Corruption in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  “One guy,” Ange said. “Couldn’t have been on the property for more than a few minutes. Must have been scouting the place out.”

  I nodded. She sat down beside me and we went through all the footage, paying close attention, looking for any sign of movement. We went through everything a couple of times but only ever caught a glimpse of the guy on the driveway cam. And it was just a quick glance with no clear shots of his face. Once he got close to the house, he vanished. The side cams had nothing, and neither did the truck or backyard cams.

  “Gotta hand it to this guy,” Ange said. “He knows how to hide. This isn’t his first time doing this kind of thing.”

  I had to agree with her. But like she’d mentioned, he’d only been on site for a few minutes at most. Either he’d only needed that long, or he’d realized he’d been detected and ran off.

  After a few minutes, I shut the laptop and migrated back to the bedroom. Atticus eyed us and wagged his tail as we swung open the door.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I said, petting behind his ears.

  We crawled back into bed. I lay on my back for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling. I wasn’t afraid of these guys. I’d faced off against people like them many times before. But I didn’t like the idea of them knowing where Ange and I slept. As much as I hated to admit it, we were probably going to have to find a new place to lay our heads for a couple of days.

  The next morning, we had an early breakfast, then did a quick search of the property, checking for any sign of what Hooded Guy had been up to. After coming up empty, we tried to formulate a plan of action. We needed to figure out what was going on in the Gulf, and we needed to find a way to put a stop to it. It was a tall order, but it was becoming more and more clear that if we didn’t, then they would succeed at whatever it was they were trying to accomplish. We were both hoping that meeting with Frank’s friend the following day would help us find a chink in their armor.

  Around noon, we hopped in my Tacoma and headed back to Pete’s place. We were planning to swing by, pick up a few to-go meals, then spend the evening on the Baia. If we didn’t feel good about staying overnight in the marina, we could always cast off and find a place out of the way.

  We pulled back into the seashell driveway of Salty Pete’s and parked along the fence. Atticus trotted over to his favorite spot in the shade, then spun around and sprawled out on the grass. Ange and I entered and were immediately met by Mia, who led us back into the kitchen. We’d called ahead to place our orders, and she told us that Oz was just finishing them up. The big Scandinavian guy waved us back with a metal spatula. Mia helped him put our fish tacos, grouper filets, and steamed shrimp into Styrofoam containers.

  “Pete should be back anytime if you guys wanna stay,” Oz said.

  As much as I wanted to stay and hear a few sea stories, we had to get going. I wanted to see if the repairs had been made to the Baia, and we had our work cut out for us, what with Darkwater wanting us dead and all.

  “Next time,” I said, savoring the smell of the food.

  Mia placed the containers in a plastic bag and handed them to us. As usual, I tried to pay, slipping a Benjamin under the counter when I thought Mia wasn’t looking. But she caught me as always, folded the bill, and slipped it into my front pocket near the door.

  “This place would still be a rundown shack that attracted more rats than customers if it weren’t for you,” she said. “Better luck next time.”

  I smiled, thanked her, then headed back out into the sun alongside Ange. Glancing to the left, I saw that Atticus was no longer lying in his usual spot.

  “Atticus!” I said, followed by a few whistles.

  He barked, and it sounded like it had come from the back of the restaurant. A few seconds later, he came running around the corner alongside Isaac, who was holding a leash. Instead of his work clothes, Jack’s nephew was wearing shorts and a tee shirt that looked huge on his thin frame.

  “I’m riding my bike over to the marina to help Jack with a charter,” Isaac said. “You mind if I take him with me?”

  I bent down, petted Atticus, and said, “We’re heading over there now. You want a ride?”

  “Can’t,” he said. “Uncle says I need the exercise and sun.”

  “Okay,” I said with a smile. “You got your phone?”

  He patted his front pocket. When I nodded, he dropped down and clipped the leash around Atticus’s collar.

  “We’ll see you over there,” I said, and they disappeared back around the corner of Pete’s.

  We turned around and walked across the small seashell parking lot toward my Tacoma. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a figure standing in the shadows behind the back bumper of a rundown Pathfinder and an overhanging gumbo-limbo tree. Whoever it was, they were almost completely hidden from my line of sight. And from my peripherals, it was clear that they were watching us both like a hawk.

  “Dinner at nine o’clock sound good?” I said casually to Ange. “Perhaps the Green Iguana? We’ve made some good memories at that place.”

  Ange was sharper than my dive knife and caught on instantly. The Green Iguana was a waterfront restaurant on the island of Curaçao in the Dutch Caribbean. The last time we’d eaten there, we’d been attacked right after paying the bill by a group of drug runners posing as waiters. One of the guys had ended up in the ocean ten feet down, and we‘d flown out of there on a motorcycle, barely making our escape as they’d called in backup. Though the food was good, I wouldn’t exactly characterize it as one of my fondest memories.

  “They have the best keshi yena around,” she replied enthusiastically. “And their Caribbean banana split is to die for.”

  I smiled, reading her loud and clear. It was time for us to split up.

  As Ange leaned out of the guy’s view, tying her shoe, I stepped along the passenger side of my Tacoma. I pulled my Sig from its holster, then reached into the front pocket of my cargo shorts with my left hand and grabbed my keys. I hovered my thumb over the buttons, but instead of the faded unlock symbol, I pressed the red panic button. The horn screamed to life, honking in an ear-rattling cycle, and all the lights blared on and off.

  I dropped my keys back into my pocket and moved around the hood. In my peripherals, I could see that Ange had already moved from where she’d bent down to tie her shoe a moment earlier. I moved toward the Pathfinder along the fence and behind the cover of a big hanging gumbo-limbo branch.

  I raised my Sig, took aim, then stepped into the guy’s view. He was short and wore a black suit. His skin was dark. Looked like he was probably Indian. When he realized where I was, his head jerked to look at me, his eyes bulging.

  “Hands above your head, now!” I said.

  His mouth dropped open and he froze for a moment. I took one step toward him and was about to repeat my order when he decided to try and run for it.

  Bad idea.

  He spun around like a spooked animal, but Ange was right behind him. He didn’t even have enough time to process what was happening before she manhandled him into submission. She kicked in the back of his right leg, causing it to buckle, then put him into a full nelson. He struggled like a fish out of water for half a second before Ange informed him that if he didn’t stop moving, she’d end his life right there in that parking lot.

  With Ange taking care of him, I slid my hand into my pocket and pressed the panic button, turning off my improvised distraction. I kept my Sig gripped with both hands and scanned around the rest of the lot, knowing that the guy probably wasn’t there alone. Guys with suits don’t usually attack people by themselves, at least not in my experience.

  When I didn’t see anyone else, I walked over and searched him.

  “Please… please,” he said. “I’m… I’m not here to hurt you.”

  I patted him down and was surprised to discover that the only thing he had on him was a wallet, a set of rental car keys, and a small canister of pepper spray.

  “Pepper spray?” Ange said, glancing down
at the bottle of self-defense. “I’m insulted.”

  “Well, Rashad,” I said, reading his name from the Virginia driver’s license in his wallet, which said that he was just twenty-three years old, “if you’re not here to hurt us, then what the hell are you doing here?”

  As he struggled to come up with words, I continued to search through his wallet. In one of the leather flaps, I found a temporary Federal Bureau of Investigation no escort badge. It had his name on it along with an expiration date of May of last year.

  “I’m here to help you, Logan,” he said, barely able to get the words out he was breathing so fast.

  The guy was nervous as hell. At his age, he wouldn’t have much experience, and judging by his build and choice of weapon, he probably wasn’t a field agent.

  “Help him with what?” Ange said, loosening her grip slightly to make it easier for him to speak.

  He coughed a few times, then tilted his head so that his eyes met mine. He was scared shitless, but I could see in his eyes that he knew things.

  “Zhao Petroleum,” he said. “Darkwater. The Wake Corporation.”

  I stared deep into his eyes for a few seconds, then looked up as the front door to Salty Pete’s swung open. A group of three middle-aged couples walked out, laughing and enjoying a relaxed Sunday afternoon.

  “Let’s get him in the truck,” Ange said, reading my mind.

  FOURTEEN

  We led Rashad over to my Tacoma. I unlocked it and hinged open one of the back doors. Ange and Rashad climbed in, then I shut the door and got in the driver’s seat. Ange still had her Glock in hand and pressed against Rashad, just in case. We’d worked as mercenaries long enough to know that just because a guy had a CIA, FBI, or DHS ID, it didn’t mean that it was real.

  I started up the engine, pulled out of the lot, and onto Mangrove Street. Wanting to get out of the downtown area, I turned east onto Truman Avenue.

  “You said you’re here to help me,” I said, glancing at Rashad through the rearview mirror. “Well?” I added, raising my eyebrows.

  He was still breathing heavily but had relaxed a little since our surprise encounter.

  “I work for the FBI,” he said. “I’m an analyst, and I’ve been tracking the Wake Corporation and Carson Richmond for the past month.”

  His mentioning of the Wake Corporation struck a chord with me. The owner, Richard Wake, was a billionaire who’d inherited the company from his father. Years ago, Wake had been nothing more than a small handful of cargo ships. But presently they controlled much of the world’s shipping and had expanded to truck and train distribution throughout the world. Richard wasn’t nearly as well known as Carson, since he seemed to shun the limelight. But I’d heard enough about him and his company to ascertain that he was a shrewd and shady businessman. I also knew that he and Carson had worked together before.

  I wanted to make sure that Rashad wasn’t working with Darkwater and trying to lead us into their hands. I knew an easy way to find out for sure. While driving, I snatched my phone, found Wilson’s contact info, and pressed the call button. In an instant, Rashad reached in between the two front seats and grabbed hold of it just as I brought the speaker up to my ear. He tried to pull it away from me, but I was much stronger than him, and he couldn’t get it from my grasp.

  “Don’t use your phone!” he shouted.

  Ange grabbed him from behind and shoved him back into the seat beside her.

  “Move again,” Ange said, daring him as she pressed the barrel of her Glock hard into his side.

  She looked at him with intense, narrowed eyes.

  He froze. I ended the call and watched him carefully through the rearview mirror.

  “They’re probably listening in,” he said, defending himself. “If that’s an ordinary phone, they could tap into it. Carson has a team of very smart people. You should turn it off!”

  Either he was being truthful, or he was putting on a performance that would impress De Niro.

  He stared at me through the mirror and said, “If you don’t turn it off, they’ll find us. Hell, they’ll probably find us anyway, but you need to turn that off.”

  I made eye contact with Ange, who gave a slight shrug. Lifting my phone up, I held the power button, then swiped over to turn it off. Rashad let out a sigh of relief. I continued onto US-1, driving over the bridge onto Stock Island, then headed south on Fifth Street. The paved road ended beside a row of residential houses, but I continued around a gate and onto a sandy road. Roughly a quarter of a mile later, I reached the end of the road on Cow Key. It was as middle-of-nowhere as you could find in that part of the islands and was surrounded by dense foliage. I switched on the four-wheel drive and continued down a small path that ran parallel to the beach. Putting the truck in park beside a worn-down rack of beat-up old kayaks, I turned off the engine.

  We climbed out and stood in the shade of a banyan tree. Ange still had her Glock in her hands but was no longer aiming it at Rashad.

  “Alright,” I said. “You say you’re here to help. What can you tell us about what’s going on with that oil rig?”

  Rashad took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but I could tell his blood was still pumping.

  “Wake and Zhao Petroleum own the rig,” he said. “They managed to get permission to drill in this part of the Gulf. I don’t have proof of it, but it’s clear that a lot of under-the-table money was involved in the politics.”

  “What do Carson and Darkwater have to do with it?” Ange said. “Why are they keeping people away?”

  Ange and I both expected him to say that they were running a secret operation to pump up as much oil as they could. It made logical sense.

  “Because the rig is going to fail,” he said, catching us both off guard. “There’s going to be a massive oil leak, and the entire operation will lose investors hundreds of millions of dollars. Not to mention it will tarnish Zhao’s reputation in the offshore drilling industry.”

  A massive oil leak less than a hundred miles from the Keys? It didn’t take a great imagination to see how such an incident could damage the island chain, as well as the entire Gulf. As a man, such a possibility angered me to the core. As a citizen of Key West, the idea of such a beautiful paradise being poisoned by oil angered me more still. I loved the islands. I loved the water, the beaches, and the abundance and variety of marine life that also called them home. Not to mention that the biggest industry in the Keys for years has been tourism. I was willing to bet that fewer people would want to visit if the water was clouded with messy oil.

  But there was one big part of Rashad’s revelation that didn’t make sense.

  “If Wake and Zhao are partners in this,” I said, “what motive would Wake have to do all of this? Why would he sabotage himself?”

  Rashid nodded. I could tell it was a question he’d asked himself.

  “Because he plans to sell his stake,” he said. “To quickly cut ties and get out on top while his partners sink into oblivion. It’s like if, when the captain of the Titanic learned it was sinking, he’d destroyed every lifeboat but one and rowed away.”

  The three of us went silent for a few seconds as Ange and I mulled over everything he’d said. It was a lot to take in.

  “But if it’s going to fail anyway, why wait?” Ange said. “And why would they be so eager to keep people away from it? They boarded our boat yesterday and threatened us just for hanging out within a few miles of the rig.”

  “It’s business,” Rashad said with a shrug. “It’s all about timing. My guess is Wake’s waiting for the stock to rise, then he’ll cash in and pull the trigger. It will look suspicious as hell to anyone with a brain, but my guess is he’s counting on people not to pay much attention to him. Plus he has so much damn money he can buy off practically anyone he wants.”

  “And Carson?” I said. “How does she benefit from this?”

  “I’m not sure she will in the end,” he replied. “You guys struck her a big blow last month. My guess is Wa
ke jumped in, pretending like he was there to save her, but in reality, he’s just using her and Darkwater. He’s using them to keep people away because he doesn’t want the possibility of their cover being blown. Carson is just a pawn to him. Nothing more. Once he no longer has a use for her, he’ll toss her aside. This guy’s so hated that even his only son ran away. Far as I know, they haven’t spoken in years.”

  I heard the sound of a diesel engine coming from the sandy road. Ange and I stared through the foliage and spotted an old Chevy truck. Its engine thundered as it rolled closer. Reaching the end, its brakes squeaked and the driver’s-side door swung open while the engine was still running. An overweight guy in a trucker hat and a cutoff shirt stepped out, took a few steps toward a patch of bushes, then unzipped his pants.

  We directed our attention back to Rashad.

  “So you flew down from Virginia to find us and tell us all of this?” I asked. “Why not go to your superiors?”

  The question came out, but I already knew the answer. Charles had mentioned that he’d received calls to stop his investigation, and with such a big operation, he wouldn’t be the only one.

  “I did,” he replied. “They shot it down, time and again. Called it frivolous. A waste of time.”

  I shook my head. Turned out it was considered too high up for local authorities and a waste of time for the “big dogs.” The guy in the distance finished relieving himself, then hopped back into his Chevy and rumbled back the way he’d come from. The sound of the diesel engine faded, allowing me to hear the soft crashing of waves against the nearby beach again.

  “Do you have any idea when they plan to cause the oil leak?” Ange asked.

  Rashad shook his head. “I’ve got nothing on that. Could be soon. Could be in a week. Hell, could be happening right now, which is why I flew down here as soon as I learned what you guys were up to.”