by Bobby Akart
Howard howled and Bear barked, “I am!”
Cam laughed and rolled her eyes. She looked at Gunner. “Seriously, this is a question you had to ask? These two would eat you out of house and home if you didn’t keep them on a leash.”
Gunner finished his beer and fist-bumped his friend. “I’ll feed Howard a snack, and you guys get ready.”
“What are you fixin’?” asked Bear.
“I thought we’d walk into town and try the new place,” said Gunner. “We’ve been so busy between moving and the Victory that I still haven’t checked the place out. Hell, I haven’t seen the town since the Realtor showed me around months ago.”
“I’m game,” said Cam, who was the first to hustle off to freshen up.
“I’m down, too,” said Bear, who gathered up the empties and took them to the kitchen trash can.
Fifteen minutes later, the trio was walking down the packed-sand path leading through the marshy west end of Tangier Island toward town. Gunner lived half a mile from everything, so there was no need for a car. Dog Island had been long and narrow. His home in Florida was on the complete opposite end of the marina and the airport. Tangier Island was different. It was short, wide and, as the locals say, heart shaped. He was able to get everywhere by walking.
After ten minutes of cracking jokes and bustin’ Bear’s chops over the Weight Limit 2 Tons street sign found at the entrance to the wooden bridge leading to the main business district, the three of them arrived on the main street of the quaint fishing village.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tangier Island, Virginia
Bear was sweating profusely as they reached the main drag of the tiny island town. He wiped the sweat off his brow with his tee shirt. “Man, we’ve gotta get one of those golf carts or a moped or somethin’.”
“Because dropping a few L-Bs is not an option?” Cam asked with a grin. She playfully slapped Bear’s stomach. His abs were solid like granite. The man wasn’t overweight. He was just big.
“Yeah, yeah,” replied Bear. “First thing on Monday morning. I’m gonna hit it hard. Cut out the carbs, you know?”
“Right. But today, we eat!” exclaimed Gunner, who picked up the pace as they entered the town. The business and tourist district consisted of simple rectangular buildings with gable roofs in a variety of colors. Once private homes, they had been retrofitted over time to become small shops, restaurants, and now two bars.
One of the eating and drinking establishments was located near the docks across from the wooden bridge. The other, the new place, was on the far end of the shopping strip, a quarter mile away. It was off the beaten path behind the post office.
Gunner checked his watch and saw that it wasn’t quite eleven that morning, so he took the group on a casual walk to check out the shops. The town of Tangier wasn’t that different from Apalachicola, only much smaller. Because it was truly an island and didn’t have access other than by boat and small plane, the town’s tourist trade was sparse. The only thing keeping most of the businesses open was the fact the buildings most likely doubled as the shop owners’ residences.
“Down this way,” said Gunner, pointing to a long wooden walkway winding through the marsh next to the post office. A hundred yards ahead of them sat a simple square building on pilings overlooking Pocomoke Sound all the way to the peninsula where Wallops Island was located.
“Okay, I really love this whole concept,” began Cam. She looked around for signs of life. “And I know this guy’s place is new. But how can he possibly support himself? This is so out of the way. He doesn’t have any signage by the street. You get the feeling you’re lost as you—”
Cam cut her sentence short as music could be heard across the marsh in front of them. Uncle Kenny belted out a tune, telling his adoring fans that the key to life was no shoes, no shirt, and therefore no problems.
The sound of chatter filled the air as they approached, and Cam instantly realized she was wrong. The small bar appeared to be filled with customers, and it had just opened.
They walked up the wooden steps and reached the wraparound porch. Cam noticed a sign over the door and read it aloud. “How do you make the pain of a broken heart go away? Beer, oysters, and country music!”
“Can’t argue with that,” added Gunner.
“Damn straight!” said Cam.
The three of them entered the bar and immediately noticed the wood floor was covered with pristine white sand mixed with a smattering of dry-roasted peanut shells. In a pile on both sides of the door were peoples’ shoes, socks, and flip-flops. Apparently, the bar’s patrons took Uncle Kenny to heart. As did the owner, who’d named his place the Broken Hart Raw Bar, a nod to the shape of Tangier Island and the local folklore that it resembled a broken heart when the tide was high.
The tables were filled, and three barstools were available but spread out. Bear politely approached some of the customers, who immediately moved around to accommodate the newcomers. The trio thanked their new friends because in a bar like this one, everyone knew one another, or at least acted like they did.
The young woman tending bar was busy pouring draft beer and chatting up her guests. Bear caught her eye, and she came to greet them with a toothy grin.
“What’ll y’all have?” she asked with a wink at Bear. The big man sat a little taller in his chair and puffed out his chest.
Gunner began to answer. “We’ll have—” Then he was cut off by a voice from behind him.
“Whatever they want. Their money’s no good here!”
Gunner swung around. “Holy shit! Sammy? Really?”
Sammy Hart’s face exploded with a huge smile. “In the flesh, my friend.”
“No freakin’ way!” shouted Cam as she bounced off her barstool to hug their old acquaintance.
Gunner shook hands and gave his friend from Apalachicola a bear hug. Bear, naturally, did the same.
“Charlie, set them up with a round of Sammy’s Suds for starters. I’ll have one, too. What the hell, right?”
Gunner was beside himself. He looked around the bar and noticed virtually everyone was enjoying their joyous reunion. “Sammy, is this real? I mean, am I getting punked or something? Where are the cameras?” They bro-hugged again.
“Yeah, buddy. It’s real. A long story if you wanna hear it.”
“Hell yeah, we wanna hear it.” Gunner was genuinely thrilled to see his bartender friend from Apalach. The man meant more to him than just a familiar face when he needed to drown his sorrows. Over the years, he’d dragged Gunner out of the gutter and kept him from jumping off a bridge more than once.
Sammy looked around the bar and then craned his neck to see if a table was available on the back deck. It was full as well.
“Okay, well, it’s up we go, then.”
“Up?” asked Bear.
“Yeah. Y’all might not have noticed the widow’s walk on the top of the building. It’s got some deck chairs for my personal use. I live in a second-floor apartment above the kitchen.”
“Livin’ the dream,” said Bear with a laugh as he and Sammy exchanged fist bumps.
“You have no idea. The only problem with the Crow’s Nest, as I like to call it, has to do with logistics. Getting beer and ice to the coolers can be a challenge.”
“What do we need to do?” asked Cam. “Bear and I’ll make it happen while you two get caught up.”
Sammy waved his bartender over and gave her some instructions. She huddled up with Bear and Cam to work out filling the Jockey Box portable keg cooler upstairs with Sammy’s Suds and ice. While they got to work, Gunner followed Sammy through the kitchen, got the quick tour of his new place, and they wound their way up a wrought-iron spiral staircase until they reached the rooftop hangout—Sammy’s Crow’s Nest.
When they arrived, Sammy explained, “I like the name Crow’s Nest better than widow’s walk. That was too morbid and depressing. This is a happy place, damn it!”
Gunner laughed. “Hey, when I saw the name of
the place was the Broken Hart Raw Bar, it never dawned on me that heart was intentionally misspelled to be someone’s last name. Especially your last name!”
Sammy slapped Gunner on the back and led him to the railing overlooking the water. Seagulls raced by, and a couple of fishing boats made their way toward the oyster beds just north of Tangier Island. The two men silently took in the scene before Gunner addressed his friend.
“What are you doing here, Sammy?” He continued to watch the boats meander by.
“Ah, I got into a scrap with my ex’s husband. She came into the Tap Room one night, pissin’ and moanin’ about how he was treating her. A few drinks later, we were back at—”
Gunner cut him off. “No, Sammy. I heard about that. I’m talking about what landed you right here in B-F-E?” He turned to look at Sammy to gauge his body language. Sammy tensed and began to run his hands nervously on the rail.
“Listen, Gunner. I want you to hear me out, okay. I didn’t just lie to you. I really did hook up with my ex, and we did get busted by her old man. But I don’t run from anybody. The timing was right for me to use it as an excuse.”
“To come here?” Gunner asked forcefully.
Sammy hung his head. “I didn’t want to do it. Well, I mean, yeah, when it was proposed to me, I jumped all over it. But after things were set in motion, I started to feel like shit about it. You know?”
Gunner leaned against the rail and crossed his arms. He stared at Sammy. “No, I don’t know. Spit it out.”
“After you told your people about your plans to move to Tangier Island, I got a visit from Dr. Dowling. He drove down from Eglin just to see me. He made me a pretty sweet offer, ya know.”
“To spy on me?” Gunner was perturbed.
“No, man. Nothing like that. Well, come on, Gunner. You make me sound like some kind of Judas or something. I value our friendship more than anything.”
Gunner tilted his head to the side and stared into Sammy’s eyes. He took a more direct approach. “Dowling wanted you to move here, right?”
“Yes.”
“And he funded all of this.” Gunner gestured with his arms, waving them around the building and toward the water.
“Well, sort of. I mean, it was paid for by the DOD, I guess.”
“So they bought you a bar to keep an eye on me. Am I right?”
“And funded the microbrewery, too. But, Gunner, it wasn’t to spy on you or keep tabs or whatever. I would’ve told them to go screw themselves. They wanted me to be here as your friend. Someone to lean on, you know, if necessary. I’m the same person as I was in Apalach, only I live and work down the street.”
Gunner took a deep breath and stared out across the water. “When did you plan on telling me?”
“I was going to wait until you got settled in and unpacked. I came to your house, but the lady watching over Howard said you had to go to work. Man, I know what that means. So I waited for you to come back. You showed up before I could get over to your place.”
Gunner leaned over the rail and watched the wake of the boats lap up against the pier. He shook his head.
Sammy continued. “If this is a problem between us, I’ll walk away from all of this. I’ll go right back to my job at the Tap Room or become a damn oysterman. I don’t want this to screw up years of being friends.”
Gunner turned and smiled. “Sammy, I get it. No worries. I guess I have to wonder when Dowling and the past will be left behind. After I learned what really happened to Heather during that spacewalk, I was gradually getting over it. Hell, I even killed the bastard responsible. I still miss her, but I’ve got some closure, you know.”
“You do?” asked Sammy.
Gunner sighed. “Well, there is one loose end, but revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“So they say,” added Sammy with a chuckle.
Gunner began to laugh and slapped his friend on the back. “Hey, I’m sorry I came at you. I just—” He was cut off by Cam and Bear’s arrival.
“Who’s thirsty?” Bear’s baritone voice boomed as he arrived.
Sammy leaned in to Gunner and whispered, “Are we good?”
“Yeah. Better than good. Say, how long does my free beer offer last?”
“Forever, my friend. As long as you and I are both on this planet, Sammy’s Suds are yours for the takin’.”
The group worked together to ice down the beer and then made some small talk about the tiny island in the midst of so many military installations. After an hour, Sammy went down and ordered them a couple of dozen Chesapeake Bay Oysters together with a basket of soft-shelled crabs. When he returned, he was carrying his iPad.
“Hey, check this out,” he said to the group as he handed the device to Gunner. “It’s like a ghost ship situation.”
Gunner studied the live stream on CNN’s website. A helicopter was circling a ship sitting adrift in the ocean north of Puerto Rico. The chyron read Mystery Surrounds Research Vessel Discovered with Entire Crew Dead. He passed it over to Cam and Bear to read more.
He stood to stretch his legs and arch his sore back. Hurricane Archie had been a little rougher on his body than he’d let on to the medical team who examined him. He drained his beer and turned to retrieve another when the functional equivalent of a fire alarm filled the air. It was their cell phones ringing simultaneously. It always meant one thing.
Time to go.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Moa, Cuba
Cuba had experienced a resurgence after President Miguel Diaz-Canel surprisingly moved the island nation toward a democratic-elected government with free, monitored elections. The first president of Cuba who wasn’t named Castro, he took the extraordinary measures after succeeding Raul Castro in 2021. When Raul, the brother of famed communist Fidel Castro, mysteriously died in his sleep six months after stepping down from office, President Diaz-Canel surreptitiously moved Cuba away from a dictatorship toward a free, democratic state.
Across the island, there were still pockets of the old guard who were Castro loyalists and continued to believe communism was the best way to govern Cubans. After Raul Castro’s death, they saw the winds of change blowing as the new president cozied up to the administration in Washington. With promises of economic aid and trade agreements for Cuban tobacco and sugar, the former communist holdout went mainstream. However, many refused to accept the advancements.
They aligned themselves with underworld, secretive cabals around the globe for funding and logistical support. They used their personnel to frustrate the new Cuban government. They aided their benefactors in covert terrorist operations in the region, including Florida. They also provided safe haven for criminal fugitives who found themselves on Interpol’s or the FBI’s most wanted list.
The urgent call to action to the cell based in Moa came through the ordinary channels, including the chat platform used for online players of Fortnite, Call of Duty, and Apex Legends. Anonymous players often spoke in coded terms using virtual private networks to communicate.
They used many methods to pass along information, most designed to avoid the prying eyes and ears of America’s National Security Agency. However, the exchange of USB sticks, packages delivered by courier, or dead drops were time-consuming. Even sending encrypted email and SMS text messages using disposable SIM cards to mobile phones had their security pitfalls.
Within hours, private jets began to arrive at the Orestes Acosta Airport, struggling to land on the six-thousand-foot runway. Experts from around the world, each with their own set of special skills, brought their own gear and personnel to undertake the monumental task asked of them.
Although they trained for this operation frequently, most never thought this day would come. They also never imagined pulling off their last mission on behalf of their employers. They’d descended upon the Baltic Sea with little notice and left with a prize that earned them a hefty bonus.
Just days before, using the same submersibles that were now in transit to the westernmost tip of
Puerto Rico, the operatives dropped thousands of feet below the surface of the Baltic Sea. Within hours, not only had they severed all transmission cables and anchors holding a sixteen-ton underwater observatory, but they towed it for seven miles underwater until it could be raised to a salvage ship without detection.
Through careful planning and reconnaissance, the operatives learned the observatory would be uninhabited for a period of two hours while the crew went through a shift change. The underwater thieves moved quickly and efficiently, working together to shred the massive transmission cables and cut through the iron anchors holding the observatory on the ocean floor.
The unmarked salvage vessel left no digital footprint. It operated under cover of darkness and cloud-covered skies. The NSA satellites were of little use, and surrounding vessels in the region had no recollection of the phantom salvage ship. It didn’t vanish, said investigators. It was if it was never there.
Now it was preparing to anchor off the coast of Puerto Rico. To any other ships in the area, it appeared to be one of hundreds of environmental research vessels mapping or studying the unique marine ecosystems in the Puerto Rico Trench. The Ecuadorian flag flying from its stern was not out of the ordinary, and anyone searching its name would see it was part of a much larger ocean survey fleet.
Ordinarily, more precautions would be taken by those who dispatched the vessel to this part of the North Atlantic. They believed in planning. They were patient people, committed to considering all angles and obstacles before making a move. They’d learned from the past. A period in time when hasty, emotion-filled decisions resulted in the demise of their once great nation.
When they were given the opportunity to rise, and then to strike, they’d not do it on hastily designed plans. They would succeed this time.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Off the Northern Coast of Puerto Rico
