Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island

by H. Terrell Griffin

  We arrived at Sand Key just as the setting sun painted the sea in red and orange. A slight wind was blowing from the Atlantic, just enough to cool us down without causing the sea to kick up. We spent the next three hours checking weapons and discussing a plan of attack.

  We were eating our sandwiches when my phone rang. Jeff Timmons.

  "Matt, I just got a call from the police. Laura's in a hospital. I'm on my way there now, but I wanted you to know. "

  "How bad?"

  "She's fine, I think. Thank God. She's been in a coma, and they couldn't identify her. She's awake now. Turns out her fingerprints aren't on file anywhere, and the Atlanta cops didn't make the connection between Laura and die woman in the hospital."

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt like I'd been holding my breath since I heard that she had disappeared. "That's great, Jeff. What happened?"

  "She went out for a walk and fainted. She apparently hit her head on a curb and was knocked unconscious. Somebody called an ambulance and they took her in. When she came to, she told them who she was. I'm on my way to the hospital now."

  "Is she going to be all right?"

  "I think so. She's awake and lucid. I'll let you know as soon as I know something more."

  "I'll be out-of-pocket tonight, Jeff. I'll call you in the morning."

  A sense of relief swept through me. The dream wasn't an omen. She was alive and well and would probably be her old self soon. I'd get Peggy back to her, and her life would pick up where it had stopped dead with Peggy's disappearance. I would lose Laura again, but I had no claim to her. She had loved me, and I had driven her away. She'd found happiness with a good man, and that was more important to me than having her back. Hell, I'd probably just disappoint her again, and she deserved better. And now, after all these years, we'd be friends again. She would be just a phone call away, and I'd have to be satisfied with that. It was more than I'd had for the past ten years, and it would have to be enough. Love, I think, the real kind, the bone-deep, tissue-pervading emotion that perhaps only comes along once in a lifetime, is controllable, if the object of that love is happy. Even if her happiness includes me only on the periphery of her life.

  At midnight, we were in the Boca Grande Channel, engines idling. We were west of Blood Island, looking for the tall tree Abraham Osceola had told me about.

  Jock was rummaging around in the box of equipment brought aboard at Moore's. He handed me a pair of night-vision goggles. "Here. Try these."

  I put them on, and the night turned green. There was no moon, but the sky was blanketed with stars. I saw the tree, and using my handheld compass, took a bearing. "We're not quite there," I said. "Logan, move us a little more to the north."

  In a few minutes I could see the tree Abraham had told me about. "We should be at the entrance to the channel. Let's take her in quietly."

  Logan made the turn and lined up on the tree. The depth sounder was reading fifteen feet all the way in. As we got closer, I could see a small opening in die dense mangroves that lined the island. I pointed it out to Logan, and he steered for it.

  "Bottoms coming up," Logan said. "Five feet."

  The boat could handle two feet, so we had a little leeway.

  "Tides coming in." I said, "I'd rather be a little shallow than too deep. It'll be deeper when we come back."

  The bow of the boat nosed into sand, and we stopped. The depth sounder was on the transom, so it would give us a reading at the stern. "What's your depth?" I asked.

  "Three feet," said Logan.

  "Let the anchor go."

  Logan hit the switch on the console, and the electric windlass began to drop the anchor. Once in the water, I'd secure it deep into the sand, so the boat wouldn't float away.

  We were all dressed in dark clothes provided by jock's man at Moore's. We put camouflage paint on our faces, and black watch caps on our heads. Jock gave Logan a pair of night-vision goggles, and lie hung another around his own neck. He passed out grenades. We attached them to the web belts we found in the equipment box.

  I climbed over the transom, and water came up to my waist. The bottom was hard sand, and the footing was good. Jock handed over an M-16 and my nine millimeter. The grenades were attached across my chest and still dry.

  Jock and Logan slipped quietly into the water, and we made our way to the bow of the boat. I used my feet to dig the plow anchor deeply into the sand. We were about ten feet from the shore. I went first, feeling my way with my feet, not wanting to fall into a hole.

  The goggles provided us with a view of our surroundings, and I could see the narrow trail leading away from the water. We started out in single file, me in the lead and jock bringing up the rear. We'd traveled about two hundred yards when I saw the outline of the generator shed.

  The three of us had studied the schematic of the island that Debbie had sent. We knew exactly where we were.

  "I'm going to blow the generator," Jock said. "Create a diversion."

  "With what?" Logan asked.

  "C-4,"Jock said. "Courtesy of the guy at Moore's."

  "Do you know how to use that stuff?" Logan asked.

  "Oh, yeah," Jock said, and moved toward the shed.

  In the green glow of the goggles, I saw something I'd missed the night before. There was a pipe running from the shed, along the ground and disappearing into the palmetto scrub that flanked the little building.

  "What do you think this is?" I said, pointing to the pipe.

  Logan looked more closely. "Gotta be the fuel supply. Probably runs to some kind of storage tank. It'd have to be near the water, so a barge could come in now and then to replenish the fuel."

  I was concerned about starting a fire that would be between the boat and us when we started back. "If Jock blows that thing, are we going to have a fire on our hands?"

  Logan shook his head. "I doubt it. That's diesel and it has a very high flashpoint. We should be all right."

  Jock had broken the lock on the door of the shed and was inside. In a couple of minutes, he came out. "I've set the charge. It shouldn't do anything but cut off the electricity. I don't think it'll even make much noise, and it surely won't blow the place up."

  We moved away from the area to a few feet from the back of the main house. Jock used some sort of device he had in his pocket to blow the charge. There was a loud pop, and the lights in the house went out. We moved quickly toward the cabin in which I'd found Peggy.

  The guard from Peggy's cabin was running toward the guardhouse, his rifle strapped across his back. I saw another guard coming from the area of the trail leading to the little beach I'd found the night before. They seemed confused by the loss of power and were probably trying to find the guy in charge.

  I unbolted the door to the cabin and went in. "Peggy," I said, loudly. "It's Matt."

  "I'm here, Matt. I'm tied to the bed."

  I looked around, peering through the goggles. I saw her across the room, straining at ropes that bound each arm to the bed. Other women were beginning to stir. I ran to Peggy and cut the ropes. She was wearing a white gown and was barefoot.

  "Can you walk?" I said.

  "Yes. But we have to get the Rev."

  "Do you have any shoes?"

  "Flip-flops. Under the bed."

  "Get them, and let's go."

  She reached under the bed and came up with the flip-flops.

  I started for the door, leading her by the hand. Jock and Logan had taken positions on either side of the entrance, facing the courtyard, rifles at the ready. We left the building, and I bolted the door, keeping the drugged women in and out of harm's way.

  "We've got to get Simmermon," Peggy said again.

  "We don't have time to get him. We've got to get out of here before these guys figure out what's happening."

  "Matt, Simmermon has some big plans about blowing people up. I don't know what they are, but it's about to start. We have to get him to tell us what lie's doing."

  I stopped at the door near Logan and Joc
k. "What do you know?" I asked.

  "He took me to his room today. I tried to get him to talk to me about what he was going to do. He just said it was big, and rambled on about God telling him to blow up some people. He said that his disciples were going to change the world in a day or two."

  "Is he crazy?"

  "I think so. He must be."

  "Did he hurt you?"

  "No. Oh, you mean did he screw me? He tried, and I had to let him, but he couldn't, if you know what I mean. He said it was God's way of punishing him for not starting the bombings earlier."

  Jock turned and said, "We'd better get him. Do you know where he is, Peggy?"

  I said, "Peggy, meet Jock and Logan, my friends."

  Peggy nodded. "I can take you to his room, but there're usually guards in the house."

  "Let's go," said Logan.

  We ran toward the main house, staying in the shadows of the two cabins that lay between the one where Peggy had been held and the house. The sound of a rifle rang out, and a small clod of dirt kicked up beside Logan's feet. I saw a rifleman on the porch of the big house, lining up another shot. Jock fired from the hip, on the run, and the man tumbled to the ground.

  I looked up and saw another rifle beginning to poke out of an upstairs window. "Second story, on the right," I called out. Logan blasted away with his M16, knocking the gunman back into the room.

  We dashed for the front porch, Jock in the lead and me in the rear holding onto Peggy. She was running barefoot, holding her flip-flops in her hand. By the time I hit the steps leading to the verandah, Jock and Logan were flanking the door, rifles at the ready. A classic infantry approach.

  As I reached the porch, Jock nodded. He stepped back and kicked open the front door. I had my rifle trained on the opening, but no one was there. I was looking at a traditional entrance hall, with a stairway reaching to the second floor. Living and dining rooms opening off the hall. Everything appeared green through the night-vision goggles.

  Peggy whispered, "Upstairs, first door on the right."

  "Stay here," I said.

  I started through the door, Jock and Logan providing cover. A man appeared at the top of the stairs. I shot him, and he tumbled down, landing at my feet. I saw movement to my right, and turned to fire. A white gown seemed to float out of the living room. I realized it was a girl, her eyes wide, fear etched on her face. I grabbed her by the arm and flung her back inside.

  "Take care of her, Peggy."

  I started up the stairs. Logan and jock took a quick look into the rooms flanking the hallway, and announced that they were clear. They followed me up the steps, climbing backward, rifles pointing downward. Mine was pointing toward the landing at the top.

  I topped die stairs and Jock came up behind me. Logan planted himself on the second step from the top to guard the front door and entrance hall. Peggy and the girl were cowering in the living room, still in sight of Logan.

  I kicked in the door to the bedroom Peggy had pointed out. A man was standing in the middle of the room with a pistol pointing at me. I shot him in the heart. Another man rose from behind the bed, his arms in the air. Simmermon.

  "Don't shoot," he said. "I'm a man of God."

  I waved the rifle toward the door. "Come with me, Reverend."

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm your worst nightmare." I'd always wanted to say that.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Never mind. You can come or I can just shoot you."

  "I'm coming."

  We went back down the stairs, jock leading the way, Simmermon next, and then me, with my rifle touching his sorry back. We reached the hallway and started for the front door. A bullet whizzed by my head, burying itself in the steps behind me. Simmermon and I both dove for the floor.

  Peggy had moved out of the living room. She slammed the door shut and dropped back to the floor.

  "Where's the girl?" I shouted.

  "She's under the sofa," said Peggy. "She's the housemaid. She'll be fine right where she is."

  Logan had moved into the living room and was peering out a window. I joined him.

  "The guards are getting into position in the front," Logan said. "I saw a couple more head for the back of the house."

  A disembodied voice came out of the dark courtyard, amplified by a bullhorn. "You assholes are surrounded. Come out with your hands up."

  There were probably fifteen men with rifles in kneeling firing posi- dons in the courtyard. Not a very good tactical position. Amateurs. They were like the ducks in the shooting gallery at the carnival. Just waiting to be taken down.

  Logan had gone to the back of the house. I heard him call out. "There're half a dozen armed men at the back of the house."

  Jock said, "Oh, shit."

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  "What now?" asked Logan.

  "We attack," I said.

  "Attack? Okay," said Logan.

  "At Bragg, they taught us that when surrounded, we Attack! Attack! Attack!"

  Jock grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

  Peggy spoke up. "You're all as crazy as the Rev"

  "Jock," I said. "Go out the back and use some of those grenades when I give the word. Logan, you stay with me. We're going to shoot the asses off those people. Peggy, you stay down."

  I turned to Simmermon. "If you make one move I don't like, you're a dead man."

  "I'm a man of God," he said again.

  "I'm on my way," said jock as he ran for the back of the house.

  I shouted to the men in front, "We've got the Rev"

  The bullhorn came back. "It don't matter. We've got our marching orders."

  "I've also got Michelle Browne," I hollered.

  "That don't matter none either," came back the bullhorn enhanced cracker voice.

  Jock yelled from the back of the house. "I'm in place."

  "Go when you hear the first shot," I said.

  "Got it," said Jock.

  I could see the guy standing in the middle of the courtyard with the bullhorn to his mouth. He'd turn to the side occasionally and spit. "If you don't come outta there, I'm gonna turn my boys loose," he said.

  I shot him in the chest. I moved my sights just to his right and pulled the trigger again. Logan took out the one at the end of the firing line, and then the next one. I knocked another over and moved to the next one.

  By then, they were getting the message. They'd gone prone on the ground, and were backing to the cover of the cabins. Five of them lay dead on the courtyard.

  Just as I fired the first shot, I heard the first of a series of explosions. Jock was throwing the hand grenades with deadly accuracy. The explosions kept coming, one after the other. After the fifth one, there was quiet. Jock called out, "I think I got them all. Let's go."

  Simmermon was still on the floor. He lay there, his arms shielding his head, whimpering. I kicked him. "Get up, you sorry bastard," I said.

  "No. I'll die."

  I put the muzzle of my rifle in his ear. "You're going to die if you don't get your sorry ass on your feet."

  He came to his hands and knees and then to his feet.

  I took Peggy by the hand and led her to the back of the house, nudging Simmermon with my rifle. Logan kept firing out the window at the fleeing guards. As I got to the back of the house, I called for Logan to join us. He came on the run.

  I put Peggy's hand in Jock's. "Take her back to the boat. Logan, you bring up the rear, and take care of Simmermon. I'm going to stay here for a minute or two to make sure none of the bad guys are still up for a fight."

  They went out the back door. I stood in the darkness, staring through the night vision goggles. A wave of disgust washed over me. I'd just killed several men and scared the piss out of some others. I wondered if they were just young men caught up in this in the same way Peggy was. I hoped not. I wanted them to be really bad guys. Maybe I'd feel better about killing them.

  I didn't see any movement. I headed out the back of the house, found the trail, and
walked carefully toward the boat. As I got close, I heard Logan say in a loud whisper, "Matt?"

  "It's me," I said. "I'm coming in."

  Logan had stopped about a hundred feet from the water, guarding the rear, giving jock and Peggy time to get onto the boat. He'd tied the preacher's hands with some twine and stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth as a gag.

  We eased our way toward the shoreline. Jock and Peggy crouched in the bushes near the water. Jock turned and put his finger to his lips.

  We crawled up to where Jock was hiding. He put his finger to his lips again, and then pointed toward the boat. There was a figure standing in the water at the bow. In the green glow of the goggles, I saw the man standing in knee-deep water, talking into a handheld radio. Then I saw movement at the stern. Somebody was trying to board Recess.

  I touched Logan on the shoulder and pointed to the man at the bow. I pointed to myself and then to the figure at the stern. Logan's old infantry training kicked in. He raised his rifle, pointing at the man at the bow. Just as he fired, I shot the man on the stern. Both bodies crumpled into the water.

  "Let's go," I shouted.

  Jock boosted Peggy up onto the boat while Logan and I stood watching the shoreline.

  "Okay," Jock said, "I've got it. Come on aboard." He was scanning the shoreline, rifle at the ready.

  I reached down and tugged at the anchor, loosening it in the sandy bottom. Logan shoved Simmermon up the ladder and into the cockpit. I climbed up the stern after Logan, got to the helm, and used the windlass to retrieve the anchor. I cranked the big Yamahas, turned the boat on its axis, and came on plane as I ran the reciprocal course of the one we'd come in on. If I ran aground, we'd be in big trouble. Simmermon was lying on the deck, and Jock and Logan were putting new clips in their rifles.

  We roared into the turn into the Boca Grande Channel, and set a course for Naples. I wasn't going back to Key West that night. As we came around the northern end of Blood Island, I heard Logan curse. I turned to see what the problem was. Two go-fast boats full of riflemen were rounding the head of the island, heading straight for us.