Corruption in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  Ange strode over beside me, and I unlocked and opened the conference room door.

  “What do you plan to do with this information?” he asked.

  I didn’t have to think long before coming up with an answer.

  “I’m gonna make a phone call,” I said. “Then, I think I’m gonna take my boat out for a little day trip.”

  SIX

  After being assured that Charlotte would be watched like a hawk by police officers, Ange and I headed for the door. Charles caught up with us and reminded us to update him as much as possible.

  “I’m surprised you’re acting like this,” I said. “When we first met, practically every third sentence out of your mouth to me was ‘just let the police handle things.’”

  He paused for a moment, then looked me in the eyes.

  “I know you well enough now to know that it would be wasted breath anyway,” he said. “Just be careful and don’t try to take on the world by yourself. I’ve already informed Naval Station Key West, as well as the Coast Guard. They are aware of the situation and are on the lookout for the guys who attacked the women.”

  I assured him that we were just going to go and check things out, but I wasn’t sure that he believed me. I wasn’t even sure that I believed myself. Regardless, I was going to have a good supply of weapons and ammunition within arm’s reach.

  Ange and I hopped into my Tacoma and I fired up the V-6. We drove out of the parking lot and onto College Road, heading west back toward the marina. I grabbed my phone from my front pocket and punched in one of the few numbers I knew by heart. I turned on speakerphone and slid it into a stand right beside the wheel.

  “Logan, good to hear from you,” Scott said, picking up on the third ring.

  “In a bit of a situation, Scott,” I said, passing by the Key West Botanical Garden and turning onto US-1.

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “Just give me a sec.” I could barely hear him as he spoke a few muffled words to someone else, then stepped through a doorway and shut the door behind him. “What’s going on?”

  Scott Cooper had been one of my division officers years ago back in the SEALs. He’s one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met and one hell of a soldier. He’s the kind of guy who’s good at everything he does, the kind you want on your side. After leaving the Navy as a lieutenant commander, he’d gone into politics and was currently serving as a senator representing the state of Florida. If there was one person who could help me clarify what was happening, it was him.

  “What do you know about an oil rig two hundred miles off the Gulf side of the Keys?”

  Scott paused a moment, then replied, “New legislation was passed just a few weeks ago. It didn’t make headlines because it’s only an amendment. It approved a rig to drill down for investigative purposes only. No oil is being brought up. Why? Did you see it?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Why would that law be amended? I thought the promise was to keep oil rigs away from the coast of Florida.”

  There was a short pause, and I heard him sigh.

  “Look, this is politics, Logan,” he said. “I agree with you. Oil rigs should be kept well clear of Florida, which is why I voted against it. But it passed anyway, and here we are.” A few seconds later he added, “As I said, though, the purpose is only to discover what oil and gas are available in the area.”

  Scott’s answer didn’t sit well with me, though I was glad to hear he’d voted against it. I had to understand that he lived in a different world now. A world of politics. He was one of my most trusted friends, but I didn’t like how he was trying to feed me bullshit and call it truth. He knew as well as I did that these guys weren’t merely looking to investigate. Oil companies, like any other company, exist because of profits, and there’s not a lot of profit to be had in just checking to see if oil is there.

  “Who are they?” I asked, switching gears.

  “Zhao Petroleum,” Scott replied. “They’re a Chinese conglomerate.”

  “And how many rigs do they have off Florida?”

  “Just one.” After a short pause, he added, “Why are you so interested anyway?”

  I thought for a moment, took in a deep breath and let it out.

  “There’s been an incident,” I said. “One woman killed, another in critical condition. They were attacked by whoever’s running that oil rig.”

  Scott gasped, and I could hear his chair squeak slightly as he dropped down into it. He asked more questions, and I gave him a quick rundown of the events of the past four hours.

  “The Keys are ninety miles from Cuba, Logan,” he said. “You know as well as anyone how often drug runners, sex traffickers, and other criminals cruise through there. How can you be sure that the attackers were in any way affiliated with the rig?”

  “Because it’s obvious, Scott,” I said. “Besides, do you also want me to believe that it was drug runners who tried to kill the daughter at the hospital?” I could feel my heart pounding as I cruised into downtown and turned onto White Street. “Look, I need your help, Scott. I’ve got a bad feeling that something big is happening.”

  “Alright, I’ll dig up as much as I can on this,” he said. “You call Wilson?”

  “Yeah, he’s trying to find out as much as he can about the two women. Might be able to figure out a motive for wanting them dead if we can find out who they are.”

  We ended the call just as I turned into the Conch Harbor Marina parking lot. The late-afternoon sun hung over the western horizon, its rays beaming through a mostly cloudless sky and keeping the temperature over eighty degrees. Mallory Square and Duval were just starting to come to life as the Conch Republic Independence Celebration rolled into its second-to-last day of festivities. I’d hoped to spend another wild night on the town with Jack and Ange, but I’d have to put that on hold. A pity, since I could smell the delicious variety of seafood and hear the live music begin to play as we walked down onto the dock.

  We spotted Jack at the fish-cleaning station alongside Gus Henderson, the owner of the marina and the Greasy Pelican restaurant. Like Jack, Gus had spent all his life in the Keys. Unlike Jack, he was short and unathletic and spent a lot of his time inside the marina office watching fishing competitions. He was also one of the nicest guys in town and ran his businesses well.

  Atticus was sniffing the corner of the dock near their feet. He spotted us first and ran excitedly over to meet us. I bent down and patted the top his head as we continued toward the others.

  “Hey, bro,” Jack said as we approached. “What’s the news from the hospital?”

  He was holding a fillet knife in one hand and pressing a slab of mullet onto the table with the other. The station was covered in blood and fish guts that could be smelled from a few hundred feet away.

  Ange and I greeted both of them, then I said, “Not so good. Maggie didn’t make it.”

  Jack bit his lip and looked out over the water.

  “It’s a damn shame,” he said. He looked at my face closely for the first time and added, “What happened to you?”

  “Ran into a little more trouble at the hospital,” I said. “Thankfully Ange took care of it.”

  Ange shrugged. “Just finished him off. You boys need any help with this?”

  “We’re about done,” Gus said. “Logan, that reminds me. You mind if I borrow your drone for a few more days?”

  Gus had borrowed my advanced underwater ROV in order to inspect the dock.

  “No problem,” I said, then patted him on the back. “What are you guys up to tonight?”

  “Thanks,” Gus said. “We’re gonna clean up and head over to Salty Pete’s if you two wanna join us.”

  I told them that, as much as I wanted to, it wouldn’t be possible tonight.

  “Uh-oh,” Jack said. “What are you two gonna do?”

  I shrugged. “Thought we might take the Baia out and watch the sunset on the water.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. You’re gonna go looking for those guys that shot
at us, aren’t you?” He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “By the time you get out there, it’ll be dark. Sounds like a bad idea to me, especially since we don’t know who we’re dealing with here.”

  I hadn’t planned to try and cruise all the way to the rig that night. We wouldn’t even make it until midnight at the Baia’s cruising speed. I’d just planned to cruise an hour or so into the Gulf and have a look around. I wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of all this as quickly as possible. But there was wisdom in my old friend’s words. I turned to look at Ange and asked her what she thought.

  “If there’s an oil rig out there,” she said, “I’m willing to bet it’ll still be there in the morning. Those big machines don’t exactly break speed records.”

  “Did you say an oil rig?” Jack asked, his eyes wide.

  I patted my friend on the shoulder.

  “Let me help you guys clean up here,” I said. “Then we’ll grill up some dinner and we’ll tell you all about it.”

  SEVEN

  We had a delicious meal of grilled mullet, doused in Swamp Sauce, a local favorite condiment of mine. As an appetizer, we pulled a pile of blue crabs out of a boiling pot of seawater. Their dark bodies had turned bright orange, signaling that they were done and ready to be eaten. After covering them in Old Bay and letting them cool off a few minutes, we went to work breaking them apart using paring knives, mallets, and our fingers. I’d always loved the juicy and tender taste of crab meat, especially with the right seasonings and a bowl of melted garlic butter nearby.

  After eating, Gus headed down the waterfront to join in the Mallory Square sunset celebration. Jack, Ange, and myself headed up to the flybridge of Jack’s 45 Sea Ray, with Atticus jumping up right at our heels. It was comfortable up there, and the elevation allowed us to see the goings-on downtown and watch as the sun dropped into the ocean. Jack was just as surprised as I was to hear about the oil rig. He loved his tropical paradise as much as anyone alive and didn’t like when big business tampered with it for their own greedy gain.

  We had a few Paradise Sunset beers to take the edge off, then planned our course of action for the next day. The sunset was spectacular, brilliant streaks of reds and yellows that singed the edges of the sporadic clouds and sparkled over the ocean’s surface. A massive classic wooden schooner sailed into view beyond the opening of the harbor. Its sails rose high into the air, momentarily blocking out the sun as it passed by. The deck was littered with the silhouettes of onlookers enjoying the spectacle from out on the water. It was a beautiful display as usual, but I couldn’t seem to shake the thoughts in the back of my mind.

  CIA Deputy Director Wilson got back to us later that evening. He sent us over intel letting us know that Maggie and Charlotte Fletcher were environmental scientists who worked for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, or NOAA. When he had one of his agents call the department where the two women worked, the agent was informed that the Fletchers were out in the field on a weeklong trip to Lake Superior to study the effects of recent flooding and pollutants on the water’s chemistry. They were top-level scientists, Wilson informed us. They both had stellar reputations in the scientific community. Maggie was regarded as one of the foremost environmental scientists in the world, and Wilson informed me that her death would certainly make the news when it got out. I thanked Wilson, and he told me he’d be happy to help if we needed anything else.

  “Why would they say they were going up north, then head south to the Gulf?” Ange said.

  “A freezing wasteland, rocky beaches, frigid water,” Jack said, shaking his body. “It’s the stuff of nightmares, bro. I don’t blame them for heading here instead.”

  Ange raised an eyebrow at Jack.

  “Have you ever been to Lake Superior?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Hell no. And I never will.”

  “Well, it’s actually a beautiful place. And in the summer, the water gets over sixty.”

  Jack gave her a “you’re crazy” look.

  “But I’ll admit you’re very spoiled here,” she added.

  I mulled it over a moment, then came to the obvious conclusion.

  “It’s because they didn’t want anyone to know they were here,” I said. “Maybe they suspected that it was dangerous and they wanted to keep it secret.”

  Ange nodded. “Makes sense. And as it turned out they had good reason to try and lie low. But whoever those guys were, they managed to discover what they were up to anyway.”

  Ange and I strolled back to the Baia around ten. After climbing aboard, I locked the salon door, then turned on the security system. We hit the sack, but neither of us had any intention of sleeping for at least another hour. I pulled the thin cotton blanket over us, then pulled her body close to mine. Within seconds, we were lost in each other. It had been a long day, but regardless of what had happened or what might happen, we enjoyed each other’s company to the fullest. Passionately and tenderly as the boat swayed and water slapped softly against the hull.

  In the morning, after a quick shower and a bite to eat, Jack met us at the swim platform. He was carrying a large mesh bag over one shoulder and hopped aboard with about as much excitement as a sea snail. Jack wasn’t a morning person, and he clearly hadn’t had his coffee yet. Once we were ready to go, Jack and I untied the lines while Ange started up the Baia’s twin 600-hp engines.

  She motored us slowly over to the fuel station, and Gus popped out of the office to meet us. In addition to topping off the Baia, we filled up my spare tanks, giving us plenty of fuel to make the round trip to the rig and back. Once filled, we all gave Gus a wave, and within minutes Ange had us out in open water, pushing my sleek machine up to its cruising speed of forty knots.

  The sky was slightly overcast, blocking out the sunrise to the east, but it was already in the lower seventies. The fresh ocean air against my face felt good as we roared over the water, cruising through the Northwest Channel and into the Gulf of Mexico. We used my chart plotter, along with the same simple math I’d used the previous day, to get a rough idea of where we were heading.

  “Roughly two hundred miles, due northwest,” Jack said, looking over my data. “Looks good to me, bro. I wouldn’t trust finding a buoy with the info we got, but a massive oil rig shouldn’t be too tough to spot.”

  Once out into the Gulf, Ange switched on the autopilot and we all relaxed on the deck, taking intermittent glances at the horizon and at the instrument panel. It was a long ride to the drop-off line. Fortunately, I’d filled up my large cooler with ice, refreshments, and snacks for the long journey. Ange climbed up onto the bow, stripped down to her bikini, and soaked up the sun on a flattened towel. Occasional swells would splash up over the bow, cooling her off.

  Jack and I hung out around the dinette and passed the time by playing cards, reminiscing about adventures we’d had as kids, and discussing what the hell could be going on at the oil rig.

  At 1227, just over five hours after leaving the marina, Ange rose to her feet and pointed over the bow.

  “Oil rig ho,” she yelled over the sounds of the humming engines and the splashing water.

  I reached for my binoculars as Ange grabbed her towel and climbed back down into the cockpit. Focusing through the windscreen, I spotted a dark box-shaped form far out on the horizon. Focusing the lenses, I caught my first clear glimpse of the rig. It rose like a skyscraper high into the air, a massive monstrosity of metal. To my surprise, the rig wasn’t the only thing in view. A large freighter was anchored just off the northeast corner of the rig.

  “Three miles off,” Ange said, wiping the sweat from her brow and gazing at the cockpit instruments.

  I handed Jack the binos and he climbed up onto the bow to get a better look as Ange eased us back to twenty-five knots.

  “Crap, bro,” Jack said. “This sucker’s huge!”

  He stepped down, then looked back and forth between me and Ange.

  “So, what exactly is the plan here?” he asked. “
We cruise up there guns blazing, John Wayne style?”

  I shook my head.

  “You know how much I like that approach,” I replied. “But it’s not exactly the best idea.”

  “Right,” Ange chimed in. “I don’t know much about oil rigs, but I’m willing to bet charging at them wouldn’t go down so well. Besides, we need answers.”

  “Answers,” Jack said. “How do we plan to do that?”

  I mulled it over for a few seconds as we continued our slow approach to the rig. I’d been trying to come up with something all morning but couldn’t put together anything that properly utilized each of our skills.

  Jack looked out over the water and shrugged.

  “Well, if this turns out to be nothing more than a wild goose chase, we should at least drop down and blow some bubbles. The water’s perfect today.”

  “You always think the water’s perfect,” Ange said.

  Jack smiled. “Well, I do live in the Keys.”

  I looked at my old friend for a few seconds.

  “You know, a dive isn’t such a bad idea,” I said, a lightbulb switching on in my head. “Though I don’t know about the bubbles part.”

  “Damn, I didn’t bring my wetsuit,” Jack said. “And I know you pee in yours.”

  Ange and I both laughed.

  “There are two types of divers,” I said. “Those that whiz in their wetsuits and those that lie about it. Besides, I hose it down after every use.”

  Ange cruised us to two miles southwest of the rig, then brought us to an idle. After killing the engines, I climbed up onto the bow and took another look through my binos. I spotted a few workers dressed in bright red coveralls moving about the deck like fire ants. I was in awe of how big the rig was, having never seen one so close before. As I scanned over the rig and nearby freighter, I couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. If anyone had spotted us, they obviously didn’t care that we were there.

  Lowering my binos, I stepped back down into the cockpit. I grabbed a few coconut waters from the cooler, handed them out, then took a few long swigs.