Wood's Wall

by Steven Becker

  Gas was clearly starting to mix with the acid now, and the fumes caused them both to cough. Their vision became obscured as well, eyes watering from the smoke. Mac tried to keep his cool as he got in position behind Mel and started to saw the duct tape. She screamed in pain with every stroke as he was unable to control the end of the blade. Small rivulets of blood started streaming down her arms, but she didn’t complain and he didn’t apologize. He finally figured out that the saw cut better moving backwards rather than forward, and the tape began to fall away. Two more pulls and she was free.

  “Give it to me.”

  Mel retrieved the saw where if fell and quickly cut her feet. Then she turned to Mac and cut his hands. He shook them to get the circulation back and took the saw from her. It quickly tore through the tape at his ankles. His feet freed, they both ran for the door and pulled it open together. It lifted a few inches and stopped.

  “He must have jammed it from the outside. Go for the window.”

  They both did headers through the window and rolled, landing awkwardly, but outside. “We’ve got to put it out. I’ll open the door. Did you see a fire extinguisher in there?” Mac yelled.

  “No, want me to check the house?” Mel asked.

  “It’s probably locked. Break a window if you have to.” He responded.

  49

  At the wheel of the drifting boat, Trufante was staring at his finger, when the wake came from nowhere and hit the side of the cigarette boat. Built for speed, the boat had a narrow beam, longer and narrower than most boats. Great for racing it sacrificed stability. The barrel tipped in its restraint as the boat turned nearly on its side, as Patel and Ibrahim ran over to support it. The added weight from the men in the corner of the boat caused it to tip even more.

  Trufante was paying attention now, looking for the source of the wake, “A cruise ship. She’s coming into the pier.”

  “Allah has blessed us further,” Patel said. “There must be several thousand infidels aboard.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Trufante stared at the boat.

  The boat was adrift behind Sunset Key. Trufante looked at the resort, guest houses dotting the white sand beach. They were sitting idle apparently killing time, although he didn’t know how long they had. He eyed the small island again trying to determine if the distance was swimmable.

  “We need to get this thing off here before something else goes wrong. You guys got a plan, or are we going to just drive the boat into the dock?” Cesar asked as he glanced over at the two terrorists, both praying. Neither answered. Trufante caught his eye. “Hey, Cajun. Help me tie the barrel down better. I wouldn’t want anything to go wrong now. Can one of you take the wheel?”

  Patel moved toward the wheel as Cesar slid behind him. Ibrahim moved forward as well, allowing Trufante access to the rear of the boat. The two men huddled around the barrel, checking the tie-downs. Trufante leaned over to Cesar and whispered, “We gotta go. Jump and swim for the island.”

  He nodded. They continued to fuss with the straps as Cesar glanced forward. Both men were entranced by the cruise ship sent by Allah, and Cesar nudged Trufante and dove off the transom. Trufante took off after him.

  “Follow me,” Trufante said. His experience in the water was vastly better than Cesar’s, and he instantly judged the current and swam with it. The outgoing tide worked in their favor, bringing them closer to the island. Cesar was in trouble. He struggled as the waves crashed over his head, taking in water with each breath. “Coast with the waves. On your side. Breathe at the top and stop looking back.”

  Trufante treaded water and watched him. “You got to lose the boots dude. They’re drowning you.”

  “No way Cajun,” He spat water.

  ***

  “It’s all I could find,” She handed the bag of kitty litter to him.

  “Good thinking. It should work.” Mac set the gas can on the bench and opened the cap to pour the granules in. He kept pouring until the hole was full, praying that it would be enough. With luck, the sand would absorb the gas and keep it inside the can. Removed from the acid, the can seemed intact, and he didn’t see any evidence of the gas having run into the acid itself.

  He looked up at Mel, relieved. “Think that’s it. The bomb squad can take it from here. Did you notice a land line in the house?”

  Mel shook her head. “I’ll check again.”

  “Don’t bother, we know where they’re going.”

  He looked around the garage, and an old tandem bicycle hanging upside down from its wheels caught his attention. “Hey, help me get this down.”

  They went to the old bike and lifted it off the hooks. It had been sitting so long that the rims touched the ground through the the flat tires. Mel dug through the shelves and came back with a foot pump. The tires eagerly accepted the air, and the bike rose off the ground.

  “Don’t know if they’ll hold, but it’s better than walking,” Mac said.

  They pulled the bike into the driveway and exchanged a look about who should drive. “You know the island better,” Mel conceded.

  It was sketchy for a minute until they found their rhythm, but once they did, the bike was fast. They went out to North Roosevelt and turned left. The boat harbor came quickly into view on the left, and Mac stopped short at the entrance, almost throwing Mel from the bike.

  Mac navigated the parking lot coming to a stop at the dock where he had left his board. They both dismounted at the seawall. Mac stared out to where his boat had been anchored, seeing nothing but water. He went down the pier and looked underneath for the paddleboard.

  “Heather and Jules have the boat.” He saw the black SUV parked. “The paddleboard’s gone too. Should we just ride to Front Street and see what we can do from the land side?”

  “If they’ve got the boat they know something we don’t. It’s going to happen from the water. We won’t do any good on land.” She looked around the parking lot. “Look, there’s a two seat outrigger canoe. We can get there in that, hopefully spot your boat.”

  “Never been in one.”

  “That’s my gig, and I’m driving.” They abandoned the bike and went for the canoe. Mel grabbed the ama. “Grab the canoe. We’ll put in at the boat ramp.” They carried the hull and the outrigger to the edge of the water. “I got this. Find some paddles.”

  Mac went toward the boathouse where the canoes were stored, and dug around for two old wooden paddles. When he returned, Mel had attached the ama to the boat and slid it into the water. “Same stroke as your board. Get in front. I’ll steer.”

  She pushed the bow toward open water and waited for him to get in. Once he had found his spot, she pushed off and hopped in the stern like the last guy in a bobsled. The canoe settled with their weight, and promptly died in the water.

  Mac shook his head. “We gotta switch. We’ll swamp with my weight in the front.”

  Mel reluctantly realized he was right. “Always have to be in charge.” They switched positions, and Mel set her paddle and pulled. Mac, out of sync, set his, and the boat spun.

  Mel turned around and glared at him. “Got to do this together. I’ll stay on the right side, you on the left. On my call, now. And pull.” She paused while they stroked, then called it again. They started to get into a rhythm, and the boat glided forward.

  “Sucker’s fast,” Mac muttered, watching the land slide by.

  “Shut up and paddle.”

  ***

  Trufante reached the beach first. He lay on the sand, catching his breath, his finger stinging from the salt water. Cesar was still 50 yards off shore, struggling to reach the beach. By the time his feet touched ground, Trufante was standing and ready to go.

  Cesar crawled onto shore and crossed himself. “Goddamn, Cajun, that was hard.” Water dripped from his boots.

  “We need a boat. You coming?”

  “Yeah, give me a minute.”

  Trufante didn’t wait. He started walking toward the street and turned left. “There’s a marina around the
corner here. We need to get there.”

  He had to turn around and check on Cesar several times as they walked. The Mexican was struggling, bent over, gasping for air. He waited patiently, stopping several times until a small pier came into view. Two security guards stood outside a shack.

  “What about them? This is some fancy resort. They’re going to look at us and put the cuffs on before they ask for a room key,” Cesar snorted.

  “Leave the talking to me.”

  They walked toward the marina, leaving a trail of water from their drenched clothes. As they approached, Trufante took the lead. A dive boat sat at the pier, tanks strapped to each side. It was idling, but no crew was in sight. Probably organizing the divers, thought Trufante. That was the boat he wanted. He went to the dock and met the look of the first guard.

  “Hey, man, the boat ready?”

  “Excuse me? Are you a guest?” The guard eyed him carefully.

  “No, man. Name’s Alan Trufante, but you can call me Tru,” he grinned. “They hired me and my boy here.” He pointed to Cesar. “Got a wreck they want to dive on. Asked us to take them out to it. Kind of a special deal, you know, not on the charts, and I ain’t giving up the GPS numbers to nobody. In fact, I’d appreciate if you checked the crew and guests for handheld devices and confiscate their cell phones. They’ll dig it, man. Make it seem top secret.” Trufante winked at him.

  The guard, still suspicious, went to the other guard and spoke in hushed tones. He came back. “No one told us about you.”

  “Top secret, like I said. These cats are paying big bucks for this. Word gets out that old Tru is showing off his honey hole, there’d be spies everywhere.” He shaded his brow and looked around. “You boys seen any suspicious activity?”

  They both shook their heads, and Trufante walked right by them to the boat. “Remember to collect their phones,” he yelled over his shoulder as he headed to the boat.

  Cesar was ten yards behind him grinning. “Damn, Cajun, That was a line of shit. Serious, hombre.”

  They both hopped on the boat. “Look busy. Like you’re checking tanks and stuff. Toss the lines while you’re at it.” Trufante went to the helm and revved the engine while Cesar untied the bow line and towards the stern. Trufante looked toward the guards and saw them confiscating the phones from a couple of passengers. Then two men in matching clothes approached the guards. They talked briefly, and the four men quickly headed toward the boat. The guards drew their guns as Trufante reversed to the edge of the dock, but it was too late. Trufante had seen them and realized it was time to go. He pushed the throttle forward and shot away from the dock. Bullets hit the water, and Trufante and Cesar looked at each other and started laughing.

  “How far can this thing take us?”

  “Probably get up to Key Largo, but it’ll be a slow ride. This thing ain’t built for speed. Or bumps.”

  “Amigo, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  50

  Mac and Mel had a good rhythm going as they rounded the breakwater and passed the ferry pier. The canoe was cruising through the light chop, spray flying into their faces. He was initially frustrated as she tried to teach him how to switch sides on her call every fifteen strokes or so. Mac was used to paddling his stand up boards and not used to taking direction. He eventually came around to her call after seeing how much faster the boat moved when they were in rhythm. His leg ached as he tried to find a comfortable position. The cruise ship dock appeared in the distance and Mac slowed his stroke and steered them into the basin of the Pier House Resort.

  “We gotta regroup and make some kind of a plan. It’s just past that cruise ship. We can’t just paddle in there, unarmed, and think we’re going to save the day.” Mac said

  “You’re right. Got any ideas?” She answered.

  “I don’t even know what boat they’re using. All we can do is keep going. Sitting here is not getting us anywhere.”

  “Agreed.”

  They started paddling, the bow pointed toward Sunset Key. Suddenly they saw a dive boat moving toward them. Mac stopped again. Trufante stood out even at this distance.

  “That’s Trufante and that drug dealer. I’m sure of it.” He waved his paddle in the air.

  ***

  Trufante squinted into the sun. The paddle waved in the air caught his attention — an almost sure sign of distress. Surprised to see Mac in the back of the canoe, he changed course slightly so as not to alert Cesar, knowing he only had seconds to figure out a plan before he overtook his friends. He glanced around the deck of the boat. The pontoon boat was about forty feet long and almost fifteen feet wide, built for the easy five mile run to the reef in light seas. Each pontoon had an outboard at its end. The Yamaha 115-HP motors were enough to bring the boat onto a plane in calm seas and churn through the chop. The deck had benches down each side with scuba tanks strapped behind them.

  Without another option, Trufante slid his hand below the wheel and turned the key to the port engine off. The boat immediately started to swing into a left turn.

  “Crap, we lost an engine. Take the wheel and I’ll have a look.” He slowed the starboard engine to an idle and stepped away from the controls. Cesar took over and Trufante walked toward the stern. He’d bought a little time, but still had no plan. He went to the port side and fumbled with the engine, taking the cowling off, and exposing the guts of the engine. The canoe was moving closer. He was running out of time.

  “Hurry up!” Cesar yelled. “That freaking bomb could blow us clear of here any time now!”

  “Working on it.” Trufante stood and looked around. A tank was all he had, so he grabbed one from the rack. “Gotta blow some crap out of the line.”

  “Just hurry up.”

  He took the tank to the engine and opened the valve. Cesar was preoccupied with trying to keep the boat running straight on one engine, so Trufante stood and went toward him. The force of the compressed air reached Cesar well before Trufante did. He struggled against it, his eyes closed against the rush of air. Trufante saw his moment and swung the tank into Cesar’s head.

  He watched him fall to the deck and said goodbye to his fortune smuggling drugs through the bayou. A pool of blood was already starting to form as he shut off the tank and replaced the cowling on the engine.

  The canoe pulled up alongside him as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Mel was first to hop onto the boat. Mac followed behind her, and pushed the canoe off for the current to take.

  “He deserved that,” Mel said looking at the body as she took the wheel.

  “Nice work.” Mac pounded him on the back. “Where’s the bomb? We can catch up on the story later.”

  “Cigarette boat. Those two terrorists are waiting out there.” He pointed. “They’re drifting off the back of the island there.”

  “Let’s go,” Mac said motioning to Cesar’s body. “Help me with him.” They both fought to keep their footing in the blood pooled on the deck as they dragged the body to the side. Mac slipped and smashed his injured calf into the gunwale.

  “I got it.” Trufante went to the transom and turned on the freshwater wash-down used by the divers to rinse off after a dive. The blood formed into rivulets before forming a creek, and then a stream. He started to hose the body down.

  “Whoa, hold up.” Mac looked at the tattoo covering Cesar’s arms. He crawled over and shook his head, pursing his lips as if he had found something of value.

  “Head us over there.” He yelled to Mel. “Do they know what kind of boat you’re in?” He asked Trufante.

  “Don’t think so. We jumped off theirs, made it to the island there, and stole this.”

  He looked around at the other boats all heading to sea. “Well, let’s look like we’re just heading toward the reef like everyone else and see what they’re up to.”

  The dive boat rounded the island, and Trufante pointed toward the cigarette boat. “That’s them.”

  Mac looked at his watch. “The speech starts in ten minutes. They’re g
oing to start moving any second. The only thing we can do is sink it.”

  “How?”

  “Cesar got a gun?” Mac asked. Trufante shook his head, but Mac went to the body anyway, again glancing at the ink. He rolled the drug runner over and checked, but found no gun.

  “Slow down,” he called to Trufante. He pointed toward the shore. “There. That’s where we’ll make our move.”

  Trufante swung the boat and headed for the stern of the cruise boat. There was a narrow opening there, where the cigarette boat would be forced to travel close to the ship on its way in.

  “We’re going to stay 100 yards off the cruise boat and wait. I don’t think either of those guys has the balls to drive that full throttle through the cut. We try and run up alongside them and toss a couple of tanks into their boat. I’m counting on them being slow to react.”

  “What’s that going to do?” Mel asked.

  “Just watch. Can you drive? I need Tru.”

  Mac was on his knees, unlatching the clips that held the bench in place. “Tru, help me here.” Each bench was 8 feet long, with metal legs attached to the deck with clips so they could be easily removed. Behind each bench were sections of plastic pipe for the dive tanks to sit in.

  “Pull the tanks out,” Mac muttered. Trufante removed the six tanks from behind the bench, and laid them down on the deck. Then they pulled the first bench away from the gunwale, setting it to the side and going to work on the plastic pipes behind. The six pieces were secured to a piece of plywood that was screwed to the boat.

  Mac looked up at Mel. “Babe, are there any tools in that compartment below?” She bent over to search, and Mac looked out at the other boat moving closer. They would have to hurry.

  “Just a few screwdrivers.”

  “Toss ’em over.”

  Mac and Tru each grabbed a screwdriver and went to work on the screws. Once those were out, they pulled the plywood free and set it on the gunwale. The tank holders were on their side now, looking like portholes. Mac and Trufante smiled at each other.