Only Deuce and a couple others knew Stockwell was planning to retire. He’d spent nearly forty years serving his country in one way or another. Every minute that passed reduced the chances of finding Jesse and both men knew it. It had already been nine hours and they were nearly mainlining coffee.
The guys in the choppers had it worse, staring at a small circle of light on the water for hours on end. As far as Tony knew, the Colonel had succeeded in every aspect of his professional career. Not finding a kidnapped comrade at the end of it was something he’d never be able to get over.
“Nobody expected this, Colonel.”
“No,” Travis said, quietly looking down at his hands. “But I should have anticipated every possibility. I failed him.”
Tony looked back at the video feeds as a boat entered the cone of light from one of the helicopters. It was Deuce and they were low on fuel again. Chyrel had joined the telemetry feed of each chopper to the video and they could see how much fuel each bird had. The boat in the middle of the light circle became larger. Again, it wasn’t the right kind of boat. It was another sailboat.
As the two men watched, something on the other screen to his right caught Tony’s eye. He leaned closer, not sure what he’d seen. Aside from a short nap and being knocked out for fifteen minutes or so, he hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours.
He saw it again. One of the red lights that represented an uninspected boat flashed on and off. “What the…?”
Chyrel glanced to where Tony was looking and saw the flashing light. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as Travis stepped around Tony for a better view. “Not a glitch,” she said. “Everything checks out.”
“This is a real-time satellite image?” Travis asked. She nodded and he put his finger on the flashing red light. “If it’s not a glitch, why is this boat on dry land?”
The three of them watched the flashing light. Suddenly Travis exclaimed, “Morse code!”
“Standard SOS!” Tony added as Kim and Linda rose from the bunk and moved to join them in front of the monitors. “Followed by something else. Dot dash dash dash, then dash dash.”
“JM!” Travis exclaimed.
Linda’s hand flew to her mouth. “Jesse!”
The same series of flashes continued, but Travis was already in motion. “Chyrel, get the coordinates where that’s coming from.”
Reaching for the mic, he saw Deuce’s chopper pull off the sailboat. They were closest, only forty miles away. Then Travis realized they barely had enough fuel to make either Homestead or Marathon. Knowing Deuce the way he did, he knew he’d order the chopper to go in, even if it meant not being able to get back out. He scanned the other video feeds. Two birds were already headed to Marathon and two more would have to refuel pretty soon. Charity had just landed at Marathon and would be back in the air once they took on fuel. Only the two DEA helos had enough fuel to get there and get out. They’d just refueled at the Naval Station on Boca Chica and were currently west of Key West.
Travis ordered the DEA helicopters to head toward the southwest coast of the mainland, then read off the coordinates Chyrel handed him. They were more than a hundred and twenty miles away, checking out a large number of boats near the Dry Tortugas.
Travis turned to Tony and handed him the paper. “Get Paul up. You, him, and Art get ready. Take the Cigarette.”
As Tony started toward the door, Linda grabbed his elbow. “I’m going with you.”
“With all due respect,” Tony replied, “your handgun’s gonna be pretty useless where we’re going.”
“Dad gave me the combination to his war chest,” Kim suggested. “Where he keeps his guns. That’s what he calls it.”
“Go!” Linda said to Tony. “I’ll be ready before you get underway.”
He quickly left, leaving the door standing open. Linda turned to Kim and said, “I know you want to, but you’re not going. So get that out of your head. Now, take me to Jesse’s guns.” The two of them ran out of the bunkhouse after Tony.
Travis picked up the mic. He ordered the remaining choppers to pull off their search and go immediately to the nearest place they could refuel. He then ordered any of the surface craft who had enough fuel to make Marco Island to respond.
Deuce’s voice came back over the radio. “What do you have, Colonel?”
“A signal from Jesse. He’s on an island just east of Marco. I have two DEA birds headed there plus Tony, Art, and Agent Rosales in the Cigarette. I want you to fly to Homestead, refuel and get there as fast as possible, as backup. That’s an order, Deuce.” After a couple seconds, he quietly added, “Maybe the last one I’ll give you.”
Deuce didn’t hear that last part. Travis had released the mic’s key. After several seconds of silence, Deuce finally responded, but without conviction. “Aye, aye, sir. We can make Homestead and be near Marco in ninety minutes.”
One by one, the surface craft responded that they didn’t have enough fuel, except one.
“Colonel, this is Deputy Phillips. I can make it.”
“Deputy Phillips, are you alone?”
“Yes, sir,” the young man replied. “But I know that area really well and I’m less than an hour away. I can get there with fuel to spare.”
“Roger that, Deputy. Agents Newman, Jacobs, and Rosales are leaving here in just a minute in Jesse’s Cigarette. They’ll arrive there a little after you, along with two DEA helicopters. Tony Jacobs is in charge. You’re alone on the water out there, son. Your call.”
There was only a moment of silence. “Which island, sir? I’m throttling up and headed north.”
“Have you ever heard of Panther Key?” Travis asked over the mic. Releasing it he asked, “Chyrel, is there any way you can signal Jesse back from that thing?”
The deputy replied before he finished. “Yes, sir, good snook in the fall and a ridge perfect for camping. I’m on my way!”
Chyrel was already typing, while she said, “Depends on how clear Jesse’s eyesight and the sky are. It has lights that I can probably flash on and off.”
Travis sat down with a pad and pencil. It’d been a long time since he’d learned Morse code and he struggled, erasing nearly as much as he wrote. Finally, he handed her the pad. “Flash the lights five times, wait five seconds and send this twice.”
Chyrel bent over the keyboard and logged into the satellite’s mechanical system, which controlled the lights used in navigation should it ever need to be retrieved for servicing. When she finished, she looked up at Travis. “What did it say?”
“‘How many?’” Travis replied and bent toward the laptop’s monitor. The flashing had stopped. He picked up the notepad and waited. Suddenly, the light flashed five times again, stopped and began flashing another message. He wrote down the series of dots and dashes. It was a long message.
Travis sat down and started to work again. “Flash five times and wait while I figure this out and write the next message.” It took several minutes this time. When he finished, he handed it to her and she began manipulating the light system controls again. “I can’t believe this is actually working,” he said to himself.
When she finished, Travis sat ready to take the message when Jesse responded. The message was long, but he was remembering more and he recognized many letters instantly. When he stopped writing, he picked up the mic with a grave expression.
Charity’s voice came through the speaker, hailing Goodman on the radio. “We’re taking off in just a minute, Ralph. Where to next?”
Travis cut in. “Charity, we found Jesse. He’s near Marco Island and needs help. Get in the air as quickly as possible. Contact Tony and drop your passengers on his boat.”
Travis then advised the two DEA choppers that two boats would arrive at the coordinates given and that there probably wouldn’t be a landing zone when they arrived. They were to provide cover and support to the agents in the boats. Then he activated the earwig he’d been wearing all night. He’d turned it off an hour ago to save the battery.
“Just about to leave, Colonel,” he heard Tony respond.
“Be advised, Charity is leaving Marathon momentarily and will rendezvous with you while underway. Deputy Phillips is already halfway there and will get there before you. Two DEA choppers can provide support, but Deuce has to refuel and will get there thirty minutes after you arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” Tony replied. “Any further communication from Jesse?”
Travis keyed the mic. “Yes, he said there are ten to twelve combatants on the island and more than twenty noncombatant refugees. He began to say something else, but it was interrupted. Nothing more in several minutes. Engage only if fired upon.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kim and Linda stepped aboard the Revenge and made their way quickly to the forward stateroom. Kim unlocked and raised the bunk. “What are you comfortable with?”
Under the bunk, Linda saw only rod and reel cases from several different manufacturers. “An assault rifle would be perfect, but whatever he has that’s longer than my arm.”
Kim grabbed one of the cases and pulled it out. Opening it, she handed Linda an M16A1, perfectly cleaned and oiled, with two loaded magazines taped together. In a reel case, she took out two more boxes of ammo, twenty rounds in each box, and handed them to her. Linda stuffed the extra ammunition in her pants pockets and Kim started to reach for another long case. Linda stopped her. “I said you’re not going.”
As Kim started to protest, they heard the engines of the go-fast boat start up and Linda said forcefully, “No!”
Returning quickly through the salon to the cockpit, Linda stepped easily over the other boat as the door slowly swung open. As Art cast off the lines and Tony engaged the engines, Linda turned to Kim and said, “We’ll be coming back with your dad before lunch. You have my word on that, Kim.”
The sleek racing boat idled out of the short channel from Jesse’s house and turned left into the main channel. Art climbed into the other molded front seat and buckled in, while Linda and Paul did the same in the rear of the boat in the two seats amidships.
Art quickly fired up the GPS and radar, while Tony stood up, steering the boat. With the moon at his back, he aimed the boat toward the flashing light three miles ahead. The sky to the east was just beginning to change the low faraway clouds from gray to a burnt orange.
“Red sky at morn,” Tony said.
“Sailor be warned,” both Linda and Art said simultaneously.
“That supposed to mean something?” Paul asked Linda.
“Might be some bad weather moving in,” she replied.
“Radar’s clear!” Art said. “GPS and plotter are active!”
“Clear and active,” Tony responded as he sat down and quickly buckled in. “Tighten your straps!”
Tony pushed both throttles slowly forward, but only halfway, not wanting the engines to cavitate and over-rev. The two big racing engines roared as the boat accelerated, planing within seconds. Relying on the navigation system like an airline pilot at night, Tony looked more at the radar and plotter, only occasionally glancing at the water ahead for anything floating. It was an incoming tide and the water should be clean and clear. Several previous trips through the narrow Harbor Channel remained on the plotter as thin blue lines. He had only to keep the boat within the lines to avoid the shallows.
“Approaching Harbor Key Bank!” Tony shouted over the halfhearted roar of the engines.
Linda leaned forward against the restraints, looking for the knotmeter among all the gauges. She assumed it’d be the largest, but those were oil pressure and engine temperature. She found it, not a knotmeter, but a speedometer, just like a car. It showed their speed at sixty miles per hour. She’d never gone this fast on the water before. The long, sleek hull and the two men at the controls made it look effortless.
“Is this as fast as it goes?” Linda shouted from the back.
Tony and Art looked back in unison for only a second, before returning their attention to the screens and instruments.
“No, it’s not,” Art said, without taking his eyes off the many instruments on his side of the console.
Tony looked back quickly once more, yelling, “Hang on!”
The light tower flashed past on the left and Tony pushed the throttles all the way to the stops. They were in thirty feet of water and had nothing ahead of them but deeper water. The boat rocketed forward, nearly pinning all three to their seats.
When the force of the acceleration subsided, the boat flying at top speed across the flat water, Linda was able to lean forward again. They were going over a hundred miles per hour. She’d never gone this fast anywhere but an airplane. Although she hadn’t been to Mass in nearly a decade, she quickly crossed herself and asked God to deliver them in time.
“You had to ask,” Paul mumbled.
Five miles behind the Cigarette, Gaspar’s Revenge slowly came up on plane.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Seeing the star I’d been aiming at pulse five times, I was dumbstruck, but knew immediately that I’d gotten through. The laser sight emits a narrow, focused beam of intense light that is invisible until it hits something. Up close, like a hundred yards away, the red dot is a tiny pinpoint. At a thousand yards, moisture in the air disturbs the narrow beam, refracting it so that the dot is slightly larger than the size of a BB, but it’s still very intense. Pilots have been momentarily blinded by idiots shining laser pointers at airliners from a mile or more away, not realizing that it’s a violation of federal law.
The satellite was fifteen thousand miles away. I figured by then, the beam would be a lot wider, but hopefully intense enough to be seen. That is, if anyone knew I was missing, if they were looking and if the camera was looking at a wide enough area to see my signal. A lot of ifs.
Once I’d arrived at the bare outcrop, I’d lain still for ten minutes, staring straight up. The only star in the sky that doesn’t move is Polaris. Any star directly overhead will slowly move toward the western horizon. With the sun still below the eastern horizon, I was counting on it illuminating the satellite enough to be seen. Finally, I noticed one star that was slowly being chased down by another and passed by a third. A stationary star, directly overhead.
Though it doesn’t have sights like a rifle, the bore sight is long and narrow, made to slide into a rifle barrel, so I aimed along its length and began tapping the power switch.
Was it the right satellite? Was anyone even looking? These and a dozen other questions went through my head as I tapped the same message, over and over. Just five letters, the first three were easily recognizable, even for people who didn’t know Morse code. SOS, followed by JM.
Seeing the satellite pulse, I stopped and waited. After a moment, it began pulsing again. Not much of a pulse, but as clear as the early morning air is, I could make out the rhythmic changes in intensity. “How many?”
Aiming the bore sight once more, I began tapping. Finishing the message, I could hear shouts from the refugee camp. They’d discovered that I had escaped.
The sky was getting lighter, meaning the satellite would be invisible in just a matter of minutes. I could barely make out the pulse now. “Two by air, seven by sea.”
My friends were on the way. I aimed again. Time was short. The satellite was nearly invisible in the quickly lightening sky and I could hear someone coming. Halfway through the message, I heard a yell from just forty or fifty feet away.
I stuck the bore sight in my pocket and scrambled for the far side of the clearing, away from the camp. I wasn’t even sure I was aiming at the right spot in the sky, anyway.
A shot rang out and sand kicked up from the ground just ahead of me as I charged through saw palmetto and scrub oak. More shouts as I twisted and turned, altering my course several times. The forest was thick and I made my way north to the far end of the small island. If I could get to the water, the rising tide would help carry me inland, among the many tidal islands that make up the Te
n Thousand Islands area.
The problem with that was that it was a maze of tiny mangrove islands, with narrow cuts between them, deep enough in some places for a small boat to navigate. The twice-daily rise and fall of the tides brought clean oxygenated water in and took dirty, nutrient-rich water out. A lot of people had become lost out there.
A better idea would be to stay on Panther Key, where my friends could find me. It’d also be the less likely of the two options that the gang would think I’d do, so that’s the one I chose.
Crashing through the brush, I could hear them behind me. My arms and legs were cut and bleeding in dozens of places. They don’t call it saw palmetto because you can see it. They grow close to the ground, the trunks sometimes running for twenty feet, snaking in and around each other, no more than a couple feet off the ground. The fronds grow to ten feet in places, the branches flat, with jagged thorns that resemble saw teeth along the edges. They can slice through clothes and skin alike. I finally descended the north end of the limestone outcropping, sliding down a short cliff to the water.
Some geological event way before the time of the Tequesta Indians’ arrival here had pushed the limestone up, exposing it to the elements. Over time, the water had worn it down. These outcroppings could still be found in many places around Florida. More in the northern and central parts of the states, but a few are still visible in what’s left of the Glades. No Name Key is one such outcropping, as is Panther Key.
Finding a suitably sized hunk of limestone, I raised it over my head, waiting. I wanted to make sure my pursuers were close enough to hear it, but far enough away that they’d not expect to see me after jumping in. When I judged they were close enough, I heaved the rock as high and far as I could. It splashed into the water with a loud, satisfying plunk.
Turning quickly, I made my way along the mangrove bank, moving west, away from the spot I’d slid down the cliff. I wanted to work my way around the mangrove-lined shoreline to where the boat had arrived on the southern end of the small island. My plan was simple. Get a gun from one of these punks and use it.
Fallen King: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 6) Page 22
