Corruption in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  “How did you hear what we were doing?” I asked.

  “Overheard some things in the office. Word gets around there. All I heard was that two women had been attacked and locals came to their rescue. I was able to find the hospital report and there was part of your statement.”

  I let out a breath and looked off into the distance. It wasn’t the best story, and I still wasn’t convinced that the guy was who he said he was. I guess it was just my natural distrust I’d developed after years of dealing with liars.

  “What about your ID?” I said, motioning toward his pocket. “Thing expired nearly a year ago.”

  He paused for a moment.

  “I don’t have my new one with me,” he replied. “I’m not officially here on FBI business. I’m just on leave, and they don’t know that I’m here.”

  I glanced over at Ange and could tell that she was skeptical as well. She also looked like she was trying to make sense of something in her head. Regardless of my cynical nature, I felt in my gut that this guy was telling the truth. And if he was telling the truth, then that meant we needed to figure out a way to dismantle the entire operation, and we needed to figure it out fast. The leak could occur at any moment, an event that would change the Keys forever.

  “Wait a second,” Ange said enthusiastically.

  She’d been silent since asking Rashad when he thought Wake might pull the trigger on the spill.

  “I think I got it,” she continued. She glanced over at me with wide eyes and added, “Remember that news report I found about Zhao last night?” I tilted my head, unsure of which report she was referring to. We’d read a lot about them the previous evening. “The one about the new offshore drilling platform they’re unveiling soon? Well, what better time than that to cause a leak? The stocks will be at an all-time high.”

  I gasped as it finally clicked in my head.

  “The stocks soar, Wake sells out, then he pulls the trigger,” I said. “Ange, you’re a genius.”

  She smiled and gave a slight bow.

  “We need to get going,” I added. “When is the reveal?”

  Ange was one step ahead of me and had already entered a search into her smartphone.

  “The day after tomorrow in South Korea,” she said. “Five o’clock their time. We’ve got less than forty-eight hours to stop these guys before all hell breaks loose.”

  FIFTEEN

  “Okay,” I said, motioning toward my Tacoma. “Time to get back in the truck.”

  The three of us hopped in, with Ange still in the back alongside Rashad. I started up the engine, then rolled up the windows and turned the AC on full blast.

  “What exactly was your plan now, Rashad?” I asked, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

  “To be honest, I didn’t think this far ahead,” he said. “I figured once I found you guys and told you everything, we could come up with a plan together.”

  I put the truck in gear, turned us around, then drove back onto the sandy road right by the cluster of bushes where the guy had taken a leak. If we were going to formulate a realistic plan to take this whole thing down, we would need some backup. Scott and Wilson would be my first two calls, followed right after by Charles to see if he’d learned anything additional about the thug we’d captured the previous day.

  I kept us at a steady thirty miles per hour, shooting up dust and sand behind us on the old road. Halfway back to the housing development, I spotted a white SUV pull onto the road and accelerate straight for us. I jerked the wheel to the right, then hit the brakes, sliding us to a stop on the side of the road. Reaching into my backpack, I grabbed my monocular and got a better look at the approaching vehicle.

  “What is it?” Ange asked, looking around my seat for a better look.

  “This SUV looks spotless,” I said while zooming in.

  The chances of somebody driving a new and pristine vehicle on a road like that were slim. It was an old road that only locals knew about, and not many locals kept their vehicles so shiny.

  The windows were blacked out, making it impossible to get a look at whoever was inside. I focused and realized that the passenger-side window was open. A guy’s arm rested on the window frame, and his hand gripped a handgun.

  Shit.

  “We’re about to have company,” I said casually.

  “What?” Rashad said frantically, but we both ignored him.

  “How many?” Ange asked flatly.

  “At least two,” I replied. “But their windows are tinted. Probably more.”

  Directing my gaze through the windshield, I spotted movement behind the SUV. I took a quick look through my monocular and spotted a second SUV pulling onto the road, also barreling toward us.

  “Definitely more,” I added.

  I lowered my monocular, dropped it back into my bag. My mind raced, running through scenarios. We could try and take them head-on, but we were outnumbered, most likely outgunned, and they’d caught us off guard. We had to move. We had to get the hell out of there, and we had to do it fast.

  “Logan!” Ange said, motioning toward the closest SUV, which had driven to within a few hundred yards of us.

  “I swear, Pepper Spray,” I said, putting the truck in reverse, “if this shit comes back to you, I’m dicing you up and dropping you for the sharks.”

  “I had nothing to do with this, I swear,” he said frantically. “I don—”

  I slammed my foot on the gas, interrupting him and sending the tires spinning frantically. We stayed in place for a fraction of a second as the rubber treads shot sprays of sand in front of us. When my off-road tires gained traction, we accelerated so fast that my body lurched forward into my seat belt.

  I kept the pedal pressed to the floor and we flew down the old back road. I shifted my eyes back and forth, taking intermittent glances at the approaching SUVs while peering through the rearview and side mirrors. We bounced violently and the world around us became a blur as I brought us up over seventy miles per hour.

  Nearing the end of the road, I let off the gas, eased my foot down onto the brake, then released and spun us around 180 degrees. It was hard to control the rotation on the loose sand, but I brought the two-ton piece of Japanese machinery stable as best I could, then shifted into drive. I hit the gas again, roaring the six-cylinder engine and thundering us back onto the same small path we’d been on just a few minutes earlier. The SUV behind us didn’t skip a beat. It kept right on our heels, thundering onto the sorry excuse for a path. I’d been there a few times to go fishing and snorkeling with Jack when we were kids, so I could use my knowledge of the terrain to our advantage.

  I pressed on, keeping our speed up while zigzagging back and forth around thick patches of overgrown foliage. After passing the old racked-up kayaks, I cut a hard right, stomped the gas pedal, then roared through mangroves and onto a jagged limestone beach. We bounced up and down wildly, forcing me to slow as I drove over large cuts in the shoreline. Up ahead, the gap between the mangroves and the ocean was nonexistent, forcing me to barrel right into the shallows.

  I glanced into my rearview. I could still see the SUV, but the distance between us had grown. It pressed on with reckless abandon, trying to keep up, but it was no match for my Tacoma in an off-road environment. The beach jutted downward and the seawater splashed up to the main body of the truck. Seeing a long stretch of limestone ahead, I turned to the left and drove us back up onto dry land, cruising through a patch of sand in the thick underbrush. The little beach opened up ahead of us but then came to a dead end of nothing but dense mangroves. The SUV had disappeared from view, but I knew that we had to keep moving if we were going to escape. There was no turning back now.

  “Hold on!” I shouted.

  Ange leaned over my seat and looked forward at the solid wall of green that I was about to drive into.

  “Too bold, Dodge!” she yelled.

  I reached back, told her to sit down and buckle up. Directing my gaze forward, I adjusted the wheel slightly, tryi
ng to aim for the thinnest patch, then braced myself. We slammed into the foliage, jerking side to side and snapping branches as the dense green overtook us. The engine groaned. The tires struggled. But after what felt like an eternity, we broke free to a flat paved road on the other side.

  I hit the brakes, screeching us to a stop. Leaves and branches were stuck on the hood and under the windshield wipers. The Tacoma’s engine still managed to rumble normally, despite the crap I’d just put it through. The alignment had been shifted to hell, but that was expected. I’d reasoned that we’d need to get out and find a different vehicle after such a punishment, but my old truck had surprised me.

  Ange chuckled and threw her hands in the air.

  “Scratch what I said before,” she exclaimed. “Let’s do that again.”

  Rashad hadn’t enjoyed the ride as much. He looked scared out of his mind. He was holding on to the support grip and the seat in front of him like a driving instructor who’d just handed a fifteen-year-old kid keys for the first time.

  Looking through the windows and into my mirrors, I saw no sign of either SUV. I took a split second to go over my options. We’d crashed right into Robbie’s, a massive full-service commercial marina. Metal buildings loomed just ahead of us, surrounded by parked vehicles and rows of boats up on the hard. To the south, there were hundreds more boats laid in rows, covering a small point. To the north was Shrimp Road, our only way back to the middle of the island. That was unless we wanted to go back the way we’d come.

  Ange leaned out her window and looked back.

  “Looks like their ride didn’t make it,” she said.

  I glanced back and saw the outline of two guys maneuvering through the shrubs. They each held handguns and were slowly closing the distance between us. Ange fired off a few rounds their way, causing them both to drop down and take cover.

  Suddenly, I saw movement in my peripherals. I turned my gaze toward Shrimp Road and spotted the second SUV. Apparently, they’d done an about-face, driven the long way around the northern edge of Cow Key, and cut us off. Eyeing the quickly approaching vehicle, I hit the gas, turned the wheel, and roared straight toward them. I accelerated up to forty miles per hour, and when our bumpers were within a hundred feet of each other, I cut a hard right, skidding across the pavement and almost colliding into a massive boat crane.

  I drove through a narrow gap between the edge of the wharf and a polished white yacht. Up ahead, the edge cut north at a right angle so I spun the wheel and drove around to the starboard side of the yacht. I could barely see the shadow of the SUV as it drove along the other side of the yacht. As I’d expected, it braked to a stop right at the corner of the wharf. For a second, the driver hadn’t realized where we’d gone. That second cost him.

  I put the truck in reverse, then slammed the pedal, shooting us backward. Through the rearview, I watched as the driver tried to react by accelerating out of the way, but it was no use. The Tacoma’s tailgate smashed right into its side with a loud screech of metal, causing both our vehicles to jolt violently. The momentum caused its tires to skid and catch on the wooden edge of the wharf. It slammed so hard that it flipped onto its side and tumbled over the edge, splashing into the water below.

  I put the truck back into drive and hit the gas, cruising up and parking back in between the beautiful yacht and a thirty-foot Bayliner. We were home free if we wanted to make a break for it, but I wasn’t about to let these guys off that easy. They’d had the advantage at the beginning of the confrontation, but in a few minutes, the advantage had shifted and I wanted to send them a clear message.

  “We need to ditch the truck,” Ange said, opening her side door.

  I agreed, killed the engine and hopped out alongside her. Rashad didn’t share our enthusiasm.

  “Are you two crazy?” he said. “Both of their vehicles are trashed. We need to drive the hell out of here.”

  “I thought you said you’ve read about us,” I said. “Well, you obviously haven’t read enough.”

  I grabbed his left arm and manhandled him out of the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him. A few marina workers had stepped out from the nearby buildings to see what all of the fuss was about. We kept out of view behind the yacht and, looking at Rashad, I got an idea.

  “You know what? He’s right,” I said, reopening the backdoor. “We should stay in the truck.”

  I forced him back inside, told him not to move, then slammed it shut again before he could reply. I had the keys in my pocket, so he wouldn’t be driving away even if he wanted to. I turned back to Ange, then glanced up at the deck of the yacht beside us.

  “Bait and snare,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “I got opposite,” she said. “I’ll spring it, you six ’em.”

  She took off toward the other side of the Tacoma and disappeared into a maze of boats, parts, and hanging tarps. Not wanting to risk being spotted near the aft end of the yacht, I jumped as high as I could, stretched my hands overhead, and grabbed hold of the edge of the fiberglass deck. Pulling myself up, I hooked my right leg, then grabbed onto the railing and spun over the top, landing softly on the deck. The yacht was pristine, its polished rails and deck looking brand-new.

  I dropped down and took cover along the starboard gunwale, right in front of a dinghy covered by a black canopy. Within seconds, I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the road. Peering over the port side, I saw two guys running toward the spot where the SUV had rolled over the edge. They were both decent-sized guys and they both wore slacks and short-sleeved button-up shirts. Their shoes were covered in mud, their clothes torn up and dirty. Sweat covered their bodies and soaked through their shirts.

  They paused for a few seconds and spoke inaudible words to each other as they stared down at the water below. The fall shouldn’t have killed the guys inside if they were trained, but I didn’t see anyone climbing up. Both men turned and raised their weapons as they spotted my Tacoma. They moved in slowly and split up, one guy holding back and covering the other. Rashad was turned around in the backseat, facing the approaching guys and looking nervous as hell.

  I climbed stealthily up onto the railing right above the trailing guy. Just as the lead guy reached for the door, a gunshot ripped the quiet to shreds. Blood exploded out from his right heel, causing his leg to sweep out from under him and his upper body to slam hard into the ground. As thug number one lay sprawled in the dirt, moaning and grabbing his bloody leg, thug number two stepped toward him and turned his aim toward the source of the gunshot. Before he could take a shot, I pressed my soles into the railing, launched myself into the air, and crashed down on him from behind. My elbow struck him right in the back of the head. He didn’t even make a sound. His body went limp in an instant, collapsing beneath me as I rolled to my feet.

  Thug number one yelled and tried to raise his weapon at me, but Ange had him covered. She fired another round through the gap under the Tacoma’s chassis, and this one hit him square in the forehead. Blood and bone exploded out the back of his skull as his head snapped back and he dropped his weapon.

  I opened the side door and looked at Rashad. His eyes were bulging and he looked like he was about to have a heart attack. As Ange approached from the other side, his eyes darted through the back window, peering toward the wharf.

  “Logan!” he shouted.

  I spun around and raised my Sig just in time to see one of the guys I’d sent for a swim. His clothes were drenched, and as he rose at the top of the wood planks, he raised his weapon. I pulled the trigger, sending a 9mm round right into his chest. His body lurched backward, and he tumbled back over the edge, splashing into the channel.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said.

  I hopped into the driver’s seat and started up the engine as Ange climbed into the passenger seat. Putting the truck in gear, I floored it, leaving the dead guys in a trail of dust.

  “Forget what I said before,” Rashad said while trying to calm his breathing.
“Next time, I’m not staying in the car. Hell no. I’m not staying in the car again.”

  SIXTEEN

  We peeled out onto Shrimp Road, heading north back toward the center of the island. A handful of marina workers spotted us and I knew that it was only a matter of time before the place was flooded with ambulances and police cars.

  Ange blasted the AC as I reached into my pocket and grabbed my phone. Rashad went nuts again, trying to get me not to use it, saying that they’d be able to track it. He tried to snatch it from me with his right hand, but I caught his wrist and twisted.

  “I’ll break your wrist if you try and grab it one more time,” I said.

  I was pretty fired up still from the chase and confrontation. With my blood pumping abnormally and my adrenaline going, I could snap his frail bone like it was nothing.

  “They’ll find us again,” he said.

  “Apparently they’ll find us regardless.”

  About a quarter mile north on Shrimp Road, I heard sirens in the distance and pulled into a softball field parking lot. I pulled up behind a dumpster that hid us from the main road and shifted to neutral. Once my phone came on, I set it on my lap, turned around and aimed my Sig right at Rashad’s chest.

  “If I find out that you led them to us, I’ll riddle you to pieces,” I said.

  “I didn’t do anything!” he fired back. “I’m not working with those guys, Logan. We’re on the same side here, and the sooner you two realize that, the better chance we’ll have at bringing these guys down.”

  I stared at him for a moment, searching for the truth in his eyes.

  “Our phones were off,” I said. “So if you didn’t give away our position somehow, how in the hell did they…?”

  I trailed off, my mind replaying the events from early that morning.

  “Shit,” I said and glanced over at Ange. She looked back at me questioningly. “Hoodie Guy.”