Wood's Reef (24 page)

Her phone showed three bars and an arrow, indicating the GPS was active. She opened the text message, highlighted the first GPS number, and entered it into the hiking program she used when she ran trails. Back in the text window she repeated the procedure with the second number and hit
goto
. The program went to a new screen, an arrow showing the direction of the coordinates, several data boxes below showing distance and speed. According to the device, they were only three miles away. She held the display up for Trufante to see.

“Nice, but I need it on a chart. Follow that arrow and we’ll be digging out from some sandbar. This dude must have been sporting around on some lake with this thing.” The unit was a low-end depth finder. No GPS or chart functions. 

“Do your best.” She climbed on the leaning post used for a seat, grabbed hold of the welded stainless tubing that held the t-top, and pulled herself up for a better view. “I’ll yell if I see anything.”

A quarter mile before the waypoint she climbed down. “I can see Mac’s boat out there. We need to move in slow, kind of serpentine so the Navy guy doesn’t know who we are.” 

Trufante glanced around the boat and noticed a couple of fishing rods. “Grab one of those rods and put it out like we’re trolling. I’ll set a course so we pass by them. Anyone watching should be able to see that we’re dragging a line. That should throw ‘em off.”

She searched the water in all directions, trying to figure out where Mac was and how he would get out here without his boat. She trusted his resourcefulness, but wished she knew what he was up to. The clicker sounded as she started to let line out, the lure bouncing in the wake of the boat. 

“Turn that damned clicker off. I know your dad taught you better than that.”

“Like that’s what we need to be worrying about now. Get your priorities straight.”

“But still. Turn the damned clicker off.”

They covered the distance in twenty minutes at a fast trolling speed. Trufante turned slightly, angling to get within fifty feet of Mac’s boat. He turned the boat into a large, easy turn, taking them at ninety degrees to their previous course.

“Something’s wrong.” He pointed to the water aft of the boat. “There’s a fuel slick.”

“What could have caused that? Look, there’s bubbles 100 feet back of the boat. Looks like they have a diver in the water. No flag, though.”

“Isn’t that Mac’s board off that buoy? Son of a bitch, if he didn’t paddle all the way out here.”

“He got here on that?” Mel looked at him, shocked.

“Yeah, dude’s a stud on that thing.”

She had a picture forming in her mind of Mac fighting the seas on the toothpick floating by the buoy. A smile briefly crossed her face, interrupted by the clicker on the reel going off. The clicker buzzed louder and faster as line poured off the reel. “Crap, what now? This is all we need.”

“That’ll give us an excuse to get closer. Set the hook on the son of a bitch. I’ll start working closer to Mac’s boat as you bring it in.”

Mel grabbed the reel, her muscle memory taking over. She’d caught her share back in the day. She turned off the clicker and tightened the drag. The mono line started to pull as the hook set. “Shark. I can see its dorsal fin break the water. Black tip, probably.”

“Just bring her in slow. I’m going to start edging over to Mac’s boat.”

***

Mac saw the other boat. That was all he needed — a wayward tourist. He could see the sun’s reflection on the fishing line coming off the stern. What the devil was that guy trolling out here for?

He looked again as the boat moved closer. It was clear now that the fisherman was a woman. The man driving the boat turned toward him, flashing a huge grin, and Mac paused. He knew those teeth. He looked again at the woman, realizing it was Mel, and motioned for them to come closer. Trufante saw him and changed course. Mel had her back to them, still fighting whatever was on the line.

He looked around him, distraught at the thought of losing his boat. The fuel slick continued to grow. It surrounded the boat now as diesel continued to pour from the bullet hole. He paused hoping this would not be the last time his feet touched the familiar deck, then made a quick decision to abandon ship and jumped over the side. 

***

 The shark jumped, sensing that it was trapped, and Mel didn’t react in time. As the shark’s body left the water, it twisted and wrapped its tail fin in the leader. The line was no match for the abrasive skin, which quickly sliced through the monofilament. The shark, disoriented and exhausted from the fight, swam slowly on the surface for a moment, letting fresh water circulate through its gills to revive it. 

Mac splashed on the surface as he swam toward the boat. Mel gasped, noticing the tail fin as it turned toward him and accelerated. The dorsal fin showed its intention as the shark made a quick pass around him. She felt helpless as it circled again, this time closer to Mac. Suddenly it turned and butted him in the side. 

Trufante stood motionless at the wheel.

“Quick - turn towards them. See if you can get us between Mac and the shark,” she yelled. She almost fell as the boat tilted with the quick change in course. “Good - now go get him.” Her heart pounded as the boat closed the gap. The shark prowled the waters nearby, not sure what to do about the boat. They were close now. “Cut the engine. Don’t want to hit him with the prop.” 

The boat settled in the water as they both leaned over the side waiting for Mac to reach them. They were so engrossed with his plight in the water that they didn’t notice the pistol aimed at them from Mac’s boat until the voice called out.

Chapter 45

The deputy backed off the throttle as he hit the no wake zone and rounded the corner entering the yacht club basin. He let the wind and current take him to the dock. Once there, he cut the engine and went forward to tie off the boat. Doans was handcuffed to the stainless steel tubing that supported the t-top, his arms wrapped around the pipe. 

Once the bow line was secured, the deputy moved to the stern, grabbed the line, and hopped on the dock. The boat brushed lightly against the rub rail as he secured the second line.

“Stay here. I’m gonna get the trailer and pull us out.”

“Like I'm going anywhere,” Doans said. 

The deputy ignored him and went for the truck. He had just reached his truck when the UHaul pulled up. He took no notice, thinking it was going to turn around.

***

“There's the infidel,” Ibrahim said. “What’s that fool doing handcuffed to the Sheriff’s boat. Idiot. Typical American dog.”

“What are we going to do? He has obviously failed.”

“Yes, he has failed, but Allah be praised, He has given us the tool we need to complete our mission. Look. He has delivered us a boat. Quickly, let’s go.”

“What about the deputy?”

“If we hurry, we will be gone before he even knows it.”

The two men jumped out of the truck and ran toward the dock. They reached the boat and looked at each other. “Untie the rope, Behzad.”

Ibrahim stepped into the boat and turned the key. The engine turned over. Behzad untied the lines and followed. Ibrahim pushed the throttle to far forward. The boat jumped. Doans slammed against the stainless steel tower and fell to his knees. They were about to hit a trailer when Ibrahim looked at Doans, his eyes wide with fear.

“For Christ’s sake. Find neutral, then pull back. Slowly.” The boat moved backward in response. “Now cut the wheel and push it forward. Easy.” Ibrahim followed his directions, satisfied with himself as the boat moved toward the inlet. “It’s just like a car. Just take it easy.”

“What now?”

“Keep going. Head toward the bridge. There’s an island part way down. We can ditch the boat there and walk back on the foot bridge. We need to lose the boat or they’ll find us.”

Ibrahim was out of the inlet, but still unsure of the throttle. The boat was going too slowly to get up on plane, and the stern sunk deep in the prop wash, bow jutting high in the air.

“You’ve got to give it some more gas to get it to level out.”

He punched the throttle, swinging Doans around the pipe and slamming him into the leaning post. The boat resumed it’s previous posture.

“No, really. Push the throttle. We’ll never get there like this.”

Ibrahim tried again. This time he got the boat to plane out. It accelerated across the water, his hands white knuckled on the steering wheel as the boat bounced from wave to wave, swerving out of control. The propellers gained an octave every time the boat left the water.

“You can slow now. Just give her enough gas to stay on plane.”

Ibrahim slowly got the feel for the boat. Pigeon Key was dead ahead.

He turned perpendicular from the bridge and headed towards the open water of the gulf.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“You will take us to the bomb.”

“Negative, Ahab. That thing’s bigger than this boat. We go by the island like I said and stay low. The bomb will come to us.”

Ibrahim thought for a moment before grudgingly admitting the infidel was probably right. He turned the boat parallel with the bridge. 

“Take it wide around the island. I think there’s a spot we can pull up and get off this thing.”

Wanting nothing more to do with the devil’s craft, Ibrahim followed his directions. “We need to renegotiate your fee. You have clearly failed, he said.

“My ass. You would have flipped this boat if I wasn't here. Don’t suppose you can swim, either.”

“Nevertheless, you have returned without the bomb.”

“Just wait. It should be coming over the horizon any time now.”

***

The deputy backed down the ramp, set the parking brake, and got out, ready to pull the boat on the trailer. He pulled the winch cable out and looked around, wondering where the boat was. He looked out into the water, confused, and could just make out the blue and red light-bar on top of the t-top as it pulled around the bend. 

“What do you mean they’ve got the boat?” Jules yelled in the radio. “The terrorist guy too? Sit tight. I'll be right there.”

She pulled up a few minutes later. The deputy gave a rundown and took the tongue lashing like a man. She would have gone on, but needed to act and recover the boat. She called in a BOLO for the boat and its occupants over the radio, catching some sarcasm from the Highway Patrol and the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard offered their helicopter, housed nearby at Marathon’s small airport. 

Jules asked the Coast Guard dispatcher to have the chopper wait for her.

Chapter 46

“I’m going to need your help here.” Sue looked toward Wood. The Navy crewman was laid out on a blanket, the wrecked boat shielding him from the wind. She had re-rigged the Bimini top from the boat, providing protection from the afternoon sun. 

Wood crawled over and made himself as comfortable as possible, though his side hurt with every movement. The crewman had a towel wrapped around his shoulder and neck, the speargun shaft protruded from the center. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling but his breath was shallow. 

“Here we go.” She grasped the shaft, leveraging herself to pull it out. “You’ve got to take the towel and apply pressure as soon as this comes out.”

“Slow down, girl, You won’t be pulling that out without tearing him apart. That spear’s got a barb on the end that will open if you pull backwards. Only way that’s coming out is to push it through. Same as a fish hook.”

“That’s gonna be ugly. Roll him on his side. We’ll take a look.” They rolled him onto his side. Wood watched as she stared at the man. She looked like she was trying to visualize the interior of the shoulder. It had cleared the bone, just missing it. Slowly she pushed the spear further into his body, causing him to squirm, though he remained unconscious. Pushing harder now, she wiggled the shaft slightly, working the tip around an unknown obstruction. His body twitched in pain as she navigated the tip. Slowly she worked it, first an inch, then two. A bulge appeared on the skin where the shaft was ready to come through.