Wood's Wreck (17 page)

He got up and went to the back door, where he peered out to see if anyone was watching and crept to the opening of the crawl space. Checking again to make sure he was unobserved, he pulled the access door off and slithered underneath the house. Moist sand and spider webs covered him as he crawled to the large girder that supported the floor joists. He reached his hand on top and moved it back and forth, looking for the bag. Finally he felt the plastic and pulled it out, stuffing the bag into his shirt. 

Back in the kitchen, he pulled the phone out of the bag, inserted a SIM chip into it, and turned it on. The card had never been used and would be destroyed as soon as the message was sent. He went immediately to the web browser and entered the address for GuerillaMail. Hunched over the phone, he entered Norm’s private email and punched in the message to move the extraction to sunset. 

***

Mac had been shivering for hours when dawn finally broke, and he knew he was past the point of no return if he didn’t get out of the trap soon. Although the tropical waters surrounding the Keys rarely dipped below eighty degrees, that was still cold enough to cause hypothermia; it just took a while. The eight hours that he’d been captive was already affecting his entire nervous system. He had been experiencing uncontrollable shivering and muscle cramps—symptoms that he was hypothermic. Without the foam noodle to support him and keep his upper body out of the water, he might be dead. 

Now that it was light, he searched for any means of escape that he’d been unable to see last night. There was nothing in sight that he could reach, though, and he glanced down in the water. With the increasing light, the water was clear enough to see the bottom, and he could see the eel’s head swaying in the current, its body hidden under a rock. It must have been at least five feet long, from the size of the head. 

A door slammed and he turned to see the man coming toward him with two bottles of water in his hands. He tossed one toward Mac, and went to a freezer underneath the lanai, where he pulled out a fish carcass. He walked back to the pen and tossed it into the water.

“Gotta feed your friend there, we don’t want him eating you while I’m gone. I gotta go run an errand. Try and save the Nationals’ season, if you can believe it. You be a good boy now and we’ll have another chat later. Until then.” He nodded at Mac and went toward the big boat.

Mac grabbed for the plastic bottle, barely able to grasp it before it sank, and tried to balance himself and open it. His fingers barely obeyed the command from his brain. The boat started, but he stayed focused on the task at hand, worried that he could not grip the cap. Finally he put it in his mouth and used his teeth as a vise to open the bottle. He spit out the cap and started to drink as he watched the boat move away. 

Again he assessed his situation. The sun was rising now and the feel of its rays on his head brought some clarity back to his thoughts. He had to figure a way out and now.

The only tools at hand were the noodle and plastic bottle—both useless against the metal cage. The water level was rising, and only a foot of wire extended above the water, now. With the tide still incoming, he thought, this was the time to make whatever move he could. He leaned on the noodle and settled back to wait for high water. 

When the tide crested, he would take the noodle to insulate and protect his hands and vault the fence. As he waited, the warmth of the sun quickly lulled him into a semi-conscious state. 

***

Jay had to stop in Key West for gas—another annoying delay—but he had used almost three-quarters of his fuel on the last trip. Crossing the Gulfstream to reach Cuba took twice as much fuel, running into the 6-knot current as it did on the way back. 

After filling the three tanks with one hundred gallons each, he headed back to the blue water to make the crossing. The wind was still up, but the weather was good at least, and crossing in the day was much safer than at night. He watched the tachometers and tuned each engine to 3800 rpms—a little slower than the previous trip, but more economical. Might as well save some dollars; the fill had cost him $1,800, and he didn’t need to arrive before dusk. 

The early extraction made this a one-way trip, and he’d had no time to organize any contraband for delivery. While he steered he calculated the fuel cost, deciding to add a surcharge onto his bill. The bean counters at the CIA would surely understand the economics of smuggling. 

***

The man washed off in the old porcelain basin and wished he had another shirt. But at least with the dirty clothes and no deodorant, he would fit in perfectly. His contact had left several minutes ago, with instructions to deliver the player to the beach at 4pm. With six hours to kill, he slicked back his hair and left the shack. 

The streets were quiet in the heat of the day, and he went unnoticed as he walked the dirt road, avoiding the main streets. Soon he reached a modest house, at least for the impoverished area, opened the short chain link gate, and followed the path to the door. He knocked and waited, a picture of her from several years ago in his head. 

It was a risk—one he never would have taken if he weren’t leaving later in the day—but seeing the woman was on his mind whenever he set foot on the island’s soil. It was several years since he had waited on this stoop, and wondered what she would do. 

His question was answered when the door opened and a man crowded the opening. He took one look at the figure and turned away.

“If you are looking for Maria, she does not want to see you,” the man in the doorway said. 

He kept walking, not wanting to show his face. He would have to be careful now, maybe just go to the beach and hide. 

As he walked back to the beach, taking the most remote route, he started to glance over his shoulder. The man would certainly call the police. There was bound to be some kind of a reward for turning him in. This was the politics of Cuba.

Chapter 19

Something bumped the pen, waking Mac from his stupor. He looked up at the sun, now high in the sky, to try and gauge how long he had been out when the cage shook again. Around him, chunks of fish were floating in the water both inside and outside the cage. The last thing he remembered was the man tossing the carcass into the water before leaving. 

The eel had been subdued during the night, possibly realizing the size of the man in the cage, but whatever the reason, the warm water had turned the frozen fish into chum that was now formed into a slick, floating out of the cove with the tide.

He suspected the bump was caused by one of the large bull sharks that roamed the flats, drawn in by the chum slick. But from his position, he was unable to see anything but his feet; the glare from the water hit his eyes as he tried to look for the culprit. 

The cage shook again, and he had an idea. Suddenly awake, his adrenaline telling him this was his last chance, he studied the structure of the cage. In the daylight he could see the netting was made of PVC with strands of uninsulated wire, intertwined every foot or so to conduct electricity. 

He saw a dorsal fin cut through the water and started to work his feet along the bottom until one of his toes snagged the fish carcass. The eel was far from his mind—probably hiding from the larger predator, not knowing it was safe inside the cage. He pinched two toes together and lifted his foot to waist level where he was able to grab hold of the fish and stick it in the space between two of the wires. There, he rubbed it back and forth against the mesh. 

The fish started to disintegrate, and he hoped the shark would take the bait before it dissipated. 

He rubbed the fish again, but his hand hit the wire and he jerked his had back from an electrical shock, releasing the fish to the bottom. It took several minutes to recover the carcass before he could start the process over. 

This time the shark went for the fish, slamming into the enclosure between the two wires. It drove its head further into the space, touching both wires as Mac pulled the carcass from its reach. 

Nothing happened. The shark’s skin must be too dense for the current to penetrate it. 

Mac pushed the fish forward, holding the carcass inches from the shark’s nose, fully aware that it could easily tear through the netting, but it went for the bait and slid further between the wires. 

He was out of room, pinned against the seawall as the shark came closer. It was inches from him when he pushed the fish against a wire and stuffed the carcass in its mouth. The fireworks started and sparks flew from the wires as the cage shorted and the shark stopped. 

He wasn’t sure if it was dead or stunned, and was not inclined to find out. With a section of the torn swim noodle in each hand to protect him from the wire, he hoisted himself onto the barbed wire and gained the seawall, where he lay motionless.

It took several minutes for him to recover his wits. He was still shivering, but the sun was warming him quickly. A look into the cage revealed the shark floating belly up, clearly dead. 

His balance was questionable when he tried to rise, so he took his time and went to the chair his tormentor had sat in the previous night. Tossing the worthless control box onto the deck, he collapsed into the lounge chair.

***

Marvin slowed the boat once the Sawyer Keys came into sight and looked at Mel for direction. She took the binoculars from her eyes and went to the helm.

“That’s the Sawyer Keys over there.” She pointed to the land on the starboard side, then put the glasses back to her eyes and started scanning the area, stopping at a point on the horizon. Without taking the binoculars down, she pointed in the direction she was looking. “Take it slow. Over there.”

Marvin steered the boat toward the spot she indicated and drove forward until she held her hand up for him to stop and set the binoculars down.

He looked at her for more direction, but she remained motionless as if stalking prey. Not sure what to do, she put the glasses back to her eyes and watched the boat. 

A dive flag hung limp from one of the outriggers and she could only see one person aboard. Cayenne must be in the water, she thought as she watched the boat. What she needed was proof that Cayenne was poaching lobsters from the site of her coral lease, and inside the boundary of the wildlife management area. She thought about calling the marine patrol again and pulled out her phone. With one eye on the screen and the other on the boat, she opened the web browser and found the number for Fish and Game, but then decided against it. If they arrested her, she had no doubt her father’s lawyers would cut a deal and grant her immunity or some other deal for her cooperation. As far as the authorities knew, their only case was against Mac. An arrest would only make matters worse. 

“We’re going to wait until she comes up and then run close and shoot some pictures,” she said to Marvin as she started to play with the settings on her camera app. 

Several minutes later, she was startled by the sound of a helicopter coming from the direction of Big Pine Key. The driver of the other boat must have heard it too because she saw him look around and then go forward and pull in the anchor. She watched him through the binoculars as he tossed the anchor on deck and ran back to the helm, where he started the boat and quickly moved away. The binoculars moved from the water to the sky and she focussed on the yellow helicopter cruising overhead. 

“Move out to the channel and head toward open water,” Mel yelled at Marvin. It looked like the helicopter that was based at Marathon airport for sightseeing tours, not the authorities, but not willing to take a chance she wanted them away from the scene. 

***

Cayenne heard the engine start while still under the water. With no idea what was going on above, she grabbed her bag full of lobster and ascended the forty feet to the surface. It took her a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight as she stared in the direction where she thought the boat should be. 

Immediately she started to panic, then heard the helicopter and spun in the water, looking for the boat. The charter boat was gone, though, and all she could see were two boat’s wakes moving away from her. 

She felt exposed bobbing in the waves and there was a chance the helicopter pilot would spot her and without a boat nearby think that she needed help. The paranoia she had felt on the surface left her as she submerged. Although not an experienced diver, the surroundings gave her security. The visibility was excellent and she knew land was only a few hundred yards away. With 1500 psi, she could easily swim toward the cove and Jay’s house. The swim would give her time to come up with a story of how she got there. Several scenarios were forming in her head as she started finning in the direction of the cove. 

She had almost reached the edge of the mangroves when she heard another boat motor move near her.

***

Mac woke, not sure how long he had been out. But at least he wasn’t shivering anymore. He looked around, confirming that he was still alone—a foregone conclusion as the man would have checked on him immediately after returning. His throat was dry and his stomach growled—a sure sign that he was recovering from the night in the pen. 

He thought about going to the house for water and food, but with the center console docked only feet away, he decided, having no idea when the man would return, that it would be better to get out of there while he could. As he scrounged around the boat looking for any tools that could help him hot wire the starter, he nervously watched the entrance of the cove. He was unarmed and in no condition for another confrontation. 

Finally he found what he was looking for: A small box in the console held a screwdriver, wire cutters, and several wrenches. With the largest wrench he slammed the screwdriver tip in the slot where the key would go, and twisted. The ignition fell out, a bundle of wires trailing behind it.