by Matthew Rief
“I gotta tell you, I sure like you more than the last guy,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, unable to hide my confusion.
“You’re just not the first person to walk in here and ask me about a shipwreck this week. A guy came in here just yesterday. I got a bad vibe from him, though. Didn’t give him much information.”
“What did he look like? Did he threaten you in any way?”
Pete laughed. “He was temperamental. But at my age, I don’t take easily to threats, so if he had, I’d have flipped him off. He was tall and well built, with dark skin and hair cut close to his head. He spoke with a Spanish accent, sounded like. I already called Sheriff Wilkes, and he said he’d keep an eye out. Either way, I’d say you’ve got yourself a little competition.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I thanked Pete again, then rushed down the stairs and out the door. Unlocking the Tacoma, I stepped up and shut the door behind me. I started the engine and then called Jack on my cell phone. He picked up on the third ring.
“What’s up, bro?” he asked. “How was your meeting with Pete? You get some good info?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “more than I bargained for. We need to get this gear pronto and find the rest of that damn treasure before someone else does. Can you meet me at the marina?”
“Already here, man.”
I backed out, then hit the gas pedal, shooting down Whitehead Street towards the waterfront.
I pulled into the Conch Marina parking lot, and before stepping out, I took a quick look around. Between the guys trying to hijack Jack’s boat the other day, the mysterious mega yacht and the stranger asking questions of Pete, I knew that something was up. Someone else was trying to find the treasure, and whoever they were, they knew I had information regarding its whereabouts. By force of habit, after many years of fighting off bad guys, I assumed the worst, which was that Black Venom was here in the Keys. I grabbed the Sig from my center console, checked to make sure the mag was loaded up, even though I knew that it was, and strapped it to my chest.
Seeing nothing suspicious in the parking lot or the portion of the marina that was visible, I slid on a pair of aviator sunglasses and stepped out. Jack was lounging on the outside seats when I walked up to the Calypso near the end of the wooden dock. He was leaning over a newspaper and looked up when he saw me approach.
“What’s up, man?” he asked. Jack, per usual, was shirtless, wearing only board shorts and flip-flops.
“Does he always introduce himself by telling the story of how he lost his arm?”
Jack chuckled. “That old sea dog has a different story every week explaining how he lost it. Gets more exaggerated each time too. What did he tell you, that he lost it while fighting off a gang of alligators in the Everglades with his bare hands?”
“This time it was a shark,” I said, grinning.
“Well, crazy or not, he’s got a lot of info if you pick his brain. What’d he say?”
“He said that there’s someone else interested in our shipwreck. And whoever it is isn’t friendly.”
“Who do you think it is? Those druggies from Mexico?”
“Could be. You know how I like to plan for the worst.” I took a quick glance around the marina, making sure there was no one approaching. “Come on,” I said, motioning down the dock. “Let’s head up to Marathon. Pete’s got a guy there who can hook us up with the gear we need.”
Jack grabbed a shirt from the cabin and removed his keys from his pocket to lock up the Calypso.
“Oh, and don’t forget your Desert Eagle.”
Before we reached the Baia, I called the number Pete had given me and agreed to meet the owner of the shop in forty-five minutes. I jumped onto the Baia and Jack followed right on my heels.
“It’s a buck fifteen to Marathon, bro,” Jack said, untying the lines and throwing them aboard.
I started the massive engines and eased on the throttles. A few minutes later we reached the end of the no-wake zone.
“Not today it isn’t,” I said right before letting loose on the throttles. The engines roared and shot us through the tropical water like a rocket.
Within no time, we were circling around Key West and heading northeast along the Lower Keys towards Marathon. The sun was shining and the seas were calm as glass, allowing me to really test out what she had for power. When we reached fifty knots on the odometer, I yelled at Jack, motioning to the meter. The ocean flew past us in a haze and I had to keep a sharp eye out for other boats and watch the depth meter to avoid having a collision at such high speeds. We cruised past the Saddlebunch Keys, then wrapped around Big Pine Key and under the Seven Mile Bridge. Reaching the opening to Boot Key Harbor, I slowed on the throttles, easing the Baia through the narrow channel between Boot Key and US-1. Marathon had always been one of my favorite places in the Keys. It had a much quieter and more natural vibe to it than the rip-roaring wild ride that was Key West. I’d spent many days swimming the reefs just offshore and camping with my dad on her pristine and isolated beaches. Looe Key particularly had always been a special place for me, my dad and Jack when I was young.
We pulled into Westside Marina, and I eased the Baia into one of the day moorage spaces right beside the office. We tied off, and a moment later we hopped on the dock, paid the office manager the daily mooring fee of forty dollars, and walked down the dock towards a large commercial building surrounded by boats stored on racks. We walked in and quickly found the guy Pete had recommended. I took all of Pete’s recommendations to heart, and after a few hours of going over their equipment, Jack and I were driving the Baia away loaded with everything we would need to find a treasure.
I got top-of-the-line sonar, including a side-scan sonar device that, when dragged behind your boat, sweeps the bottom with twin sonar beams. The reflected sound waves are recorded to create in essence an “aerial map” of the seabed. I also got a magnetometer in order to locate large metals and a laptop preloaded with high-tech GPS programs. I held off only on the mailbox, deciding with Jack’s approval to install it on his boat when we had the chance.
We spent most of the next few days at the ledge, testing out the new toys I’d bought and seeing if they could help us pinpoint the location of the treasure. Regardless of the excitement we felt and the fun we were having, we kept our heads on a swivel at all times, maintaining an ever-watchful eye for anyone or anything suspicious. A few times while driving the Baia out, we thought we were being followed, so we hit the throttles hard and weaved in and out of a few small islands and shallow reefs. Both times we ended up losing whoever it was, whether they were following us or not. Buying a boat that could really fly on the water seemed to be paying off.
After two days, we’d done enough scanning with the sonar to have a complete digital replication of the seafloor around the ledge, and it was much more accurate and helpful than the one we’d made with my action camera on the first days out. This one provided intricate details that really gave us a chance to study for any abnormalities at the bottom of the ocean. The magnetometer appeared to work almost too well. Each and every time we drove it anywhere near the ledge, it rang out like an angry seagull, indicating that there was more heavy metal under us than at a Metallica concert. We questioned whether or not it was broken because we never found any metal on or around the ledge. Jack explained how it could have been a natural iron deposit of some kind, and that was explanation enough for me to trust the device over the rest of the seafloor.
Regardless of all of the strides we felt like we were making, we still had yet to find another coin or any artifact from the Intrepid. I was growing impatient, knowing that our luck in avoiding the other guys after the treasure could run out in the blink of an eye.
One morning, while Jack and I were sitting on the bridge looking over the sonar scans on the laptop, a woman approached the Calypso. The sun had risen over the water just a few hours prior and, despite it being only nine in the morning, it was alre
ady seventy-five degrees.
“Are you Jack Rubio?” a voice called out from the dock below us.
We peered down at the dock and saw a woman standing with her hands on her hips, staring at us behind dark sunglasses. Standing behind her was a young blonde woman and a short Asian guy who wore a large beach-style hat that I’m confident he’d bought at a gift shop down the street. The woman with her hands on her hips began tapping her foot against the dock impatiently.
“Well?” she said. “Are you or aren’t you? We’re burning daylight.”
Jack and I both looked at each other, surprised. Neither of us had heard anyone approach, our eyes having been glued to the laptop screen.
“I thought I was free today,” Jack said quietly, hoping only I would hear him.
“I have my confirmation,” she said sternly, “as well as my receipt from my partial payment.”
Jack stood, climbed down the ladder to the cockpit, then stepped over the transom and onto the dock.
“Jack,” he said, holding out his hand, which she took reluctantly. “And you must be…”
She handed him the confirmation letter and he read the name that it had been sent to. “Miss Samantha Flores.”
“Sam is fine,” she said. “And this is Tony and Claire.” She motioned to the two behind her.
I couldn’t help but notice how attractive the woman with the attitude was. She looked about five and a half feet tall with a great, lean figure and jet-black hair that she kept in a ponytail beneath a faded Florida Seminole ball cap. She had bronze skin, spoke with a subtle Spanish accent and looked to be in her early thirties. All three of them had backpacks on, and Sam had a roller hard case balanced in front of her, her hand resting on the handle.
“Well, Sam, I apologize that I’m not more prepared,” Jack said. “I don’t usually handle reservations, and I was told there wasn’t anyone going out today.” He looked into the bow of the boat, which was freshly cleaned but lacked any of the gear needed to take a small group out on the water. When Sam didn’t reply, he continued, “It’ll take me some time to get everything ready.” He pointed to the Greasy Pelican. “They serve a good breakfast over there if you three want to stand by for a bit. I can call you when everything’s good to go.”
I stood up, climbed down the ladder and stood in the cockpit.
“We’re not hungry,” Sam said, then slid the handle of her roller bag down into itself, picked it up and handed it to Jack. Without a word, she hopped onto the transom, slid her long, tanned legs over, then stood up beside us. “I can help.” She slid her backpack from her shoulders and held it out in front of me. I stared at her for a moment, then smiled and grabbed it. “Better pick up the pace if you want a tip at the end of the day.”
I laughed and gave her my best smile, but she just looked away. Apparently, the laid-back island vibe mentality known as Keys Disease hadn’t kicked in for her yet.
“Logan’s not a deckhand,” Jack said, stepping between us. He grabbed his phone and sent a quick text. “My mate lives just down the street. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Irritated, Sam ripped the bag from my hands and called for Tony and Claire to get the rest of the gear from the car.
“I can get the tanks,” I said, stepping down into the lounge. “Miss Flores, you can stow your stuff in here for now. Would you care for some coffee?”
Reluctantly, she followed me down through the door, and I showed her the closet where she could put their gear.
“Just Sam, I said, and I’ll get some once we’re out on the water.”
“Logan Dodge,” I said, holding out my hand.
She shook her head and walked back towards the steps. “If you’re not part of Jack’s crew, I don’t have time. Not today.”
I couldn’t help but grin. She was the sexiest angry women I’d ever seen.
She disappeared back out to the cockpit and said something to Jack. I filled my mug with another cup of coffee, then Jack came down.
“Sorry I can’t help out more,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. I think you have a friend here to see you, though. There’s a red Camaro with a woman leaning up against it in the marina parking lot. She just pulled up, and she’s been eyeing the boat.”
I looked at him, confused. “What makes you think she’s here to see me?”
Jack shrugged. “Just a hunch.”
I helped Jack carry the tanks up to the deck, where they could be filled as necessary.
“You should just cancel it, man,” I said when the other three were out of earshot. “It’s gonna be hell dealing with that woman all day.”
Jack laughed. “That’s charter business, bro. You gotta learn to deal with difficult people and not cancel on them, because that can kill you on the reviews.”
I jumped over the transom and onto the dock. I saw the Camaro and the woman staring at me, then smiled and walked towards her. The young blonde woman walked beside me, carrying a duffle bag and rolling another hard case.
“Here, I can help you with that,” I said, taking the load off her back.
“Thanks,” she replied.
She was strikingly pretty. She was at least five feet ten inches tall and had long blond hair that flowed freely in the wind. I pegged her to be around nineteen, maybe twenty.
“Claire, right?”
She nodded.
“What’s the deal with all this gear? Are you three underwater photographers of some kind?”
She shook her head. “It was Professor Flores’s idea. She wanted to play it safe, so she brought every piece of survey equipment in the whole world.” She emphasized her sarcasm when she said “whole world”.
“What’s her deal anyway?”
“She’s just mad about how the trip’s gone so far. She’s usually not like this. I think we should just hit the beach, relax and enjoy the nightlife for a few days if you ask me. That’s what I was hoping for when I signed up for this. I never thought it would be so much work.”
We reached the boat, and I helped Claire carry her bags up onto the deck.
“Thanks again.”
“Anytime,” I said as I walked back towards the marina.
Having time to think it over, I realized Sam did sort of give off the professor vibe. She was intelligent and articulate and seemed used to getting her way. I was curious as to what type of work they were doing here, but not curious enough to turn back around and ask.
Isaac appeared, riding his bike around the corner and peddling towards me.
“I thought we were off today?” he said, shaking his head. “Sure could have used a heads-up.”
“Here’s a heads-up,” I said, holding up my hand as he stopped beside me. “There’s a cute girl over there who looks even less thrilled than you do to be here.” I smiled and nudged his shoulder. “You should go introduce yourself. Who knows, you two might hit it off.”
“Yeah, right,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll be impressed by my skinny, pale physique and my computer coding skills. Just call me Casanova.”
“Aren’t you in the chess club too?” I said, smiling. “You can’t forget about that.”
“Gee thanks, Logan, but I think I’ll pass. Last time I tried flirting with a pretty girl didn’t go so well. The last couple of times actually.”
I shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. A lot of girls appreciate intelligence and at least you’ll have a nice view for the day if nothing else.” He shook his head and peddled towards the boat. “Just don’t let her drown when she falls head over flip-flops for you!”
I walked to the end of the dock and grinned as I approached Angelina, who was leaning gracefully against the side of a red 1968 Z28 Camaro with black stripes down the hood. She was wearing cutoff jean shorts, sneakers and a brown tank top. Her eyes were covered by big dark sunglasses and her hair was tied back.
“Nice wheels,” I said, wrapping my arm around her and kissing her soft cheek. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”
I gave a quick scan of the parking lot, then opened the passenger door and plopped down onto the leather seat. Before I shut the door, Angelina had the engine roaring, and she drove out of the marina parking lot and down Eaton Street.
“Sorry about being short,” she said, glancing at the side mirrors to make sure no one was following us. “I just don’t trust some of the other guys I’m working with.”
She turned down a quiet, almost empty street and pulled over behind a large dumpster and a few small palm trees.
I turned to look at her and she kept her eyes forward. “You wouldn’t happen to be in the Keys for the reason I think you are, would you?”
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to.
“How did your employer learn about the treasure?” I asked.
She raised her eyebrows, then looked away from me, out the window.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“Tell me it wasn’t some of his boys that tried to commandeer our boat the other day?”
She shook her head, agitated. “I heard about that. Did a little research on them. Those boneheads usually pull that kind of shit all on their own. They’re local Caribbean thugs. Small-time criminals. But I know one of them, and he’s worked as a gun for hire before.”
“Are you saying someone hired those guys to come after us the other day?”
“I’m saying you need to watch your back, Logan. If Black Venom figured out who you are from your hijinks with Scott in Mexico, then they’re gonna come after you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already here in the Keys.”
I sighed. “I was thinking the same thing, Ange. What about your boss? How does he play into all of this?”
“He’s rich, powerful and wants to find the treasure bad, but he wouldn’t come after you like Black Venom. He’s a good man, Logan. He’s not a criminal.”
We sat in silence for a moment, and as Angelina pulled the Camaro back onto the road, I said, “So what, your boss is gonna have you guys follow me now?”