Legend in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  Setting the brick aside, I reached into the small revealed space and grabbed a tin box. I straightened my legs, broke free of the water, and took in a few breaths. I wiped the saltwater from my eyes and held the box out in front of me.

  I could see only the dim glow of their faces, but I knew that they were both smiling just as big as I was.

  “You’re the one who believed in this more than anyone,” I said, looking at Walt. Holding out the box, I added, “You should do the honors.”

  He hesitated a moment, then Pete nudged him.

  “Go on, old friend,” Pete said. “Logan’s right. After all the years I made fun of you for believing in this legend, you deserve this and many more moments of glory.”

  Again Walt hesitated. He seemed conflicted for a few seconds, then nodded and finally grabbed the tin box.

  Maybe he’s in shock. Maybe he can’t believe what’s happening.

  I had a hard time believing it myself.

  Pete and I shined our flashlights toward the box as Walt grabbed the lid and pried it open. He reached inside and pulled out a small leather pouch. Just as he emptied its contents into the palm of his hand, his eyes lit up, and he gasped. I waded through the warm water, peeking around for a look inside.

  Walt wrapped his right hand into a fist around the contents. Holding up and rotating his hand around, he opened his fingers, revealing a massive yellow diamond.

  I smiled triumphantly and laughed as I patted the two of them on the back. Pete was lost in the tremendous heat of the powerful moment as well. He cheered and laughed more heartily than I’d ever heard him before.

  Walt stood stunned, staring at the rare twinkling gem.

  I thought about the past couple of days, the work we’d done and the knowledge we’d gained in order to reach this point. Starting out in Snake Creek, sifting through acres of seafloor in order to find the lost compass. Then using the jackhammer to dig up the old chest and fighting off the ruthless Albanian mafia bad guys. Flying to the Bahamas and diving two hundred and forty feet down to photograph the memorial to Hastings’s wife. And finally, breaking into a secret passageway hidden within one of America’s oldest and impressive forts.

  I smiled as I grabbed and examined the stone by the glow of my flashlight.

  “The Florentine Diamond,” I said, in awe that I was holding one of the rarest diamonds in the world.

  It was heavy, much heavier than I’d expected. And its sparkle was almost too intense to look at, even when reflecting nothing but the flashlight.

  “Lost no more,” Pete said, his smile bigger than any smile I’d ever seen before.

  Walt looked over his shoulder toward the crawl space entrance into the chamber.

  Before I could ask what was wrong, he said, “We should get moving. The water’s rising and somebody might figure out what we’re up to.”

  He was right, though it was hard for me to take my eyes off the diamond. I wasn’t normally a sucker for fine jewels. I’m more of a simple man. I like my guns, boats, and good food. But the incredible stone had me mesmerized. It was perfectly shaped on all sides, its double-rose cut flawless.

  I handed the diamond to Walt, and he put it back into the pouch, closed it inside the box, then slid the box into his pocket. He took the lead on the way back, with Pete in the middle and myself in the rear. I took one more look around the chamber, then pulled myself up out of the water and into the small crawl space.

  As I sloshed back through the water, keeping my head craned up in order to breath, I thought I heard footsteps coming from far ahead. The steps sounded too far away to be Walt, so I called out, making sure that he was alright. I got no reply from Walt. Not even an acknowledgment that I’d said anything.

  “Walt, can you hear us?” Pete called out.

  I watched as Pete rose to his feet, then climbed over the stone block ahead of me. I heard the shuffling of feet, the splashing of water, and a few loud grunts.

  Something’s very wrong.

  It was like a switch went off in my mind. In an instant, I went from ecstatic and feeling like I was in a dream to focused. I reached for my Sig, held it out in front of me with my right hand while I pointed my flashlight forward with my left. It was challenging to move forward in that position, so I lowered the flashlight as I crawled and called out.

  “Pete!” I yelled. “Are you alright?”

  My heart was pounding, my vision narrowed.

  What the hell happened? And why in the hell aren’t either of them replying?

  “Logan!” Pete yelled back, struggling to get the words out.

  I could still hear shuffling and the loud sloshing of water.

  “Shut up,” I finally heard a voice say sternly in the darkness.

  It was Walt.

  My heart sank. I rose up from the other side of the stone block and shined my flashlight forward. Walt was standing behind Pete, his left arm wrapped around Pete’s neck. His right hand gripped Pete’s Taurus .44 Magnum, and he had the barrel aimed straight at me.

  THIRTY-TWO

  “Walt?” I said as our eyes locked. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I felt a powerful rage storming deep inside me. Walt was taking the diamond for himself. After everything we’d done for him, he was betraying us right at the end.

  How in the hell can he do this? How in the hell did we allow him to do this?

  Pete was gasping for air, his eyes big and bulging. He was angry and had a hard time believing what was happening.

  I was surprised by Walt’s expression, however. He didn’t look angry at us but instead conflicted. Like he was doing something that he didn’t want to do, but had to.

  “Drop the gun, Logan,” Walt said. I swallowed hard but kept my Sig raised, the barrel staring him down. “Drop it now! I’ll shoot.”

  I controlled my breathing, trying to slow myself down so I could make the best move.

  “What is this, Walt?” Pete exclaimed, struggling for every word. “We’ve been friends all our lives and now this?”

  I watched Walt carefully, seeing the conflict within him. He was struggling to justify his actions. I could see it all over his face and in the way his gun hand shook.

  “What’s the game plan here, Walt?” I said. “You shoot us and take the diamond? We’re already willing to split it and give you half. That not enough for you?”

  He opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked like he was going crazy, and I wondered if maybe he was. He opened his mouth again, but just as he started to speak, a voice overtook his.

  A woman’s voice.

  “For him, maybe,” the voice called from the darkness behind Walt and Pete. “But it’s not enough for me.”

  I directed my gaze up in an instant as footsteps echoed from just down the corridor. I didn’t need to see her face to realize who it was. Her powerful Albanian accent was unmistakable. The big woman with short black hair who’d fought Ange back at the Hemingway House stepped into the beam of my flashlight.

  Valmira Gallani, I thought, remembering the name Walt had said a few days ago.

  She was the leader of their mafia. A woman who’d murdered her father and brother in order to get in control. She’d engaged in a fight with Ange and was still standing, which meant she was both brutal and tough as nails.

  Val held a black Beretta in her right hand, and the two guys with her each held stockless AK-47s. They all switched on high-powered flashlights that illuminated the space, forcing me to cover my eyes it was so bright.

  “You’re the old-timer with the hook for a hand,” Val said, glaring at Pete. “So that means you must be the mercenary. Dodge, is it? Yes. You’re the asshole who killed a handful of my men.” I gave a nod of my head and a short, sarcastic bow. She smirked, looked over at Walt, then added, “Looks like you’ve picked the wrong friends. Now, drop the fucking gun before we blow your ass to pieces!”

  How can I drop it? It’s the only card we have, the only bargaining chip.

  I couldn’t tak
e all four of them out before they shot me, which meant that Pete and I were both goners if I couldn’t think of something quick.

  “I’m going to count to three,” Val said, growing irritated. “One… two… th—”

  “Alright,” I said, having no other choice. “But let him go first,” I added, motioning toward Pete.

  Val looked calmly back and forth between her two men, then stared daggers at me.

  “You’ve got some stones,” she said with a sly smile. “I’ll give you that.” A moment later, she shrugged and added, “Let him go, old man.”

  Walt slid his broken left arm from around Pete’s neck with a wince and pushed him toward me. He nearly fell in the darkness and turned around right beside me.

  I kept my eyes locked on Val. She clenched her jaw and motioned toward my Sig. Still facing four loaded guns, I had no choice but to let it go. The grip slipped from my hands and tumbled to the floor at my feet.

  “Grab it, Walt,” Val ordered.

  He did so, snatching it as best he could with his left hand, his mobility limited by the cast, and ruling out the possibility that I could make a desperate attempt to grab it.

  “I’m sorry,” Walt said, choking up. “I’m so sorry. I… I had no choice. They have my son. They have my daughter-in-law. And they have my two grandchildren.”

  My heart sank, and I let out a breath. It explained everything. How he’d backstabbed us, how he’d looked conflicted the entire time. It also explained why he hadn’t been acting like himself since the previous evening.

  I could understand why he’d done it, but he had to have been out of his mind if he thought for a second that he’d be getting out of this alive. I knew Val’s type. She was evil and heartless. I was confident that the moment she got what she wanted, she’d kill Walt’s son in front of him and then put an end to him as well.

  “The diamond, old man,” Val said, holding out her left hand.

  Now that Walt had my Sig, neither Pete nor I were armed, and Val’s attention had shifted away from me.

  Walt did as he was ordered. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the small tin box, and handed it to Val. The mafia leader smiled after opening and examining the stone, then dropped it into her own pocket.

  “Wally,” Pete said, shaking his head. “You could have told us. We could have—”

  “You’re past that now,” Val snarled. “The game’s over. You have lost, and I have won.” She glanced at the two men squeezed beside her. “And as for your wife,” she added, narrowing her gaze at me, “the one who thought she could challenge me and get away with it.” She laughed. “Once you two are dead, we will find her and we will kill her as well.”

  I felt an uncontrollable flood of anger rush over me. I knew Ange could hold her own as well as any woman alive, but the idea of these thugs taking her by surprise made my blood boil.

  “Call the yacht,” Val barked to the guy on her right. “Have them bring it over to this corner of the fort.”

  “What about the guy on the boat?” he replied.

  Her lips formed an evil smile, and she eyed me. “Kill him, and the damn dog too.”

  I gritted my teeth upon hearing her words.

  The big thug did as he was ordered, grabbing his radio and relaying the order to one of their guys outside the fort. Val eyed both Pete and me up and down. She was enjoying this, enjoying watching our anger boil over.

  “You have both fucked up royally,” she said. “Unfortunately for you, this isn’t a mistake you will live to learn from.” She relished the moment for a few impossibly long seconds. “Now,” she added slowly, “it’s time for both of you to die.”

  She raised her weapon. This was it. If we were going to have any hope of getting out of this, we’d have to act now.

  As fast as I could, I bent my knees, twisted my body around in a blur of rapid motion, and tackled Pete. We flew over the large stone and splashed into the water just as bullets exploded out from their barrels like thunder, shaking the small corridor to life.

  Just as we hit the water, I kept my arms wrapped around Pete and forced him to roll alongside me into the narrow crawl space. We splashed and flailed as we kicked and clawed our way through the water. In a haze of dark confusion, we reached the other side and fell over the edge, splashing into the deeper water of the inner chamber.

  I planted my feet on the bottom and broke free, gasping for air. My heart was hammering violently, my adrenaline full throttle. I splashed alongside Pete as we moved out of sight of the crawl space. The incessant barrage of gunfire finally ceased, and we heard muffled yelling from the other side.

  “Holy shit,” I said, breathing heavily. “Pete, are you alright?”

  I was about to ask how in the hell we’d manage to make it without getting shot, then I saw the look on Pete’s face through the light bleeding down the crawl space. He was wincing and had his hand pressed to the upper part of his right leg.

  Examining closer, I saw blood spilling out like dark food coloring into the clear water. As I tore one of my shirtsleeves to create a makeshift tourniquet, I heard a low, grinding rumble coming from the opening. A moment later, the sliding stopped, and the muffled voices went silent. In a second the chamber was plunged into utter and complete darkness. They’d put the stone back in place. Pete was shot, and we were both stuck. And the water was rising higher by the second.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Jack lounged on the Baia’s sunbed, wearing nothing but a pair of boardshorts and dark sunglasses. In his right hand, he held a chilled strawberry daiquiri. His propped-up feet swayed to the rhythm of Eric Clapton singing “Forever Man” through the topside speakers. A gust of fresh ocean breeze danced through his curly blond hair, and he let out a smile, relishing the temperate southern Florida morning.

  He glanced over the port bow and watched as the sun peeked over the horizon, sending brilliant streaks of light across the sky. He loved lounging out on the water. He liked to keep his music down low so he could listen to the calming lapping of the ocean against the hull, the distant small waves against the shore, and the sounds of passing gulls. He was a conch alright. Tropical sky, salt, sand, and sun flowed through his veins.

  He took another sip of his frozen concoction and glanced over at Atticus, who was relaxing on the shaded deck beside him. In half an hour, if the others weren’t back yet, he’d take a dip and toss the energetic Lab’s tennis ball for a few rounds.

  Glancing over at the massive hex-shaped nineteenth-century fort, he thought about what the others were up to. He hoped that this was the last leg of the search. That they’d show up any second and hand him the diamond they’d been looking for all this time. He’d already had to reschedule a few charters, and he was looking forward to getting back to “work.”

  The song ended, and just as Jack took another sip, Atticus stirred suddenly. He quickly lifted his head, his ears perking up as he glanced toward the bow.

  “What is it, boy?” Jack said, watching the Lab intently.

  Just as the words left his lips, Atticus jumped to his feet and vaulted up onto the sunbed beside him for a better look. Jack set his drink aside, turned around, and rose up onto his knees to see what all of the fuss was about.

  Probably a dolphin or something, Jack thought.

  Whatever had piqued his interest, it couldn’t be the others. He was looking southeast, away from the fort and toward the entrance into the deepwater channel.

  Shielding the left side of his face from the rising sun, Jack focused his gaze on the anchored yacht. There was a lot of activity on board, and to get a better look, Jack slid off the sunbed and snatched the binos from the cockpit dashboard. Peering through the lenses, he watched as the yacht’s captain brought up the anchor while a group of guys lowered an RHIB into the water. The RHIB, or rigid-hull inflatable boat, looked roughly twenty feet long and had two large outboards clamped onto its stern.

  Atticus barked as the guys piled into the small boat and started up its engines. Focusing cl
oser, he could see that they were all carrying guns. Jack’s heart raced as the boat accelerated straight toward him.

  He lowered the binos and quickly ran through his options. There weren’t many. The guys were clearly part of the Albanian mafia they’d run into before. And they were clearly motoring over with the intent to start a fight.

  He glanced up at the approaching boat again. They were only about a football field away from him, and closing in fast.

  With no time to bring up and secure the anchor, Jack snatched his dive knife from the dinette and climbed up onto the bow. Kneeling down, he manually disengaged the windlass, allowing the remaining chain to fall rapidly into the water below. Once the chain rode was gone and the rope rode appeared, he re-engaged the windlass, then slashed the taut line with his knife. In an instant, the rode snapped and splashed into the water.

  With smooth agility, Jack flew back down into the cockpit and exchanged his knife for his compact Desert Eagle. Holding the handgun with his left hand, he moved into the cockpit and quickly started up the Baia’s engines.

  “Atticus—down, boy!” he said, and the jumpy pooch dropped down to the deck beside him.

  Jack watched as the boat quickly approached. He saw three guys aboard, and two of them were armed. As they motored closer, he could see them pointing toward him and yelling out words he couldn’t understand.

  He kept low, trying to remain out of sight as the boat slowed and eased toward the Baia. Sensing that it was now or never, he gunned the throttles and roared the big engines to life. The propellers surged, accelerating the boat rapidly and causing the bow to rise up out of the water.

  He could see the looks of surprise on the guys’ faces and hear their yells even over the loud engines as he flew right past them. Jack brought the sleek speed machine up on plane, then rocketed up to fifty knots. Looking back over his shoulder, he watched as the RHIB accelerated into a wide sweeping turn.