by Joe Gazzam
I wanted to keep watching, to make sure they got out as planned, but I didn’t have time. As I opened the emergency door of the cable car, the wind blew my hair back and burned my eyes. I dragged Castillo’s unconscious body to the edge, hooked another zip-line cable under his shoulders and secured him to my chute harness.
With my foot on the edge of the open door, I had one last thought: would our combined weight be too much for this one-man chute? In training I’d learned what would happen if the chute didn’t function properly. The human body dropping thirty-five thousand feet generally took three minutes to hit the ground. Low pressure and lack of oxygen caused the person to lose consciousness. That was, until the last fifty seconds or so, where they’d be jarred back awake in time to see the ground screaming toward them at one hundred and twenty miles per hour.
But then another thought quickly superseded that one...it didn’t matter.
I lifted Castillo nearly to his feet, leaned out of the car with him and fell forward. Wind instantly tore at our clothes as we tumbled through the air. I’d done this before, but the terrifying rush never got easier. My heart raced and I panicked, unable to compensate for Castillo’s extra weight. As we free-fell toward the ground, Castillo’s eyes shot open. The sheer terror in his scream was almost comical. He locked his legs around my waist like a clinging child.
“Calm down!” I shouted over the wind, but his frantic clawing and climbing was spinning us out of control.
After a few seconds, I managed to twist my arm around his neck, locking him in a sleeper hold until his body went limp. Just in time, I pulled my chute cord and it opened with a loud thwump. The recoil was extreme. I cried out, almost losing my grip on Castillo before I scissored my legs tighter and secured him once more. The chute straps strained at the arrest of my descent, sending lancing pain up my spine, but the black rectangular fabric billowed above, slowing us into a glide. Finally, I manipulated one of the handles and got my fall under control.
Below me lay a myriad of river outlets. Off to the left, I spotted my destination: Andy and our boat. I angled the chute and targeted the landing spot.
Hooking my free arm around Castillo to keep him from slipping, I looked up to see Dad and Mitch free-falling too. I reflexively held my breath until both threw their chutes and thwump, thwump. They opened.
I blew out a breath. Almost there.
It was only then that I remembered Nefasto. I used my free hand to snatch my binoculars and found the base port. It looked like someone had poked an anthill with a stick. The men ran around crazed, and in the center, Nefasto screamed at them and pointed.
Five men stepped to the ledge and aimed at Dad and Mitch. Distant gunfire spiked the air, like bundles of firecrackers. This far out, the shooters were extremely inaccurate. They missed Dad completely, but a couple got lucky and struck Mitch’s chute.
I clenched my jaw, waiting for the next wave of bullets, but Nefasto ordered his men to move. They hopped into a line of black SUVs. I exhaled at the momentary relief, then caught sight of Mitch. His chute was shredded. Puddles of open sky formed in the fabric and he began to accelerate.
His chute, which had taken hard shots, began to collapse and flutter. He pulled on the links and risers of the chute trying to stabilize it, but it was no use. Every foot he dropped, the chute got worse. Pieces of fabric flapped in the wind.
Helpless, all I could do was watch. As Mitch dropped faster, the chute disintegrated and sent him into a total free fall. He dropped like a stone and struck the water. Hard.
Seconds later, I dropped on the riverbank with Castillo. I motioned to Andy to get Mitch, but Dad had already jettisoned his chute. He swam toward the circled wake where Mitch landed, and got there just as Mitch surfaced, his face curled in a rictus of pain.
“Is he okay?” I yelled, my voice high-pitched with worry.
As Dad helped Mitch to shore, they headed toward me, and Andy ran up to help.
“Broke his collar bone,” Dad answered as he pressed on Mitch’s shoulder, around his neck.
Mitch slapped Dad’s hand away crying out in agony.
“We need to go.” I frantically waved Andy over to help haul Castillo, and we all climbed into the boat.
Andy fired up the engine and Dad palmed his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “I had to make sure you came through on the deal you promised.”
As an entourage of black Escalades pulled along the nearest road, I caught Andy’s eye. “Get us out of here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WITH EVERYONE SECURE, ANDY jammed the throttle down and floored the boat away. It launched forward, nose in the air, until he leveled it out and sped down the large river inlet, heading directly for the ocean.
Mitch tossed the handgun I gave him onto the floor of the boat. “It’s empty.”
“That’s all we have?” Dad asked, grabbing the gun.
I walked to the secret loading compartment of the boat and popped it open to reveal stacks of TAR-21 assault rifles, then opened another compartment full of M33 spherical fragmentation grenades.
Dad’s swollen eyebrows lifted slightly. “You guys have been busy.”
I shrugged and noticed Castillo shift. He lay bound on the floor of the boat, and though his eyes remained closed, I was sure he was conscious.
“So what’s the plan with him?” Dad asked, nodding to his target.
Before I could respond, Andy shouted. “We have trouble!”
Two go-fast boats full of armed men slid in behind us and opened fire. Bullets dimpled the water. I grabbed an assault rifle and tossed one to Dad, who immediately unloaded back. I paused for a moment, taking in the surreal image of the two of us gunning down a common enemy. Things could still go wrong, and having him here shouldn’t have made me feel more comfortable, but it did.
Shoulder to shoulder, we fired. Our return hail of bullets disabled one of the boats, which turned off in a cloud of black smoke. Behind us, Mitch came up with a fist full of grenades. He winced from the pain in his collarbone, and handed them to me. I yanked the pins and lobbed them at the pursuing craft.
The river exploded around the trailing boat, sending water into the air, but the third one connected. It disintegrated the bow of the craft, catapulted the men into the air and sprayed them around the river like marionettes with their strings cut. As Andy took a hard left down a small inlet, the large brush grass blurred past, and I saw no sign of any more boats.
“Clear,” Andy shouted back as he slowed the engine.
Dad was almost in a trance, staring at Mitch, then me. Shock still registered on his face. He shook his head. “Seeing you two here...I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around it.”
“You’re having a hard time?” Mitch said sardonically. “Last time I saw you, you were building slides for washing machines.”
The boat sped up. “Spoke too soon!” Andy shouted again.
Three more go-fast pursuers zipped out from side inlets, two hundred yards behind. They formed an arrow pattern and made up ground quickly.
Dad unloaded a stream of bullets, then barked at Andy. “We need to go faster.”
Andy held his arms out. “The boat is full throttle.”
I looked around, my mind racing, something didn’t make sense. “These boats are nearly identical,” I said. “In fact, if anything, this boat should be a little faster. It’s the weight, we’re too heavy! Get rid of everything.”
I yanked weapons out of the compartments and began tossing them overboard. Dad helped, and together we dumped crates and crates of weapons into the water.
Other than a few automatic rifles, we dumped everything we could find. But it was too late, three chasing boats arrived within range. The men inside opened fire, and Andy took evasive action, desperately dodging the shots.
“Wait,” I yelled. “I have an idea.” I charged toward Castillo, who was still feigning sleep, and yanked at his shirt. As expected, his eyes snapped open.
I held Castillo out in front of me, and the gunfire ceased.
The boats, however, did not.
Andy took a left, then a quick right, but still couldn’t escape. “It’s no good. They’re still faster. Hang on.”
I shoved Castillo in a corner just before Andy jerked the boat into a hard right. We zoomed down a side inlet and headed away from the ocean.
“You’re going the wrong way,” I shouted over the engine.
“I have lived here all my life, I know these inlets. You trust me, right?”
“Yes, but—” I stopped. “Yes. I trust you.”
Andy steered the boat down another path with dangerously shallow water. As he maneuvered in and out, slaloming along the hidden pools, one of the three trailing boats miscalculated and ran aground. The drivers of the other two boats were more skilled and matched Andy turn for turn.
Dad and I fired our semiautomatics, but the boats behind zigzagged so quickly we couldn’t connect.
Mitch stepped up between us. “Don’t shoot at the boats. Use your fire to force them where you want them to go.”
I looked at Dad and got an approving nod. As the boats behind zigged and zagged, we shot giant streams of automatic weapon fire toward the zig. The drivers of both boats instinctively zagged, which was exactly what we wanted them to do. It sent the two boats directly into shallow water. The lead boat ran aground and stopped so suddenly that the other couldn’t avoid it. The two vessels smashed into each other and the hulls exploded in a staggering eruption of wood, steel and fiberglass.
Dad looked back at Mitch. “Good thinking, Son.”
But the fleeting moment of victory came crashing to an end as four more boats pulled in behind us.
Andy pounded the wheel. “Where do they keep coming from?”
As he zipped back into the main inlet, the ocean became visible ahead.
“The ocean!” I screamed. “We’re almost there.”
A smile ran across my face, then just as quickly, it evaporated. A hundred yards, dead ahead, completely cutting off our exit to open water was Nefasto. He was in a speed boat, flanked by two large military cruisers on either side. Every boat was full of weapon-wielding gunmen. Together they formed a giant, deadly blockade.
“No...” I said softly, almost to myself.
With the four boats behind and the blockade in front, we were trapped. There were no more inlets to turn down. Andy seemed to have no more tricks up his sleeve. Our escape was thwarted. It was over.
“We were so close,” I said, dropping my weapon.
I turned to Mitch, but realized he was distracted. He stood in a complete daze. Shock, I thought. But he stared at something intently. I followed his gaze, and saw one last secret compartment I’d missed. Mitch reached over and popped it open. There, nestled deep inside, were Castillo’s custom hand-held missile launchers.
Andy slowed the boat and yelled back. “What do I do?”
Even in the middle of all the chaos, Mitch was transfixed. I pulled out the missile for him and handed it to Dad, but he shook his head.
“This is a new model. I haven’t seen these.” He looked up at me. “There’s no way to know what the blast radius is.”
“He’ll know,” Andy said, pointing at Castillo.
A devilish grin pulled at Castillo’s cheeks. He sat hunched in the corner, a madman holding the code to an armed bomb. “Why would I tell you? I’m already dead.”
I raised my gun, days of rage boiling over into this moment, but Dad held up a hand, stopping me. “You kill him, we all die.”
I let out a heavy breath and turned back. “Didn’t the CIA get data from the embassy blast?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Dad said, holding up the missile. “That was an older model. An early prototype. This one is completely different. If I fire this one, the blast could take us all out.”
“I’ve seen it,” Mitch said. “I’ve seen this one fired.”
Dad’s brow drew into a deep wrinkle. “What? Where?”
“Doesn’t matter, Tara and I both saw it used in person. I saw the blast radius for myself. I can do the calculations.”
“But...”
Mitch motioned out toward the blockade. “I could guesstimate.”
My eyes went wide. “Guesstimate?”
Mitch spun, as if measuring how far away the blockade was. “An educated guess, then. I think it will work. Fire it.”
“Mitch...”
He turned to Dad. “People live and die. But as long as they do both things with purpose, there’s never much to regret.”
Dad’s bruised and swollen lips turned up slightly. “That’s my line.”
“It will work, I know it.”
“Least if we go out...” I said, motioning toward Castillo. “...we go out together and the world’s a safer place, right?”
Dad shouldered the weapon and looked back at us. “I love you kids.”
“Love you,” I uttered in that frozen moment before he turned and pulled the trigger. Then, just like that, the missile launched. It cleared the space to the blockade in less than a second and hit Nefasto’s boat dead center.
Instantly, the air itself seemed to blur and warp. The missile didn’t explode, but rather imploded with such force that it yanked all five boats in the blockade together and vaporized them in a tsunami of swirling debris and shrapnel. I barely had time to take my eyes away from the scene before realizing the outer range of the rebounding blast had indeed reached us. The implosion gripped our boat like a giant hand and yanked it toward the epicenter.
“Hold on,” I screamed.
Everyone flattened against the wooden floor of the craft as we were drawn toward the blast. I braced for the crash, expecting the boat to flip and slip into pieces. But just as we were about to get sucked into the fission typhoon, the mini storm lost strength. We flew forward into the dying epicenter, which had weakened dramatically, but were still sling-shotted out the other side. As we exited, the vortex whipped us up and launched our boat another twenty feet in the air. We rocketed through the space for what seemed like eternity before landing hard and skipping like a giant stone across the water. The craft nearly flipped several times, before it slowly, finally, righted itself. Then coasted out to sea.
I pulled myself up and stared back at the wreckage, completely stunned. The tornado of flotsam and jetsam slowed to a stop, the last remains littering the surface of the sloshing waves. A blue-black mushroom cloud of vapor rose into the air like a giant smoke ring before it separated and evaporated.
The drivers of the four boats behind us didn’t move. For a brief moment, I thought they might actually continue the hunt. But Dad had managed to keep hold of the missile launcher. He held it up toward them, and they immediately turned around, gunning their boats back the way they came. As they disappeared around the bend, all four of us turned to each other and laughed. The kind of hysterical laughter that tends to come after being nearly vaporized.
Mitch reached out, extended a congratulatory hand. I pushed it aside and wrapped him in a hug.
“Easy,” he called out in pain.
I jumped back, wincing as he held his collarbone. “Sorry.”
He laughed, and our eyes connected in a moment of pure relief.
“So now what?” Andy asked as he coasted out to sea.
I strode up behind him, but instead of answering his question, I kissed him. Long and hard.
As I pulled back, I caught a glimpse of Dad’s confused face. He held up his hand. “I don’t wanna know.”
I smiled and handed him the cell phone I’d been using. Dad dialed without question. “Sat 14, Agent A, Tango, Zero. Requesting package pick-up.”
THE SUN BEAT DOWN FROM above. Its beams danced on the rolling water, glittering like a trail of stardust. In the back of the boat, Castillo sat sulking. With the Keys visible in the distance, I finally allowed myself to believe we’d made it. I smiled at Dad as we spotted five U.S. Coast Guard RB-M boats in
the distance. The big metal crafts headed toward us in a perfect V formation.
“Take her down,” Dad said, stepping up next to Andy.
He slowed the boat, eventually coming to a full stop. The lead Coast Guard vessel slid toward us, and the other four boats flanked each side.
As Mitch tossed a Coast Guardsman a docking rope and knotted the boats together, a large-bellied man with nicely-combed bright red hair stepped on board. He had to be important. He looked too out of place in his gray tweed overcoat.
“Agent Doaks,” Dad greeted him.
The agent reached out and they shook hands.
“Harry,” Doaks nodded, “little early for a boat ride, don’t you think?”
Dad attempted to smile past the bruises on his face. “Never too early.”
“Nice to see you’re enjoying retirement since leaving the agency.” Agent Doaks turned to Castillo and let out a fake gasp. “Oh my gosh, that looks just like Javier Castillo. Do you know the C.I.A.’s been looking all over for this guy?”
Dad’s eyebrows rose, as he feigned surprise. “You don’t say.”
“We’ve been trying to get him here to America, but Cuba wouldn’t cooperate. I’m shocked he would venture into American territory like this. He’s wanted here for a litany of offenses. Where’d you find him?”
“He was floating in the middle of the ocean on a raft made out of palm fronds. We probably saved his life, the poor bastard.”
Castillo leaned forward and screamed. “That’s a lie! They kidnapped me. I want to be returned to Cuba immediately and demand that they are sent back as well for prosecution.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Castillo,” Agent Doaks said, giving Dad a wink. “Extradition’s a tricky thing.”
With this, Agent Doaks grabbed Castillo and shoved him toward the waiting hands of several Coast Guardsmen. He stepped back onto the Coast Guard boat, and turned to Dad. “You wanna lift?”
“Nah,” Dad waved him off. “We’ll take her in ourselves. Logging a little family time.”
Agent Doaks nodded, rocking back on his heels in a hunkered, thinking posture. “All right. Just leave the boat someplace we can find it.”
