We located the cut and cruised up the opening a few hundred feet before I killed the outboards and power tilted them out of the water while Hawk dropped the electric trolling motors into position. Silent running with night vision from here on out. A rising gibbous moon provided some light through the vines and moss hanging from the mangroves along the creek bank. Déjà vu. Boas dangled from the lowest branches, waiting for a feathered breakfast to cross their path. The channel narrowed.
Kudzu vines reached across the gap, forming a tunnel-like passage. Several pairs of green dots disturbed the smooth surface, the reflected moon-glow enhanced by our night vision goggles. American crocodiles are known to live in these brackish waters. The largest specimens can be twenty feet from snout to tail-tip and weigh two thousand pounds. Like the brute Hawk wrestled last time we were here. The eyes on these critters looked too close together to belong to a croc that big.
Spirit lay flat on the forward deck, exhaling a barely audible growl. She was onto the scent of something. Human or animal? No matter. Both could be deadly. The creek divided in two and the channel widened to the right, through a break in the mangroves and opened into a large lagoon.
“This is the one,” Hawk said as he checked the GPS app on his phone. I reduced speed to drop our wake and continued into the lagoon. A faint light shone through the trees on the opposite bank a thousand feet from our position. I steered to starboard, through an arch of giant mangrove roots into a vine-covered inlet, cut power to the motors and slid the bow silently onto mud exposed by a receding tide. “Let’s tie here and arm up.”
I grabbed my SIG Sauer pistol, a coil of rope and a flash bang from the hidden compartment. Hawk reached for the Stoner SR-25 rifle with night vision scope. Vicky had her Glock 22 with extra cartridges, looking better, ready for payback. Spirit took point, like old times. A warrior dog never forgets her training.
After ten paces I looked back where we stashed the boat. The dense foliage made it impossible to see even with the aid of night vision goggles. We continued along the edge of the lagoon toward the light, our footsteps silenced by the spongy carpet of swamp moss that smothered the ground near the lagoon.
Spirit suddenly halted and looked up. We waited a few seconds as a six-foot boa slid off a branch in front of us, slithering after an early dinner. A few minutes passed before the walled hacienda came into view, lit up by the same single light mounted high on a pole in the middle of the compound. We circled around to the rear. No sentries this time. In fact, the place looked deserted. The only activity was several crocodiles tearing apart one of their own in the pool. If Guizarro has abandoned the hacienda, he neglected to turn off the light and feed his pets. I opened the gate at the edge of the pen. Even lizards need to live free. We moved around the lagoon and entered the rear door of the building.
Vicky and Spirit took the lead. “What a mess. Guizarro must have left in a hurry.”
Spirit tugged and flipped over a rug in the center of the room.
“What has she found?”
I picked up a soggy sheet of paper and shone a Maglite on it. “It’s a sea chart with notes written on it.”
Vicky scanned her light over the writing in the margins. “Dates, times, numbers…maybe package counts, but there are letters M, W and C after each.”
She turned around, an understanding look on her face, “There are more numbers with dollar signs. If this is tied to the deep-water spar, it seems Guizarro has moved into his new line of smuggling from a location closer to the States.”
She pointed at the X on the chart. “This mark is near the discontinued dumping ground we checked out. And I’ll bet the letters M, W and C with numbers after them refer to head counts. Men, women and children. So, this confirms that Carlotta and her daughter were abducted by Guizarro’s men. One more reason to find him and eliminate him.
~~~
HUMAN TRAFFIC
JOSE GUIZARRO leaned back in his chair, bit the tip of an El-P blunt and spit it on the floor. Flicking a gold lighter, he lit the marijuana-filled cigar and inhaled deeply before blowing a cloud into the face of his visitor. He had just landed on the freighter by helicopter and wanted a full update on the pipeline completion.
“You have news for me, Manny? Make it quick. I am a busy man.”
“Si, Señor Guizarro. The shipment of forty packages arrived at the platform last night. They are locked up and scheduled for transport into the United States as soon as the new conveyor chamber arrives from China.”
“Mierda. The Chinese. Slower than a Mexican, but they are thorough. I still cannot believe what they have done. A pipeline 4,000 feet to the sea bottom, then inland and up to the surface inside our warehouse.”
Manny Gonzalez looked at the ceiling and stifled a cough.
Guizarro continued to gloat. “It is an engineering first, I think. And no one has smuggled drugs or people this way. No one will suspect a tube delivery system this large.”
“We have not transported anything yet, Señor. But the casing is watertight, and we have secured the building on Stock Island.”
“Are you certain it is secure? What about that deputy sheriff you discovered poking around a few days ago? Did you take care of him?”
Gonzalez beamed, “Si Señor, he will not be a problem anymore. We fed him to the fish.”
Guizarro thought about it and asked, “Where did you dump the body.”
“No worries, we put him in the back of a pickup and dumped him in the channel at Marathon Marina. Miles from Stock Island.”
“Good, at least you did something right for a change.”
Gonzalez shrugged and started out the door.
“Wait, I did not dismiss you. When will the chambers arrive?”
Gonzalez looked down, avoiding eye contact with his boss. “Two more days, Señor.”
Guizarro frowned, “Make it happen sooner or you will be fish food like that deputy. I have a large shipment the mules will carry with them through the tube. Doubling my profit.”
Gonzalez maintained a stoic face.
The volatile drug lord looked at Gonzalez and puffed out his chest, “I am a pioneer, si? Delivering drugs and slaves at the same time. It must not be delayed. Now leave me and check on my yacht. It should have left Cozumel hours ago. I am already tired of this rusty ship.”
Gonzalez made a hasty exit before his boss threw something at him or worse, pulled out a gun to shoot him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Guizarro picked up the binoculars on the desk and spun on his chair. The large porthole on the freighter’s upper deck location allowed him to see the top of the deepwater spar three miles to the northwest. He stared at the superstructure, inhaled deeply on his cigar and smiled.
“Soon, you will become my cash machine. It will be worth partnering with the crazy Chinese. They are pigs but their technology is good.”
~~~
SEA RIVER
TOO FAST FOR U flew over the rolling swells as we headed east, first to Key West to refuel then back to Marathon with an assist from the Florida Current flowing northeast through the Yucatan Channel. The current enters the Florida Straits merging with the Gulf Stream that continues east through the Florida Straits. The five-mph current, often referred to as a river, shortened our return from Cozumel by half an hour. The sea river can be a friend or a ferocious foe, depending on your travel direction and the wind. Today it was dead calm. No white caps, just rolling swells. We didn’t go near the freighter or the oil rig; followed a bearing to the closest fuel station at Key West then we made a beeline for the marker outside Boot Key Harbor.
Vicky had gone below to rest. She had a tough time when we first arrived at Guizarro’s compound. Especially when we viewed the cage by the lagoon where she was imprisoned. But Vicky’s tough. She came up from the cabin looking refreshed and ready for a fight. Where the hell was Guizarro?
She spoke into my ear so I could hear above the engine noise. “I just received a text from my contact in Cozumel.”
<
br /> “Let me guess. He said Guizarro has left the island.”
“Funny, Charley. Yes, it’s true. He flew out by helicopter two days ago. That explains the abandoned compound despite his yacht still berthed at Caleta harbor.”
“I wish we heard this news before we made the run to Cozumel.”
“I agree, Charley, but there’s more. Satellite imagery was forwarded through channels causing a delay, but we now know the helicopter landed on a ship with Chinese markings.”
“Where?”
“It’s the same freighter we circled two days ago.”
“Is he there now?”
“Don’t know. The ship has a helicopter pad, so he could come and go quickly.”
Hawk had come closer to hear our conversation and chimed in. “No offense, Vicky, but we need a better plan that is predictable. Otherwise, we’re chasing our tail.”
Vicky fumed, but it passed in an instant. “You’re right, Hawk. I’ll call in some more chits at the DEA. But only with people I trust.”
We cruised past the outer channel marker and entered Boot Key Harbor. Time for a drink at the Blue Parrot and some serious brainstorming.
~~~
WE SAT IN THE CORNER booth to have a little privacy. Didn’t need any of our bar-mates overhearing us. Jonesy brought a pitcher of beer and a bowl of nuts, then let us be as we hunkered over and spoke in whispers. I got the feeling he knew we were up to something dangerous, possibly slightly illegal, that’s how we roll, but he didn’t pry.
Vicky looked around, lowered her head and said, “We should have tried to board the tanker instead of making that long trip to Cozumel. Sorry, guys.”
“No worries, Vicky. We’ll nail that creep. It’s only a matter of time.”
Hawk said, “I’ve been thinking about the location. Why in the middle of the Gulf Stream? The current is strongest there and when the wind kicks up from the east, the waves can become a problem. Anchoring in 600-plus fathoms is not a cakewalk either.”
Vicky looked at both of us. “You tell me. You guys are sailors, right?”
Hawk offered an explanation. “It’s the oil platform. We already know more than oil drilling is going on. And it’s located just outside U.S. territorial waters.”
Vicky nodded. “I checked with the federal records for oil leases in that part of the Straits. There are very few. Much more in the Gulf. I think you are right about the unusual location for an oil rig. We need to go back for another look.”
“We’ll take Triple H, use the sea sled and an underwater approach from a mile away. The Pourtalés Terrace drops off to deep water just northeast of the rig. And we’ll be fighting the Gulf-Stream.”
Vicky looked confused. “Okay, guys. What’s a sea sled?”
Hawk answered. “CJ and I have done a little salvage diving at the edge of the continental shelf. We picked up the sled from Navy surplus in Miami. The dinghy winch on Triple H and the open bow makes deployment of the sled in open water a snap.”
“And it’s fitted with special air mix in the auxiliary tanks for deeper dives, in case our rebreathers fail.”
“That’s good to hear, boys. Let’s do it.”
“We’ll leave Marathon at 0300. Plenty of time to finish our recon before sunrise.”
~~~
I PERKED UP FROM UNDER the table when I heard Charley talk about returning to the oil rig. I hope they don’t leave Vicky alone again. There might be more guards. On the other hand, if she doesn’t lock me up in the cabin, I am sure I can take care of her.
Charley stared at me with a puzzled look. “Spirit, what are you thinking? Have something important on your mind? Are you hungry?”
I stood and gave him a soft bark in the affirmative. I sure wish he could read my mind. It would save a lot of time.
Vicky said to Charley, “Spirit’s quite a smart dog, Charley. Sometimes I think she is trying to talk in words instead of barks.”
“She’s the best, that’s for sure.”
I looked at them both. You got that right. Now where’s my hamburger?
~~~
GOLDEN CRABS
HAWK PULLED BACK on the throttles of Triple H, dropping our wake and gliding to a spot one mile from the oil rig. It took nearly an hour to arrive because we had the sea sled strapped on the forward deck. Plus, Hawk’s boat has fewer engines and isn’t as fast as mine.
We were at the southern edge of Pourtalés Terrace where the bottom depth exceeded a thousand feet. Golden crabs have made this area home, attracting local fishermen that have a permit to trap-catch the tasty crustacean. Scuttlebutt about some crabs glowing in the dark suggests there might be something else hidden in the deep sinkholes that cover much of the Terrace.
Vicky took the helm while Hawk and I winched the sea sled over the side. Spirit parked herself in the passenger seat next to Vicky.
“Spirit and I will hold position unless you guys need help.”
“Not likely, Vicky. We’ll surface only if we have trouble. Otherwise, sit tight.”
Vicky teased, “SEALs have all the fun.”
“If you want to join us, feel free to enlist, pass BUD/S and finish special SQT training. Should take a year, if you pass.”
“Not funny, Charley.” She looked east toward the freighter anchored only a few miles from the oil rig, “Just be careful.”
Hawk and I donned our dive suits and rebreathers and jumped onto the sled. I pointed the battery-powered motors downward. Within seconds we were cruising without light at a thirty-foot depth, relying on compass readings to head west, straight for the rig a mile away.
~~~
HALFWAY FROM THE BOAT to the oil rig we could see a faint glow in the depths below us. Dropping down to three hundred feet for a better look did not reveal much more even when we turned on the sled spot lights.
We’ll need hard suits if we want to go deeper. We ascended back to thirty feet and continued toward the rig. It was a floating spar design, typical of deep-water oil platforms. Circling the structure in near dark visibility, we spotted hundreds of glowing spots along the strakes spiraling up the length of the 600-foot spar.
As we got closer, some of the glowing spots moved. Hawk looked through a submersible night vision monocular he had packed in the sled’s compartment, pointed at one and spoke into his comms set. “Charley, those spots are crabs. Golden crabs. Aren’t they usually on the Terrace?”
He handed me the scope so I could have a look. “You’re right, Hawk. And they don’t normally glow. What’s inside the spar that is attracting them?”
The spar appeared deserted, at least under water, so we tied the sled to a strake at thirty feet and worked our way up to the surface but remained in the water. Many of the crabs skittered away as we approached.
“Look at the size of them. That one must weigh twenty pounds.”
“I don’t like this, Hawk. Glowing, giant crabs?” I thought about it for a minute. “There is a dosimeter in the sled compartment, I think. Left it there after we did that salvage job near the nuclear plant last spring.”
“Affirmative, CJ. Saw it when I grabbed the NV scope.”
“Let’s head back and see if it registers high radiation.”
“Roger, CJ, we don’t need to stick around if it is high.”
We dove back to thirty feet, untied and throttled up the sled on a rising beeline toward the boat.
~~~
VICKY AND SPIRIT looked over the gunwale as the sea sled emerged from the depths. Vicky grabbed the winch line and tossed it to Charley when he raised his arm and waved. After fastening the line Charley and Hawk scrambled aboard and began lifting the sea sled. Before they raised it there was a sudden yank that pulled everything to starboard. After an unsettling minute the boat leveled. Without another word, the SEALs finished lifting the sled, placed everything into the dinghy bed and lashed it down.
Hawk stared at something on the sled as he fastened it to the rear deck cleat. “CJ, look at this.”
Charley grabb
ed a Maglite and aimed where Hawk pointed. “Looks like teeth embedded in the sled.”
“Affirmative, Bro. Big teeth. What do think? A shark?”
“Don’t look like shark teeth. Too long and pointy. Like needles. Let’s get out of here.”
Spirit became agitated with the activity and Vicky pulled her close so Charley and Hawk could finish. “Why the rush, Charley? Did someone spot you?”
“No, but there may be unsafe radiation levels in the area near the oil rig. And something very big bit the sled. Best to leave now.”
Hawk started the engines and pushed the throttles forward.
“Radiation? How do you know?” Vicky asked.
Charley shouted above the rising whine from the engines. “I’ve never seen Golden crabs glow in the dark. Something weird happening down there.”
Hawk added, “Weird and dangerous, with big teeth.”
~~~
HURRICANE HICCUP
HURRICANE JOAQUIN RIPPED through the Bahamas and charged through the Florida Straits during the past three days, delaying our return to the oil rig. We needed a closer look to find what is causing golden crabs to glow. This adventure is quickly becoming much more than revenge on Guizarro. The dosimeter registered higher than normal radiation levels where we tied the sled last visit but not high enough to pose a threat if we didn’t stick around too long.
The freighter moored near the oil rig sunk when the hurricane barreled past, leaving fifty tons of baled marijuana drifting toward the Keys. A free-for-all followed, as local potheads, dealers and drunks scooped up the “free” weed. Hawk and his CG boys have their hands full.
~~~
Charley Manner series Box Set Page 19