by Tripp Ellis
We had amassed a small stack on the deck, but it was nothing compared to what was left in the sub—nearly 8 tons of cocaine.
“Why don’t we just lift the whole damn thing?” JD suggested. “Gotta be easier than this. A couple lift bags and presto.”
“I think it’s a little more complicated than that.”
“I know a guy who might be able to help.”
“My friend, Kurt, runs a salvage operation. He pulls boats out of the water all the time. I know he can handle this,” JD assured.
We’d been at it most of the night and didn't have much to show for our efforts.
By the time we recovered the ROV, the morning sun was cresting over the water. The orange ball of flame glimmered across the waves. I was tired, distraught, and time was running out.
I had one more sunrise to figure this out.
JD called Kurt, and an hour later we met him at the harbor that was home to his salvage operation.
Kurt was mid 30s, curly brown hair, blue eyes, and an athletic build. His tanned skin had seen plenty of hours in the sun.
He had an offshore support tug with a red hull and a white bridge. It was 40 meters long, had a draft of 4 meters, and 2 CAT diesel engines putting out close to 8000 hp. The tug had a top speed of 15 knots and a bollard pull of 80 tons. It had a forward towing winch, a deck crane, and a single drum towing winch.
There were 10 spacious cabins, a large wheelhouse, a ship’s office, multiple storage compartments, and even a small gym. It was equipped with radar, satellite data systems, echo-sounder, sat telephone, gyro stabilizer, auxiliary generators, and more. It was capable of multiple salvage and support operations, including firefighting.
"Now, what is it you’re trying to bring up again?" Kurt asked.
JD and I exchanged a glance, then he pulled out his badge. “I don’t know if I mentioned it, but we're working with the Sheriff's Department now. What I'm about to tell you is official police business, and must be kept confidential."
"Sure thing."
“We're trying to recover a narco sub in 110 feet of water."
"What size is it?"
"75 feet. Fiberglass and Kevlar hull, with reinforced steel beams." I said.
"How much cargo?"
"Roughly 8 tons, give or take."
"No problem. We do this all the time for the Coast Guard and the DEA. I’ve pulled Go-Fast boats out of the water, planes, submersibles, you name it. Why don't you just call the DEA? Isn't this their turf, anyway?"
"This is a very sensitive operation," JD said. "We are deep undercover right now and we have concerns that someone in the agency may be leaking information."
It was total bullshit.
Kurt’s eyes widened. "Really?"
JD nodded.
“I can salvage it for you. Am I billing the county for this?"
JD and I exchanged another glance.
"How much is this going to cost?" JD asked.
"If I'm billing the county… $25,000."
Both of our eyes widened.
"What?" JD exclaimed.
“If you don't think that's reasonable, you can find somebody else to do it. The going rate is $150 to $250 a foot for harbor salvage. This is the open ocean. Factor in depth and hazards. I’ve got my lift bags, my crew, fuel, plus my time, and the added risk… $335 a foot is a reasonable fee."
"What if we are not billing the county on this one?” JD asked.
Kurt’s eyes narrowed at him. His suspicious gaze flicked between the two of us. "What are you up to?"
"Like I said. This is very undercover, top-secret type stuff. National security," JD said.
Kurt rolled his eyes. He definitely smelled something fishy. “You two aren’t thinking about salvaging the cargo and hustling it on your own, are you?"
"How long have you known me?" JD asked. "Would I do something like that?"
"Yes,” Kurt said flatly, without hesitation.
Jack feigned offense. "I'm hurt that you would think of me in such a way."
"Cut the shit, JD. I'm not helping you do something illegal."
"It's not technically illegal," JD said.
"The cartel is holding my sister hostage,” I said. “If I don't get the cargo up, she's going to die."
That changed Kurt's stance. "Why don't you go to the feds?”
I shook my head. "No way. They'll kill her. And trust me, anyone operating at this level has sources in high places. I'm not taking a chance that they’ve got a mole in the bureau. These kinds of people pay off cops all the time.”
Kurt grimaced and let out a deep breath. "I'm not gonna get in trouble for doing this, am I?"
"We are the police,” JD assured. “Nobody's going to get in trouble for anything.”
Kurt hesitated for a long moment. He didn’t look like he was going to agree to our cockamamy scheme.
33
"Okay. Fuel, equipment, and crew… I can do it for $7000. That’s a friend price.”
“$5000," JD countered.
“$6500. Take it or leave it."
"Deal," I said before JD had a chance to protest.
"We need to get a move on," JD said.
"I can't do it today," Kurt said. "I've got clients."
We both looked at him, incredulous.
"What part of life and death did you not understand?" JD said. "This needs to happen yesterday."
"I can't cancel my client."
"Tell them this is urgent police business. Lives are at stake," JD growled.
After a moment, Kurt relented. “Okay. Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
Kurt made some calls and cleared his schedule. As far as his crew knew, this was just an average day on the water assisting local law enforcement.
We boarded the Wild Tide, and Kurt followed us in the tug back to the dive site.
It was midmorning, and the sun was already high in the sky. We were out on the open water in broad daylight, trying to raise a drug sub. It was so blatantly obvious that we had some type of heavy operation going that I hoped no one would pay us any attention.
We took a tender over to the tug, tied it off, and boarded.
Kurt sent two of his divers into the water with marine lift bags. They were state-of-the-art yellow salvage bags with pressure release valves and attached tanks of compressed air. The divers attached two bags to cleats on the bow, and two bags on the stern. Then the divers would open the valves on the tanks and inflate the lift bags when everything was rigged.
Fully inflated, they looked like giant yellow propane tanks. Each one was capable of hoisting 6000 tons. Four of them could easily lift the submersible. The pressure release valves would automatically let air escape during ascent.
The first set of divers attached the bags. The second set filled them with oxygen. Within 45 minutes of our arrival, Kurt’s crew had the submersible floating at the surface of the ocean.
I couldn't believe my eyes.
My jaw dropped, and I exchanged an ecstatic glance with JD.
"You were seriously going to charge $25,000 to do that?" JD asked. "It took you 45 minutes?”
“That's why I charge $25,000. These other ass-clowns might be out here for a day or two and still not get it up."
I couldn't disagree with him. He was worth every penny.
The divers attached a tow line from the tug to the sub.
"What the hell are you going to do with this thing?" Kurt asked.
JD and I consulted.
"What if we tow it to Shrimp Key Island,” JD said. “We can beach the sub in the shallows and unload the cargo. Nobody ever goes out there."
"You're talking about a submarine," I said. "It's going to draw a little attention."
"We could just rig it with a bunch of C4 and turn it over to Luciana as is. Let her deal with it." JD smiled.
"Somehow I don't think she's going to like that." I paused. "We have to leverage the exchange. She has no incentive to let any of us live."
"I didn't want to say
that, but…"
"Guys." Kurt said. "I don't think you have to worry about that anymore." He pointed to a Coast Guard Defender Class boat on the horizon that was heading our way.
I grimaced, and nerves twisted my stomach.
"If anyone asks, I was acting at the behest of law enforcement,” Kurt said. "This shit’s all on you."
"No worries," JD said. "I've got this."
JD and I had our badges ready as the Defender pulled alongside.
Several Coast Guard officers stood on the deck with assault rifles. The Chief Petty Officer shouted to us through a bullhorn, "Afternoon, gentlemen. Prepare to be boarded."
Within moments, the aft deck swarmed with officers.
"Tyson Wild, Coconut County Sheriff's Department."
"Chief Petty Officer Duane Richardson. What have you got here?"
"Narco sub. We stumbled across it and thought it would be a good idea to take it into custody."
"Why didn't you call us or the DEA? This is a little out of your territory, isn't it?"
“It's complicated,” I said. “We are working a murder investigation. We followed the suspects to this location, then ascertained that they were trying to recover the drugs from the sub. We acted quickly to confiscate the contraband before it disappeared. Frankly, I didn't want to take the chance of missing the opportunity. I understand that we probably didn't follow protocol in the situation, but it seemed justifiable."
"Well, next time, just make sure you call someone in the Joint Task Force, the FBI, the Coast Guard, or the DEA. It's a federal matter."
"You're totally right," I said.
“No harm, no foul," Richardson said. "Why don't you tow this thing to the task force headquarters in Key West?”
“Whoa, hang on a minute there," JD said. “We want credit for this bust!"
"Trust me, you'll get credit."
"No way,” JD protested. “There's 8 tons of cocaine in that sub. I want my picture in the paper as we bring this thing into the harbor. I can see the headline now… Coconut Key Sheriffs make largest drug bust in Florida's history!"
Richardson rolled his eyes. "This isn’t the largest drug bust in Florida history."
"Well, maybe we can fudge a little bit,” JD said.
Richardson took a deep breath, clearly getting annoyed with the two of us.
I crossed my fingers hoping this would go our way.
34
"Let me contact my commander and see how he wants to handle this," Richardson said.
JD and I waited with bated breath while Richardson radioed in. There were a few minutes of back-and-forth, then he turned to us with a grim look. "No dice. Commander says it's gotta go with us."
My whole body tensed, and my throat tightened. I exchanged a nervous glance with JD.
We continued to protest, but it didn't do any good.
JD leaned toward Kurt and muttered in his ear, “Looks like you’re billing the Coast Guard for this one."
Kurt didn't mind. It meant he'd get his full rate.
Kurt’s crew pumped out the water from the submersible, and the Coast Guard confiscated the entire load. They transferred 8 tons of cocaine onto the patrol boat, then scuttled the sub we had worked so hard to raise.
Richardson had us fill out paperwork while the operation was underway. Once everything was completed, the Coast Guard went on their way.
Richardson assured us we would get full credit for the bust.
I couldn't care less. My only chance of saving Madison had vanished.
JD and I thanked Kurt for the effort and took the tender back to the Wild Tide. There were still 50kg of cocaine aboard that we had retrieved the previous night.
I was inconsolable.
My body slumped, and my face was grim. I didn't say a word.
"We'll figure this thing out," JD said, trying to assure me.
"Madison could be anywhere."
"They're keeping her on the yacht. That much is certain,” JD said.
"Isabella is unable to track Luciana’s phone. She probably ditched it."
"If I were her, I would change phones every few days.” He thought for a moment. “I’m sure they took Madison’s phone too. They probably tossed it overboard."
“Luciana’s a smart woman. She wouldn’t have gotten this far if she wasn't."
It was afternoon. I was hungry, tired, and dehydrated. My skin crackled from the sun burn. I had forgotten to put sunscreen on with all the commotion. My head throbbed, and my anxiousness caused my stomach to twist and rumble with acid.
"If it's any consolation, the plan wouldn't have worked anyway,” JD said. "The minute she had that cocaine, she would have killed us all. You know that?”
"I would have liked to think we'd have found a way to avoid that."
We were silent for a long moment. The boat rocked back and forth on the waves.
I had no game plan.
No next move.
The only thing I could do was wait for Luciana's call, tell her we had the cargo, and buy a little time.
JD moved into the salon and started the engines.
I sat in the cockpit, moping.
The boat rumbled as he throttled up and headed back toward Coconut Key.
We arrived at the marina at Diver Down in less than an hour. The sun had dipped below the horizon and the sky was lavender. Sea birds squawked and circled the marina in a flurry before the roost. I gazed at the restaurant as we idled past the rows of boats. It seemed so empty, knowing Madison wasn't there.
I was so mad at myself. This was all my fault. I kept thinking I should never have come back to Coconut Key. I was just putting the people I cared about in jeopardy.
I let myself wallow in my own misery for a few more moments, then I decided this was counterproductive. I was focusing on the wrong thing. I was thinking about everything that had gone wrong, and how horrible the situation was instead of focusing on solutions.
There is always a way.
Nothing is impossible.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was from an unknown caller. "Hello?"
Luciana's angry voice filtered through the speaker. "Please tell me the cocaine that the Coast Guard just confiscated from a submersible isn't mine?"
I hesitated, and a slight grin curled on my lips. She had called me from a burner phone. I was sure Isabella could now find her position. And it would be recent.
"What?" I asked, playing dumb.
"I have a source that told me a salvage crew raised a submersible and the Coast Guard seized nearly 8 tons of cocaine. I don't know about you, but that scenario sounds awfully familiar."
"You know how many drug subs there are out there?" I said. "It's pure coincidence."
"Really? My source tells me this cocaine was stamped with my logo. You want to explain that to me?"
"Okay. You got me. We ran into a little trouble."
"A little trouble?" she said, incensed.
"I'm going to get it back,” I assured.
"You're going to steal the cocaine from the Coast Guard?"
"Well, actually, it will be transferred to the DEA. They'll handle it from there."
“I’ve decided I'm not going to kill your sister. Not right away. I'm going to torture her and make her death as miserable as possible, dragging it out for as long as I can."
"I have connections,” I said. “I can get it back."
"I don't believe you."
"If anything happens to Madison, you are never getting your cargo. Give me another day. I will figure something out."
She huffed. The line was silent for a long moment. "I know I don't have to explain this to you, but I am not the only person you are dealing with here. There are people I work for that are very displeased. They lack my patience—and I am a saint in comparison."
"One more day."
"Fine. But if I don't get what I want, I'm coming for you and everyone you know. Have I made myself clear?"
"Crystal."
She hung up, and I i
mmediately dialed Isabella.
"I need you to track the last number that called this phone," I said.
"I'll see what I can do," Isabella said, then she hung up.
35
We had no sooner docked the boat when Isabella called me back with Luciana’s cell phone coordinates. JD and I looked it up on the map.
“That’s Coral Key,” JD announced.
"There's nothing out there. It's just an empty island."
"Maybe it's not so empty anymore," I said.
JD moved to the helm, and I cast off the lines. We idled out of the marina, then throttled up, and headed toward Coral Key.
We needed to get there as soon as possible. I didn't have up-to-the-minute tracking information, and I wanted to get there before Luciana moved again.
The engines rumbled as we raced across the ocean, carving through the waves. The sky grew dark and the moon rose over the water.
I felt like I had guzzled a pot of coffee, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
JD cut the running lights and slowed the boat about a mile away from Coral Key. We moved forward at about 5 knots. I dashed to the bow and scanned the horizon with night vision goggles. The green optics illuminated the island as plain as day.
JD cut the engines, and we drifted on the water.
Luciana had built a luxury home on the island. A long dock went from the house to the water where the yacht was docked.
It was an island oasis.
A luxury escape for those who could afford such a place.
It was remote enough that she could do just about anything she wanted here.
"You think Madison is there?" JD asked.
"We're about to find out," I said. "Get the drone."
JD moved into the salon and returned a moment later with a Pelican case that housed the drone and its controller. He unlatched the case, and we took the prototype out of the custom cut padding.
I took out the controller. It had two joysticks and several auxiliary knobs and buttons along with an attached screen—similar in design to the Explorer 2’s controller.
JD closed the case, and we set the drone on top of it. It would provide a stable platform to launch the device from. We powered the craft on, and it went through a series of diagnostic checks before giving a green light.
