The fall from the ship did not damage the container. No leaks…yet. Despite the tossing about in huge waves, he opened the watertight hatch for a quick check with his GPS unit for a position.
“Allah be praised, we are only about ten miles from Miami.” He checked the direction of drift. It was southeast, with a hurricane force wind assisting their pace. “I hope this box stays afloat until we hit land. I was told a forty-foot container without leaks can float for many weeks.” The dogs whined and looked at him with a puzzled expression as he babbled to himself. “Don’t worry, my pets, soon you will be delivered to the Mullah. I hope he knows what he is doing.”
Every half hour, Hadad opened the hatch to check position. “Good, we should hit land in just a few hours. With this northeasterly wind, we will miss Miami to the southeast. About sixty miles, near the Ocean Reef Club.”
The surge from the storm and the crashing breakers made abandoning the container a dangerous move, so Hadad hung on. As they drifted into Card Sound under the highway 905A bridge and into Barnes Sound, the container finally dug into the bottom at Main Key. Hadad opened the hatch for the last time and brought the dogs onto the top of the container as it pitched violently in the breakers. He could see Highway 1 and the mainland, about two miles across Manatee Bay. Before he could decide what to do, the dogs decided for him. They dove into the water and began swimming toward the mainland. The female swam north while the male headed due west. Belgian-Malinois are strong swimmers. Chances of survival are good. Hadad donned a life jacket and plunged into the surf.
“I will worry about finding the dogs later. First, I must save myself.”
~~~
AFTER MAKING LANDFALL at Elbow Cay, Bahamas, the storm tracked northwest missing Miami and moving up the Florida coast, weakening from Category 5 to a 1 or 2. Life in South Florida continued with business as usual.
~~~
HADAD FINALLY FELT the sandy bottom on the west side of Manatee Bay and dragged himself toward an RV park next to Highway 1. The sign said Pelican Cay RV Park. He discarded his lifejacket in the bushes and walked up to an elderly couple repairing the roof of their motorhome and asked if he could borrow their cellphone.
Hadad, who was quite light-complexioned, faked an American Southern accent, “Pardon me, folks. I wonder if I might trouble y’all to borrow your cellphone for a few minutes. I got caught in the storm and lost my boat out on Manatee Bay.”
The old man climbed down from the roof and said, “Why certainly, sir. You look like you nearly drowned. You ok?”
“Much obliged, and I thank you for your concern, but I just need to call a friend to take me home.”
“Where is that, sir?”
Hadad thought quickly, “Err, in Homestead, just up the Dixie Highway.” He thanked Allah for the preparation study he had done, familiarizing himself with the greater Miami area. In fact, his only option now would be to call Enterprise Rental for a pickup. Perhaps Homestead would be a good spot to regroup, and stage a search for the dogs. Mullah Kareef has a reputation for being quite intolerant when his orders are not carried out. Hadad needs to find the dogs as soon as possible.
Twenty-minutes later, the Enterprise car arrived. Hadad still had his fake, but valid, credit cards and U.S. driver license. The Mullah's position as an ISIS operative made the jihadist group's resources that supported sleeper cell activities available. After dropping off the Enterprise agent and filling out the rental paperwork, Hadad headed for the Walmart Supercenter around the corner. He needed clothes and supplies to search for the dogs. Also, nearby, Hadad found a place to stay, the Coral Roc Motel. No questions asked, if his credit card did not bounce. After checking in, he flopped on the bed and immediately fell asleep. It had been a horrendous week of travel and seasickness. Not to mention nearly drowning in a hurricane. Time to recover.
ABORTED MISSION
NORTHEASTERLY WINDS helped speed Triple H southeast toward Havana from Marathon. The swells were larger than normal but they, too, assisted as Hawk timed their speed to surf down the sloping seas. A rollercoaster effect; in this case, a positive one. The trip back will not be so fast, fighting a headwind and likely rougher seas as Hurricane Dorian approaches landfall in the Bahamas. If the storm veers southeast into the Florida Straits, travel may not be possible at all.
Charley checked the latest weather forecast on the marine radio. Latest estimate for the hurricane landfall was at Elbow Cay, Abaco Islands, Bahamas, tomorrow. The location is 275 miles northeast of Marathon and 405 miles from Havana. But the rolling swells and wind will still be a factor. Weighed down with the weight of the sea sled and four passengers, the open bow Fountain 38 will be challenged. Charley knew they had no choice. Katie’s life was at stake.
Departing from Marathon at 1900 hours, they arrived two miles offshore from Havana Harbor at 2150. Hawk had installed three 400hp Mercury Verado outboard engines when he hauled out his boat for maintenance last month. Capable of a top speed of 80 mph, the load and sea conditions dictated a slower cruising speed of 50 mph. Still rough going but also the Fountain’s most efficient speed for fuel consumption. A pair of 180-gallon fuel tanks was enough to give them a range of more than 400 miles so no re-fueling for the 260-mile round-trip. Darkness and overcast conditions helped conceal the low profile of the open-bow design of the watercraft.
The boys suited up and donned rebreather gear, before fitting Spirit with a custom vest and canine version of a full face-mask rebreather.
She trained to use the setup in Coronado before deploying to Afghanistan and Charley re-acquainted her with the harness and rebreather a month ago. She became excited when he put it on her and showed a natural affinity for the water, both above and below the surface. A remarkable dog. The sea sled was also equipped with a small cockpit where Spirit will stay during the one-mile underwater swim into Havana harbor. No telltale bubbles from all three divers. Silent infiltration, stealth and surprise. Key tools of the SEALs. If they are lucky enough to find Katie, there is room in the cockpit for her and Spirit. A little tight but workable.
Vicky held Spirit close before Charley lifted her into the sea sled cockpit and closed the bubble top. Spirit was all business, adopting a mission-posture. “She is amazing, Charley. How did you get her to stay so calm with all that gear?”
“Training, a never quit attitude, and courage. Canine courage.”
“I’ll be here when you return. I hope these seas don’t kick up any further. I took Dramamine but this is not my bag. I prefer dry land.”
Charley smiled, “Vicky, you’re the best. I appreciate what you are doing.”
“No prob, Katie’s like a sister.”
“Let’s go, CJ. Time for a swim.”
Once submerged to a depth of thirty feet, away from the wind and waves, the trio made good time. The sled is capable of fifteen knots. They kept their speed to half that amount and still entered the harbor just twenty minutes after leaving Vicky behind to keep Triple H at the GPS-coordinates they’ll use to rendezvous when they return.
They brought the sled to the base of a pier, very close to the GPS-coordinates Vicky had given them. Slowly ascending to the surface before the sled, Hawk peeked his head above water to see if they had a welcome party waiting.
Hawk returned to the sled and spoke to Charley through his built-in, dive-helmet headset, “Nobody on the pier, but there is some activity near the building we suspect they are holding Katie. No sign of the Cigarette boat.”
“Roger that, Hawk. Let’s see if Spirit can find a scent.”
They brought the sled up under the pier, opened the hatch and released Spirit after removing her face mask. The special harness allowed full mobility for the Belgian-Malinois as she tended to business. She knew the drill. All three crawled out of the water and leapfrogged toward the building. Spirit stayed on point, nose high, searching for a scent. Suddenly, she stopped, raised her tail and pointed to a shack on the side of the building.
“What is that? An outhouse?”
A small group of Cuban soldiers followed an officer, with shoulder insignia displaying three gold stars of a colonel and name tag Diaz, around the corner. He was gesturing wildly and chattering Spanish. Hawk was fluent. When they went inside the building, Hawk turned to Charley and said, “Bingo, Katie was here, just this morning. The Colonel said he wants his men to shoot the murdering Mullah on sight if comes back to Cuba. Evidently, there was an altercation between Kareef and one the Cuban soldiers that ended in a sliced throat for the soldier. Kareef, his men and Katie jumped into their fast boat and left, headed northeast.”
“Damn, so close. Let’s get back to your boat. We need to regroup. Maybe Vicky has more intel but this cloud cover rules out spotting them by satellite.”
Hawk added, “The storm has all CG cutters on station near the Keys.”
“Maybe Kareef will call again. I better charge my cell phone. We need to get back to Marathon quickly.”
They double-timed the sled back to the rendezvous point, winched it on board and started the wet ride back to Marathon. The head winds and rolling swells slowed them a bit but they still arrived before sunrise.
“I’ve got to go back to my office in Miami, Charley. Let me know if Kareef calls on Katie’s cell phone again. I’ll be sure the telecommunications guy continues to track its location.”
“Thanks, Vicky. I guess the good news is we know Katie was alive in Havana one day ago. The bad news is we don’t have a clue where Kareef took her. The storm complicates matters. I hope they didn’t run into trouble out on the Straits.”
“Kareef will call. It’s the only way he can lure you into a trap. That will be a big mistake for him.”
“Roger that, Vick. Call me when you have anything new on his location.”
HADAD HEADACHE
HADAD HAS A MASSIVE headache. He slept a few hours in the lumpy bed at the Coral Roc Motel but did not feel rested. The events of the past week have left him without energy and even less motivation to contact Mullah Kareef. Bad news is not advised if you want to keep your head. All he had was bad news. He dialed Kareef’s SAT phone. No matter where he was, the call would get through.
Kareef answered but only after ten rings. Hadad almost hung up. “Do you have the dogs; I want no delays?”
“Err, Mullah Kareef, there has been unavoidable problems. The storm, the ship, containers falling overboard.”
“What? Do you have the dogs?”
“No sir, not yet anyway.”
“That is unacceptable, Hadad. You know what happens when my orders are not completed?”
“Of course, Mullah Kareef. It will be a small delay. I assure you. The container we were in fell overboard, but we made it to shore.”
“So where are my dogs?”
“The surf was very rough. I nearly drowned.”
“I don’t care. Where are the dogs?”
They swam ashore, I am sure. I will find them. I just need a few days.”
“Where are you?”
“I am in Homestead, Florida. The container ship was approaching Miami in the storm, but the wind and waves were terrible. An entire stack of containers fell overboard.”
“Do not bore me with this, Hadad. Find the dogs and call me as soon as possible. It is very important to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mullah Kareef. You will hear from me in two days maximum.”
“Make it so or you will answer to my blade.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kareef hung up.
Hadad stared at the blank screen of his phone, “The Mullah is a madman. I must find the dogs, inshallah.”
He turned on the TV and was surprised by a news reporter speaking about a female Belgian-Malinois dog that was captured after she attacked a soldier at a restaurant in Key Largo. The reporter was standing in front of an animal shelter in North Homestead where the dog had been taken by animal control officers.
What a stroke of luck. Allah is great. At least I will recover one of the dogs and save my head from Kareef’s wrath. Maybe someone has seen Makeen, too. I will still try to find him before I go to Kareef.
Hadad quickly dressed and drove to the address reported on the news.
~~~
WHEN HE ARRIVED at the animal shelter and asked about the Belgian-Malinois, the receptionist called the shelter manager. Harry came to the front desk with a clip board full of forms and introduced himself to Hadad.
“Hello, my name is Harry Macomb. I’m the shelter manager. What is your name?”
Hadad adopted his southern accent again, especially since his fake driver’s license showed a South Carolina address. He extended his hand, “Hey, Harry. Pleased to meet ya. I’m Anouar and I believe you nice folks have found my dog, Zahira.”
Harry shook hands and asked Anouar for some identification. “We have scanned the dog for a microchip and found one. The owner of record is a Mr. Hadad. Do you have some i.d.?”
“Yessir, that’s me. Here’s my driver’s license. Me and my dog, or should I say dogs, two of ‘em, were doin’ some bone fishin’ out on Card Sound when a rogue wave capsized my boat. The dogs are strong swimmers. They took off for shore and I’ve been beside myself trying to locate them. Have you heard about a second one? He’s a little bigger, a male. But friendly.”
Harry looked sideways at Hadad and shook his head, “The dog we have here has no license collar. She is cold and in mild shock. What were you thinking going out on the water with the weather we’ve been having with the hurricane and all?”
“My sincere apologies, Mr. Macomb. I’m in Florida on a small vacation and wanted to enjoy it to the fullest before returning to South Carolina.”
“You should know your dog was picked up while attacking a serviceman at a restaurant about fifteen miles south, down 905A. Not too friendly.”
“She must have been frightened. Please accept my apologies.”
Harry stared at the driver’s license and wrote down the number and address. “Well, Mr. Hadad. I guess you can take custody of your dog but there is a small bill that needs paying, to cover the costs of boarding her, the food, the leash and collar, since she had none.”
Hadad did not hesitate to pull out a credit card. The sooner he got the dog back the better. He still needed to locate Makeen. “Much obliged, sir. I’ll be on my way as soon as you bring my dog.”
A few minutes later, a tech brought Zahira, an Arabic name meaning bright. She was dry but kept her head low, especially when she saw Hadad.
“Come, Zahira. You’ve been bad, running off like that. Where is Makeen?”
The dog did not make eye contact and reluctantly followed Hadad out the door when he took her leash. When they got inside the rental car, Hadad scolded her and rapped her nose, “You worthless dog, I should feed you to the sharks, but Kareef will have my head if I do not deliver you.”
Zahira, jumped into the back seat, far from Hadad. Not a happy reunion.
Before heading back to the Coral Roc Motel, Hadad detoured south on Highway 1 toward the area Makeen was swimming to after jumping off the beached container. Maybe he'd get lucky a second time, if Allah willed it. When he reached Manatee Bay, he recognized where he had come ashore a day and a half earlier. Hadad parked the car in a small lot just off the highway, leashed up Zahira and opened the car door.
“Come, Zahira. Try to pick up Makeen's scent. You know him. Go.”
Zahira took a moment to look out the door, lifted her nose high, and jumped out, pulling Hadad behind her.
“Good dog, you smell Makeen? Allah be praised. Go, go find him.”
Deeper into the dense bush they walked. Two hours later, Hadad halted the search and sat on a log, near a watering hole, sweating profusely in the high humidity of the Everglades. Zahira's initial excitement waned. She lost the scent.
Hadad decided to go back to the motel to rest. Before he stood, a large snake burst from the water and bit him in the ankle and started to drag him into the water. Zahira reacted instinctively. As much as she di
sliked Hadad, she sprang at the snake, a Burmese Python, and bit behind its head. The snake released Hadad and slithered back into the water. Hadad wasted no time and ran back the way they had come. Zahira followed.
Safely back inside the car, Hadad looked at Zahira, and for a moment softened his usual glare. “You did well, dog. Allah guided you to save me.”
Zahira snorted. Whatever.
❖
ROAMING CANINES
Twenty-four hours earlier...
BELGIAN-MALINOIS have an uncanny sense for survival against all odds. The smaller, female dog headed north and crawled ashore at Alabama Jacks on 905A. Soaking wet, tongue hanging out, she entered the restaurant, following the scent of food on the grill. The patrons stared in wonder as the canine headed for the kitchen. A man in military uniform stood and called the dog. He was greeted with bare teeth and snarls. The dog had been trained to attack anyone in the drab green of American military men. The man backed down. The restaurant owner called local animal control. Fifteen minutes later, the animal control officer had the dog caged and transported her to the local animal shelter. Hopefully, the owner will be located. The animal control officer marveled at the conditioning of the dog. She was all muscle and seemed very intelligent. He treated her with respect but knew she was a threat to the public if not properly handled.
The other dog headed west and landed near Bay Point and ran north up the South Dixie Highway and the edge of the Southern Glades. Low land, swamps and inlets full of alligators, snakes and other dangerous predators. Hadad had named him Makeen, Arabic for strong. He will need to be if he runs into any of the deadly creatures that make the Florida Everglades their hunting grounds. Makeen smelled something that might be food. He was thirsty and starving after expending so much energy swimming ashore, He left the highway and entered the dense bush of the Everglades. Perhaps a life-ending decision, but his hunger pushed him in that direction.
Charley Manner series Box Set Page 26