by Matthew Rief
Ange and I looked at each other, then just shrugged.
We didn’t know how many men they had left, but we did know that they’d suffered many casualties over the past few days.
With Scott staying at the helm, Ange and I moved back out onto the bow and kept our eyes glued to the approaching yacht. We had our pistols at the ready and were prepared to use them at a moment’s notice.
As Scott brought us right up to the yacht, we kept our eyes peeled for any sign of movement. The windows were tinted, making it impossible to see inside. But every exposed portion of the deck, as well as the yacht’s open flybridge, was devoid of bad guys.
I instructed Scott to pull right alongside the starboard side and match her speed. Then Ange and I climbed up on top of the trawler’s pilothouse. I scanned the yacht one more time, then got a quick running start and launched myself over the edge. I just cleared the railing and landed as smoothly as I could onto the deck of the yacht’s open flybridge.
After a quick look around with my Sig aimed chest height, I gave Ange a thumbs-up, and she vaulted over as well. She timed the rising and falling of the boats better than I had and cleared the gap easily.
I stepped into the flybridge cockpit, disengaged the autopilot, then idled the throttles and shut off the engines. The large yacht slowed to a stop while Ange and I kept our weapons raised toward the stairs. We thought for sure that turning everything off would cause someone to stir, but it didn’t.
Covering each other, we moved down to the main deck. Scott idled the trawler, threw over the fenders, and we tied a line to keep the two boats together. Gripping his Glock 19, Scott jumped over and nodded toward the sliding glass door.
With Scott to my left and Ange to my right, I moved in, feeling like I was a member of the A-team and we’d just assembled the squad. There weren’t two people alive who I’d rather have watching my back than them.
To our surprise, the sliding glass door was unlocked. After shoving it open, we quickly searched the saloon. The entire pristine, luxurious interior was as quiet and empty as a tomb.
“Where the hell are they?” Scott said after we’d searched every inch of the main level.
As if to answer his question, we heard a sudden high-pitched cry. It came from below deck and was quickly silenced. I motioned toward the narrow staircase, then headed straight for it.
I made quick work of the stairs, keeping my eyes peeled for bad guys or booby traps. Scott and Ange were right on my heels when I reached the bottom step.
Suddenly, a shotgun blast splintered one of the cabin doors to pieces and blew a massive hole in the wall right beside me. As the thug cocked the weapon for another shot, Scott jumped into the cabin, snatched the shotgun barrel, then grabbed our attacker by his hair and slammed his face into a mirror.
He gave the guy a chance to surrender, but the thug only used the time to try and stab Scott with a hidden blade. Scott knocked it away, slapped him across the face with his pistol, then sent two quick shots through his chest. The thug shook and grunted as he fell back and collapsed onto the deck.
Just as the guy fell, a door slammed open behind me and a second thug grabbed me from behind. He jerked me back into the head and wrapped an arm around my neck. I sent a 9mm round into his leg, then bent my knees and threw him over me. Ange dropped down and knocked him out with a powerful side kick.
The three of us turned our gazes down the passageway in an instant as we heard the whining sounds again. They were coming from the main cabin. Its door was shut, and we approached it slowly with our weapons raised.
After a quick nod to Scott and Ange, I reared back and kicked the door open. It broke free of its hinges and rattled to the deck at the foot of a queen-sized bed. The room was packed. There were five people in all. A man, woman, and a young boy were sitting against the headboard, tied up and gagged. Their eyes were big, teary, and filled with fear.
On the other side of the bed, Val leaned against a cupboard with a young girl held in front of her. The mafia leader was clearly in bad shape. She had blood-drenched clothes and had trouble staying on her feet. Her breathing was erratic, but her face displayed the rage-filled resolution of a murdering psychopath.
My eyes locked on the Beretta she had pressed against the scared little girl’s head. I had my Sig raised when I entered, and its sights were zeroed in on Val. I didn’t have a good shot. The evil woman was doing her best to keep the terrified child right in front of her.
I’d been trained in hostage situations many times before. I knew the best course of action to take. I just needed the right moment.
A brief life-or-death moment passed. Then Val opened her mouth.
“Drop the gun and—”
Her struggled words were interrupted by the sound of my Sig’s firing pin striking the primer. A round exploded out of the barrel, flying just inches beside the young girl’s head, and striking through Val’s right eye. Blood and bone splattered out the back of her skull as the loud boom rattled the small space. Her body went limp in an instant, and she collapsed to the deck, bringing the young girl down with her.
I stormed into the room with Ange and Scott right on my heels. We made quick work of the ropes and gags, and the young family embraced each other in a chorus of cries and sobs. Ange watched them while Scott and I checked over the rest of the boat, making sure that there weren’t any more stray thugs or rigged explosives of some kind.
When we returned to the main cabin, Ange helped calm the young family.
“Thank you,” the man said with tears in his eyes.
It was one of the most sincere thanks I’d ever received, and we told them that we were happy to have played our part.
“You’re not the police,” he said.
“No, we’re not,” Ange replied. “But we are the good guys.”
Ange escorted them up into the saloon. I stepped around the bed with Scott right behind me. Glancing down to look at Val’s bloody lifeless body, I spotted something on the deck against the side of the bed frame. I knelt down, grabbed the small tin box, and smiled.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The days following the events on and around Fort Jefferson were a blur. Scott called in a few of his high-level contacts, including CIA Deputy Director Wilson, the Secretary of Homeland Security, and a few of the local Coast Guard and Navy commanders. The yacht was seized by the Guard, and the mafia bodies were transported back to Albania for official identification. Having Scott in our corner made the whole process much less painful than it would have been otherwise.
We brought Peter and his family to Key West and took care of them as best we could. After being cleared by the hospital, they spent a night at the Sheraton before catching a flight back to Memphis.
Using the trawler to tow the damaged Baia, we brought it to Blackbeard’s Boatyard in Marathon for repairs. Our first stop once back was to head over to the Lower Key Medical Center to check up on Pete. He’d been airlifted there from Fort Jefferson during our pursuit of Val and her remaining criminal posse.
Pete had received an impressive blood transfusion and a surgery to remove the bullet fragments and to repair the internal damage. Thankfully, the doctors assured us that he should be just fine after a few weeks of rest and rehabilitation.
While visiting him in his hospital bed, I looked around to make sure no one outside our group was looking, then handed him the diamond. While he examined it, we told him all about what had happened.
He nodded, then motioned toward my bandaged hands and asked how they were.
“Raw and hurt like hell,” I said. “But nothing that won’t heal.”
Pete handed me back the diamond and shook his head.
“Still can’t believe you moved that stone all by yourself,” he said. “That was some next-level cowboying up. Even for you.”
“Fortunately somebody left the sledgehammer,” I said.
“Forgot it, more like. Never thought my aging and negligent brain would save our skins.”
I g
lanced over at Ange. “I gotta say, though, if anyone was John Wayne this time it was you, babe.” I glanced over at Pete and added, “She’s the one who took down Val. I just put the final nail in her coffin.”
After a few more minutes of talking and joking around, Pete asked how exactly we planned to sell the diamond. I’d given it a little bit of thought on the boat ride over and thought I knew the perfect buyer.
“I have this wealthy collector friend,” I said. “His family stumbled upon some oil in Saudi Arabia. Haven’t spoken to him yet, but I think this might be right up his alley.”
Pete smiled.
Arian Nazari was a billionaire oil tycoon who’d helped us during our fight with Black Venom over the Aztec treasure. He also had one of the most impressive private collections of rare jewelry and artifacts in the world. I managed to get ahold of the smooth-talking, respectful Arabian the following day. As I’d hoped, he agreed to have a few of his guys check out the diamond, and the purchase was made just a few days later.
It was a lot of money, and the first thing we did was send half to Walt’s son. A deal was a deal. As the treasure hunter had predicted, the diamond had been worth twenty million dollars, and his share would set up his son for life if he was smart with it. A stipulation was put that a percentage of the money be placed into a college fund for his grandchildren. We made sure that his son knew that it was all thanks to Walt and that he’d loved them more than they would ever know.
I decided to take just enough from the sale to fix up the Baia and buy a truck to replace the one Jack had drowned.
I spent a few days poring over online ads, then Ange and I drove Jack’s Wrangler up to Homestead to test-drive a few trucks. After giving several other manufacturers a chance, I ended up choosing another Tacoma. It was a couple of years newer than the one I’d lost, but aside from that, it was nearly identical. Black four-door 4x4 with a six-foot bed.
Ange tried to get me to buy a new one, but I’ve never been able to justify buying new. I had my dad and his savvy financial wisdom to thank for that. Besides, I’d be too concerned with scratching a new truck and getting it all dirty. I like a truck with some miles under its belt before I buy it. A proven truck.
Some of the money was also used to create an impressive exhibit at Salty Pete’s dedicated to Walt Grissom and his salvaging adventures. It included artifacts from many of his trips around the Keys, the rest of the Caribbean, and around the world. It also included information about Hastings and his incredible scavenger hunt.
Anonymous donations were also made to both the Key West Lighthouse as well as Fort Jefferson to pay for the damages we’d caused.
After giving Ange, Pete, Jack, and Frank small portions of the money as well, the rest was donated to the children’s shelter on Tavernier. Needless to say, the shelter wouldn’t be closing its doors anytime soon. In fact, the anonymous endowment was enough for them not only to stay open for years but to expand to other much-needed services and add another location.
A few weeks after ridding our island paradise of the unwelcomed mobsters, things started to get back to normal. Pete recovered enough to get back to his usual restaurant-owning duties. Jack was busy running charters. And Ange and I were swinging comfortably back into our normal lifestyle. Spearfishing, island hopping, and working out were the typical orders of the day.
In mid-November, Scott managed to get away again, this time for a proper tropical sun, sand, and sea vacation. Frank was also in town and managed to get away for a day out on the water. To Jack’s surprise, we invited Lauren Sweetin, making it a full group. Ange and I both thought she and Jack would be a good fit, and I encouraged my beach bum friend to ask her to dinner sometime in the near future.
We took the Calypso out to one of our secret lobster honey holes in the morning. After bagging our limits, we motored over to Joe’s Tug for some afternoon scuba diving. The seventy-five-foot tug rests in sixty-five feet of water and is always a great dive with near-perfect visibility year-round.
“It’s a shame we had to sell it,” Pete said as we cooked up some lunch after the second dive. “That sure was a pretty rock.”
I looked around at my wife, my good friends, and the tropical paradise surrounding us.
“There are much more important things in life than diamonds,” I said, smiling and feeling a little sentimental.
“Yeah, like twenty million big ones,” Jack said, raising his beer.
The group laughed. It was especially funny since Jack was about as money-driven as a sea snail.
“I was thinking more along the lines of good friends,” I said. I took a sip, cleared my throat, and added, “When I moved back here last year, I didn’t know what to expect. You’ve all welcomed us into your island family, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
There was a short pause of smiles and nods and drink raises. Then Jack spoke.
“Easy on the sap, bro,” he said. “You’re gonna stick to the deck.”
I grinned. Glancing at Ange, we gave each other a quick nod, then grabbed our blond-haired beach bum friend and threw him into the water.
After a long day out on the ocean, we sat up on the bow to watch the sunset. I had Ange in my arms as we stared in awe of the beautiful display of vibrant, streaking colors.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I said again, this time whispering it into her ear.
THE END
Logan Dodge Adventures
Gold in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 1)
Hunted in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 2)
Revenge in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 3)
Betrayed in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 4)
Redemption in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 5)
Corruption in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 6)
Predator in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 7)
Legend in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 8)
Join the Adventure!
You can sign up for my newsletter to receive updates on upcoming books at my website:
matthewrief.com
About the Author
Matthew has a deep-rooted love for adventure and the ocean. He loves traveling, diving, rock climbing and writing adventure novels. Though he grew up in the Pacific Northwest, he currently lives in Virginia Beach with his wife, Jenny.