Bluewater Revolution: The Twelfth Novel in the Bluewater Thriller Series - Mystery and Adventure in Florida, Cuba, and the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 12)

by Charles Dougherty

  "You're a brave man to do that," Phillip said. "Buena suerte. You have anything else?"

  "No, señor. Until midnight, then." There was a click as Martínez disconnected the call.

  "Do you think it was wise to threaten them?" Mary Weatherby asked.

  Before Phillip could answer, J.-P. spoke. "It is as Phillip said. They have no idea what they have done." He chuckled.

  "To be clear," Weatherby said, "I intend to arrest these people. There will be no settling of scores tonight."

  J.-P. nodded.

  "I'm glad that we agree," Weatherby said.

  "I don't think you quite understand, Mary," Liz said. "They'll be lucky if they make it to the rendezvous."

  "What am I missing?" Weatherby asked.

  "Dani," Sharktooth said. "She not signed up to your plan, see."

  "But she's their prisoner," Weatherby said.

  "Did you ever read O. Henry?" Connie asked. "You sound like a literate woman."

  "Yes, I've read some of his work. Why?"

  "How about Ransom of the Red Chief?" Connie asked.

  Weatherby shook her head. "It's been since college. I don't remember that one."

  "Too bad," Connie said. "I have a feeling we're going to see a re-enactment. If not, you should look it up later. It's one of his better stories."

  "Okay, damn it, I want an explanation."

  "The short version is they'll be sorry they ever met Dani," Paul said, "and at this point, it's out of our hands anyway. I'd vote for a little sleep. We're going to have a long day."

  Phillip looked at his watch. "It's two o'clock. There's not much we can do until tomorrow. J.-P. can call the bank around nine to verify receipt of the funds, although I'm not sure that matters now. We'll have to leave here late in the afternoon to pick up La Paloma and make the drop in Whitewater Bay at midnight. Mary, have you and Luke got your resources lined up for the bust?"

  "Yes," Luke said. "We'll need to work out all the details during the day, but they're committed. We'll have a couple of Coast Guard 45-foot RBMs and a 110-foot cutter standing by offshore, with a few other special-purpose craft, including an airboat in case somebody takes off through the 'Glades. The mission commander wants to let them pick up the weapons in Whitewater Bay and then intercept them in open water after they get into the Gulf. They'll have a chopper, too."

  "Sounds good enough for now," Phillip said. "Let's everybody find a place to stretch out and crash. How about breakfast around 8:30?"

  ****

  Chapter 29

  "There's a dirt road about 100 yards ahead on the right," Santos said. "Slow down and turn."

  Dani flicked the turn signal on and took her foot off the accelerator. "You have a canoe or something here?"

  "Yeah. Canoe and a coupla kayaks. We take the canoe. Follow this road as far as you can. It's not far."

  "The undergrowth's going to scratch Ortiz's car," she said, hearing the scraping sounds.

  "This is good. Just stop."

  "There's nowhere to pull over," Dani said.

  "No problem. Just stop. It don't go much farther."

  She stopped and put the car in park, shutting off the engine. She turned and looked at Santos, waiting for him to speak.

  "Good. I'm gonna get out; you stay put until I tell you." He brandished the pistol.

  "Okay," she said, keeping both hands on the wheel.

  Santos opened his door and got out, walking around the front of the car and facing her, the pistol trained on her through the windshield. He nodded and motioned with his left hand for her to come toward him. She got out, closing her door and locking the car with the electronic key fob.

  When she was a few steps from him, he reached into his pants pocket with his left hand and withdrew a key ring. He tossed it to her and said, "Follow the road. The canoe is under a camouflage tarp on the right in a few yards." He kept the pistol trained on her and backed into the undergrowth, allowing room for her to pass him without getting too close.

  She spotted the tarp, more from the change in the visual texture than from anything else. The moon was close to full, bathing the undergrowth in silvery shadows. Stopping, she looked over her shoulder.

  He nodded. "That's it. Push the tarp back. The canoe's chained to a log. One of them keys will fit. Go on and unlock it."

  She bent and fumbled with the keys until she found one that fit the lock. She took the padlock off the chain and snapped it shut. Holding the keys in her left hand and the lock in her right hand, she straightened up. "Got it," she said, moving to toss him the keys.

  "No!" he barked, a wary look on his face. "Put 'em in your pocket. We need 'em for the boat."

  She smiled at his caution and put the keys and the lock into the pockets of her shorts. He was a pro; he didn't want to be distracted by catching the keys. She'd been testing him; she'd wanted to pocket the lock. She wouldn't have taken him yet, anyway. She wanted to know where the boats were hidden, first. "Okay," she said.

  "Flip it upright and drag it into the road," he said. "The water's straight ahead. Just grab that rope on the end and pull it along behind you."

  Once she had the canoe in tow, she asked, "You want me to launch it?" She could see the glint of the moonlight on smooth water a few yards farther on.

  "Yeah. Push the front end of it straight out from the mud. Leave the back end on shore." He watched as she followed his instructions. "Good. You ever been in a canoe?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "They wobble," he said. "Don't do nothin' until I tell you. Be real careful when you get in. There's monster alligators in here."

  She'd already noticed that one was watching from a few yards out in the water. The eyes and nostrils that broke the surface were the only giveaway. "I see one," she said, pointing.

  "There's more. Big bastards, too. Get in the canoe and go up to the front. There's a brace thing across it. Step over that and kneel down facing out."

  She stepped over the gunwale on the starboard side of the canoe, placing her left foot in the center. Dropping to a crouch, she grasped the gunwales with her hands, one on each side, and swung her right foot over.

  She worked her way forward until she was past the forwardmost thwart. Kneeling, she sat back against the thwart, keeping one hand on each gunwale. She felt the canoe shift as Santos heaved his bulk aboard. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he had put his left foot in the center, as she had done.

  His left hand gripped the port gunwale; he held the pistol in his right hand, pointed in her general direction. Putting his weight on his left leg, he gave a strong thrust against the muddy shore with his right leg. The canoe lurched forward, spooking the big gator, which disappeared without leaving a ripple.

  The canoe rocked and continued to drift forward as Santos settled into a kneeling position. "There's a paddle on the left side up there," he said. "It's held in with Velcro. Pull it loose."

  When she had the paddle free, he said, "We're gonna go right straight up the middle. It's shallow, so use the paddle to push against the bottom. That's easier than tryin' to row this thing in a straight line."

  "Paddle," Dani said, as she extended the paddle until she felt the soft bottom. She applied a bit of force, and the canoe moved forward.

  "What?" Santos said.

  "You paddle the canoe in a straight line. Row is something else; you do that with oars."

  "Whatever," he said. "You know how to paddle this thing?"

  "Yes."

  "Good, 'cause in a few hundred yards, we're gonna be out in Coot Bay. It's a little deeper. Not so easy to reach the bottom with the paddle."

  "That's okay," she said. "It'll be a lot faster if you put the pistol down and help paddle. You'd have plenty of warning if I tried to jump you, as unsteady as this thing is."

  "All right, but I'll make us go all over the place," he said.

  "I'll teach you how. You're right-handed?"

  "Yeah."

  "Then only paddle on the left side. Don't try to us
e much muscle. Put your paddle in the water when I put mine in. Stroke like you see me stroke. If you see us going off to the side, dip the paddle in and turn it so it's cutting the water like a knife blade as we coast. Then you can twist it to steer. Give it a try and see if you can keep us going where you want."

  After a minute or two of erratic zig-zagging, Santos managed to hold a reasonably straight course. "That's pretty damn cool," he said.

  "You're getting it, Santos. Now give me an idea of where we're going so I can help."

  "We're about halfway to Coot Bay," he said. "There's a gap in the mud and grass straight ahead. We're gonna go through that and then straight across Coot Bay. There's a creek that leads out of Coot Bay into Whitewater Bay, then we follow the shoreline around to the right. It's maybe four or five miles to the boats."

  "Okay, good. Let me know if you want me to help turn us one way or the other."

  "I got it. This isn't so damn hard, if you know what you're doin'. Where'd you learn this?"

  "Boats are how I make my living, remember?"

  "Yeah. Good, 'cause I don't know shit about them."

  "I thought you ran away to sea when you were a kid."

  "Yeah, but I didn't learn nothin' about boats. I learned about mops and scrub brushes and liftin' heavy stuff."

  ****

  "I need to go meet Cruz at the apartments and start getting the troops sorted out," Martínez said. "You're planning to be at the delivery, right?"

  "Yes, but I'm only going that far. I want you and Cruz to carry on to Cuba from there without me."

  "No front-line combat for you, huh, Willy? It's not the real thing, you know. They're going to be waiting for us. Cruz and those poor bastards won't have a chance. You wouldn't have to get your hands dirty."

  "That's not it, José. You know I need to stay back here and manage the media coverage."

  "Sure you do," Martínez taunted him. "Why are you even going to the drop? It's muddy and nasty. There will be snakes and alligators."

  "Fuck you, Martínez. I'll be shooting video of the whole thing. We'll have plenty of moonlight. It would be a waste without the media coverage."

  "Don't be upset, Willy. I'm just giving you a hard time. What are you going to do once we head out?"

  "Santos will bring me back to Miami. I'll have to sort out the mess here, since Cruz won't be coming back."

  "You have somebody to take his place?" Martínez asked.

  "I think so. I'll run it through Ortiz and Santos until all the details are public. Once Cruz is executed, I'll call a meeting of my fellow investors and we'll pick a successor."

  "Not Ortiz, then?"

  "No," Maldonado said. "He's done a decent job so far, but he's not one of us. Not yet. There's a guy in New York that I have in mind, maybe."

  "Anybody I know?"

  "I don't think so. No reason you would. Why?"

  "I like Miami," Martínez said. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

  "You're only in your late forties, José. Phillip Davis is your age, isn't he?"

  "Yeah, and he's retired."

  "He's not, either," Maldonado said. "He's in the middle of this, just like you."

  "Only because I put him in the middle. He hasn't been in the line of fire in years. Guys like me and Davis, we've used up our nine lives. They call it infantry for a reason. Ground war's a young man's game, Willy. I need to get out before somebody takes me out."

  "You're serious, aren't you?"

  "Yes, I am," Martínez said.

  "How would we work it? I mean, people know you. Like Davis, for example. There are others like him that have run across you over the years."

  "I'd have to be a different person. Maybe a little cosmetic surgery. Think about it, Willy."

  "Yeah, I will. But first you have a job to do, José. How will you avoid getting shot when you hit the beach, anyway?"

  "I'll keep my head down, don't worry. Besides, the men defending the beachhead all know me. I hand-picked them for this ambush. It's going to be a slaughter; Cruz will be the only survivor."

  "And then what happens to him?" Maldonado asked.

  "He'll confess, and blow the whistle on Davis and General Olsen."

  "Why is he going to do that?"

  "In exchange for clemency; he thinks he'll serve a few months in prison and then be released and deported back to the U.S.," Martínez said. "He's all set to be a hero with the exiles; the dumb bastard's talking about running for elected office."

  "What a fool," Maldonado said. "Can't he see that could never happen?"

  Martínez grinned and shrugged. "Who knows?"

  ****

  "We're going up into that little break in the mangroves," Santos said. They were following the northern shore of Whitewater Bay, a few yards off.

  "That one?" Dani asked, pointing.

  "Yeah, there's a little open area up in there, big enough for the four boats."

  "Are they under cover?"

  "You mean from the air?"

  "Yes," Dani said.

  "The trees close it off almost completely. Why?"

  "Just curious. Are you going to want me to call my father or anything?"

  "No. He's been told, by now. Besides, cellphones don't work out here, so don't waste your time once I lock you up."

  "Okay. So you use satellite phones?"

  "Yeah. What are you getting at?"

  "It would go better for you if he knew I was all right; you don't know him. He's probably going nuts right now. It'll soon be dawn; he could have the Florida National Guard out with choppers, for all we know. My godfather's a big donor to the Governor's campaign fund. Maybe you should at least check with your boss."

  "Stop here, before we get under the trees."

  "Why?"

  "They block the satellite. I got the pistol back in my hand, so don't do nothin' stupid, okay?"

  "Okay." She looked straight ahead, listening to his whispered conversation. Smiling to herself, she considered her next steps.

  "He said no calls to your father," Santos said. "Everything is fine; you got no worries. Come midnight, you be back with your friends. Now paddle us up in there."

  "Whatever you say." With a few deft strokes, she took the canoe into the narrow channel.

  About ten meters in, the mangroves opened up. Four sleek, 50-foot ocean racers were tied with their sterns to the mangroves on the opposite side of the little bay. The dark gray, matte finish made them almost invisible in the shadows of the trees.

  "Take us to the outside of the one on the right," Santos said.

  As the canoe scraped up against the side of the bigger boat, Santos stood up, facing the ocean racer. The canoe rolled in a violent reaction to his shifting weight. He grabbed the gunwale of the bigger boat to keep his footing.

  Reaching out with her left hand, Dani laid her palm on the big boat, steadying them while she twisted to put the paddle in the canoe behind her. "Now what?" she asked.

  "You see them steps in the side a little to your right?"

  "The molded-in ones?" she asked.

  "Yeah. Them," he said. "Go on and climb up there. Then stand there and don't move until I'm up. I will shoot you if you try to run. There's nowhere to go, anyway. Go on!"

  Dani put both hands on the big boat's gunwale as her end of the canoe began to drift away from the side of the boat.

  "Hold us!" Santos yelped.

  "Okay," she said, putting her left foot up on the canoe's gunwale. She saw that he had lost his balance. He held on to the big boat with his left hand and had his right elbow resting on the big boat's gunwale, supporting most of his weight. His right forearm lay on the side deck of the ocean racer as he tried to lever himself up. The pistol, still gripped in his right hand, pointed away from her.

  She lunged, thrusting hard with her left leg, pushing the canoe out from under Santos as she scrambled up onto the big boat's narrow side deck.

  "Shit!" Santos yelled, as he was forced to hang on with his left hand and his rig
ht elbow. In his panic, he dropped the pistol on the side deck.

  Dani, by now crouched on the deck in front of him, snatched the pistol and shoved it in her waistband. Santos, intent on not losing his grip, didn't notice.

  "Help me up!" he barked, his feet scuffling in the bottom of the canoe, which was no longer below his center of gravity. Only his toes kept it from drifting away.

  Reaching over his right shoulder, Dani hooked her fingers under his armpit, grasping and pulling as she grabbed a handrail behind her with her other hand. "I've got you. Calm down, now."

  "Get me up before the fuckin' gators -- "

  "Try to pull the canoe back under yourself with your feet," she said. "No way I can lift you."

  "Okay, but don't let me go," he said, doing as she suggested.

  In a moment, he was able to plant his feet in the canoe and take his weight on his legs. Sighing with relief, he said, "Thanks. I owe you big -- "

  Before he could finish, Dani swung her right hand around. Her middle finger was stuck through the shackle of the big padlock she'd taken from her pocket. The body of the lock was cupped in her palm. She drove the big hunk of laminated steel into his left temple with all her weight behind it. His eyes rolled back and he gurgled as he began to convulse.

  Muttering "Paybacks are a mother," Dani dropped down into the canoe as he collapsed into it. She held onto the big boat with one hand, watching until he grew still. Reaching behind her, she found the canoe's bow line. She made it fast to a cleat on the big boat's side deck.

  Kneeling in the bottom of the canoe, she felt for a pulse in Santos's neck. Deciding he was dead, she rifled his pockets. She found the satellite phone and an extra, fully loaded magazine for the pistol. Pocketing both, she remembered the folding combat knife he'd kept in his shirt pocket. She retrieved it and considered what to do with his corpse. She might want the canoe later, and he was too heavy for her to lift.

  She climbed back onto the ocean racer and looked for a length of rope. Finding several ready-made dock lines in a locker, she took one and got back into the canoe. She tied the dock line around the end of the midship thwart that was closer to the big boat and climbed back up. Pulling on the dock line, she managed to capsize the canoe, spilling Santos into the dark water.