side to our sea scooters. There were spare air tanks mounted on each. We strapped one onto Campinera and stuffed a regulator in his mouth. We had our rebreathers but Jorge’s SCUBA unit trailed bubbles behind us. Not a problem. Everyone on board was zip-tied or dead. Although the bubbles might attract a few fish. Twenty minutes later we arrived off the port gunwale of Too Fast For U.
Katie slid the throttles to neutral and jumped in front of Campinera as he flopped onto the deck like a hooked mackerel. She slapped him, knocking out the SCUBA mouthpiece. “You killed my husband, bastard.”
Campinera rubbed his cheek and smiled. “Nothing personal my dear. It was necessary to silence his testimony. Unfortunately, my men did not get you and your brother, too.”
Katie fumed at hearing Campinera’s admission of guilt. She was about to say something but stopped to look over the drug lord’s shoulder. She pointed and we all turned. The early morning light was still weak, but I could see a large dorsal fin moving toward us.
Before I could say a word, Katie took a step toward Campinera, who had stood up in defiance. She did not touch him, but he still fell backward and tumbled over the gunwale.
Cuffed with zip ties, he struggled to keep afloat and yelled, “Help. I can’t swim.”
Katie smiled. “You won’t need to swim.”
It took only a second. The shark lifted Campinera by his legs, shook him once or twice before severing his limbs from his torso. Campinera’s scream was cut short. Jawselle scooped up the pieces, looked up at me and I swear she winked. Can sharks wink? I snapped a salute. Jawselle flashed her teeth with an open-mouthed grin, dove deep and never looked back. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.
Katie teared up and kissed me on the cheek. She took one last look at the spot where the shark executed Campinera then returned to the helm.
Not another word was spoken during the trip back to Marathon. Justice served naturally, celebrated silently. It didn’t bring back Vicky or Hilly, but it still felt good. And I’m not convinced Vicky is dead.
SEARCH FOR TRUTH
FORMER AUSA Arnez slumped in the booth at the back of Joe’s Stone Crab restaurant. He looked away as I walked up to him. The peacock demeanor was gone. A suspended license and possible disbarment will do that to a career prosecutor. It must be humiliating, especially given the circumstances that caused his rise to stall. I’m surprised Arnez agreed to meet. I guess he’s got nothing to lose at this point. Unless Campinera still expects him to pay back the loan. Oh yeah, the mistrial was payment and Arnez doesn’t know Jorge sleeps with the
fishes.
I decided to take the high road, set aside my extreme dislike for the scumbag. With Carlos, Campinera and Bachero all dead, he was my only lead to find out what happened to Vicky. I sat across from him. “Hello, Eduardo. Thanks for the meet-up. I’m guessing your presence means the drug cartel is through with you.”
He gave a furtive look out to the street. “My life’s a mess, no one answers my calls. Campinera has disappeared. I don’t need more grief.”
“Well, I won’t keep you long. I want you to tell me again about Vicky’s death. How did you find out?”
Arnez looked away and mumbled, “I got a call from one of Jorge’s people. He said Vicky got ambushed during a bogus drug raid.”
“And you believe this, why?”
“The call was a threat to make sure the trial would go their way. I hadn’t seen or heard from Vicky for a few days. Unusual, considering the trial and all. He said I would be next if Jorge was found guilty.”
“So you never saw the body?”
“No, it was a phone call, not a meeting.”
“What else?”
“Look, Charley. I want to help you if I can. I need to clear my name and try to get my license back.”
“Talk to me, Eduardo.”
He eyed the people seated nearby and lowered his voice. “I heard that Los Zetas was involved, not the Cubans. Vicky was poking around their operation here in Miami.”
Eduardo averted my hard look. “It doesn’t add up, Eduardo. You said the call came from Campinera’s crew. How do the Los Zetas fit in?”
“There’s a love-hate thing between the Cuban and Mexican drug rings. Sometimes they work together if there is mutual benefit.”
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