Wood's Wreck Read online

  He hoped this would give him the clearance he needed to lose them in the shallows.

  As he passed Raccoon Key, he could hear a boat in the distance and looked up, cursing the full moon. The rental boat, even without running lights, stood out like a cherry on a sundae, and he knew he was not going to lose the faster vessel over open water. He turned to port and aimed toward the Content Keys.

  As he closed on the island he looked for the opening into the channel between the islands. It appeared and he cut the wheel to starboard to avoid the partially submerged coral head blocking the entrance. Turning hard back to port, he entered the Content Passage and followed the snaking cut until he hit open water on the other side of the Key.

  He looked back as he turned north and realized that no one was behind him. The other boat had either not wanted to risk the shallow entrance to the passage or had grounded.

  A large smile crossed his face as he set course for Wood’s.

  ***

  “Why are you slowing?” Norm yelled over the roar of the three outboards. “He’s getting away.”

  Jay looked at him as he slowed to an idle. “This baby’s too big to follow him through there. And getting away with what? He’s a lobster-poaching loser. What’s he going to do to us?”

  Norm wondered how his associate could be so short sighted. “If you thought about the long term for a tenth of a second instead of worrying about your nickel-and-dime smuggling business, you would realize what’s at stake here.”

  The boat idled past the small channel running through the Content Keys, where the other boat had disappeared.

  “You act like bringing in the players is a sideline, but when one finally pans out, and I think he’s sitting in your living room, we’re rich. That guy saw and heard too much,” Norm said.

  “Well we can’t follow him in there. Pretty crafty of him to get by that coral head at that speed.” Jay pushed the engines into gear and accelerated past the islands. “But he’s going to have to come out the other side. We’ll pick him up there.”

  As he neared the end of the island he slowed again, nosing forward until he had an unobstructed view. “There,” he pointed. “That’s him.”

  Norm gripped the leaning post as Jay spun the wheel and pushed down the throttles. The other boat was about a half-mile ahead, but in the moonlight, its outline was clearly visible. They could follow at a distance and see where he went.

  ***

  Mac jumped with a start when he heard the boat engine. He must have nodded off, and it took a minute to clear the cobwebs from his head. The engine was louder now, and sounded like it was coming toward them. This was not the kind of neighborhood that had boat traffic during the day; nights were desolate here. He sat up, realizing just how tired he was, and almost lay back down, hoping it was just a chance boater.

  Then the motor suddenly stopped. It was too close to be a coincidence, and he could feel his heartbeat in his ears as he lay still, waiting to see if the engine would restart. Mel stirred next to him.

  “What are you doing up?” she asked.

  “There’s a boat out there,” he answered as he put his feet on the ground and slid the wet shorts back on. “It just stopped. Sounds like they’re by the beach. Stay here, I’ll go have a look.”

  “Like hell.” She got up, dressed quickly, and followed him out the door.

  Mac looked at Marvin on the couch, still snoring peacefully, and went past, Mel close on his heels. They left the house and went downstairs, where he grabbed the machete stuck in a pole by the door and scolded himself for leaving the shotgun on the boat.

  “Wait.”

  He watched as Mel went toward the shack, opened the door, and emerged with a speargun.

  “How about you point that at the ground,” he said, as she ran into his back. “And slow down. We have no idea what’s out there.” He started down the moonlit path. Before they broke from the brush into the clearing, he stopped suddenly and crouched down with her at his shoulder.

  “See anything?” she whispered in his ear.

  “Not yet. That boat’s in the way.” He pointed at Marvin’s cruiser. “You stay here. I’m going to crawl over there and get a better view.” He slid on his belly underneath some scrub palm trees and into the clearing with the boat trailer and kayak. Once clear of the brush, he got on his hands and knees and crept toward the water using the mangroves for cover.

  He heard the unmistakable sound of a man sloshing toward shore and prepared to attack. Mel had probably heard it also, and if he knew her, the speargun was cocked and ready. He was just about to charge the intruder and yell at her to shoot when he saw Trufante emerge from the water.

  “Shit. What the hell are you doing here?” He stood and walked toward the Cajun. Mel came out of her hiding place as well, speargun at her side.

  “Got to talk.” He looked back over his shoulder.

  Mac picked up on the movement. “Did anyone follow you?”

  “They were, but I was crafty and lost them in the Content Passage.”

  Mac was not convinced. They might not have followed him through the tricky channel, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t skirted the island and followed from a distance. “Come on. Let’s at least get off the beach.” He looked back at the boats tied to the pile. There were too many to go unnoticed.

  He led them through the path to the clearing and started up the stairs to the house. “Should be able to see anyone coming from the back deck.”

  He led the way through the house and out the back door of the bedroom, where the palm trees opened up and allowed a 120 degree view of the water. After tying a bandana around Trufante’s arm to stop the bleeding from where the bullet had grazed him, he looked straight at him.

  “All right. Spill it.”

  “Shoot. You talking to me like I done something wrong,” Trufante whined.

  “When was the last time the three of us were together and you hadn’t done something wrong?” Mel accused.

  Trufante looked down. “I might have got us into this, but I got some intel now. Might be able to save this mess.” He told them about the scene at Jay’s house on Sawyer, about the new man, the player, Commando … everything he could remember. Mac noticed Mel perk up at the mention of the player, and his mind started to calculate how to get Cayenne. Knowing she was there made this more interesting. He had to get her out of there before the men realized she was a risk and eliminated her.

  He put a finger to his mouth to quiet them. Over the rustle of palm fronds blowing in the breeze, the sound of a motor could be heard in the distance. He waited to see if it was coming towards them.

  Chapter 23

  Mac knew they were in trouble as soon as he heard the engines stop. On the small island, with no weapons besides a speargun, a shotgun, and a machete, they were bound to be outgunned, and could be easily cornered. The wood-framed house, though built to withstand a hurricane, was no match for bullets. With nowhere to go and no way to defend themselves, his first concern was to create a distraction and get Mel and Marvin to safety. Marvin’s boat, although not as fast as the triple outboard he’d heard, was fast enough, and with a small head start would make the mainland safely.

  He turned to Mel. “You’ve got to grab the boy and go. We’ll figure some way to keep them busy so you can get out of here. I’m not sure what it will be but as soon as you see it, go for Marathon and tell Jules what’s going on.” He was not sure what the sheriff would be able to do about the CIA agents, but she was the only card they held.

  “What about you? We can all get away,” she said.

  “Tru and I are going back to the house on Sawyer Key to get that woman. That’s the only way I can clear my name and get the boat and house back. Without her, I’m going to jail.”

  Mel didn’t say a word—a sure sign that he was right. She gave him a quick hug and went to wake Marvin.

  “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.<
br />
  “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.