Gillum heard him and turned. When he saw him, he grabbed for the weapon and fired. The shot went wide and into the water. He fired again, but the hammer just clicked, so he threw the gun at Trufante, who approached him with the knife.
In the end, Trufante was too slow. Gillum had plenty of time to reach for the gaff, stored in clips under the starboard side. He swung and connected, the blunt end of the gaff striking Trufante on the side of the head. The Cajun staggered and went down. Exhausted from the swim and hampered by his injury, he was no match for the Navy man. Gillum stood over him, adrenaline pumping, ready to land the final blow. Then something struck his head.
***
Mac looked at the air gauge. He had only minutes left. Left with two choices — facing Gillum on the boat, or the diver in the water — he chose Gillum. The diver posed a bigger threat, trained in underwater combat. He also considered his limited air supply. Cutting the high pressure hose to repel the shark had left the tank on fumes. Gillum, although in possession of a gun, seemed the easier target. And it didn't hurt that he had a score to settle with the Captain. He ascended, careful to surface directly under the boat. His hands kept the bouncing hull from smashing him as he worked his way, upside down, toward the bow. Once at the anchor line, he removed the equipment, inverted his body, crossed his legs over the line, and started to climb, cursing his wounded arm. Although more difficult, the element of surprise and ability to find a weapon other than the small multi-tool he had in his pocket made the bow the best entry point. The transom was too close and visible to the helm, where he figured Gillum to be.
His feet reached the deck first. He inched his way up the line until he had enough leverage to swing his hips up and push his body forward onto the deck.
Once aboard, he slithered towards the wheelhouse, where he took cover behind a bulkhead. He peered around and waited long enough to see if he’d been discovered. Just forward was an air hatch to vent the cabin. The cover was closed. He opened the multi-tool and chose the file — the thickest and hopefully strongest blade. He inserted the tip in a gap and started to pry. The hatch opened easily, with a little pressure, and he eased slowly through the opening. Inside, he went forward to the bunk, lifted the cushion, and removed an access panel. Inside lay a shotgun.
There was activity on the deck as he moved forward, using the furnishings for cover. Waiting in the shadows for his eyes to acclimate to the bright sunlight, he watched the two men scuffle. The sun was four fingers off the water, about an hour until it set. Blinding at this angle, he could see the pear shape of the Captain, but not who he was fighting. He moved quickly towards the men. Three steps and he was on them, the butt of the shotgun slamming into Gillum’s head, knocking him to the deck
Trufante regained his senses and squinted up at Mac. “Damn good to see ya.”
“Yeah. What about Mel? What happened to her?”
“Check off the transom. I left her on a seat cushion, tied off.”
Mac covered the distance to the transom in two strides and hopped onto the dive platform. Mel was there, just as Trufante had left her. Hand over hand he reeled in the line, pulling her onto the platform, using his body as a cushion. Even unconscious, her body felt good against him. He put that thought on hold, lifted her over the transom, and carried her to the bunk.
Chapter 51
The radio crackled. Gordon’s voice came over the static. “Woodson, this is Gordon, over.”
“I hear you,” Wood answered.
“I’m sending the chopper back to you. You should see it in a few minutes.”
Wood scanned the horizon, using his hand as a visor to block the glare from the sinking sun. He didn’t see anything, but as he put down his hand he heard the low rumble of the chopper’s engine.
“Can’t see that, can you?” Sue asked.
“No matter.”
“I’ve been watching you. Pretty sure you need glasses.”
“Hell with that. I can see just fine.”
Gordon was back on the radio. “I’ve got the pilot on your frequency. I want to get you guys and the bomb out of there. Can you sling it for him and get the wounded sailor in the basket? There’s only the pilot and one crewman in the helicopter.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that for you.” He felt no urgency in Gordon’s voice. He thought of Mac and Mel out there looking for the other bomb, and here they were just taking their time, screwing around with a harmless one. “Let’s get this moving. You know this things diffused now, don’t you. We ought to be chasing down Gillum.”
“Roger that. There’s another chopper headed out to look for them. Out.”
Now the pilot picked up the conversation. “I’ll be overhead in a few. I can drop a sling to you to get the cargo sent up. I want to get the casualties on first. After the slings we’ll drop a basket. Can you signal where you want it?”
“Got it.”
The chopper was back overhead now. Sue waved her arms over her head and yelled at the pilot to drop the basket by her.
“Can't hear you,” Wood said sharply.
She starred him down and focused on the basket dropping from the chopper, swinging in the wind, a tag line dangling from it.
“Grab the small line. You can use that to guide the basket in.” The line was almost there when a gust blew it to the side. She jumped for it and missed. On the ground she grabbed her ankle.
“Can you help me here?” she said from the ground, clearly in pain.
“Yeah - I got it.”
Wood waited for the line to come close enough to grab. He signaled the pilot when he had it.
The pilot dropped the cable lower until Wood held up a fist, letting him know it was on the ground. Then the chopper hovered as Wood removed the rigging supplies and dragged the wounded crewman into the basket. With Sue sidelined, he strained with the weight of the man, something moist dripping down his side. He labored to roll the pilot into the basket, the drip turning to a flow as warm liquid oozed from the wound. “Ready to lift.” Wood spoke into the radio.
The basket lifted, swinging in the breeze as it was raised to the waiting copter. A hand reached out of the open door and grabbed the basket as it came closer. A moment later it disappeared inside the cargo hold. A few minutes later the basket reappeared empty. Once on the ground, Sue was able to get in by herself, saving Wood the exertion. He signaled again and waved to her as she was lifted.
Alone now, Wood went over to the bomb and set to work with the rope. The bomb had rigging points welded to it that seemed to be strong enough, even after all the time in the water. He clipped the lines to each point and moved the yoke to the center, anticipating the balance of the bomb. A raised thumb, letting the pilot know he was ready, and the cable dropped from the chopper, just the hook now. Wood retrieved it and clipped it to the yoke, then signaled for the pilot to lift and crawled out of the way. The cable strained as it broke the bomb free of the sand. It started to swing, almost clipping Wood, so the pilot moved out over the water, raising the cable as he went.
“I’ll drop the hook and harness for you.” The pilot’s voice came over the radio, but Wood shook his head.
“Negative on that. I'm not getting on that thing. I got a boat here,” he answered.
“I have orders to get you as well. There are some folks anxious to talk to you.”
“This things not over and I’m not going on a joy ride with you guys.” He wound like a pitcher and threw the radio into the water.
He starred at the sky watching as the door to the chopper closed and the pilot set a course for Marathon.
Wood was alone for the first time in days — an awful long time to be around people for his taste. He sat back, temporarily enjoying the quiet and his freedom. But the liquid seeping from his side and the fate of Mel and Mac snapped him out of his revere. He leaned onto his good side and raised the shirt from the wound. The dressing was still in place, but it was covered in blood, yellow pus seeped from the edges of the bandage.
He got to
his feet, using the spear gun for a cane. Pain flashed through his side with each step.
He stopped and dug a hole in the sand by the mangroves, well above the high tide line, where he buried the core. The Python trigger went into the backpack Sue had used to bring supplies down from the house.
As he moved down the path, the fire in his side burned more with each movement, forcing him to stop several times. He finally reached the boat and removed the camouflage. Spent from the effort, he leaned back against a tree to catch his breath, and waited until he had gained enough strength to move the boat.
Once in the water, he would be home free. The wind had quieted and the tide was moving toward the mainland. The ride would be a lot smoother than it had been this morning. It was now or never. His strength was leaving him as he went for the trailer axle. He lifted the bow of the boat off the ground, using the axle for leverage. With a grunt, he pulled the boat forward into the well-worn grooves in the sand. It moved downhill, picking up speed as it rolled toward the water. He couldn’t control it, and had to jump out of the way as it went past. The axles hit the end of the rut and stopped with a bump, launching the boat backward into the water. Wood grabbed the backpack with the detonator and slowly waded out to the boat. Once there, he slid over the side on his belly and got the engine going. He quickly had the boat up and running on a plane, moving away from the setting sun.
Chapter 52
“Got a plan?” Trufante asked as he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. He was coming up from the cabin after checking on Mel. She was still unconscious, but seemed comfortable. There were no visible wounds besides the bruise near her temple.
“Grab me a bottle of water. Maybe ought to get one for him, too.” Mac motioned at Gillum, who was trussed up like a hog.
“You can’t treat a Captain of the US Navy like this,” Gillum spat.
“The only reason your not in twenty feet of water tied to a lobster trap is that uniform. It’s the man inside that counts, and you’re a piece of crap. I’ll make sure they run you out of the Navy. Maybe a little jail time would do you good,” Trufante spat back.
“Give him a little water, Tru.” Mac watched the show, but was more worried than he let on, but there was nothing he could do until the diver returned.
“Gladly.” Trufante took the water bottle, opened it, and squeezed the flimsy plastic. The contents gushed onto Gillum’s face, a fraction of the liquid reaching his open mouth. Trufante dumped the remainder of the bottle on his own head and tossed the empty bottle at him.
“Diver should be up any time now. He’s been down a while. We need to be prepared for him. I don’t know how he’s going to react.”
Just as he finished speaking, the diver broke the surface of the water. He finned for the dive platform and climbed on, not noticing anything different about the boat until he had dropped his tank and climbed into the cockpit. There, he was faced with Mac and Trufante. Mac cocked the shotgun.
The diver leaned over the side and casually cleared his nose. “Always gets me when I’m down that long.” He surveyed the scene in front of him. “What do y’all have in mind?”
“Names Travis, this here’s Tru and this is my boat.” Mac looked towards Gillum, disgust clear on his face, “I’m taking him back to stand trial. Let his superiors deal with him. But first I want that other bomb. I found it down the ledge about fifty feet. Not sure if you saw it or not.” Mac grunted.
The diver paused for a moment, thinking, then nodded. “I’m good with taking the Captain to trial. I’ve seen enough of his cowboy act, and he’s sure not acting the way a Navy man should. I’ve been taking orders up to this point, but this hasn’t seemed right to me. My help would depend on what you have in mind for the bomb.”
“I’m afraid that if it stays down there the wrong person will find it. Not many come into this part of the backcountry, but enough do. It needs to be brought in and handed over to the authorities, someone who will disarm and dispose of it. I hate to even think about what might happen if the salt water degraded the core and released radioactive material into the water.” He looked around the boat. “This will all be gone then. Enough reason for you?”
“I’m good with that. I know some guys outside of his chain of command that can help.” The diver looked at Gillum, his lip curling in disgust.
“You good to dive again?”
“Yeah. I doubt I’m at risk for the bends, didn’t crack thirty feet. I’m good.” He double checked his depth gauge; the red needle had gone to thirty feet indicating this as his maximum depth.
“Got some food here.” Trufante yelled up from the galley. He’d disappeared a few minutes before. He was making some sandwiches, a fresh beer by his side. “Don’t know about you guys, but it’s been a long time since breakfast.”
They each took one of the offered sandwiches and wolfed them down, not realizing how hungry they were.
Mac wiped his mouth on his t-shirt, wondering how Trufante could be so nonchalant. He headed towards the forward berth. After a quick check of her pulse and breathing he was satisfied Mel was not in imminent danger. He watched her rest. She reminded him of a baby - angelic while asleep - demonic when awake. Without thinking about it, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. She stirred and turned away from him as if spurning his advance, so he left her, went back up, and changed his tank out for a fresh one.
“We’re gonna do this the same as the other one. You might as well rest a bit.” He turned and spoke to the Navy man. “I’ll find the bomb and let this buoy out on the site. You guys move the boat right on top of it. I'll set the anchor where I want it and surface. Then we can both go in and get the bomb out.”
Mac caught the crewman’s glance as his eyes followed the blood dripping from his wound to the deck.
“Maybe ought to have a look at that first. Probably better if I go down,” the diver said.
He grudgingly gave in. Another shark drawn by the blood from the wound would only hinder the recovery. Trufante put down his beer long enough to help Mac clean and properly bandage his wound. Arm patched, Mac paced the deck waiting for the diver to surface.
Mac and Trufante sat on the transom, feet resting on the dive platform. Mac was uneasy, glancing frequently at the cabin door, hoping Mel would appear. Then he scanned the water for the buoy. Trufante looked more like he was enjoying a day at the beach, as if he had no idea of the danger they were in. Mac rose quickly as the buoy broke the surface and headed to the helm. “Tru, go up and let off on the anchor. I think you can leave it hooked. I’ll let the current drift us back on the buoy.”
The boat floated towards the buoy. Mac yelled for Trufante to tie off the line when it hit the dive platform. They repeated the procedure they had used on the first bomb, easier with three, the recovery went smoothly, and they were soon heading back to Marathon, bomb braced on the deck.
Mac turned on the running lights and settled back in his chair. The wind had dropped, taking the seas with it. The waves were mere ripples on the water now, the bow of the boat cutting through them like butter. Still anxious about Mel, he relaxed for the first time in days, one bomb secure on his deck, the other safe at Wood's.
Chapter 53
The sun was setting now but the three men remained in their hiding spot under the house. Except for the spiders, it wasn’t bad. Cooler than outside, at least. The tour boat had come back about an hour ago and there had been a steady stream of traffic passing by ever since.
“We need to move soon. When will these people go away?”
“How should I know?” Doans answered. Ibrahim was getting antsy. Behzad was passed out.
“As soon as it is dark, we need to go. If there are casualties, it is Allah’s will. We have been too long here already. The bomb could have been brought in and we would never know.”
“You weren’t going to serve your god in jail either. You know they’re looking for us for stealing that boat. We go when it gets dark,” Doans agreed.
***
The Inspector General’s office at CNIC in Jacksonville was busy. Several men and women were in a conference room, monitoring the activity in the Keys. They were locked into Gordon’s radio channel, hearing everything broadcast. This was mostly background noise, as the contact was intermittent. The only action was the blur of fingers over the laptops operated by a handful of technicians — one researching the Vice President’s connection to Gillum and Key West, several others researching types of bombs that could be out there … and how to diffuse them. The terrorist connection reported by the sheriff in Marathon had added a layer of tension to the room. There was an open link to Homeland Security, who were suddenly interested.
“Ok, people.” Everyone looked to the front of the room. “Here’s where we are. We know Gillum, Woodson and Ward served together. It looks like it was Gillum as aviation ordnanceman and Woodson as engineer. Ward was the pilot. We’re still digging, but all the nukes look like they’re accounted for, although plenty of ordnance was ditched or dumped.” He turned to the radio man. “Get Gordon to take a picture of that thing with his phone and send it. Then we can identify it.”
He turned back to the room. “If it is a nuke then these three, and that includes the VP, are up to their eyeballs in some kind of coverup. I think we need to have a look at Ward’s phone records.”
“No way,” one of the women answered. She was an attorney involved to make sure this investigation stayed legit. “You’re not going to get the Vice President’s records without a court fight. We don’t have time. There is another way, though. Gillum’s cell phone is Navy issue. We don’t need permission to check that. We can back trace the numbers. See if we can connect any dots.”
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