HAWK LEANED AGAINST the side window of the chopper and spoke to the pilot in his headset. “Check out that boatload of idiots due south, Ace. They have so many bales piled on the deck, it will capsize in these seas.”
“Roger that, Hawk. Radio their position so a cutter can intercept.”
Hawk spoke into his headset after selecting the channel reserved for Coast Guard communications. “Vaca Coast Guard, this is Search 1 calling for cutter backup, over.”
“Roger, Search-1, we have the BERTHOLF cruising nearby. ETA to your location…fifteen minutes.”
They circled around the overloaded boat until the cutter arrived.
~~~
DEPUTY SHERIFF Vince Walker led the security team assigned to offload the potheads from the CG cutter at Vaca Key. He turned to greet Hawk who had just returned from chopper duty.
“Hey, Hawk. These idiots had more weed on their little boat than it could handle. After you radioed the location, the BERTHOLF took them on board just minutes before it sank. We saved a few bales for evidence, but the rest is still out on the Strait.”
“Roger that, Vince, we hovered a while till the BERTHOLF arrived. Hundreds of bales floating in the Gulf Stream, heading north. They’ll be washing up on beaches from Key West to Miami, maybe further.”
Vince looked around the dock, “Where’s Charley? My boss wants to talk to him about using Spirit to track possible smuggling routes from the beach inland. She’s trained for that stuff, right?”
“Affirmative. Spirit was the best Malinois we had with us in Afghanistan. A nose for IEDs, too. CJ is meeting with Vicky at his RV.”
Vince motioned toward the gang of potheads being escorted to a detention bus. “These guys are lucky the BERTHOLF picked them up. Jail time is better than becoming shark food.”
“I’m sure there are more out there. I’m going back out in the chopper tomorrow morning.”
“That storm made a real mess. It’ll take weeks to clean it up. Not to mention the crime wave all this free pot is causing.”
“Do you know which cartel owned the freighter that went down?”
“The sheriff said it’s a Chinese ship but the local connection is Mexican.
Hawk raised an eyebrow and looked away, keeping a stone-cold expression. “Good luck, Vince. I’ll tell Charley the Sheriff is looking for him, but I don’t think he’ll part with Spirit. She’s retired, you know.”
“I know, but budget cuts have wiped out our canine resources. Maybe he’ll reconsider.”
“Catch you later, Vince. Watch out for the bad guys.”
~~~
DEAD MAN
O-DARK-THIRTY, no moon and no wind; we approached Marathon Marina at idle speed. Under cover of darkness and overcast sky, back from a second recon of the area where the freighter was anchored before the storm, Hawk and I still wore our NVGs. Vicky and Spirit had stayed in the Winnebago.
As we approached D-dock, Hawk pointed out something floating near the mooring ball closest to my slip.
“There’s something floating near that mooring. You see it?”
I steered the boat in that direction and shifted to neutral.
"I see it. Grab it with the gaffe.”
Hawk hooked the floating mass and pulled it towards the port gunwale.
“Damn, it’s a body.”
~~~
A SMALL CROWD PRESSED against the crime scene tape, straining to see the body being pulled from the water. News travels fast on Marathon Key, despite the early hour. I looked at Hawk, jaw clenched, and wrapped my arm over his beefy shoulder. “He had a family here in the Keys, didn’t he?”
“Not sure, Bro.”
Sheriff Kramer approached with two deputies trailing behind. “Morning Charley, Hawk. You fellows are up early. Do you mind telling me why you were out on the Straits at this hour?”
I made up an excuse. “Hawk and I met with some friends at Hogfish Bar and Grill on Stock Island. Do you have any idea who may have done this to Vince?”
“Too early to say, Charley. Maybe you and Hawk can fill in some blanks.”
“Like we said when we called in to dispatch, Vince was floating face down near the outer mooring ball next to D-dock. Last time we saw him was yesterday afternoon.”
“How did you know it was Vince?”
“Come on Sheriff, we knew him from our tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. His face was pretty messed up, but the deputy badge and name tag made it obvious.”
The sheriff shrugged and turned away from us to speak to his deputies. He looked back and said, “A lot of strange things going on since that storm blew through. You guys aren’t leaving the area anytime, soon are you? I’ll have more questions.”
“No worries, Sheriff. We’re not going anywhere. Whoever did this is going to pay.”
“Don’t get any wild ideas. Leave crime detection to the Sheriff’s department.”
Hawk and I exchanged WTF looks and shrugged.
~~~
DEEP DIVE
FINALLY WE HAD CALM WATERS at Pourtalès Terrace and approached the spar southeast of the discontinued dumping ground just outside the U.S. economic zone. Technically, we were in Cuban territory. Vicky and Spirit stayed behind so Vick could gather more intel on Guizarro. His mega yacht was seen leaving Cozumel.
We prepared for a deep dive this trip, borrowed two HARD SUIT 2000 prototypes from the squids at Key West Naval dive training facility. Amazing technology. They have a lighter, stronger, more flexible exoskeleton than the suits we trained with for our Combat Diver Qualification Course (CDQC). With some help from a winch, a single diver can enter and exit the water from a small vessel much like a rebreather or SCUBA equipped diver. The suit is capable of dives to 4000 feet. At ocean depths of 700 fathoms the pressure is nearly one ton per square inch. Like a one-ton punch press, capable of bursting through steel plates when directed to a small area.
Hawk cut Triple H’s motors and threw a sea anchor over the side. After suiting up and checking seals and snaps for each other, we rolled over the side. Hawk left the winch line attached to the sea anchor line. Drift speed should put the boat close to the spar in one hour. We’ll use a remote control to hoist ourselves back into the boat later.
Visibility was quite good. The integral propellers in the suit brought us near the spar in less than fifteen minutes.
Hawk’s voice crackled in my headset. “I wonder if we’ll have company this time?”
“It’s been two weeks since our first trip. Keep a sharp eye for divers and whatever else was here last time.”
“You mean the fish with the pointy teeth?”
“Who said it was a fish?”
“Heads up, Bro. I see two divers below us at seven o’clock, about two hundred yards away.”
The divers were looking away from us, heading toward the spar. Each carried a large drum in the claws of their hard-suit.
We followed them for another ten minutes as they descended to the bottom. “Whoa, CJ. Look at that pile. Looks like an Egyptian pyramid of drums like they are carrying.”
“There must be a thousand of them. What do you think is inside?”
“A wild guess, Bro? The glowing crabs and the dosimeter reading tell me it’s not good shit.”
“I’m thinking the same thing, Hawk. WTF. Drugs, human trafficking and dirty bomb material. What is Guizarro planning?”
~~~
GUIZARRO POUNDED HIS FIST on the glass-topped conference room table of his mega yacht as it approached the deep-water spar. It shattered, sending shards across the room.
“Mierda. What do you mean, Cuban divers are near the oil platform? What are they doing?”
Manny Gonzalez ducked as sharp glass whistled past. “The Chinese engineers informed us this morning when they completed installation of the transport capsules. There is a large stockpile of radioactive material on the bottom below the spar. They are worried about the radiation.”
“Are we safe up here? What do the Cubans plan to do with it?”
“I do not know, Señor Guizarro, but there is a Cuban gunboat a mile to the south.”
~~~
DEADLY DEEP
HAWK TOOK THE LEAD as we continued our descent. I checked our six for other divers above us. Despite clear water conditions we nearly lost sight of the Cuban divers in the dark of the Deep Strait. Only their hard-suit floodlights guided us. We kept our lights off for stealth. There was a strong current pushing us northeast. The Gulf-stream moved swiftly, even at these depths.
“Keep a sharp eye, Hawk. There may be an over watch detail monitoring the area.”
“Roger, CJ. I don't like all this open water. And the current is shifting. See the plankton welling up from the bottom?”
I looked straight down and noticed a large shadow moving toward the divers.
“Hold up, Hawk. See that? About a hundred meters below our position.”
“I see It, CJ. What is it? The Great White that took out Campinera last year?”
“It's not moving that fast. Not like a shark anyway. Wait…It can't be. It looks like a giant croc. What the hell is it doing in the Deep Strait?”
“I think you are right, CJ. Remember the needle-sharp teeth we pulled off the sea sled?”
“Sure do. And the tug on the winch line.”
“It's going straight for the divers. We better surface before it spots us, too.”
“Just a sec, CJ. Let me snap a photo first.”
The croc reached the divers and crushed their suits like tin foil. It was over quickly.
Back on the surface, we winched aboard, doffed our hard suits and fired up the engines. Time to leave and reassess the situation back at Marathon. Hawk handed me the camera as he accelerated Triple H toward Marathon. I punched the display button and enhanced the image.
“Holy Moly. It’s a monster croc for sure. Doesn’t look like a normal croc though. What’s it doing in the Deep Strait?”
“Good question, CJ. I’d hate to meet up with that monster in deep water.”
“We need to stay focused on the mission. Avoidance is our best tactic with the croc.”
~~~
MESSAGE FROM A DEAD MAN
VICKY MAGNIFIED THE IMAGE of the croc projecting it on the Winnebago’s big screen TV for a closer look. Spirit growled at it.
“I sent a copy of this to Dr. Solinksy, a paleontologist at Scripps. His specialty is prehistoric reptilians. He was very excited. Said this beast looks like a mutation of a recently discovered species of ancient crocodiles that lived a hundred million years ago. and looks like a living Machimosaurus rex.”
“How does it survive in such deep water?”
“The doc said he could see what appear to be gill slits behind the eye sockets.”
We walked up to the screen and could see small lines on the crocs hide behind the eyes.
“Did you mention it might be radioactive?”
Vicky checked her text messages and said, “At this point, he doesn‘t need to know. We have bigger problems that need attention.”
“I hope he doesn’t plan to come here and capture it.”
“No worries, Charley, I didn’t tell him the location.”
Hawk chimed in, “Ancient or not, it threatens to derail our operation. I say kill it if it attacks us.”
“Let’s review what we are up against, boys. I want Guizarro, dead or alive. My latest intel says he’s back on his yacht and is headed toward the spar. We need to go back out.”
I held up my iPad and said, “Before we do that, I think you should see what just arrived in my email in box. It looks like an email from Vince.”
“How can that be? Vince is dead.”
“It’s dated a week ago, right before his corpse turned up floating near D-dock. He must have set it up to transmit today.”
Vicky stood, “Read it to us.”
Hey CJ. This message may seem odd, but I need to share with someone what I have found before I go back to Stock Island. My captain thinks I am nuts and ordered me to stand down but I can’t let it go.
The amount of drugs showing up on the streets in Key West far exceed what we believe floated in from the freighter that sank when Hurricane Joaquin blew through the Straits. I followed one of the perps that we rescued from a boat loaded with bales of marijuana and released when his lawyer showed up. Didn’t make sense why such a lowlife had a powerful attorney save his ass.
Followed him to a building at the end of Front Street on Stock Island. Right next to the marine diesel storage tanks. It was nearly sunrise, so I backed off and planned to return tomorrow. I can’t get anyone to back me up, given the stand down order so I’m going in alone. Thought I should at least tell someone in case something happens to me. This could be a big deal.
You mentioned that you and Hawk are taking Vicky down to Cozumel so I could not reach you directly. If you are reading this then I must have found big trouble. Come get me. See ya.
“Vince found big trouble alright. We need to find who killed him, Bro.”
“Damn straight, Hawk.”
Vicky turned off the display and said, “Vince was probably killed by Guizarro goons. We find Guizarro, we find who killed Vince.”
“So, we've got a murdering drug dealer, Cuban divers depositing radioactive material in the Deep Strait and a prehistoric croc eating them for lunch.”
“That's about It, Charley. But you forgot to mention possible human trafficking. Remember the boatload that were dumped on the oil rig?”
“Right, Vicky. I feel for those people, but I think we have a much bigger problem with those drums on the bottom. They didn't look too solid. The Gulf Stream flows directly through the area. If the drums leak, the radioactive material could be caught up in the current and contaminate the entire southeastern coast.”
Hawk said, “No time to waste. We gotta check out Stock Island.”
Spirit ran toward the door, nuzzled the lever until it opened.
Vicky looked surprised and said, “I think Spirit understands more than warrior dog commands.”
~~~
SPIRIT MOVES YOU
I TOOK MY USUAL SPOT on the foredeck of Charley’s boat, enjoying the warm breeze as we sped toward Stock Island. Most people don’t realize that I understand many human words. In fact, my vocabulary is better than a fourth grader. Of course, I obey when Charley commands me to sitz, or hier and a dozen other commands I learned in my SEAL warrior dog training, but it is always fun to eavesdrop on human conversations. It gives me an edge when we prep for battle.
As we approached the beach at the south end of Stock Island, I could smell drugs. Too bad about Vince, I liked him. He was strong and determined to defend our country in Iraq. I know, because I was there with Charley and Hawk. No doubt, some drug-smuggling goon got the jump on him. He should not have come here without backup.
I leaped off the bow and charged toward the warehouse. The drug odor was strong. I kept my nose to the ground while scanning the periphery, in case there were unfriendlies nearby. My nose told me not to worry. I know human odor, especially the pungent scent of dirty bad guys and there was no trace of recent visits.
Before I reached the building, Charley commanded me to come back to his side. Sometimes I wish I could speak English. Then I could tell him not to worry.
~~~
SPIRIT’S SEAL TRAINING included sniffing out contraband. She never hesitated once we landed on Stock Island. Her tell posture for drugs was pretty clear when she raised her tail and bolted toward a building set back from the eastern edge of the main channel into State Harbor. If this is where Vince followed the drug mule it is one of those hide-in-plain-sight situations.
Naval Air Station Key West is located less than one click away to the east, across Boca Chica Channel and west of Key West International Airport. The storage tanks and abandoned equipment yard at the tip of the peninsula guaranteed minimal traffic. At the same time, the building offered easy access to the water for relaying contraband off the island and eventual transport by
vehicle on US Highway 1 to the mainland.
No one seemed to care that we landed a Fountain 38 on the kelp covered beach with quad Mercs raised for shallow running. The water depth on the Safe Channel side of the peninsula kept local boat traffic away. We had a clear path to the building without observation.
“Hier, Spirit.” She backed off from her full speed charge at the building and returned to my side.
Vicky grabbed Spirit by the harness and whispered, “Come on, Spirit, let’s have a closer look.”
Hawk and I spread our advance, circling on either side of the structure. Aside from her initial excitement from the smell of drugs, Spirit seemed calm. She assumed a search posture as she pulled Vicky toward the building.
Using my headset to coordinate our advance, I said, “Hawk, any movement on your side. It’s clear here.”
“Not a soul, CJ.”
A quick look at Spirit’s relaxed demeanor confirmed what Hawk said. No one present. We entered by the unlocked front door. Spirit trotted over to a large cylinder resting on a track in the corner. Drugs?
Vicky followed closely behind Spirit and disappeared behind a six-foot wall. A few seconds later she returned and said, “This is nuts, Charley. There is a tracked tube sloping out of the floor. That’s where this cylinder came from.”
Hawk and I walked around the cylinder. “Looks like a transport pod. Diameter is similar to the deep-water spar pipeline.”
“Is it possible this slopes down to the ocean bottom beneath the spar, CJ?”
“It would be quite an accomplishment. Guizarro must be in bed with the Chinese. They built the spar; they could have added this to it.”
Vicky said, “Do you guys realize what this means? It all adds up. Guizarro eliminates border crossing roadblocks for his drugs and for his latest product—human slaves.”
Charley Manner series Box Set Page 20