Tortugas Rising (12 page)

“I’ve got nothing left. We have to find a shady spot and rest.” Steve did his best to dry the shotgun. He pointed the barrel at the ground and watched the seawater trail out. He had no idea what the saltwater would do to the weapon; he imagined that it wouldn’t be good.

Paul nodded his agreement. “Maybe this parcel of paradise has something on it. Even if we could crawl into an attic or something. Just to give our legs a break.”

“C’mon. There were at least four after us, not including Savage. We can’t give up our lead now.”

They helped one another to their feet and stumbled up another beachhead, to another tree line, on another beautiful island.

Martin and Ramirez slowed their pace. The lion’s roar had startled them, and they had changed to a more defensive position.

Circling back to back, they stepped slowly over the dried earth of the artificial savannah. They watched the tall reeds over their gun barrels, each imagining the horrific carnage a lion could inflict.

Movement caught Martin’s eye and he squeezed off a shot into the thick grasses. The report startled the hidden creature and it darted from its cover deeper into the reserve.

Martin watched the creature run. Black and white stripes made clear the error of the map.

The pair dropped their guard and quickened their pace towards the dock.

Sanchez had arrived moments before and was crouched beside the security chief. “We’re going to need a clean up team.”

“Is he dead?” Ramirez kneeled next to his fallen commander.

“No, but Austin is.”

“Bennett and his friend?”

“Lion. We never saw Bennett.”

Ramirez pulled the radio from his belt and tried again to radio for help. “Master Key?”

The radio was silent.

“Master Key?” Ramirez’s vision clouded red as he thought about Austin. He didn’t really like the man. He had been short-tempered and overly confident; the product of too many back issues of Soldier of Fortune magazines.

But, like him or not, he’d been part of his detachment, and Savage was going to be more than upset. If the man ever woke up.

His radio crackled to life.

“Master Key?”

“Master Key.” The voice was winded and worn.

“This is Ramirez. Savage is down and Austin is dead. We need the doc to the preserve, now.”

“Just bring him back on the boat.”

“The boat is gone. Send him over.”

“We’re a little busy ourselves. We’re in the middle of a hostage situation. We’ll send a boat. Just get back here.”

“Bennett and Nelson are still…,” Ramirez was interrupted.

“They can wait. So can Austin. You’re needed here. How bad is Savage?”

“Unconscious.”

The radio was silent for a moment. “Bring him to, and bring him here. We need all the help we can get.” The static cut and the radio went silent.

“He’s coming around.”

Sanchez helped the security chief sit up. His glazed eyes took a moment to focus.

“Where are they?” Savage tried to stand but found his legs shaky. Ramirez helped him back down.

“We never saw them. Best we can figure is that they swam for another island.”

Savage studied his men’s faces, and noticed one missing. “Where’s Austin? Did he make it off the boat?”

“A lion got him.”

“What?” Savage reached for his radio and found it missing.

“Boat’s on the way, sir,” Martin said.

“We’re to call off the search. They need us back at the hotel.” Ramirez forced the radio back into its holster.

“Under whose orders?”

“Michaels’. He sounded scared.”

“He’s always scared.” Savage glared at his second in command.

Ramirez could see that Savage wanted blood. “Bennett and Nelson won’t get anywhere. Even if they manage to get to the edge of the islands it’s a seventy click swim back to Key West. All the long-range boats are at Master Key. Tomorrow we can flood the islands with teams.”

Savage felt the knot on his head and grit his teeth. Blood ran down his arm; beneath his Kevlar vest, his entire chest ached. He was going to enjoy murdering Paul Nelson and, to a lesser extent, Steve Bennett.

# # #

It was a castle. Cold and domineering, it filled the landscape of the island. The walls were tall and real. Steve checked, believing it to be a fiberglass shell detailed to look like old rock. But the rock was genuine.

They crossed under a portcullis and into a courtyard.

Steve was lost in the scale of a topiary garden when he heard a slam.

Paul had found the release for the gate and was apologizing for the noise.

They both returned to the portcullis to examine the gate. It seemed strong. Again, it wasn’t a fiberglass reproduction, but an actual castle gate, built of timber and iron.

It was the safest they had both felt in a while.

They made their way through the courtyard to the main structure. The door was unlocked – in fact it was missing a handle entirely. They crept inside the moonlit room.

Scaffolds lined the giant walls, drop cloths covered the granite floors, and tools were stacked with care. Though incomplete, it was obvious that inside was where the authentic reproduction ended.

Network cables and speaker wire hung from contact points in the ceiling and near the floor where jacks would be placed. It was well past midnight and there were no workers present. This spurred a thought in Steve’s mind.

“I haven’t seen anyone working on these islands.”

“So.” Paul moved to the archway at the end of the room. Steve followed.

“It just seems odd, that with so much construction going on, that we haven’t seen anyone around.”

“Baxie probably didn’t want the collar colors mixing on his final big sell.”

“Maybe. But, it still seems odd.”

Moonlight passed through unfinished plate glass windows and lit their way as they moved from room to room. They found drop cloths covering expensive flooring in each one. Some rooms were decked in wood paneling; in others the paint was already dry, and the artistry of the texturing caused the men to pause.

“This is the kind of place you need, Steve. Unabashedly expensive.”

“My place is fine.”

“Your place is small. I told you before you needed to get a nicer place.”

“What does it matter? I’ve been living out of hotel rooms in Toronto and New York for the past six months.”

“Yeah, and the only reason those were nice places is because Campbell set them up.”

“I’m not having this argument now.”

“You never want to have this argument. I want to have this argument. You’re rich and you need a new place and a new car.”

“I bought a new car!”

“You bought a Chrysler. You need an Aston Martin. You need a Ferrari. You need a Porsche.”

Steve withdrew from the conversation.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Why start now, Paul?”

“I’m just saying. He left the money to you. Not so you could mope about it. Maybe he felt guilty. Maybe it was a selfish way for his name to live on. It doesn’t matter. It’s yours and it’s what he wanted.”

“And look where it’s gotten me. I’m stuck in a castle on an island being chased by, who knows how many killers. And on top of it all I have to listen to you tell me how to be happy. It’s not what I want. Maybe it would be best if I gave it all up.”

“Slow down. Let’s not talk crazy.”

“Or, why don’t I give it to you?”

“No.” Paul did not hesitate, and when he spoke there was no snide tone in his voice. “Steve, I already have your money. I’ve probably spent more of it than you have.”

“Then what do you want from me, Paul?”

“I want my friend back. You’ve been mostly mopey since you found out that – one, you had a father, and, two, that he was dead. I understand grief. I know that there are some things that may take some getting used to. But, and I mean this in all sincerity, money can buy happiness.

“Look at this watch.” Paul held out his hand. “I don’t need it. And, to be honest, sometimes I don’t understand it. The little bulb in the middle confuses me. But, damn it, it’s just so shiny.”

Steve said nothing for a moment. He stared at his friend. And, then, at the watch.

“It is a nice watch. Did I buy that for you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“What are friends for, right?”

“Interest free loans.”

Paul smiled and Steve chuckled.

“What do you want, Steve?”

Steve grabbed Paul’s wrist and looked at the watch. “It’s late. I want to get back to the hotel, make sure everyone is okay, rat out Savage, then I want to get to sleep.”

“Okay, but let’s grab a drink before bed.”

“You’re on. And you forgot to set your watch forward.”

They crossed into the next room; a room that would one day be the study. Built-in hardwood bookcases lined every foot of the walls. One large window let the moonlight in. Blue-green shadows filled the room.

“It looks like a dead end.” Steve turned to leave.

“Wait, hit the lighter.”

Steve spun the wheel and the yellow flame fought against the shadows.

“Over by the back wall. It looks like a door.”

They moved to the back of the room. The shelving had appeared seamless in the dark, but along the back wall an entire section of bookcase was missing. And, where the shelves weren’t, there was a doorway.

Paul stuck his head into the doorway and saw a staircase. “The Count seems to be putting in secret doors. Oh, this place is so cool.”

Steve took the lead with the Zippo and descended the stairs. A thump filled the narrow staircase. Steve whirled around to see Paul with his hand on a lever.

“Found the door. This should at least give us a place to rest.”

Steve shook his head and continued down the stairs. They wound senselessly, seemingly taking them nowhere. They walked for a minute before they came to the bottom. The stairs had not led to another room, instead it had brought them to a narrow tunnel that seemed to grow brighter as they went on.

They came to a cross in the tunnel. The path to the left was in complete darkness. Moonlight awaited them on the right. As he moved closer to the source of the light Steve’s Zippo flame began to dance and flicker in a breeze.

Paul felt the breeze on his face. “We’re back outside. I think we should go back and wait out the night.”

“Wait, we’re not outside.” Steve stepped from the narrow tunnel and into an open and damp room. “We’re in the boathouse.”

Paul followed his line of sight and saw it too. A channel had been dug from the island’s coastline under the castle.

“Dude this is like the batcave. Who is this guy?”

Steve’s eyes landed on the prize. Four jet-skis were tied up at the in-home dock; he turned to Paul. “Fire ‘em up, Hot-Wire. We’re going back to Master Key.”

Captain Richards was awakened from a dream of his cabin in the mountains. As he shook the sleep from his tired eyes he began to think that maybe a condo would be smarter. His bones were tired. He could actually feel the exhaustion in his bones.

With a nod, he dismissed the ensign that had summoned him to the dredge’s bridge as his eyes focused around the blur of dreams. He stood and wondered why he had been called. The weather was clear and he could tell from the movement of the deck under his feet that the engines were running properly.

The first decision he made, after he splashed water on his face, was to be very upset with whoever called him. But, as the desalinated water dripped through his beard, he shrugged it off.

“Go easy on them, captain. There’s only one more round after this,” he said to himself.

This voyage would deliver the second to last hopper of reclaimed earth from the Intracoastal Waterway. One more trip back and forth and he could hang up his cap for good. These two hoppers would top off the last island. His cutter suction dredge would be replaced by another in Wassaw sound that would pick up sand from the sea floor and deposit it as pristine beachfront property.

The captain strode from his cabin and approached the bridge. As he walked, he admired the ship. It was a good ship and a good crew. He would miss them as well. Aside from the boredom of an uneventful tenure, there was little to complain about.

He reached the foot of the stairs to the bridge.

“Captain.”

Rogers, one of the crew, was standing on deck outside the superstructure. He waved the captain over and out into the night air.

Captain Richards followed the motions. Rogers disappeared around the corner. Richards stepped onto the deck and looked toward the bow of the ship. Three of the crew were examining the retracted cutter suction arm.

He approached the group.

“Is there a problem with the span?”

One of the crew sat astride the arm tying a knotted rope to the arm.

“No, sir. I’m just replacing one of the Jesus ropes. The old one was about finished.”

Richards bit at his lip and felt the anger that he had shrugged off come rushing back.

“This is why you woke me? A safety rope?”

“No, sir,” Rogers had reappeared behind him. “We need you to check the hopper.”

Rogers and Carlson moved in on Captain Richards. They both grabbed him – one hand on his arm and the other on his chest.

The captain, still confused at the situation, struggled. He was much older than these men, but his footing was sure. Planting his feet against the deck he used the rocking of the boat to draw extra force into his legs. With a mighty shove he threw the men off balance.

The two crew members quickly found themselves against the rails.

Richards looked around desperately for a weapon. The only item he could reach was the worn Jesus rope the crewman had just untied. Its weight was substantial. Heavy knots on the rope served as a last grasp at life should a crewman fall overboard near the cutter’s arms. The saying went that if they didn’t grab the rope, only Jesus could save them. He hoped it could save him now. He knew he was fighting for his life.

The captain swung the end of the heavy rope as Rogers came at him. The final knot caught him in the face. Rogers screamed and threw himself to the ground, spitting teeth as he fell.

The knot had broken his jaw. Blood and teeth littered the deck of the dredge. Carlson came at the captain.

Richards swung the rope back to intercept him, but it was too heavy; without a long arc he could not force enough speed from the rope.

He felt the wind leave his chest and several ribs crack as Carlson drove his shoulder into his chest. The railing dug into the captain’s back. He screamed in agony as he drew in a breath to replace the one he had lost.

Carlson was quick. He dropped to the ground and grabbed the captain’s ankles, one in each hand. With one swift move he lifted the man off of his feet and swung him over the rail and into the full hopper.

Captain Richards did not struggle in the slurry. He couldn’t. Earth and rock mixed with water – it was too thick to swim in, and too watery to stand on. Captain Richards sank quickly to the bottom of the hopper, drowning in the earth that he had helped reclaim.

# # #

The ride back to Master Key had jolted every last bit of energy out of him. Steve’s arms burned from swimming and the cut on his leg still ached. Without hesitation, Steve vowed to get into better shape should he survive this vacation. Once he had rested.

They skirted the central island until they found the cove adjacent to their villa and beached the wave runners in sight of the hammock. The lights were on inside. After a quick discussion, they determined that neither could remember if they had left them on.

“It might have been me,” Steve said as he let the water drip from his shorts. He was certain that neither his cell phone nor driver’s license would ever work again. And despite the tropical climate, he found himself beginning to shiver.

“You never were very green, Steve. I told you to try harder.”

“This from the man who throws out artificial Christmas trees.”

“They are really hard to get back in the box. It’s worse than folding a map.”

“If I left the lights on, there’s a good chance I left the back door unlocked.”

“With my whiskey in there? What if someone broke in?”

Steve dropped to the ground and pulled Paul with him. One of the island’s electric golf carts whirred up the path beyond the villa.

The cart passed without incident. The security guard at the wheel had looked bored.

“They don’t seem to be looking for anyone. I think we’ll be okay.”

“Shouldn’t we have flagged him down?” Paul asked.

“No, I want to talk to Baxter about this. I don’t really trust Savage’s little private army.”

“Good point. But they’re going to want to talk to us if we try walking into the party this wet.”

Steve nodded at Paul and rose slowly to his feet. They ran, doubled-over to the villa’s patio door, and stopped. They heard nothing. They saw nothing inside. Steve tried the door. It opened smoothly.

Again they waited and listened. They heard nothing but the hum of the kitchen appliances. They crept inside.

Steve moved toward his room. “Don’t turn any other lights on. Change and meet back out here. If you want to talk to me come get me. Don’t yell.”

Paul strode into his own room. His luggage was still packed and on the bed. His suitcase was open and he tore into the largest of the cases. Inside a plastic case was what he was looking for – an extra clip for the XD. He pulled the gun from his waist, dropped the expended clip, and drove the fresh clip in. It was longer and held an additional three rounds of .45 ammo. He raked the slide and placed it on the bed.

He dumped a box of rounds onto the bed and began to fill the empty clip. It wasn’t easy. The spring of the new weapon was still stiff, and the skin on his fingers had become waterlogged and pruned. “I spent too much time in the tub.”

# # #

Steve stripped. Every layer of clothing struggled to stay on his body. His undershirt stretched as he tugged on it, and he had to tear it off his chest. He could feel the grit of the sand grind against his skin.

His suitcase sat unpacked, and he stared at it, sitting there on the bed with the shotgun lying next to it. He moved to the closet where his garment bag was hung. The tux inside was a rental. On such short notice there was no way to get one made. Paul had taken care of it.

The dinner was a black tie affair and as he tried to brush the salt from his skin he thought it odd that he would now be dressing to the nines. They were running for their life, and to be on the safe side they had to dress the part of the super-spy simply to avoid attention.

He pulled the tux from the bag, but left the shoes on the hanger. Since prom, he had vowed never to wear rented shoes again unless bowling was involved.

He pulled a pair of highly polished Skechers from his suitcase. They were casual, but could pass for tux shoes as long as no one looked at them. They would be easier on his feet than the rental, and he figured that the rubber soles may come in handy.

His thoughts turned back to Savage. There was no way to tell if it was Savage alone, some of his men, or the entire security force that now had it out for him. Was he acting with the “environmentalists”? It was obvious to Steve that even eco-terrorists weren’t this well trained or armed. It had to have something to do with his island, but he had no idea what it could be.

Steve looked back at the shotgun. He would talk with Baxter. But he wouldn’t trust him.