Wood's Tempest

by Steven Becker

  “That boat was a nice surprise. Should be a good paycheck.” Mac was about to sit, but felt uncomfortable enough standing. Heart-to-heart talks were not in his wheelhouse.

  Trufante nodded.

  “You know that Pamela came to me because she was worried about you,” Mac said, so only Trufante could hear. The Cajun sat motionless. Mac looked at his beer and saw there was barely a quarter left. Ignoring Trufante’s refusal, he went to the cabin and grabbed two bottles. If Trufante didn’t want one, Mac would drink them both. That didn’t turn out to be necessary, as the Cajun reached for the bottle and nodded his thanks.

  “And y’all sat up all night naming boats,” he finally said.

  Mac sensed the jealousy in his voice. “It was you she was looking for.”

  “Well, you found me.”

  Mac retreated a step as if he’d been hit. In all their years together, he’d never seen Trufante act this way. There had been other women before, but none had the effect that Pamela did on him—not even close.

  “Suit yourself,” Mac finally said, and moved back to the helm. He looked forward and saw the red-brick fortress rising from the water, thinking, for the first time in his life, that land might be preferable to a boat.

  He and Trufante had been here before, anchoring in the protected waters at night on fishing trips, so Mac watched Ned and Pamela as they stared at the fort. The sixteen million bricks shipped from Pensacola formed an impressive structure, until they got closer and could see what the ravages of time and a saltwater environment had done to it. The fort had never been completed, and the harsh climate, along with bad engineering, had taken its toll, causing huge chunks of the structure to deteriorate and fall into the sea.

  Mac evaluated the key, not from a tourist’s point of view, but as a captain and salvor. Far enough away from the storm and with Bugarra in custody, he was concerned for his prize. “We’re gonna anchor out.” Even with Kurt involved, he was still worried about how Bugarra would spin the story. Shots had been fired from both vessels, and there was a lack of reliable witnesses. Bugarra, after years of bribing state officials, had influence, and Mac guessed that as soon as Bugarra could get to a phone, one of his teams of attorneys would be enlisted.

  “Ghost Runner to park service headquarters Fort Jefferson,” Mac said into the VHF microphone. The name still sounded foreign, but good. His first choice had been to call Kurt directly, but there was no cell service here.

  “Copy, Ghost Runner. Switch to channel nineteen.”

  Mac entered the channel into the radio’s keypad and called again. He asked to speak to Agent Hunter and was asked to stand by. While he waited, he idled into the harbor on the north side of the fort, dropped anchor, and, with Ned’s help, pulled Bugarra’s boat alongside, where they dropped fenders to separate the hulls, and tied it off.

  “You want to see what you can do with the engines?” he asked Trufante. It was more an order than a question. Trufante lifted his head, drained his beer, and slid over the gunwale, dropping easily to the deck of the other boat. Once aboard, he worked slowly but methodically. As much trouble as he could be to have around, the Cajun could easily take apart an engine and put it back together. As Mac watched, he saw Trufante’s attitude change as he started checking the batteries and electrical connections. If the boat could be started, Trufante would be able to do it.

  Mac turned back to the VHF when he heard his boat called. Kurt Hunter’s voice came over the speaker.

  “I’ll need you to come ashore and give a statement,” Kurt said.

  Mac recognized the businesslike tone and figured that Kurt wasn’t alone. He requested a tender be brought out to pick him up and went to talk to the others. With Trufante occupied, Mac needed to talk Pamela and Ned into staying aboard. There was no telling what either would say. Ned would be helpful in recounting the story, but Pamela was a wild card. Someone needed to keep an eye on her, and she seemed to be intently listening to Ned’s history of the fort.

  Several minutes later, Kurt waved from a small, soft-sided boat and sped toward them. After promising Pamela she could see the fort before they left, Mac waited for Kurt to come alongside, timed the wake, and hopped down to the waiting boat.

  “Appreciate you helping me out here,” Mac said, as Kurt spun the boat, facing the bow to the small beach, where a seaplane was secured. Kurt accelerated, passing the empty ferry, turning to the docks, and coming alongside several other Park Service boats.

  “Bugarra is a piece of work. He’s spinning this to make it look like you sunk his boat.”

  “I did, but it was to avoid being killed.”

  “Let’s leave that first part out,” Kurt said, leading the way to the fort’s entrance. Once inside, he turned to the left and entered a small door marked “Park Service Only.”

  Mac ducked to enter the door and stood hunched over in the humid office. The low-ceilinged room’s veneer was failing, exposing the brick beneath it. A small air conditioner struggled to cool the space, trying to extract the moisture from the porous brick walls. It was treading water at best.

  “Have a seat,” Kurt said.

  Mac again noticed the businesslike tone and waited while a man who appeared to be Kurt’s boss walked in, sat behind a desk, and pulled out a notepad.

  “I’m Richard Farnsworth, the park director. Hunter here says he knows you. That would recuse him from the investigation, but I’ll allow him to stay as a witness.”

  Between the legal tone and with Kurt sidelined, Mac’s advantage had disappeared. He started to wonder if Bugarra had gotten to the director.

  “I already have Mr. Bugarra’s statement. Let’s start when you left Key West.” Farnsworth held up his phone and pressed several buttons before setting it on the table. “I’ll be recording this as well. Do I have your consent?”

  Mac nodded.

  “You can start whenever you’re ready,” Farnsworth said.

  Mac started to recount their morning, being sure to emphasize that he had a boatload of misfits anchored here that he had saved from the storm. “That was my only purpose in being on the water today.” The last thing he wanted was to sound like they were out for a joyride.

  “You understand that the Coast Guard declared Condition Zulu and closed the port last night?”

  “I was only trying to save my boat and friends. I had no intention of needing a rescue until I saw the other boat following us.”

  “Why don’t you describe what happened, then,” Farnsworth said, inching closer to the table.

  “Just past the Marquesas, the sun came out and I saw a reflection on glass behind me. I found it strange that two boats would be out on a day like this and following the same course.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “Nothing, until he shot at us,” Mac said. There was damage on both vessels from the rounds they had exchanged. He had to establish that Bugarra shot first and Mac was only defending himself, his passengers, and his boat. “This falls under the Castle Law,” Mac stated. The Florida law allowing homeowners to protect their home if their life was endangered had been extended to boats in 2011. It turned out that living with a lawyer and having Trufante as your mate provided a substantial legal education.

  “He went as far as to accuse you of piracy. The men with him corroborated his story.”

  “That’s absurd. He shot first.” Mac was scrambling now. What he’d thought was going to be a slam dunk to get Bugarra off his back was now looking like it could land him in jail—ironic, since he was inside Fort Jefferson, which was used as a prison for several decades after the Civil War.

  “We’ll need to talk to your crew. What are your immediate plans?”

  This was going downhill. They might be able to get a coherent story from Ned, but there was no telling what Pamela and Trufante would say, and then there was the question of what the Cajun was hiding. “We planned on waiting out Ruth here.”

  “We have no detention facilities, but we will ask you to remain on site un
til the Coast Guard is back in Key West and can take over the case.”

  Mac had never had a good experience when the Coast Guard was involved. He was about to ask about the salvaged boat when Farnsworth answered that for him as well. “The boat reverts to Mr. Bugarra until the dispute is settled.”

  Trufante was working on the engines, and, barring something unforeseen, Mac was confident he would have the boat running shortly. The electronics might be shot, but the cowlings would have protected the engines from the short exposure to the saltwater. Mac needed to get back to the boat and stop him.

  “Doesn’t seem to be any cell service out here. I’d like to call my lawyer.”

  “You can use the phone here,” Farnsworth said. “Service has been erratic with Ruth, but you’re welcome to try.”

  “This would be a confidential call,” Mac said, wanting the agent out of the room. Alone a minute later, he dialed Mel’s number, only to have a tone blast in his ear and a recorded voice tell him that all circuits were busy. He rose and left the room. Kurt and Farnsworth were waiting outside. “No service,” Mac said.

  “I’d like to get those interviews done today,” the director said.

  Mac needed to delay this until he could reach Mel. He wasn’t sure the park service had jurisdiction here, and Farnsworth had as much as confirmed that they would hand the case over to the Coast Guard. “I’d like to check my boat for damage. Some of those shots were close to the waterline,” Mac said.

  “Agent Hunter can run you back out,” Farnsworth said, and turned to Kurt. “Take their statements and collect any evidence you can while you’re out there. Mr. Bugarra’s boat, too.”

  Mac had just lost whatever leverage he had. Somehow he had to hope that the truth would prevail. That hope would be backed by whatever he could do to sabotage Bugarra’s boat.

  Twenty-Three

  Mac was quiet on the way back to the anchored boats. Bugarra had reacted quickly and reached deep into his pool of resources. What an hour ago had looked like a profitable day with the added bonus of Bugarra going to jail was now turned on its head.

  “I’ve seen Bugarra in action before,” Kurt said. “If there’s anything I can do to help …”

  “A satellite phone would be good for starters,” Mac said. “Looks like Ruth took out the lines to the mainland.”

  Reaching the Ghost Runner, Kurt turned into the side of the trawler and cut the engine. The soft-sided boat slid against the steel hull.

  Trufante reached down and tossed a line to Mac, who secured the bow. Kurt was already at the stern. With the Park Service boat secure, they boarded the trawler, where Mac explained to Ned and Pamela how Bugarra had outmaneuvered them.

  “Maybe Mel can help,” Ned said.

  “Already tried,” Mac said. “There’s no cell service out here, and Ruth must have taken the landlines down.” They all instinctively looked to the northeast. Like windblown smoke against the blue sky, the faintest tendrils of the farthest bands of the outer ring of the storm were barely visible.

  “We’ve got a radio tower back at the station,” Kurt said. “This is the first time I’ve been here, but it looks like a cell tower. There’s gotta be some way to reach her through that if she’s not in the path of the storm.”

  “She was headed to New Orleans to do some research,” Mac said.

  All eyes moved from the horizon to him. Ned gave Mac a quizzical look that only old men can give. Everyone knew they were on a treasure hunt and he was withholding information, but Mac chose to ignore them and moved on. “Kurt’s going to collect some evidence and interview you guys before towing Bugarra’s boat back to the dock.”

  Mac winked at Trufante, hoping he understood, and waited for Kurt to return to the park service boat for his evidence kit before yanking Trufante inside the cabin.

  “What’s up?” Trufante asked.

  Mac saw the look in his eyes and realized Trufante had misunderstood. Tru’s first reaction was generally wanting to know what he had done wrong. He had joked about it, often apologizing before asking what he’d done.

  “Did you get the boat running?” Mac asked.

  “Easy. The water hadn’t breached the cowlings. Had to prime the engines, but they started right up.”

  “Well, go un-start them.” Mac waited until he saw that Trufante understood. “And do it so they’ll need parts or something. Don’t just start yanking wires.”

  “Got it.” Trufante turned to leave.

  “It’s got to look like a result of the capsize.”

  “I got this.”

  “Perfect.” Mac wondered if that was the first time he had ever said that to Trufante. Usually his responsibility for the Cajun was to keep him on the right side of the law and out of jail. This time was different. With Bugarra already manipulating the perception of what had happened, it was Mac’s law that was going to be the right side.

  The two men walked back into the cockpit, squinting against the sunlight.

  “Just gonna go check her out,” Trufante mumbled as he crossed the gunwales and hopped down to the Yellowfin.

  Mac turned his attention away, knowing he would have to trust Trufante. “Maybe you want to take statements from the others?” Mac suggested to Kurt, who was watching Trufante as he removed the cowlings from the twin engines. Mac could only hope he’d play along, knowing that Kurt, like him, had his own sense of right and wrong.

  “Good idea.” Kurt took a picture of a dent in the wheelhouse.

  Mac wondered if the ding was actually from Bugarra’s weapon. This wasn’t the first time he had come under fire. “Not much for evidence.” Kurt pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket. “I’ll get the statements and process the Yellowfin at the dock.”

  “Don’t think we hit it with anything but the pressure washer,” Mac said.

  “Gotta be sure, or Justine’ll have my head.”

  Ned stepped forward first and recounted the incident. He emphasized that it was Bugarra who was after them and had fired multiple shots before Mac returned fire. Once Ned was finished, Kurt turned his attention to Pamela. Ned nodded toward the cabin, and Mac followed him in.

  “What’s Mel looking for in New Orleans?” Ned asked.

  Mac looked out on deck and saw Kurt talking to Pamela. She was not known for being succinct or truthful; Mac guessed she would supply a wealth of misinformation and probably keep Kurt busy until Trufante finished his work.

  “She wanted out of Atlanta,” Mac replied. “Looks like Ruth’s going to blow up the peninsula and wreak some havoc in Georgia too. Thought with Lafitte being mentioned several times, if there was any place that would have anything useful, it would be New Orleans.”

  “She’s looking for a needle in a haystack,” Ned said.

  “That’s what she’s best at.” They both knew her reputation for working the hardest cases that many thought unwinnable. It had taken years, but she had finally set her ego aside and admitted she was tired of the ACLU’s agenda of manipulating legislation by prosecuting handpicked cases. Once she was able to see the big picture instead of her tunnel vision of each case, she saw that the group really cared little for the downtrodden and those they claimed to help. Their agenda had become clear to her, and she left. But her skill-set remained finely tuned from dealing with Big Sugar. If there was something there, she would find it.

  “I’ve been reading some of the documents on my phone while y’all have been busy,” Ned said. “It may be that this does have something to do with Lafitte. But separating the rumors from the facts is going to be a task. There’s some photocopies and pictures of journal entries, but on this thing”—he waved the phone in the air—“they’re damned near unreadable. Be good if we could get a look at the originals. I still can’t wrap my head around the connection between that scoundrel and Henriques.”

  “As soon as we can get a call through and I explain what happened, I’ll let you have her ear.”

  “Good enough. I sense there is something big here. We’ve al
l been conditioned to the Spanish way of documenting everything. Looking at Gross’s files under the lens of a pirate changes a lot.”

  Mac wanted to continue the conversation, but when he looked up, he saw that Kurt was finished with Pamela. Mac decided to ask Ned more about Henriques later. Just as Pamela finished, Trufante appeared over the gunwales and nodded at Mac.

  Kurt must have seen it too. “Does it run?”

  “I got it started,” Trufante said.

  Trufante was almost as good at evading the truth as Mel was at finding it. “You want to run it back to the dock, I’ll see what I can do about getting you a phone line,” Kurt said.

  This time, Mac decided to take everyone to shore. There was no boat to guard, and he knew that with Pamela and Trufante on the island, if he needed a diversion, all he needed to do was add water. Pamela seemed genuinely interested in the fort’s history, or maybe the ghosts of the lives lost there, and was talking to Ned about visiting Dr. Mudd’s cell. Trufante decided to stay aboard and guard the beer. He shook his head and went into the cabin.

  Once ashore, they split up, with Ned starting a guided tour for Pamela. Kurt and Mac left them at the moat and walked through the sally port—the main entrance to the fort, as Ned had informed them. Kurt bypassed the office where the meeting with Farnsworth had occurred and walked toward a building whose white siding and architecture looked more modern. Mac guessed these were the living quarters for the park service employees stationed here.

  “Hang out for a second,” Kurt said. “I’ve got to check in with Justine and Allie and have a look at the communications.”

  Drawn by the turquoise water he could see through the embrasure, Mac walked over to a run-down section of the old fort and looked out at the waters surrounding the key. It didn’t take long for his imagination to be drawn back to the nineteenth century. He overheard Ned lecturing Pamela from the adjacent gun placement.