Chapter 42
Mel watched the scene unfold, concealed behind a strand of thick mangroves. She shielded her eyes from the glare and scanned the water. The sheriff’s boat was tied off of Mac’s. It looked like one man was on deck. She moved her gaze to watch the men on the beach. Clearly the man in charge didn’t know what to do. He probably wanted the bomb, but didn’t know what to do with the prisoners. The lawyer side of her brain took over as she tried to figure a way out. She pulled out her phone and checked the time. They were supposed to have met Mac ten minutes ago, although she had no idea why. But first she had to get Wood, Trufante, and Sue out of there.
She’d need firepower and surprise to negotiate this position. Despite her racing heart, she quietly exited her hiding spot and started slowly back down the path toward the house. Once out of earshot of the clearing, she increased her pace and quickly covered the ground to the shed. With no idea where her dad kept anything, she started rummaging through the piles of tools and gear. In a pile of dive equipment, she saw a speargun. More valuable in her hands than a shotgun, she grabbed the gun, an extra spear, and a fresh band. Then she moved stealthily back down the path toward the clearing. When she was within a few feet of exposing herself, she stuck the extra shaft in the sand in front of her, checked that the spear was inserted, and pulled the band back, engaging the trigger.
She knew she was outgunned. The element of surprise and her experience with a spear gun her only assets, she slowly moved to a better vantage point and aimed the gun at the closest crewman. In her teen years, her passion for spearfishing had won her several competitions. Evaluating the threat, she had determined the crewmen to be vastly more dangerous than the officer. She accounted for distance and the weight of the spear, knowing it would drop as it travelled, and pulled the trigger. The shaft buzzed through the air, embedding itself in the crewmen’s shoulder, right by his neck.
The Captain spun in a circle, panic showing on his face, and took off toward the water with the second crewman. They were quickly out of range of the band-driven gun, as they dove into the water and made for Mac’s boat.
“Nobody move,” she yelled, still concealed. She didn’t want to let them know she was alone.
Trufante, hands bound, rose and walked towards Doans. He rotated to the right and, using the momentum, swung his arms to smack the shorter man in the head.
Wood picked up the gun from the sand and pointed it at Doans. “I ought to do you right now, for all the trouble you’ve caused.”
Now Mel came out of the bush, the remaining shaft cocked in the spear gun.
“That’s the son of a bitch that ran over your dad,” Trufante told her. “Shot me in the leg, too. Good thing he’s not as good a shot as you. Why don’t you pop him, get me some revenge?”
Mel came out of her Rambo trance. “Let’s just tie them up and figure out what to do.” She looked remorsefully at the crewmen on the ground, who had air bubbles coming out if his neck. Shooting fish was one thing. Knowing that shooting the crewman was her only option at the time and looking at the result of her action were two different things. Her voice cracked, “Sue, could you have a look at him?”
Trufante picked up the rope and walked over to Doans. He tied his hands behind his back, pushing him to the ground. He turned to walk away, but changed his mind, turned, and cold cocked him on the head with the butt of the gun.
“Stop it!” Mel yelled. “No more! Dad, tell him what you need to disarm this thing.” She pointed toward Trufante with the spear. “Go.”
Trufante headed down the path to the house.
“Wait! I’m going with him. This guy needs a tracheotomy quick. I need supplies.” Sue ran after the Cajun.
***
The deputy watched the entire event from the boat. He had a sidearm, but clearly the situation on the beach was out of control. Instead of getting involved, he reached for the radio and gave the sheriff a rundown.
Jules’ voice came back clearly. “I want the prisoner back. He’s the only link to the terrorists. Get Wood on the radio. I’ll see if he knows what to do with the bomb.”
“What about the Navy guys? One took off with the Navy Captain in the other boat. The other’s down.”
“Go check it out and get back to me.”
***
Mel pointed the spear gun at the deputy coming up the beach.
“It’s ok, ma’am. Just want to talk. I think we’re on the same side here.”
“You can talk while I hold this on you, just in case.”
“Suit yourself. Sheriff wants that man back in custody.” He pointed at Doans. “She wants to talk to Wood as well.” He reached behind his back, and Mel tightened her finger on the trigger of her speargun. He walked forward toward her, a radio extended in one hand, the other over his head. Not a gun, she thought. A radio.
“Tru, get the radio and give it to Dad.” She moved the spear to point it at Doans.
“He’s all yours. Just do me a favor and ask the DA to make sure he gets the book thrown at him: attempted murder, accessory to terrorism and whatever else they can think of.”
Meanwhile, Wood grabbed the radio. “Wood here. What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
The radio crackled and Mel heard the Sheriff’s voice clearly. “We clear on what’s going on here? My deputy is going to take the prisoner into custody and bring him back. Is the Navy man stable enough to move?”
“No way, not for a while. We got a girl here from the hospital says she can probably get him stable until he can be moved. It looks bad, but not fatal. If they want to send a chopper to pick him up that would be ok, but with this weather, moving him by boat would be too risky.”
“Roger. I’ll contact the Navy and see what they want to do. What about the Captain?”
“Bastard took off with Mac’s boat and the other crewman. No idea what they’re up to. My worst fear is they’re after the other bomb.” Wood said.
“Great, two now. What about the one at your place?”
“I got that. I’m about to operate. I can disarm it and lose the parts, if you know what I mean.”
“You sure you don’t want me to call the Navy about it?”
“That’s how this started. It’s too complicated to get into now. Disarming this is the only option. I’ll figure it out. Can’t be that hard, this dinosaur’s as old as me.”
“All right, let me know if you need anything. Out.”
“Maybe, put up one of those helicopters you got - see if you can see where they went.” Wood handed the radio back to the deputy.
The deputy grabbed Doans by his arms and pushed him out in front of him toward the water, helping him onto the Contender. The boat quickly turned into a blur visible only by the spray it kicked up.
***
Mel looked around her. Wood was resting against the bomb, the Navy man was still. “I’m going after Mac,” she muttered.
“And, how you figure on doing that? Swimming?”
“That idiot that ran you over has a boat on the other side.”
“Well, take the Cajun with you. He’s about as worthless as tits on a boar to me.”
“You sure you’ll be ok?”
“Yeah, I got this. Sue’ll take care of the Navy guy and I’ll get to work on disarming this baby.” Mel jumped when he slapped the bomb. “Don’t worry. It’ll take more than that to set her off.”
Her sense of urgency was clear as she headed down the path towards the boat. Trufante hobbled after her. Regretting that she hadn’t searched the man before the deputy took him, she hoped the keys were in the boat.
She picked up her pace, ignoring the yells from Trufante to wait. She had to reach the GPS numbers and Mac before the Navy Captain.
Chapter 43
Gillum directed the crewman to fire up the motors, and white sand clouded the water as the boat reversed off the sandbar. He cut the wheel, pushed the throttle down, and headed west — the only direction without obstacles. As soon as they were out of gunshot range
, he ordered the petty officer to slow the boat. He regretted the other crewman getting shot, but remorse was not on his mind, rather a fear that the injury would cause an investigation - something he would do anything to avoid. The first bomb now out of his control, his only option to stay in favor with the future President was to find the other bomb.
The GPS was on, showing the location of their boat on a chart, a waypoint icon displayed three miles to the east. He placed the cursor over the mark and checked the coordinates from the screen against the piece of paper in his pocket. They matched. The goto button depressed, the new course displayed bearing and time to waypoint. The navigation arrow on the GPS pointed dead ahead as the crewman changed course. The wind was still blowing whitecaps on the tops of the waves. Gillum gripped the seat and cursed as the boat rocked from side to side as the boat moved quickly forward in the side swell.
“I’ll take the wheel. See if you can find some dive gear.” Gillum moved toward the wheel, instantly cutting the throttle to something he was comfortable with. The crewman went below, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Things were spiraling out of his control and that worried him.
The crewman came out of the cabin carrying a laundry basket loaded with gear. The next trip yielded a tank. Unaffected by the seas, he slid the BC over the tank, attached the first stage, and the inflator hose. Gillum glanced over as he assembled the gear. Turning the regulator and air gauge away from him, he turned the valve on the tank. Pressure checked, he found a bungee cord and tied down the gear. Next he sorted through the snorkeling gear, finding booties, fins, and a mask.
The boat slowed as they approached the mark. A line of lobster buoys showed the direction of the ledge, where Gillum could see a surfboard swinging in the current, attached to one of the buoys.
***
Mac heard the sound of the propeller. He could guess the range, but not direction. Hoping it was Mel, he worked his way back along the ledge to the trap line he’d descended from, grabbed it and began to surface. As his head broke the surface, he saw his boat, and felt a wave of relief wash over him. Mel was here, then. Air swished into his BC as he triggered the inflation mechanism, and he bobbed on the surface, waiting.
He heard the anchor splash as it entered the water. Within moments the boats movement stopped. The anchor caught in the sand and the boat swung back toward him, moving closer as line was expertly paid out. The figure on deck let out twice the line necessary had it been calm. The extra line acted as a buffer against the wind blown waves.
Mac could see the transom clearly now, as the boat settled. Not sure he had been seen, he swam to the paddleboard and lifted his body onto the board. The added height allowed him to see the man at the wheel. One look and he quickly slid back off the board and into the water, releasing the air from his BC in the same movement. Once on the bottom, he added a small amount of air to the BC to regain neutral buoyancy. He hung there, trying to figure out how Gillum had gotten his boat, and what his next move would be.
A splash startled him as a diver entered the water. Mac kicked twice, moving toward a large coral head. It would hide his body, but not his air bubbles. He counted on the lack of visibility, though, and assumed the ledge would attract the diver, rather than the coral. Bubbles rose intermittently now as he tried to slow his heart rate and conserve air. The gauge showed only 400 PSI. That meant he only had about twenty minutes of air left.
The diver followed the ledge, as he’d expected. Now, Mac had a decision to make. Stay with the diver or surface and take his boat back. The diver was moving away from him, and he figured the man would stay with the ledge until it disappeared into the sand, then reverse and follow it back to the boat. Depending on his speed, it would take from ten to twenty minutes. The diver receded into the murky water. Safe from that threat, he decided on the boat. He had only seen one man on deck, so was fairly confident Gillum was alone, and he was an old man. Mac thought he could take him.
He took off the weight belt and BC, clamping the mouthpiece of the in his teeth. Freed from the weight of the tank and BC, he took a deep breath from the regulator and released it, then kicked hard and broke the surface at the transom. The dive platform splashing in the waves concealed him. The platform slammed the water every time a wave hit the boat. It took several attempts to remove his fins. He held them as he slithered onto the platform, staying low. His head rose, like a turtle's poking out of its shell, above the transom as he tried to formulate a plan to cross the deck before Gillum saw him. Surprise was his only option. He stepped over the transom and ran at the Navy man.
Gillum saw him coming, but was too slow to draw the revolver and shoot. Mac lowered his shoulder, plowing into Gillum’s meaty gut, and knocking the air out of him. The gun fired as he went down. His head hit the deck, bounced, and came to rest.
Mac quickly checked himself and breathed a sigh of relief. Wherever that bullet had gone, it wasn’t in his body. He went to Gillum and disarmed him, setting the gun on the driver’s seat. Gillum was out cold.
The smell of diesel brought his focus back. That’s where the bullet was: the port side fuel tank. Fuel was running down the deck, exiting at one of the self-bailing ports, and forming a slick in the water.
Chapter 44
Mel and Trufante waded through the thigh-deep water to the stolen boat. Mel easily scaled the gunwale, while Trufante log rolled, landing on his side with a painful grunt. He was still situating himself when she released the line and started the engine. The boat lurched as the propeller bit the water, causing him to fall back against the console.
“You going to help or just sit there?”
“If you’d go a little easier on me, I’d be happy to help.”
She ignored him. “Take the wheel, I’ve got to figure this out. You know where you guys found the bomb?”
“Yeah, I know the area, but it’s a mess of channels in there. I need some GPS help.”
Her phone showed three bars and an arrow, indicating the GPS was active. She opened the text message, highlighted the first GPS number, and entered it into the hiking program she used when she ran trails. Back in the text window she repeated the procedure with the second number and hit goto. The program went to a new screen, an arrow showing the direction of the coordinates, several data boxes below showing distance and speed. According to the device, they were only three miles away. She held the display up for Trufante to see.
“Nice, but I need it on a chart. Follow that arrow and we’ll be digging out from some sandbar. This dude must have been sporting around on some lake with this thing.” The unit was a low-end depth finder. No GPS or chart functions.
“Do your best.” She climbed on the leaning post used for a seat, grabbed hold of the welded stainless tubing that held the t-top, and pulled herself up for a better view. “I’ll yell if I see anything.”
A quarter mile before the waypoint she climbed down. “I can see Mac’s boat out there. We need to move in slow, kind of serpentine so the Navy guy doesn’t know who we are.”
Trufante glanced around the boat and noticed a couple of fishing rods. “Grab one of those rods and put it out like we’re trolling. I’ll set a course so we pass by them. Anyone watching should be able to see that we’re dragging a line. That should throw ‘em off.”
She searched the water in all directions, trying to figure out where Mac was and how he would get out here without his boat. She trusted his resourcefulness, but wished she knew what he was up to. The clicker sounded as she started to let line out, the lure bouncing in the wake of the boat.
“Turn that damned clicker off. I know your dad taught you better than that.”
“Like that’s what we need to be worrying about now. Get your priorities straight.”
“But still. Turn the damned clicker off.”
They covered the distance in twenty minutes at a fast trolling speed. Trufante turned slightly, angling to get within fifty feet of Mac’s boat. He turned the boat into a large, easy turn, taking them at ninety de
grees to their previous course.
“Something’s wrong.” He pointed to the water aft of the boat. “There’s a fuel slick.”
“What could have caused that? Look, there’s bubbles 100 feet back of the boat. Looks like they have a diver in the water. No flag, though.”
“Isn’t that Mac’s board off that buoy? Son of a bitch, if he didn’t paddle all the way out here.”
“He got here on that?” Mel looked at him, shocked.
“Yeah, dude’s a stud on that thing.”
She had a picture forming in her mind of Mac fighting the seas on the toothpick floating by the buoy. A smile briefly crossed her face, interrupted by the clicker on the reel going off. The clicker buzzed louder and faster as line poured off the reel. “Crap, what now? This is all we need.”
“That’ll give us an excuse to get closer. Set the hook on the son of a bitch. I’ll start working closer to Mac’s boat as you bring it in.”
Mel grabbed the reel, her muscle memory taking over. She’d caught her share back in the day. She turned off the clicker and tightened the drag. The mono line started to pull as the hook set. “Shark. I can see its dorsal fin break the water. Black tip, probably.”
“Just bring her in slow. I’m going to start edging over to Mac’s boat.”
***
Mac saw the other boat. That was all he needed — a wayward tourist. He could see the sun’s reflection on the fishing line coming off the stern. What the devil was that guy trolling out here for?
He looked again as the boat moved closer. It was clear now that the fisherman was a woman. The man driving the boat turned toward him, flashing a huge grin, and Mac paused. He knew those teeth. He looked again at the woman, realizing it was Mel, and motioned for them to come closer. Trufante saw him and changed course. Mel had her back to them, still fighting whatever was on the line.
Wood's Reef Page 16