Wood's Wreck (21 page)

“What’re we gonna do?” Trufante asked after she left.

“Hell if I know. Somehow we need to draw them away from the boats and give those two enough time to get out of here.” He led them to the front porch. “They have no idea what we’ve got going on here, so they’ll be cautious and a little jumpy.” He paused, the idea for a distraction still not coming to him. 

Then he turned to Mel. “Work your way around the outside of the cove and wait. Whatever we come up with will be big enough to get their attention and lure them away from the water. Find a spot where you can see if they leave the beach. As soon as they move, go for it.” He handed her the shotgun, but she wouldn’t take it.

“I’m better with this and it’ll probably do more damage than that pea shooter.” She patted the speargun and pushed Marvin in front of her. 

Mac watched them as they cautiously kept to the perimeter of the clearing before slowly moving toward the trail. Mel would be all right, he knew; her companion, he wasn’t so sure about. 

Once they were out of sight, he turned to Trufante, an idea starting to form.

“You know when you shorted the solar panels?”

“Goddamn. That spark about made my hair stand on end.”

“They didn’t come here to dance, and they know we’re here. Both boats are sitting out there. We’ve just got to get their curiosity going and they won’t be able to resist coming after us.” He went downstairs and walked across to the shed. The lights were out—part of the 12-volt system that he had disabled—but enough moonlight shown into the small room to see. The wires were fried from Trufante’s encounter with them, but the batteries would still hold a charge. Wired in series now, they would produce 110 volts—enough for a big spark, and that was what he intended.

He went inside for some tools and took them to the battery bank against the wall. The ten batteries were sitting adjacent to each other on two shelves, and he remembered from rewiring them which was the last in the series. He traced the wire to the charge controller and opened the box. There wasn’t enough light to see the colors of the wires. 

“Find me a light or some matches,” he called to Trufante.

While he waited, he went to a pile of fishing gear and pulled out a five-foot-long aluminum-handled gaff. Trufante was back with a box of kitchen matches and he lit one, its yellow flame producing enough light to see the wires. 

The match was almost to his fingers when he reached the charge controller. He dropped the stub on the floor and lit another. It caught, and he could see the color of the wires clearly now. The red wire removed, he attached a longer length of wire to it, and brought the cable outside, where he stripped six inches of insulation from the end. He pulled the rubber grip off the gaff and wound the wire around the handle. 

With the handle back in place and covering the bare wire, he could hold the gaff without fear of shocking himself. If this worked, the entire gaff would be energized as soon as it contacted anything that grounded it, causing a huge spark to shoot from the end. 

The matches gave him another idea. It was risky, but if it worked it would give them enough time to escape. 

He pulled out an old fishing reel from the shed and started to peel off the lead core line. He then went to a pile of traps nearby and pulled a section of black nylon line, brittle from years in the saltwater. He threaded the fishing line through the center of the trap line, weaving it in and out of the braided line, and then tied it to the gaff. With an old oar he suspended the gaff over the solar panel array. 

Hoping the coating on the fishing line would burn like a fuse, he lit the end of the line and watched as the red glow ate its way toward the trap line. It was working, and he estimated he had about two minutes until it burned through the trap line and the gaff dropped on the panels. 

“Ready?” he asked Trufante, who held the shotgun. “Don’t shoot unless you have to. I don’t want them to know where we are. Go for the boat. I think they’ll still be looking around the beach, but as soon as this blows I bet they’ll move. They should come running to see what it is, and we can grab the boat and make a run for it then.”

Mac counted in his head as they moved carefully down the trail, hoping he hadn’t misjudged the men. His count was in the eighties when they heard an explosion and the sky lit up. Small pops and flashes continued as the energized gaff shorted itself against the panels. 

A minute later he heard an engine start, and pulled Trufante off the path. Mel must have seen the men leave the beach and gone for Marvin’s boat. Relieved they had escaped, he moved backwards into the scrub palms, his arms shredding from the abrasive branches. He squatted on his heels and held himself in a crouch. Trufante was breathing hard next to him.

Footsteps and muffled voices came toward them. Mac got low and put his head down as the men passed by. He knew they were pros from their cautious movements, but as long as they were moving toward the clearing, his plan was working. A long ten seconds later, he moved out of the scrub and ran the hundred feet toward the beach. Trufante was on his heels as they entered the water and waded to the boat. 

“Go. I’ll be right behind you.” He turned and ran back to the clearing, grabbed the cooler of gas he had siphoned from Marvin’s boat, and ran back into the water. 

They climbed over opposite gunwales and seconds later had the motors started. They were underway. He had chosen the triple outboard, knowing the guys chasing them wouldn’t be able to outrun him with the smaller boat.

“Pull all the lines,” he yelled to Trufante, hoping the other boats would drift off in the current. 

Mac looked out to the open water in the direction of Marathon and saw only a small dot on the horizon. In another minute, Mel would be out of sight. He turned the wheel in the other direction and headed toward the Sawyer Keys, hoping to get in and out with Cayenne before the two men figured out what was happening.
They’ll go back to the island, that’s where the woman and the ballplayer are,
he thought as he pulled into the main channel. 

They would have to be fast to get the girl out while the CIA men were still here. He had nowhere near the weapons he expected they had and Trufante was undependable in a fight. He looked back at the island as he turned west and could still see sparks, but they were accompanied by smoke now. With a whoosh, the sky lightened and he realized the shed must have caught fire. With a grimace, he realized that it would soon reach the house. 

There was nothing he could do about it now, but if the buildings were on fire, it probably meant that the men were running from the blaze. Which, in turn, meant that they were on Mac and Tru’s trail. He leaned forward on the throttle and the boat planed out, skipping over the waves. 

Another loud whoosh came from behind him, but he refused to look back, knowing the house was gone. 

***

Mel steered straight for the hump in the Seven Mile Bridge—the safest path through the ink black water. There were faster routes, but none were safe at night, the shallows and obstacles invisible in the dark. They entered Moser Channel and went toward the center span, where she cut the wheel to port and ran parallel with the bridge toward Boot Key. 

Minutes later they passed Pigeon Key and she counted six openings before turning right. They cruised below the spans of the old and new bridge and turned left, heading toward the blinking marker, which they passed a few minutes later to enter the channel. She reduced speed and followed the markers to the first dock on the left. 

The boat banged twice against the rub rail as she came in too hot, and it was a long minute before Marvin could reach the dock lines and secure the boat. She cut the engines and grabbed Marvin’s phone, cursing herself for not giving this one to Mac. Without her contacts, her ability to get things done was limited. Frustrated she went into the maps app and entered ‘sheriff.’ 

An icon came up and she clicked through to the phone number. Wishing she had taken the time to call earlier, but knowing it was dangerous to stop the boat so she could hear, she waited impatiently while the phone rang. A deputy answered and took her information. She could only hope he was relaying it to Jules. A few long minutes later the phone rang.

“Jules. It’s Mel,” she started. “We need your help.” She waited while the sheriff woke up. “Can you come to Pancho’s Fuel Dock?” 

She started pacing the minute she hung up the phone. There were a lot of moving pieces, and she needed to determine what to divulge and what not to. 

***

With a nervous glance over his shoulder, he slowed as they approached the rental boat still anchored where he had left it. The boats touched and he grabbed the side of the anchored boat. 

“Hold her!” he yelled at Trufante, unscrewing the top from the cooler and dumping the gas onto the boat. He tossed the empty jug in when he was done. It took several tries to light the match in the wind, but one finally caught and he tossed it into the boat as well.

The blast hit them as he slammed the throttles to their stops and looked behind him at the boat now engulfed in flames. Without looking back, they sped toward the inlet hoping the fire would slow their pursuers. The boat skidded sideways into the mangroves as he misjudged the switchback guarding the entrance to the cove and took the turn too fast. He eased the throttles, but only enough to get back on course, and steered toward the dock. Trufante jumped out and tied the boat off while Mac ran to the house. 

“Take the boat around to the back side!” Mac called over his shoulder to Trufante. “They could show up any minute.”

He barged through the doors and found the living room empty. Not sure he had made the right decision, he made his way into the house and started searching for the red-headed woman, his fatigue fueled by adrenaline. If he could get the woman out of here and back to Marathon before the men returned he might have a chance to clear himself. 

He moved to the back of the house, shotgun leading the way, and heard grunting coming from behind a closed door. Pretty sure of what he would find, he kicked the door in and entered the room. The two figures in bed grabbed for the sheets to cover themselves as he loomed over them.

“Get dressed now!” he yelled at Cayenne, who tossed the covers aside and reached for her clothes. The Cuban remained in bed. “You too,” he called to the player, deciding on the spot that it would be better to take him as well. He could be more valuable than the woman if it came down to a parlay with the CIA men. 

The man looked at him, not sure what he was after, and Mac searched his memory for any Spanish.

“
Vamanos
,” Trufante called from behind him, and the man instantly grabbed his pants and dressed. A few minutes later they were down the hall and on the way out the doors.

That’s when they heard a boat. 

From the sound of the engine, Mac guessed they were in the switchback and would appear in a few seconds. Trufante had started around the house, the player following. Cayenne screamed when Mac grabbed her arm and yanked her around the corner and out of sight just as the boat entered the cove. He could see the boat as it entered the cove, and he pushed the group further around the house, hoping the shadows would conceal them. He looked at Cayenne and the Cuban, gauging whether either looked like they would cause trouble. The man looked confused, but the girl was another matter. Mac knew from the trouble she had caused already that she was volatile, and out only for herself. 

He stepped behind her, moving as if he were trying to slide deeper into the shadows, and placed his arm around her neck, applying pressure to her carotid artery. She was out almost instantly, and he supported her body and slid her against the side of the house. Another look at the Cuban, who nodded at him as if to say that he knew not to cause trouble, and he turned back to the dock.

The men on the dock were shouting at each other as they tied up the boat and made their way to the house. It would be only a few minutes until they discovered that the man and woman were gone. Mac looked toward the brush and the path they had cut the other night. There was about ten feet of clear space between them and the building, but with Cayenne still out cold, he decided it was too risky to try to cross the open area. 

Even if they weren’t seen as they crossed, the sound of the group moving through the brush would attract their pursuers.

Chapter 24

Concealed by a bush, Mac stayed low and peered around the corner of the building. Both men left the house each carrying a rifle in each hand. They moved down the dock and loaded the weapons into the boat. 

“Go back, get the boat, and bring it around the island,” he whispered to Trufante. “Stay clear of the inlet so they can’t see you if they leave.” 

He watched the man as he sprung cat-like across the clearing and entered the brush. Mac held his breath until the branches settled back in place.

“Where are you going?” the older man suddenly yelled toward Jay, who was heading to the house.

“We need something bigger, just in case. I’m getting the rocket launcher.” 

Mac turned back toward the men and tensed. The older man was walking from the dock to the patio, right toward where they were hidden. He readied the shotgun and braced to attack if he rounded the corner, but instead, the man stopped a few feet away and pulled out his phone. 

Mac stayed ready, but relaxed when the man started to talk. The call sounded like it was all business, telling the man on the other end that his delivery was going to be delayed.
Must be the player,
Mac thought as he looked at the man huddled next to him, his eyes wide. Despite his muscular stature, he could tell the guy was scared. He hadn’t spent more than a few minutes around him, but he sensed his fear of the two CIA men. 

The call ended and he yelled, “Jay!” he called to the other man, who had just set a large weapon in the boat.