Smoke Reactivated

by Cherry Laska

  “Yessss. Great shot,” Adam said.

  “Those m’er f ’ers terrify me.” She was trying to regulate her heart and catch her breath. She was glad the attack had stopped, but she was furious the suspect they were chasing had gotten away. “We lost him.” She tried to call Joe but couldn’t get service on her phone or Adam’s.

  They worked on the engine for twenty minutes before giving up. “It’s no use,” Adam said, obviously frustrated. He could fix just about anything, but they’d fried the engine. He flopped down.

  Jessica sat next to him. “Sorry I dragged you into this.”

  “Are you kidding? No way. Call me in anytime. We always have a fun time together no matter what crap we’re dealing with.”

  A few minutes later, they saw a spotlight and heard another airboat approaching. A bright streak of red light flew upwards and exploded, illuminating the swamp man from the airboat rental place. He was driving two police officers.

  Jessica and Adam waved their arms to make sure the approaching airboat saw them. “Over here,” Jessica called out. She didn’t want to be in the swamp a minute longer. The swamp man was at the helm and maneuvered the airboat alongside theirs. He threw Adam a line.

  “Tie it off, and we’ll tow you in,” the older officer said. “Your friend back there with the chopper explained everything. You guys all right?”

  “Pretty much. I think he might need stitches.” Jessica said, pointing at Adam’s leg. “And we lost our suspect.” As if on cue, a police helicopter with a searchlight flew overhead. She didn’t hold out much hope that they’d find the guy they were chasing since the swamp was so vast.

  “Aw now, look at that. Dang it. I’m gonna’ have to do a lot of paperwork on that,” swamp man said, referring to the alligator glow lamp bobbing in the water.

  “Sorry. They were attacking us. I think the gators were attracted to the blood.”

  “Yup. That’d do it. Some folks don’t believe gators like blood. They’s wrong. Gators is just like sharks in them regards. I’d say ya got proof of that up close and personal.” He smiled, revealing his rotting yellow and black teeth. “There’s only one thing that attracts ’em faster. Marshmallows is their favorite. And uh, sorry I took a swing at ya. I thought ya was stealing my boat.”

  “I understand,” Jessica said, not caring. She just wanted to get out of there. “I’m afraid your engine’s messed up, but you should be able to file a claim.” She handed him a card. “I really need to get in and make a call. Can we please get going?”

  Swamp guy turned the airboat around. He shouted, “Anytime you folks want to take a ride, it’s on me. Just see me or tell ’em you’re a friend of Billy’s.”

  That’s never going to happen. She opened her eyes wide and mouthed to Adam, “Nnnnnnoooooo.”

  59

  JOE AND ALEJANDRO HAD FINALLY crossed the drawbridge and were on their way to the AirBoat Ride location when Sam relayed the radio call from the police about losing the suspect and towing in Jessica and Adam. They diverted to interrogate the boat captain. They discussed their strategy on the drive over to the holding facility.

  Since the boat driver had been captured on the water, he failed to meet the wet feet clause of the Cuban Adjustment Act and was supposed to be sent back to Cuba. If the boat captain was under Santiago Suarez’s employ, he’d be afraid of being deported home knowing he would be killed for losing the boat and cargo on his run. On the other hand, if the boat captain was permitted to stay in the U.S., Suarez would think this guy had cooperated. Either way the boat captain was screwed. Neither Joe nor Alejandro had any qualms about exploiting the captain’s predicament to get him to talk.

  Joe approached and asked the Petty Officer at the front desk if he’d received the documentation that gave Joe’s team authority. He had. The young coastie waved in the direction of the room down the hall and said, “The driver of the boat is in interrogation room four. He hasn’t said anything since we brought him in.”

  A few years earlier the U.S. Coast Guard might not have cooperated so readily with the CIA. After 9/11, everyone played together much nicer and even shared information, although most times reluctantly.

  “Thanks.” Joe had learned from experience that the less interaction he had with anyone, the more forgettable he’d be, which was the goal.

  He and Alejandro entered the room. The recording devices had been turned off and nobody was on the other side of the twoway mirror. Joe took a position at the end of the metal table with his jaw set and his arms crossed as he stood glaring down at the Cuban. He didn’t say a word. He just stared, letting the fear and nerves build in the apprehended boat driver. The guy was shaking and his eyes were darting around the room. Alejandro sat across from the Cuban. He was skimming through a file, throwing nervous glances at Joe. Alejandro rolled his shoulders and leaned in a little while giving a small smile and greeting the boat driver in a way a concerned friend would. “Hola, mi amigo—”

  “English only,” Joe barked.

  Alejandro jumped slightly and looked nervously at Joe for the Cuban’s benefit. “I’m sorry, sir.” Readdressing the boat captain Alejandro said, “My name is Alex. Do you speak English?”

  Nothing.

  “I hope you talk to me. I’m the only hope you have.”

  Continued silence.

  “It is only a matter of time until we pick up the men you dropped off on the beach. We have our best forensic scientists going over the boat as we speak.” Alejandro paused and let this sink in before going in for the kill. “Señor, we already know you work for the Suarez and Lopez organizations.”

  A startled look flashed on the man’s face.

  Joe didn’t hold back for a nanosecond. His tone was the complete opposite of Alejandro’s friendly, compassionate one. “You either tell us everything you know right now, or we put you in a hotel downtown and make sure the right people know about it. Of course, they’ll assume that you cooperated with us.” Joe gave him an evil smile and added, “And you know what they will do.”

  The Cuban was sweating and trembling. Joe’s interrogation training taught him not to waiver. If the suspect saw that the interrogator felt sorry for him, even a little, he’d hold out. Joe kept his eyes cold and dark and his jaw set.

  The Cuban smuggler broke. “My name is Teofilo Garcia. I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said in a low, desperate voice with an accent so thick that Joe barely understood him. “I have no family left in Cuba anymore anyway. Why not start over in America?” He was silent for a minute before he said, louder and more clearly, “I want money and protection.”

  Joe nodded once but didn’t relax his stance.

  “That can be arranged,” Alejandro said. “Now, tell us everything you know about the cargo you were carrying. I’m especially interested in anything out of the ordinary.”

  The Cuban boat driver swore in Spanish, took a breath, and began talking. He didn’t hold back anything.

  60

  THE SMUGGLER’S BOAT HAD BEEN lifted out of the water and placed in a private hangar. Due to the boat’s excellent fireproofing, the damage from the disabling hit Sam had delivered had been mostly contained in the engine compartment. Marshall was watching the methodical search from an elevated platform with the Coast Guardsman in charge. He was actually quite impressed with their technique and had complimented the man overseeing the job.

  “We’ve had a lot of experience. You wouldn’t believe some of the crazy things we’ve seen. These guys get very creative.” They watched the men continue to take the boat apart. “They fit things, and people for that matter, in places you’d never think things could fit. If it wasn’t a war, I’d almost admire them for their ingenuity.”

  A few minutes later, a Coast Guardsman waved to his superior to come down off the platform to his position in the center of the boat. Marshall followed to see what they had found. He snapped a picture and sent it along with a secure message to Joe.

  “Please let me know if you find anyt
hing else,” Marshall said to the Coast Guardsman, and handed him a card with a fake name and a number that would route any calls through a special designated line for this case to the team’s suite at Langley.

  Marshall speed-walked to his car and headed back to the hotel.

  61

  REZA PULLED HIS CAR INTO the Miccosukee Restaurant parking lot. He circled around, amazed he couldn’t find an open spot. Everything but the restaurant/bar was closed at this late hour. Other cars were along the curb, so he parked there as well. He got out, locked the car, and walked across the street to the entrance of the trail to Shark Valley Visitor’s Center. This hadn’t been the plan, but when his contact called him and explained the situation, Reza agreed to drive to the area for the exchange. This part of the Everglade’s National Park was deserted and would work well for him. He continued down the paved path, watching out for the dangerous creatures freely roaming the area, until he found a good spot to wait.

  When he finally heard the tinny hum growing louder, Reza shut his eyes and flashed his flashlight three quick times. He quickly moved further down the path and stepped just inside the vegetation, so he’d be hidden from view. He watched as the airboat came into sight and heard the driver cut back on the throttle. The man ran the platform bottom onto shore, grabbed the bag, and climbed out. Before he could wonder where on the shore Reza was, Reza took careful aim and fired.

  Fifteen minutes later, with the airboat back in the swamp and the bloody body left in the shallow water to be eaten by the gators, Reza had secured the duffle bag under the blankets in the trunk of the white Chevy Lumina he was driving. He’d purposely requested this model, knowing it was one of the most common rental cars on the road. He had several long days of driving ahead of him and needed to do everything possible not to be spotted. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He’d dyed his hair and eyebrows a forgettable mousy brown. He was, in a word, nondescript. He planned to set the cruise control five miles over the speed limit. His research had shown that this was the absurdly accepted norm, and therefore would appear less suspicious than driving under or at the posted speed limit.

  Reza didn’t think the Americans were on to him, but he would be listening to the news radio stations just in case. They had chased the incompetent fools he’d been forced to work with to get his cargo into the country, but that was normal policy for Customs and the Coast Guard. It was irrelevant now. The delivery man wouldn’t be talking.

  Reza praised Allah for guiding him safely on his mission and climbed into the driver’s seat. He crumpled the ticket that had been left on his windshield and threw it out the window. Being a man of his word, Reza used his phone to transfer the balance of what he owed to the smuggler Suarez. The transaction was complete. He grabbed a bottle of water and a sandwich from the small cooler. He would drink only what was necessary to stay hydrated, limiting his need for bathroom breaks. He fastened his seat belt, started the car, and smiled, feeling confident he would succeed on his mission. He had come so far. Now all he had to do was keep moving forward, carefully following his plan. Within a week, he would fulfill his duty to his people. Reza had adjusted his body rhythm to sleep during the day. He knew where he would stop and when. He was focused on his calling and would get his revenge.

  62

  MARK WAS WORKING WITH THE police to find the other two men who’d run from the boat. They were systematically covering the Strip, moving from hot spots to shops and from cafes to restaurants. They interviewed the pretty men and women, asking if they’d seen Cuban men dressed in all black with black backpacks, possibly acting suspicious. Many of the patrons of South Beach had been partying and people-watching, which resulted in multiple conflicting sightings.

  Jessica joined up with Mark at Nikki Beach. They were working their way through the crowd. She was a mess and was getting a lot of strange looks. Mark was also getting a lot of looks from women and men, but they were looking at him in a completely different way.

  “What?” he asked when Jessica rolled her eyes.

  “You’re total eye candy.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t help it if these fine ladies and gentlemen find me attractive. Hey, it’s a compliment whether it’s a man or woman who’s appreciating my beauty.”

  “Very true. I’m glad you’re so open minded,” she said laughing. “You’re also incredibly vain.”Mark approached a very well-endowed young lady and described the man they were looking for.

  “Oh my god, yes. That jerk bumped into me at Space. He made me spill my drink all over my dress.” She showed them the red stain. “It was a vodka cranberry, and of course I’m wearing white. I mean look at this, and the bartender even refused to give me a new drink. Hey, like can I get a reward or at least money for my dress?”

  “No, but you have our appreciation and the satisfaction of knowing you helped the authorities,” Jessica said. She and Mark turned to hustle over to Space, as the officer who was with them radioed in the information. She heard the girl yelling something after them but tuned her out.

  Outside Space, people were wrapped around the block waiting to get in. Jessica glanced at her watch. It was 12:15 a.m. She and Mark walked to the front of the line and before she could say anything, the bouncer held up his hand.

  “Yo. The gentleman can go in, and you is fine and all, but there are a lot of good-looking ladies waiting. And you can see they’re dressed up a little bit more, no?” the doorman said in a thick Cuban accent and gestured to the crowd of scantily clothed women who were all about fifteen to twenty years younger than Jessica. She was glad at least the doorman hadn’t called her old. Mark looked from Jessica, who was sweaty with messy hair and still dressed in her yoga pants, t-shirt, and sneakers, to all the women in line. They, in contrast, were made-up from head to toe with club hair, make-up, jewelry, short dresses, and heels.

  Mark said grinning, “He’s got a point. You could have at least put on some lipstick.”

  Jessica was hot, sticky, and could smell herself. She was glad Mark felt comfortable enough to bust on her and gave him a smile. She pulled out her credentials and showed the doorman.

  “You just got way hotter, mami. Right this way.”

  They went through the double doors. The music had seemed loud outside the club, but inside it was so ridiculously loud she could feel the vibrations pulsing through her entire body. The club was dark and packed.

  She shouted in Mark’s ear, “How about if you find the DJ and make him turn the lights up and the music off. The unies can block the exits, and I’ll start asking people if they’ve seen our guys.”

  Mark gave her a nod and took off, fighting his way through the crowd. He was quickly swallowed by the mash of partiers. Jessica took her hair out of her ponytail, ran her hands through it, and put it back up. She took a deep breath and started moving.

  As she walked around the edge of the dance floor, she asked people if they had seen the men they were looking for. To speed things along, Jessica got a method going. She’d hold someone’s arm, flash her badge, then shout in his or her ear. The place was wild and there was some serious free love going on. Jessica was getting her share of it. Hands seemed to come out of nowhere and caress her as she went through the crowd. She wondered what was taking Mark so long. When she crossed through the tightly packed dancers, she was bounced between people moving their bodies to the music.

  “What the hell?” Jessica said as she felt a hand from behind slide down her ass and between her legs. On reflex, she jumped and spun around. A guy began gyrating and rubbing himself against her. “CIA, jerk! Back off.” He didn’t. He high-fived his friend, who had come up and sandwiched her from behind. “Stop,” Jessica yelled. They continued their perverted version of dirty dancing. The hand from the guy behind her wrapped around and squeezed Jessica’s breast. She’d had enough. She kneed the guy in front of her in the balls as hard as she could. He fell to the ground. In one fluid motion she grabbed the hand feeling her up, stomped on his foot, spun, twisting his arm at
the wrist back and upwards to the point he dropped, and she had total control. The music suddenly stopped and the lights came up. “That’s not how you treat a woman,” Jessica shouted in the faces of the two guys lying on the ground in the center of dance floor. The crowd cheered and applauded. She looked up to see Mark at the DJ’s elevated control station, leaning toward the microphone.

  “Sorry that took a while. Were those fellas a bit “handsy?” There was laughter from the crowd. Mark said, “Sorry to interrupt the party. We’ll get y’all back to it as quick as we can. We need to ask a few questions in the interest of national security. Have any of y’all seen one or two Cuban men wearin’ dark clothes and possibly carryin’ large black canvas backpacks? They may have been actin’ a bit squirrely.”

  A man with many tattoos and piercings shouted, “That sounds like a guy who was just here. He ran when that chick started pounding those two douche bags. He took off toward the back.” At the sound of a gunshot, Jessica and Mark moved toward the rear.

  Jessica burst out the back doors. She found an officer kneeling over one of the guys they were after. Her eyes moved to the growing pool of dark liquid reflecting the lights in the area. She spotted the gun a few feet away on the sidewalk where it had been kicked out of reach of the suspect. Another officer went to secure it.

  “Crap,” she mumbled.

  Mark made it outside as a sheet was being placed over the dead smuggler. He joined Jessica and they found the lead policeman for an update. The second suspect had been found hiding in a cabana at the Delano where his wife worked as a maid. He claimed not to be a part of the crew. He said he had paid the smugglers to get him to the U.S. and denied knowing anything about the cargo or anyone else being transported. “Our detectives are pressing him. If we’re lucky and he saw something useful, they’ll get it out of him.” He handed Mark a card. “You can contact the detectives here.”