Gold in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  We froze, hiding behind a large piece of coral as the two divers directed a square metal container that had small holes drilled into its side down into the crater in the center of the ledge. It was being lowered by a large metal chain that rose up to the surface at the stern of the salvage vessel. When the two divers disappeared from view, Scott and I moved in. We left the bag of C-4 near the rim of the ledge and swam down stealthily towards the divers. The closest diver spotted me just as I was about to grab him. He reached for the spear gun strapped to his hip, but I gave two quick kicks of my fins, propelling myself into him and pushing the spear gun out of his hand. Forcing the large man around, I grabbed hold of him from behind and locked my arm around his neck.

  The other diver froze when he glanced up at me, then let out a mass of bubbles from his regulator and reached for the dive knife strapped to his leg. Scott pounced on him from behind, grabbing him in a strong sleeper hold and pulling his body back. I tightened my grip on the guy locked in my arms as he tried to struggle free and ripped out his second-stage. After about ten seconds, he lost consciousness and his body went limp. I’d been tempted to use my knife but knew that blood, being less dense than water, would float up to the surface and let the others know that they were under attack. Also, blood in the water would attract every shark within a mile of the ledge, like an old triangle bell signaling that dinner was ready.

  With both of the divers down for the count, we vented all of the air from their BCDs and left their bodies inside the cave. Then we swam quickly to the top of the ledge, grabbed the duffle bag and kicked towards the bottom of the boats. Keeping an eye out for any more divers, we attached the explosives to the hulls using the suction cups we’d rigged the night before. We attached one to the yacht and two to the salvage vessel, which was larger and had a much stronger hull than the yacht. We made sure to attach them to the middle of the keels, where the most damage could be done. In naval warfare, when a torpedo is fired at an enemy vessel, its target is the middle of the keel so that the explosion acts like a hinge and the ship cracks due to its own weight. With a ship’s hull cracked in two, it doesn’t take long for it to sink to a watery grave.

  Once the explosives were secure, we swam back down to the seafloor, took in a deep breath, then slipped out of our rebreather gear and stashed it under a large growth of elkhorn coral along with our fins. I grabbed the detonator from the rebreather pocket along with the waterproof radio before hiding it from view. We didn’t know how long it would be before the guys topside sent another diver down to investigate what was happening, so we kicked to the surface in a hurry, breathing out as we ascended. Since Angelina had been confident that Sam was being kept on the yacht, we swam up to its hull and then surfaced slowly along its port side. Poking our heads out of the water just enough for our masks to break the choppy surface, we took a quick look around before inhaling and dropping back down beneath the waves. The rain had died off, leaving only a soft drizzle, but the wind was still hollering with the same intensity. I counted eight guys topside on the salvage vessel just a hundred feet or so off the bow of the yacht. Two of them were donning scuba gear and looking over the railing towards the ledge below. The third and smaller boat was out of our view, cruising on the other side of the yacht.

  Once back underwater, we kicked for the stern of the yacht, Scott towards the starboard side and myself towards the port side. Rising slowly out of the water, we saw two guys standing on the large swim platform. One of them was puffing on a cigarette and wearing a Hawaiian-style button-up that revealed the tattoos on his chest and arms. The other wore a white polo shirt and was staring intently at the screen of his smartphone. Both of them had pistols holstered to their waists, which was unfortunate for them. If they’d had them in their hands, they’d have at least had a small fighting chance. Seeing that there was no one on the deck above looking down and that the smaller boat was out of view, Scott and I glanced at each other, then rose out of the water in unison. I lunged for Hawaiian Shirt Guy, who didn’t realize what was happening until I had him flat on the deck. I slammed my elbow hard into his temple, knocking him unconscious. Turning to look at Scott, I saw that he had Polo Shirt down for the count as well.

  We moved quickly up the steps towards an open patio, then took cover on the outboard as I reached for the radio in my pocket. I informed Jack that we were on the yacht and told him to relay our position to Angelina so she could provide cover if necessary. Just as I stashed the radio back on my hip, a guy wearing dark sunglasses and a black cutoff shirt walked down towards our position. He held a stockless AK-47 in his hands and, upon seeing us, started to raise it to shoulder height. Before he could level it at us, I slid my dive knife from its sheath strapped to my leg and threw a frozen rope. The blade stabbed right through the guy’s neck, causing blood to squirt out and his body to collapse onto the deck.

  We darted over to his position, making sure he was done for, and looked around for others. There was a glass door in front of us that led into a beautiful lounge, but we didn’t see any movement inside. Hearing footsteps coming from the level above us, we hit the staircase leading up the port side of the yacht. Before reaching the top step, I unholstered my Sig and screwed on a silencer to the end of the barrel. Glancing back at Scott, I saw that he’d done the same. We nodded at each other and moved in. There were three guys sitting around a table on the upper-level patio. They were glued to laptop monitors and barking orders over their radios, most likely to the guys on the salvage vessel. It was clear that they knew that something was going on since they’d lost contact with their divers. Uzis and revolvers rested on the table in between the laptops.

  Rising from our positions, we put a few rounds through each of their chests, sending all three of them to the floor before they knew what was happening, then moved towards the sliding glass door that led into another lounge. But before we opened the door to sneak in, we were caught off guard by the sound of automatic bullets rattling against the side of the yacht beside us. We dropped flat onto the deck, rolled behind the nearby hot tub for cover and tried to get our bearings on where the bullets were coming from.

  Peeking over the side of the yacht, we saw the small center-console had pulled up alongside the starboard side. Two guys stood alongside the guy manning the helm, eyeing our position and aiming two submachine guns our way. We heard the large outboards roar to life as the boat cruised around the stern of the yacht, then turned to head straight for the port side. Scott and I waited for them to stop firing, then stood up in unison, aimed our handguns and rained hot lead down on the three guys. Blood splattered from their chests as they fell to the deck. The pilot fell forward, his hand slipping against the throttles and pushing them all the way up. The huge engines screamed, launching the small center-console through the water like a dragster at the starting line. It crashed into the port side of the yacht, causing the deck to rumble beneath our feet as the screeching of the two fiberglass hulls colliding resounded in the tropical air.

  Scott and I struggled to get to our feet as the yacht swayed back and forth. We strode back towards the inside lounge, but before we passed the table, a massive Samoan guy with his arms and half of his face covered in artistic tattoos cut us off. He’d sprinted up the stairs from the deck below, and before I could aim my Sig at him, he tackled me to the ground, knocking my pistol out of my hand. Every trace of air exploded out of my lungs in an instant as the giant hulk of a man fell on top of me. I felt like I’d just been hit by a freight train, and I saw faint glimmering stars soaring around my head as the guy threw a hard right square into the side of my face. My vision a blurry haze, I barely made out Scott behind the guy on top of me, fighting off a second guy I hadn’t seen before.

  Bringing myself back into the moment and taking a split second to get my bearings, I diverted Samoan Guy’s fist as he tried to throw a second punch into my face. His fist slammed into the deck with a loud crack less than an inch from my ear, and I retaliated by shoving my right palm as hard as I co
uld up into his nose. There was a loud crunch as I broke the fragile bones and blood flowed out from his nostrils like a river. Using all of my strength, I dug my heels into the deck and pushed my hands into his massive chest, forcing the guy, who I knew had to weigh north of three hundred pounds, off me.

  He rolled hard onto the deck but quickly jumped to his feet. I squared off about ten feet away from him as he growled, wiped the blood from his face and spat out a spray of dark red over his shoulder. He lunged towards me and reared back his right fist, preparing to hit me with a strong hook. I rolled to the side and kicked him hard in the shin, causing him to tumble over and collapse onto the deck beside the sliding glass door. I glanced over at Scott and watched as he grabbed his man by the collar of his gray rain slicker and threw him over the side of the yacht, his body slamming into the deck below, then splashing into the water. I turned back to Samoan Guy and darted towards him as he rose sluggishly to his feet. Leaping high into the air, I grabbed ahold of the eave over my head and swung my body, slamming my heels hard into the center of his chest. His body flew backward, crashing through the sliding glass door and sending shards of broken glass in all directions.

  Grabbing my Sig from the deck, I moved into the upper-level salon alongside Scott, stepping over Samoan Guy as he lay unconscious in a pool of blood and broken glass. The salon was empty and quiet, but we heard the shuffling of feet and yelling coming from other levels of the yacht. We moved forward, soon entering the cockpit with its fancy flat screens and switches to control and monitor the yacht’s movements. There was a mug of coffee sitting on the dash in front of the main chair with steam slowly rising up, indicating that someone had been there recently. I froze as I heard the unmistakable sound of a woman screaming for help, her voice rising above the howling wind and rain outside. It was Sam. Before I could look to Scott, a guy appeared out of nowhere, swinging an ax towards my face. I flexed my body backward, whipping my head back and feeling like I was in The Matrix as the steel blade of the ax cut through the air just inches from my face. It slammed into one of the large monitors with a loud crash, causing sparks to fly as the glass cracked into a thousand pieces. The man holding the ax was jacked, a massive black guy who probably had fifty pounds of muscle on me. He ripped the ax free in a quick jerk using one hand.

  Scott was able to fire off one 9mm round into his chest before being grabbed and thrown back hard to the floor by a second guy. It barely affected the big guy, who snapped a hard roundhouse into my side, knocking me into the control panel before grabbing my wrist and slamming my right hand into the dashboard, causing my Sig to slide up against the massive windscreen. He slammed his fists into the side of my head, then grabbed me in a sleeper hold. I hit him with my elbows and jerked the back of my head into his face, but nothing loosened his grip around my neck. Forcing my chin into my chest, I protected my windpipe as best as I could, but I could still feel consciousness slipping away from me. Looking out through the windscreen at the bow of the yacht, I saw two figures walking forward to the end of the foredeck. Rain danced down the glass, but I could still make out that it was Sam. She was being led by Marco, who had a pistol pressed against her back. The guy’s grip tightened even more around my neck, and I knew that I only had a few seconds left. I searched frantically for my Sig, but it was just out of my reach. Reaching behind me, I felt a wooden handle and gripped the ax with all my strength. In one quick motion, I reared it back and slammed it down, flicking my wrist and stabbing the blade into the guy’s back. He let out a loud moan and loosened his grip just enough for me to rip off his forearms and slip free.

  Turning around, I hit him with a strong uppercut square into his jaw, which caused his muscular body to fly backward into the control chair. My eyes grew wide as I saw two more guys run into the cockpit from the lounge, one carrying an Uzi and the other a large revolver. Glancing at the other side of the cockpit, I watched Scott finish off his man, unaware of the two approaching guys. I stretched out over the dashboard and reached for my Sig. Grabbing it with my fingertips, I clasped it with my palm, whipped my body around and fired off round after round into the two guys just as they were about to make Scott a human cheese grater.

  Seeing that the two guys were down, I took aim at the burly black guy, who was now barreling towards me and yelling wildly. I only managed to fire off one round before he slammed into me like an NFL linebacker, tackling me backward and sending us both hurtling through the windscreen. It shattered as we broke through the glass and tumbled down towards the bow of the yacht, rain drizzling over us and making the bow slippery as hell. Just as we were about to reach the deck, I ripped free of his grasp and kicked him as hard as I could right in the center of his face. His body flew backward, causing the big guy to lose his balance. Blood flowed out from the bullet holes in his chest as his calves slammed into the bow rail. His momentum forced his body to somersault over the edge, and all I saw was his shoes before he disappeared into the gray and splashed into the water below a moment later.

  I tumbled a few more times, then reached for my Sig, which was sliding down the slick fiberglass beside me. Gripping it in my left hand, I landed on the deck feetfirst and took aim towards the forward end of the yacht. Marco was standing at the end of the bow, his Luger pressed against Sam’s neck. His arms were wrapped around her body, holding her so tight that her every breath appeared to be a struggle. Tears flooded her eyes and her black hair ruffled in the wind as she stared at me.

  “Drop the fucking gun!” Marco said, his breathing quick and erratic.

  Sam shook her head, trying to get me to hold on to the only bargaining chip I had. I thought about taking the shot, but Marco had Sam positioned directly in front of him, giving me only a few inches to work with at most. I only had one round left in the chamber, and I wouldn’t have been able to deliver a fatal shot, which meant he’d send a bullet through Sam’s head without skipping a beat. Staring at Marco, I loosened my grip, and my Sig slid out of my hand, rattling onto the deck at my feet.

  “You should never have fucked with me,” Marco said. Pulling the Luger away from Sam’s neck, he aimed it straight at me with a shaking hand. “You and that asshole brought this upon yourselves. I told you that you had no idea who you were messing with. And now you will see what Black Venom is capable of.” Pulling Sam tighter, he glared at me, then took a step towards the bow rail. I noticed a cut above his left eye and a small trail of blood flowing down his cheek, indicating Sam must have landed an elbow while he was moving her.

  “Let her go,” I said sternly, gritting my teeth.

  Marco shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? She’s dead, Logan. Along with you, Scott, and all of your little friends here in the Keys.” He glanced over at the salvage vessel, where three men stood holding rifles against their shoulders and staring straight at us. “Once we’ve smuggled this gold out of here, there’s gonna be a bloodbath in the Keys. Anyone you’ve ever associated with will be murdered. It’s a pity you won’t be able to live with that on your conscience.”

  Gripping the Luger tighter, he suddenly pulled the trigger, sending a surge of hot lead through the side of my chest. I yelled out violently as pain radiated through my body. Placing my hand against the wound, I dropped down to one knee and winced as I felt the bullet lodged under my skin. Blood trickled out from the hole in my wet suit, dripping onto the white deck at my feet.

  Looking up, I saw an evil grin on Marco’s face as he kept the Luger aimed at my head as best as he could. Sam struggled to break free, but he gripped her even tighter. Time slowed down, and I was about to make a last-ditch effort and reach for my Sig when Marco’s head suddenly exploded in a gory plume of blood. A loud crack echoed across the water as Marco’s body collapsed to the deck. I sprang forth from my position before the report of the high-caliber rifle had died in the morning air, ignoring the pain in my chest, launching my body towards Sam and wrapping my arms around her. My momentum hurled us both over the side of the yacht, and we spun in a freefall to
wards the water below. The warm tropical water surrounded us as we splashed through the surface. Holding tight to Sam, I kicked as hard as I could, forcing us deeper into the water as bullets torpedoed from the surface, barely losing momentum and breaking apart before making contact with our bodies. I swam for the large growth of elkhorn coral, reached underneath it and pulled out the rebreather. Unzipping the front pocket, I pulled out the small can of Spare Air and held it in front of Sam. She grabbed it frantically, let out all of the air from her lungs and took in a few deep breaths before calming down. I cut off part of the duffle bag and used it as a makeshift tourniquet to slow the bleeding from my chest.

  Sam handed the Spare Air back to me and gave me a thumbs-up just as a guy broke through the surface over our heads. I realized that it was Scott and that he was swimming for the bottom as fast as he could. When he reached Sam and me, we swam a few hundred feet away from the yacht and took cover inside the crater in the middle of the ledge. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the detonator I’d made, flipped open the plastic cover and flicked the switch. Three deafening explosions echoed across the water in unison, and we heard the sounds of both the yacht and the salvage vessel’s hulls cracking into pieces. Peeking over the coral, we watched as flames consumed both boats and they sank to the bottom of the ocean within minutes.

  Sam took another breath from the small tank and then her eyes met mine. Wrapping my arms around her, I brought her body in close, holding her tight as we floated beside the colorful reefs and the underwater ledge covered with gold Aztec coins.