Wood's Reef

by Steven Becker

  Mac nodded, eyes down. He’d readily admit he had no political interests. “How ‘bout we just diffuse the thing, then figure out what to do about Joe Ward.”

  “Oh, the locals will love watching the two of us run around together.”

  “How ‘bout we declare a truce and get some breakfast?” Mac asked as he walked toward the exit.

  Mel took another look in the window and followed him.

  Chapter 17

  The Navy Zodiac bounced with the building chop, heading north through Florida Bay. Four bright orange life jackets bobbed with each wave, and the knuckles of Jim Gillum’s right had were turning white as he grabbed the rub rail. He fought the nausea as he tried to read the chart in his left hand.

  “Where to, sir?” the man at the wheel asked.

  “Give me a minute, sailor. It’s been years since I’ve been here.”

  “Sure thing, sir,” he replied as he backed off the throttle.

  Gillum studied the map. They’d been running in a basic search course — circles expanding from a central point he thought was the location of Wood’s island. Each circle grew larger and more distorted as the breadth of the search increased, the boat constantly swerving as it was forced to avoid countless submerged obstacles. He hoped the bomb was on the island. It was the only lead he had.

  ***

  It was close to twenty years ago that they had reached their settlement. Gillum still got nervous thinking about it. Skeletons hung in his closet like clothes on a sales rack. Wood had gotten his license and started his business in the late 1960’s as an engineer and contractor. He stayed in the Keys and quickly built a reputation for performing on jobs. He successfully built many of the Navy projects in the 1970’s and 1980’s. Gillum had oversight of many of these jobs, although the men had minimal contact.

  The Navy, always on a tight schedule, had been pressuring Gillum to get a fill section of Dredgers Key Road leading to the Sigsbee Key housing annex repaired. Gillum had been the second in command then, with eyes to the future. He was an administrator, not a sailor, garnering the contempt of many. Too lazy to search for competitive bids, he had contacted Wood for the work. Although their relationship was contemptuous, Gillum knew the man was competent. He put aside his feelings and awarded him the job.

  The problem was the relics. Wood had discovered some artifacts while excavating the failed fill section of the causeway. What he showed Gillum wasn’t much, just some stone tools and bowls left above the high tide line long ago, that had been buried by years of storms and erosion. Although good for publicity, finding relics on a construction site was bad for business. Every find needed to be reported to the State Archeologists Office, and then all manner of administrators descended on the site, stopping all work. This could often go on for years until they were satisfied. None of this was good for Gillum’s schedule.

  He got to Wood before he reported it, and played his best card. It was rumored that Wood had homesteaded an island out in the bay. Gillum confronted Wood about the legality of his retreat, thinly veiling the offer to make it legal if the relics disappeared. Or turn him in if they didn’t.

  Wood had been at the bridge building and engineering game for twenty-five years at that point, and was pretty much checked out of it. He was looking at retirement, and loathed the bureaucratic crap that was starting to pile up in the construction industry. He’d seen it coming as early as the 1980’s, with licensing and stricter codes, but Hurricane Andrew in 1992 had pushed it over the top. Everything was blamed on the builders, and the bureaucrats seized power, for the public’s good. A contractor’s job turned into paper pushing and satisfying inspectors, rather than building. Wood knew the relics he showed had no significance, and had no qualms about burying them again and moving on. His only terms were that Gillum would leave his island alone, and that he would make it legal.

  Gillum was able to work some channels and generate a ninety-nine year lease in exchange for the maintenance of the island and his silence.

  ***

  A small wave crashed across the bow as the helmsman turned into a larger circle, trying to buy some time for Gillum to give him direction.

  “Idle for a moment, I think I’ve got it now.”

  The helmsman handed the wheel over to a crewman and moved next to the commander. Gillum pointed out the island and surrounding shoals.

  “We don’t want to run up on it. Stay off to the west about a mile, and we’ll launch the Wasp.” His hand came to rest on the large box behind him.

  “Yes, sir. It’s going to be hard to operate the drone circling in open water. There’s a cove on the lee of the island here,” he said, pointing to an adjacent key on the map.

  “That’ll work son. Let’s head over there, set up and see if we can find the bomb.”

  Fifteen minutes of wet spray and pounding later, the helmsman eased back on the throttle and coasted into the cove. With the anchor dropped, the Zodiac sat motionless. Thankful for the break from open water and the seas, Gillum reached behind him, grabbed the waterproof case, and opened it on the seat next to him. The Aqua Wasp looked like a kid’s toy plane: a 3-foot wingspan with a propeller for propulsion. But it was far from a toy. At a cost in the tens of thousands, the drone was the newest in high tech. Battlefield deployable with a small console for a controller, the Wasp’s batteries allowed forty minutes of flight time with a precision camera controlled by a joy stick.

  It was a risk, but one he had to take. Gillum knew the consequences if he were caught. He remembered something about Wood’s daughter being a lawyer, and she would end his career in a heartbeat. He couldn’t hide behind the Navy if this got out. Worth the risk, though, and the drone was the perfect way to see if the bomb was there.

  The first mate cocked the drone and threw it out like a football pass. The propeller kicked in and the third man, a remote pilot specialist, took control.

  Gillum sat next to the pilot, concentrating on the small monitor.

  “I want you to take her over the island on a basic search grid.”

  “What are we looking for, sir?”

  “I’ll know it when I see it. It’s an old munition. About seven foot six inches long and three feet in diameter.”

  “That’s pretty big. The optics should be able to see that, but we’ll have to lower to fifty feet.”

  “Let’s keep it up high until we see something that may be it. Then we can drop and get a better shot.”

  The wind picked up as Gillum stared intently at the monitor, the island centered in the camera. Recovering the bomb and helping out Ward would put another feather in his cap. Maybe give enough push for a promotion before he retired. Certainly it would get him out of here and into an easy job in DC. The last thing he needed was Wood or his sidekick fouling things up.

  Chapter 18

  They sat across from each other, each leaning backward, creating as much space as possible between them. The Stuffed Pig was starting to empty from the breakfast rush, so they had the place mostly to themselves. They sipped coffee, and dodged the old questions both of them weren’t sure if they wanted to ask. Menus open in front of them, they looked warily at each other. Mel tried to avert her eyes but couldn’t. He was still the picture in her mind of who she wanted to be with. Never in a relationship for long she had drifted from partner to partner, not wanting to get involved. She saw in Mac something the Ivy league city guys who pursued her didn’t have: competence. They might have been good lawyers, but they had no life skills. She tried to look away again.

  “I thought we had a truce. Come on, for your dad’s sake.”

  “We do. I’m not yelling at you, am I?”

  “You’re freezing me with that look, and you know it.”

  “Warming up to you is going to take some work.”

  “Let’s get some food and figure out what to do. Just back off a little. Give the DC high-altitude lawyer thing a rest for a while. Look around — it’s the Keys, relax.”

  “Relax? My dad’s in I
CU and I’m stuck here with you. I grew up here. I don’t have to work to fit in.”

  “Mel? Is that you?” the waitress asked as she approached for their order. “I heard about your dad. Hope he’s ok.”

  “Good to see you, Sherrie,” Mel answered, trying to look sincere and not sure if it was working.

  They ordered, then waited in silence for their food. Mel was thankful their food arrived so quickly, but too preoccupied to eat. She watched Mac as he ate, envious he could put aside everything that was going on and act as if the universe was truly in alignment. They pushed aside their plates, both realizing it was time to talk.

  “I want to go out to Dad’s place and see what the hell you found. If all this is related to the bomb, and it appears that way, we need to figure out what you have and what to do with it. This guy that ran him over and shot Tru - he keeps popping up. Too many coincidences. I’ve been thinking about what to do with the Joe Ward connection too. I can’t let him get away with this, as much for dad as doing the right thing. I’m pretty much on his side of the aisle but don’t trust him. He’s got a reputation for having his own version of the truth.” She knew her brain was starting to spin out of control with all the possibilities, but Mac brought her back to earth - something else she liked about him.

  “I’m good with that. Let me get the check and we can head out there. Might be a little bumpy this morning,” Mac said, looking out the window at the flag now extended from the wind.

  ***

  They were as far apart as the small wheel house of Mac’s boat would allow. The boat cut through the chop, spray splashing the deck behind them. The bay side didn’t often have the big waves that the ocean side had, but could be uncomfortable with the wind blown chop, especially when the tide ran against the wind.

  “It’ll be easier on the way back. We’ll have the wind at our back then,” Mac said.

  Mel gave him a ‘whatever’ look and returned her concentration to her phone. Both thumbs blazing, her head bobbing with the boat, she’d hardly looked up since they left the dock.

  Mac tried to ignore her as he steered the familiar course. His thoughts went back to the period after his divorce. He’d seen her with Wood shortly after he’d separated from his wife. She looked and acted different than the teenager he’d remembered. She’d grown into the woman he should have married. Strong and confident, much like her dad, though she’d never admit it.

  He navigated the familiar route, slower than usual as the waves began to increase. Finally, her silence causing an anxiety he rarely felt, they coasted up to the piling. He couldn’t help but watch her as she went forward and tied the boat off with practiced ease.

  “Still good on a boat. Most would have puked three times already, just staring at that thing,” Mac observed.

  “Never mind what I’m good at.” Mel jumped over the side and waded ashore. “Coming?”

  He followed her onto the beach, and they walked the path to the clearing the house was set in, thankful now for the breeze that kept the mosquitos down. “I still don’t get the appeal of this place,” she said, looking around. “Modern fish camp decor, mosquitos, battery power, and pump your own water.”

  Mac decided against a rebuttal. He guided her towards the path he’d travelled the other day when he came back for the first aid kit. With a machete taken from the side of the shed he slashed down evenly on both sides widening the path, barely breaking a sweat as they approached the clearing. “There it is.” He directed her towards the bomb and away from the wreckage of the boat that had hit Wood. It was fully on the beach, intact except for the crushed section of the bow where it had made impact.

  “Ok, let’s have a look.”

  As they were about to remove the camouflage from the bomb, Mac heard the whine of a small engine. “Get down and leave that net alone,” he said as he scanned the area for the source of the sound.

  “What now, there’s nobody around for miles.”

  Just then, Mac squinted into the sun and saw what he thought was the profile of a man-o’-war in the sun. The frigates were common here, useful for spotting fish, and an experienced fisherman could see one from a distance. They flew with the wind and coasted against it, using the air currents to save energy. But this bird was flying a straight line into the wind, without showing the grace common to bird. His eyes followed it, recognizing that it wasn’t a bird after all.

  “What the hell is that thing?” He pushed Mel deeper into the mangroves.

  She gave him a look and then followed his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re looking at.”

  “It’s no bird.” He pointed toward the dot on the horizon clearly moving toward them.

  She saw it now, and stared at it, following its movements. It was about fifty yards away now. “I recognize that. It’s a drone. Someone else wants to know what you have.”

  “How do you know so much about drones?” he asked.

  “Long story, but it’s something I’m working on.”

  ***

  It was becoming harder for Gillum to see the terrain. The wind was bouncing the Wasp around, making the image fuzzy. He was having a hard time keeping his stomach in place and watch the display at the same time. Something on the screen caught his attention.

  “Can’t you do anything about this?” he asked the crewman operating the joystick. “It’s all fuzzy. The image is jumping around. Between that and the seas, I can’t see much.”

  “I can take her down lower, it’s the only way to get a clearer shot.”

  “It looks like somethings going on there now. Can’t tell for sure with the turbulence. Looks like someones out there.”

  “This kind of weather and that small drone, there’s not much we can do. I can make a few more passes and record it on the hard drive. It’ll be easier to analyze it on land with a bigger monitor.”

  Gillum was all for getting off the water. “One thing first. Do a flyover of that boat and see if there’s a name, or at least get the registration number off the bow.”

  The pilot moved the drone across the island and out over the water. He turned it and flew close to the boat, capturing the image.

  “Got it, sir.”

  “Great. Let’s get out of here,” Gillum commanded the helmsman.

  ***

  “It’s gone,” Mac said, standing up.

  “Stay down. Let’s make sure it’s not coming back.” They were pushed against each other in a clump of mangroves, but he didn’t mind.

  “Something’s not right here. Surveillance drones are not supposed to by spying on US soil, and especially not US citizens.”

  Her look was enough to quiet him. “Drones are a hot topic right now. It’s too easy for the government to spy on its own people with those things.”

  “Right. For once we agree.”

  He scanned the sky for the drone again, wondering what was going on. Who had access to a drone like that, and why were they looking at Wood’s island? He knew the answer: The bomb. He just didn’t want to accept it.

  After giving it a few minutes, he removed the camouflage from the bomb.

  “That’s the weirdest thing I ever saw,” Mel said, looking at it. She took her phone out and started shooting pictures of it from all angles.

  “Any identifying marks on it?” She walked around the cylinder. I see the old Navy markings, but not much else. There’s got to be something else we’re not seeing.

  “By the tail fin. I saw some numbers.”

  She zoomed in on the tail, shooting a closeup of the two rows of numbers and letters etched into the metal.

  “There’s no cell service at this resort, is there?” she asked, glancing at her phone for coverage.

  He shook his head. “No, have to head back to my place if you want to use your cell.”

  “Oh, be still my heart, an invitation to your place.”

  Chapter 19

  Behzad leaned forward as the passengers exited the terminal. This was the third time they’d circled the arriving f
lights area. Each loop took fifteen minutes, and Doans was getting anxious. They hadn’t dipped back into the baggie since they hit the mainland over an hour ago. Both men were coming down, and hard, the law enforcement presence not making things easier.

  Doans was getting agitated with the traffic, clearly overtired from the last few days. “Gimme another bump and I’ll hang out and wait with you.”

  Behzad took out the bag and held it low. Doans watched the traffic for a break, ducked down and inhaled. “Thank you my friend. I lost my phone so I won’t get his call. If we can circle a few more times, I’ll make it worth your while.

  ***

  Ibrahim finally appeared. He had lingered in the area on the gate side of security where there was free WiFi. With several email accounts to check, the anonymous internet the airport provided was the perfect spot.

  “There he is.” Behzad pointed to the middle-aged business man.

  Doans pulled up to the curb. Behzad got out and signaled the man. He looked more like an attorney than a friend of the guy he’d just spent two hours snorting coke with.

  The man came forward, and he and Behzad embraced quickly, looking like brothers to anyone watching. They all walked to the car.

  “Ibrahim, this is Jerry. He gave me a ride after I had some trouble last night,” Behzad said.

  “Always trouble, little one.” Ibrahim used the term with condescension.

  “Not so. I pulled over to rest for a few minutes and was mugged and car jacked by some Haitian gangsters. It could have happened to anyone.”

  “And this kind stranger just picked you up in the middle of the night and agreed to not only drive you to Miami, but pick me up as well.” The skepticism was evident in his voice.