Fallen King: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 6) (16 page)

Why would a small boat be coming out of the southeast? There’s no land that way except … Haiti! Impossible! That’s seven hundred miles of open ocean. The only other possibility was that they came out of one of the islands in the Keys and were intentionally approaching out of the sun.

Once on the deck in the cockpit, I stepped up onto the starboard gunwale and shielded my eyes, straining to make out the approaching boat. I could hear the sound of the outboard approaching, but still couldn’t see it. I waved my arms and pointed out to sea several times, trying to direct them away from my divers.

Suddenly, a twenty-foot runabout went screaming by less than thirty feet away with two black men on board. As I reached for my Sig I saw the man in the back of the boat throw something toward me, splashing into the water ten feet away. It was followed instantly by another as the driver pointed a gun at me and started shooting.

Instinctively, I knew he had no chance of hitting me and little chance of even hitting the
Revenge
, so I aimed carefully, but didn’t return fire.

Suddenly the boat rocked to port, knocking me off balance and into the water as two geysers shot up from the depths. The runabout never slowed down, speeding off around the marker and heading back toward the islands. I swam quickly to the dive platform empty-handed, having dropped my gun when hitting the water. Kim came running out of the salon and I shouted for her to get back inside as I levered myself up onto the platform.

“What’s going on, Dad?” Kim shouted, leaning over the transom.

“Just get back inside!” I yelled, quickly throwing one leg after the other over the transom, rolling across it and heading to the storage cabinets. She started to protest, but I shoved her inside, locking the hatch from the inside and closing it. I grabbed a mask from the cabinet and in two quick strides, I was over the side and putting the mask on underwater.

Quickly tilting my head back, I broke the seal around my cheeks and exhaled through my nose to clear the water. Then, jackknifing my body, I started kicking for the bottom thirty-five feet below. The two women were drifting near the base of the reef, either dead or knocked out. One of the divers was swimming to them and another was holding the sides of his head, but swimming to the inert third diver. I recognized the equipment on the diver headed toward the women as my own and knew it was Stockwell.

I started swimming after Stockwell, diving deeper and from above him. As he reached Mitzi, I came down right next to him. Pointing to Annette who was twenty feet away, I grabbed Mitzi under the arms and with my lungs starving for air, I pushed off the bottom with all I had. In the back of my mind I recognized that the sound of the boat’s propeller was getting fainter and headed away.

My lungs were burning from being down too long and as I kicked frantically for the surface I started to release the air in my lungs. Breaking the surface, gasping for air, I took Mitzi in a cross-body drag, kicking toward the stern of the
Revenge
about twenty feet away.

Stockwell surfaced with Annette in tow. Wearing fins, he quickly passed me, pulling her inert body behind him. Reaching the dive platform, he quickly shed his gear and climbed up, pulling the Annette up behind him. I reached the platform and Stockwell pulled Mitzi up onto it with Annette before helping me up onto it.

Together we pulled both women through the transom door. Neither was breathing and we found no pulse, so we started CPR. Hearing splashing from behind the boat, I looked back and saw both Tom and Peter swimming under their own power toward the dive platform. As I started to lower my mouth to Mitzi’s once more, she began spitting up foamy, pink seawater. I left her there and banged on the hatch for Kim to open it. When she did, I told her to pull Mitzi inside the salon and wrap her in a blanket.

“She’s probably in shock and suffering an embolism,” I added as I quickly climbed up to the bridge and started the engines.

I engaged the windlass, but it seemed to take forever for it to drag the boat forward before the change in its pitch told me the anchor had come free. When I heard the rattle of the chain on the roller, I glanced back and saw Tom closing the transom door and Travis still bent over Mitzi’s body. Peter was collapsed in the corner, but waving off Tom’s help.

I engaged the transmissions and pushed both throttles to the stops. The
Revenge
responded instantly, surging forward and up, climbing on top of the water as I spun the wheel to the right. I straightened out, heading east. Once she reached planing speed the hull broke the surface bond of the water and we quickly accelerated to over forty-five knots.

I glanced back down to the cockpit and saw that Tom and Travis were both working on Annette, who still lay motionless on the deck. I turned back and checked the radar as I reached for the radio mic. I saw the runabout on the screen. It was headed due east about two miles ahead. I keyed the mic. “
Dockside
!
Dockside
! This is
Gaspar’s Revenge
with an emergency!”

Seconds later a voice came back over the speaker. “
Gaspar’s Revenge
, this is
Dockside
. How can we help?”

“I’m coming in with injured divers. CPR is being performed on one, another has a possible embolism, and there are three others that are awake, condition unknown.”

“Contacting Fisherman’s Hospital now,
Gaspar’s Revenge
. Come straight to the fuel dock, we’ll have transportation waiting for you. What happened, Jesse?”

It was then that I recognized the voice. Robin used to work at
Dockside
until about a year ago, but left suddenly. “Those idiots from Miami just threw grenades at us, Robin.” Somberly, I added, “I had five divers in the water.”

I glanced back down at the cockpit. Nobody was there and Kim was climbing up to the bridge. “How are they?”

“Not good, Dad,” she replied, sitting down in the second seat. “Mister Simpson can’t hear anything and is bleeding from one ear. Mitzi and Annette are both awake, but coughing up blood.”

She saw me glance at the radar and checked it herself, looking at me with a concerned expression. The other boat was only a mile ahead, but we were coming up to Sombrero Key light and they were angling to go on the south side of it. The straighter course to Knights Key Inlet or Sister Creek would take us well to the north of it.

Every fiber of my being wanted to chase them down and crush them under the bow, but I eased the wheel to the left, putting the light on our starboard bow. Kim switched the sonar to forward scan and looked around to check where we were.

“
Dockside
,” I said, keying the mic again, “our ETA is less than ten minutes.”

“Roger, Jesse. Ambulances are on the way.”

“Are they going to be okay?” Kim asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I hope so. I just don’t know.”

The intensity of the concussion from a grenade is magnified underwater. Peter had no doubt ruptured an eardrum and likely the others had as well. The two women coughing up blood indicated a serious embolism. At thirty-five feet the pressure was more than double that on the surface and to compensate the external pressure, air is delivered through the regulator at the same pressure. Essentially, a breath at that shallow depth held the same volume of air as two breaths on the surface. If a diver came up too fast while holding their breath, the air in their lungs would expand, causing an embolism, or air bubble, that could block blood flow to part of the body, or worse, enter the heart and stop all blood circulation.

Another voice came over the speaker, “
Gaspar’s Revenge
, this is Monroe County Deputy Martin Phillips.”

“Go ahead, Deputy Phillips.”

“Did I understand you to say you were attacked? I’m motoring into Sister Creek now.”

“Head back out!” I said. “Two black men in an eighteen-foot yellow runabout heading east, just passing Sombrero Key light. You can be on them in five minutes. Be careful, they’re armed with handguns and grenades.”

“Roger that,” he responded. “Any idea where they’re headed?”

“No idea, but if you had a stolen boat report in the last couple of hours, they’re probably heading back to where they left their car before stealing it.”

“Yes, we did. A deputy is there now. We’ll take it from here,
Gaspar’s Revenge
.”

A moment later, I could just make out the deputy’s boat coming out of Sister Creek dead ahead, coming up on plane, blue lights flashing. I waited until the radar picked him out of the background scatter and picked up the mic again.

“Deputy Phillips, this is
Gaspar’s Revenge
.”

He responded and looking at the two blips on the radar, I said, “On your radar, at a heading of about one hundred and thirty degrees, a mile past East Washerwoman. Do you see him?”

“Roger,
Gaspar’s Revenge
. Are you certain that’s the boat that attacked you?”

“Absolutely,” I replied. “It’s the only other boat on my screen in the area and I’ve had a fix on it since they attacked us.”

“We’ve got him, thanks for your help.”

I hung up the mic and concentrated on the approach, which was coming up at almost fifty knots now. As much as I hated to, I was going to go up the creek a lot faster than is prudent or allowed. It’s a no wake zone, but I was going to be up on plane all the way into Boot Key Harbor.

I made the turn and lined up the green and red markers. As I neared the wide mouth of the creek, I brought the speed down to thirty knots, preparing for the few blind turns just beyond.

Making our way up the creek, I cringed at each noise behind us. The sound of boats on either side banging against their docks. No doubt there were at least a few people on their phones calling the sheriff’s office already.

I slowed to twenty knots as I came to the opening into the harbor and hoped there wouldn’t be anyone heading out from around the blind turn. I spun the wheel and the
Revenge
responded, turning hard right and heeling over, kicking up spray to the port side.

Nothing in the channel, I pushed the throttles, keeping the big boat on plane all the way to
Dockside
’s
fuel dock at the east end of the harbor. I could see the red flashing lights of several ambulances as I brought the boat down off plane and approached the dock. Kim climbed down and went to the bow, ready to toss a line to one of the men on the dock.

Minutes later, we were tied up and moving the divers to the waiting ambulances. The EMTs loaded Mitzi into the first ambulance. She’d lost consciousness. It took off for the short half-mile ride to Fisherman’s Hospital. Or possibly a much longer ride to a hyperbaric chamber in either Key West or Islamorada.

Stockwell declined transport, saying he was fine except for a little ringing in his ears. “I was furthest away from both explosions. The grenades fell between the girls and the photographer, closer to the girls, not ten feet away from them.”

Annette was loaded into the second ambulance in a stretcher, awake and answering the questions from the EMT. It spun out, spraying crushed coral as its tires lost traction. They grabbed the asphalt of the road with a screech and the ambulance roared away, siren wailing. Tom and Peter both climbed into the third ambulance on their own and it followed after the other two.

“Do they have a chamber at the hospital here?” Stockwell asked.

“No,” I replied. “Nearest ones are the Army’s Underwater Warfare School on Fleming Key and Mariner’s Hospital on Islamorada. Both are about forty miles away.”

In the distance, we could hear the first ambulance’s siren fading as it headed north, away from Fisherman’s Hospital. A moment later, the sound of the second one faded away to the north, also.

“They’re taking the women to Islamorada,” Kim said as the sound of an approaching outboard grew louder behind us.

I turned to see a Monroe County Sheriff’s patrol boat idling up to the dock behind the
Revenge
. It had the runabout in tow and there were two uniformed deputies on board. The two black men were handcuffed and sitting on the deck in the open cockpit area ahead of the center console.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, the two men O’Hare had run over had been in Deuce’s custody, flying north in a chopper. Now the smaller of the two and another young black man were right here, handcuffed once more.

I turned to Travis and said, “Follow my lead and be ready to show your badge.”

I walked toward the patrol boat as the deputies were tying off.
What was the thug’s name again?
I thought.
Gabriel something?

The punks looked up as the two deputies hoisted them to their feet and the smaller man saw me looking down at him, smiling. The hardness in his face turned to fear.

“Hello, Gabe. Long time, no see.”

“He doesn’t speak English,” one of the deputies said, stepping up to the dock with Gabriel, now visibly shaken. The deputy was young, maybe twenty or twenty-one. But I’d served with younger men and they were more than competent.