Caribbean's Keeper

by Boland, Brian;

  He yelled again, “Hey, what is it?”

  Still no reply. Cole looked back at the engines then up over his shoulder. His heart sank. It was an MH-65 Dolphin helicopter, off his stern and no more than 100 feet above him. It caught up to Cole then offset to his port side and matched speed. It was HITRON, the armed Coast Guard Helicopter Interdiction Squadron that made a name for themselves employing precision marksmen from the cabin of the helicopter. The crews were trained to shoot out engines of Go-Fasts. Cole had seen them come and go from Delaney and they prided themselves on a nearly 100-percent success rate. Operating alone at night and in the middle of the Caribbean, they were no-nonsense pilots and crews that had, over the years, made a significant dent in the amount of narcotics traveling north.

  The whining sound was the fenestron, a somewhat unique tail rotor that made a high-pitched whine. Cole was an idiot for not recognizing it when he first heard it. The stoner just stood there next to Cole looking up at the helicopter in disbelief. There was no way of knowing from where the helo had come from, how much gas he had left, or where the ship was off of which he was operating.

  Cole looked around for clouds, but there were none. All that was above him were stars and the moon. He clenched his teeth and told himself to think, but he had no options. Popping open the locker under the console, Cole rummaged around as best he could, looking for a flag of any country that he could wave to delay the Coast Guard’s approval to stop him, but there were none that he could find.

  He looked back up at the helicopter. With the moon more than half illuminated, he could see the gunner in the open cabin and the barrel of his rifle sticking out. He didn’t know what it was, either a 240 Golf or M-14, but either way the precision marksman was trained on Cole. Keeping the throttles jammed, Cole zigzagged a bit, but the pilots kept ahead of his evasive turns. There was no use and Cole knew it. He had nowhere to go.

  Forcing himself to stay calm, Cole played scenarios out in his head. Maybe there will be a problem with their approval process and I’d luck out? Maybe they’ll run out of gas? Just as the thought crossed his mind, the gunner opened up with a deafening volley of automatic fire across the bow. Cole saw the spray come up where the rounds impacted the water. Moments later a second volley crossed his bow. Cole knew it was protocol and in another minute or two, the gunner would switch to his .50-caliber rifle and take aim at the engines.

  The stoner was sitting down, expressionless and staring ahead. Cole shook his head just as a single shot rang out, and Cole felt the blast against his eardrums. Following the shot, the boat swerved a bit and Cole looked back to see his port engine destroyed. The bullet had impacted the engine and shattered the cowling. It had broken the mount as well, and the remains of the engine were canted to one side. Cole’s ears were ringing when the second shot took out the center outboard with similar results.

  Fuck. Cole was down to one engine and the boat had slowed to 12 knots.

  He had a hard time controlling her and thought about just shutting the last engine down to spare his ears from a third shot. Before he could finish the thought, a third and final shot rang out and the last outboard sputtered and died. Cole’s Go-Fast quickly came to a full stop and he was left dead in the water. His ears were painful and he thought perhaps he’d burst an eardrum, but that was the least of his problems. The MH-65 climbed up and into an orbit around him for some time before flying off to the west.

  Cole was left alone. Without the engines, the only sound was the waves lapping up against the hull. It was peaceful and eerily quiet. Cole scanned the horizon for a C-130 or P-3, but saw nothing. How had they tracked me down so early into this run? On top of that, he was far to the east of the major drug corridors. It didn’t make any sense, but then again it didn’t matter. Cole sat on the railing of the boat for some time and mulled over his options. Someone was coming for him and he had to act quickly to save himself. If he tossed the bales overboard and they didn’t sink, he was screwed. Even if he ditched the drugs, the boarding team would run an Ionscan test and it would surely come up positive.

  The only option was to burn it. He had enough gas left in the tanks. He just needed a match. He dug around a bit but found none. Opening up the battery compartment, he pulled the battery out and set it down on the deck then found a knife in the console storage bin. He stripped wire off of some cables coming out of the console and wrapped them in a loose coil. He then gathered a few rags and waited, scanning the horizon for a hull. It was another hour or so before he saw it, on the horizon to the west. It looked like a cutter, maybe even the Coast Guard.

  Twenty minutes later, he could see the wake of the small boat coming towards him at less than a mile. Cole went to work. He stabbed the fuel barrels near the bottom and fuel started to spill out. The stoner, unbeknownst to Cole, had been snorting coke from one of the bales for some time and was now a shit hot mess sitting on the deck. Cole motioned for him to jump overboard, but the guy didn’t process it.

  “Jump, you dumbass. JUMP!” Cole motioned again and the stoner started to stand up.

  Cole soaked a few of the rags in gas then set them down next to the battery. With two of the rags that were still dry, he held the wire and touched it against the connectors. It sparked a bit then went out. The boat rolled and the battery slid away from him.

  “Fuck. Come on,” Cole said as he looked up to see the small boat closing in on him.

  He pulled the battery back in close. The smell of gasoline came and went with the breeze and Cole knew he was sitting on a time bomb, but he was committed at this point. He touched the wires again and they sparked. With his other hand covered by a dry cloth, he picked up one of the gas-soaked rags and touched it to the wire. It erupted and nearly singed his entire face when it did. With the rag completely engulfed in flames, Cole dropped it on the deck, grabbed a dry rag, and adjusted it better protect his hand.

  Standing up on the bow, Cole threw the burning rag aft and watched it catch a pool of gas by the console. Satisfied that the boat would explode any second, Cole jumped over the side. When he hit the water, he went completely under and took a few strokes away from the boat. He emerged and looked back to see flames rising up from the aft portion of the boat, but it still hadn’t spread forward to the drugs. Cole rolled and swam hard away from the boat and as he did, the fuel tanks exploded, sending a wave of heat against the back of his head. Thick smoke bellowed into the night sky and obscured the boat when he looked back.

  Satisfied that he was far enough away, Cole treaded in place and watched it burn. Before long, the hull was gone and only bits and pieces still floated in the debris field with flames all around them. Cole wiped at his face and cupped saltwater with his hands, pouring it over his head to wash away any traces of the drugs. The evidence was gone and for that he was relieved. Still, he was now treading water in the middle of the Caribbean at night. The sound of burning and smoldering debris crackled like a wood fire as Cole spun around a few times, looking for the small boat.

  When he finally saw it circling the debris, he yelled and waved. The boarding team spotted him and turned in his direction. As they approached, Cole waited patiently until it was nearly beside him. One of the boarding team members pointed a shotgun at Cole as he floated in the water.

  Cole lifted both his hands out of the water. “You got me,” he said with a grin.

  “Cole? Is that you?” It was Wheeler.

  He reached down and offered a hand to Cole and pulled him up and over the side. “You have got to be fucking kidding me, Cole,” Wheeler said, partly pissed and in complete disbelief.

  “Nice to see you, Wheeler.”

  Cole wiped the water away from his face as he sat on the side of the small boat. One of the boarding team members kept his M9 pistol pointed at Cole.

  “What the fuck are you doing down here?” asked Wheeler.

  Cole smiled. “Fishing trip. I guess it went bad.”

  Wheeler shook his head in disbelief. He radi
oed back to Delaney, “One onboard, we’re RTB.”

  Cole spoke up, “No, there are two of us. There’s another guy.”

  Wheeler looked at Cole. “It’s just you man. We didn’t see anyone else.”

  “No, there’s another guy, he jumped before I did.”

  “We’re taking you back first. Then we’ll look some more.”

  As the small boat sped back to Delaney, Cole looked over his shoulder at the debris. There were only few pieces still burning, but almost nothing was left. What had the stoner thought when I told him to jump? Maybe the son of a bitch didn’t know how to swim, or maybe he was paralyzed by fear and the coke running through his veins. Either way, if Wheeler hadn’t found him by now, he was probably gone. Once again, death was Cole’s companion and the gravity of it all began to sink in.

  Cole wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked ahead and saw the dark hull of Delaney. It had been almost a year, but now he was going back on Delaney and this time he’d be in handcuffs.

  Fucking Karma, he thought. The MH-65 was shut down now on the flight deck and Cole could see a group on the fantail waiting for his arrival. He knew the drill.

  When the small boat pulled up, Cole climbed the ladder and was quickly cuffed, then led up to the flightdeck. Wheeler was ahead of him and disappeared through the same hatch from which Cole had walked through when he left the ship the previous summer. The boarding team members led Cole to the starboard side of the hangar and took the handcuff from his left wrist off then attached it to a pipe. They set a blanket down and Cole took a seat on it, his back against the hangar.

  The aircrew was doing a post-flight cleanup of their helicopter before they pushed it into the hangar and closed the hangar door behind them. Cole watched in silence as they cleaned up the last bits and pieces. One of the boarding team members sat on a chair a few feet from Cole, keeping an eye on him. The gunner from the MH-65 was stowing a few things inside the cabin and caught Cole looking at him.

  Cole asked, “Was that you shooting?” The gunner nodded that it was. “Nice shot, man.”

  The gunner stopped what he was doing and looked at Cole with a half a grin on his face. He asked, “Is it true what they said, that you were in the Coast Guard?”

  Cole laughed and replied, “Yeah, I was. I was on this fucking boat.”

  The gunner went back to storing his equipment and thought about it for a few seconds. “Ain’t that some shit,” he said, without looking back at Cole.

  Cole nodded, “Yeah. Life’s a bitch sometimes.” He pressed the back of his head against the bulkhead. His brain was flooded with bad memories of his two years on Delaney.

  When the gunner was through and the flight crew had put their helicopter to bed, he nodded at Cole before disappearing into the ship. Cole was left with his one guard watching over him and settled, trying to find a comfortable position. The dim red lights were the same as Cole had remembered them. He found them still incredibly depressing.

  As he adjusted his legs, a deep sadness came over him. For the first time in hours, he thought of Isabella. She was in Martinique waiting for him. There was no way he’d be back in two days now. He felt it in his stomach when he thought of how much she would worry about him. He had no way to communicate with her. She didn’t know it yet, but Cole had managed to hurt her, just as he’d feared.

  Cole was angry with himself and playing options in his head when the forward door swung open. Cole looked over to see Potts coming towards him, followed closely by Wheeler. As usual, Potts was agitated. Wheeler was trying to calm him down, but Potts was moving towards Cole like a freight train. As he came to within a foot of Cole, Potts stopped and Cole could see him breathing deeply and exhaling forcibly through his nostrils.

  “You little piece of shit.” Potts didn’t know where to go with it. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Cole?”

  Even with the red lights, Cole could see that Potts was turning red.

  Cole wasn’t going to back down. Fuck Potts, he thought. You tried to fuck me, well two can play that game.

  “I was fishing. Something went wrong, but I truly appreciate the Coast Guard’s assistance. You guys are real heroes.” Cole winked at him.

  Potts reared back with his right hand and punched Cole in the face. Ducking away in time to deflect the blow to the side of his face, it still shook Cole pretty good. He was dazed for a moment, and when he steadied himself, Wheeler and the boarding team member were pulling Potts away. They got him back towards the door and Potts threw his hands up to cast them off of him and disappeared back into the ship.

  Wheeler came back over to Cole. “Fucking A, Cole. You all right?”

  Cole nodded. It stung. Cole could feel his left eye swelling shut a bit.

  Wheeler looked at Cole’s face. “I’ll get some ice for you.”

  Cole shook his head. “Fuck it, Wheeler. I’m fine. Just keep him away from me—for his sake and mine.”

  Wheeler nodded. “All right, Cole. Get some rest if you can. We’re flying you to Guantanamo Bay tomorrow.”

  Wheeler turned and disappeared back into the ship. Cole knew that beyond that bulkhead were air conditioning and dry beds. Not 20 feet from where he sat was the same damn rack he’d slept in for nearly two years. He preferred to sleep in the hangar rather than see that stateroom again.

  His head hurt. His ears were still ringing from the shots and the left side of his head was swelling. He was thirsty and hungry and the salt water had begun to dry against his skin, making him itch. On top of that, the non-skid under the blanket poked through and made it impossible to sit for any amount of time without discomfort. Even with all of that, he thought solely of Isabella and the sadness that ensued left him feeling a low Cole had never known before.

  Chapter 15 – Deceived

  COLE SLEPT ON and off through the night. His guard swapped out at some point during the evening, but other than that he saw no one and heard nothing over the damned familiar hum of the ship. With the hangar door closed and no air circulating through the space, it was uncomfortably humid under the red lights. His sweat only made the dried salt water worse when it ran into his eyes. The hardest part, though, was not knowing where he was or where he was going. As was to be expected, no one told him a thing.

  After several hours of being awake, Cole was relieved when a few enlisted folks appeared in the hangar and opened the hangar door, revealing the morning sun and blue skies. Still handcuffed, sweating, and uncomfortable, the sight of some blue sky lifted Cole’s spirits. The ship rocked gently back and forth on a calm Caribbean morning as she steamed. With the sun rising off the stern, Cole figured they were making their way towards Guantanamo Bay. It was already warm, but as the salt air wafted through the hangar, Cole felt some breeze against his body for the first time in half a day.

  Some of the crew looked at him, but most ignored their new prisoner as they went about their morning routine. Cole recognized a few faces, but none dared speak to him. Cole doubted the ones he knew even recognized him under his shaggy hair and a week’s worth of an unkempt beard. Allison appeared through the hatch and brought with her a banana and a glass of water. Cole was relieved and excited to see her, but didn’t know what to say.

  “Hey, stranger.” It was all Cole could manage and he said it with genuine despair.

  “Your eye looks pretty bad,” Allison said as she knelt down beside him, giving Cole the glass.

  Cole drank it in two gulps and Allison passed him the banana. “Potts ordered us not to give you anything. He’s in a meeting right now in CIC, so you better hurry.” She took the glass from him as Cole mouthed the banana.

  He felt a bit better. The left side of his face was tender, and he could feel the swelling around his eye. He passed the banana peel back to Allison.

  Still kneeling beside Cole, she asked, “Is it true there was another guy with you?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what happened to him.” Cole looked away from Allison
when he said it.

  “We looked last night for a while, but never found anything. Now, they want you in Florida today, so we left a bit after midnight.”

  Both of them were silent.

  She asked, “Does it bother you?”

  Cole thought for a moment. “I don’t even know where to start. The last year hasn’t been what I thought it would.”

  Allison stood up and said, “I think you brought it on yourself, Cole. I worry about you like this. It’s not you.”

  Cole looked up at her. “That’s the thing. I don’t know who I am anymore. Maybe I really am just a fuckup.”

  She shook her head disapprovingly and walked away. It hurt him to see her upset and Cole knew he had no one to blame but himself. Having hit a low, Allison was his witness to see Cole at his worst. He pressed his head back against the pipe behind him and looked out at the water behind him. He could see the wake of Delaney trailing off to the east. He then remembered everything he hated about that ship. Why did it have to be Delaney that caught me? Cole shook his head and took a deep breath.

  g

  By the afternoon, the aircrew was pushing the helicopter out onto the flight deck. Cole watched over the next hour as they prepped and fueled the MH-65. When it was time, Wheeler came up to Cole, uncuffed him from the pipe, handcuffed him again with his hands in front, and brought him over to the cabin door. Cole climbed in and took a seat. Wheeler punched Cole in the shoulder, nodded slightly, and walked away. The same gunner from the night before was sitting next to him.

  He leaned over to Cole. “If you try anything in flight, I’ll fuck you up worse than whoever did that to your eye last night.”

  Cole laughed at the nonchalant way the gunner said it. He shook his head, reassuring the gunner, “Don’t worry bud. I’ve lost this fight already.”

  The gunner grinned and nodded, then put his helmet on and the pilots started the engines. Before long they were airborne, and Cole was thankful to at least be off Delaney. The helicopter turned north and flew for almost an hour. In front of them, Cole saw land jutting up out of the dark blue water. He didn’t know where they were and it didn’t look like Cuba. They flew overland for another hour then landed on a massive runway and taxied in to a ramp surrounded by old concrete hangars. Cole recognized it as an air station. There were four helicopters on the pavement, three HH-65s and an HH-60 Jayhawk. On the far end of the ramp sat a C-130 with its crew scurrying around.