Wood's Reach

by Steven Becker

  His blood was starting to boil at having to trust these two to do anything. “And don’t screw it up,” he screamed into the phone before disconnecting.

  He cringed when the house door opened again. It had been just long enough for her to down another glass of wine. “Can you keep it down? I don’t need the neighbors to know your dirty laundry,” his ex yelled.

  ***

  Startled by the ring, Mac grabbed the phone off the shelf. Surprised by the call, he disconnected the charging cord and looked at the display. To avoid the noise of the generator, he walked away from the shed.

  “Hey,” he said, not recognizing the number.

  “I think we need to have a conversation,” Hawk’s voice came through the receiver.

  Mac took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Placing it back, he said, “You want me, you know where I live, and I don’t know how much of a conversation it’ll be.” He was about to hang up when another call displayed. “Wait,” he said.

  He was ready to disconnect and pick up the other call when Hawk said, “Alicia Phon.”

  Not acknowledging, he cursed his lack of techno anything and pushed the button that said swap calls. “Alicia?” Mac asked, not trusting the display.

  “Mac—wow, you answered. I think I found something,” she said.

  “Never mind that. Hide the data and get out of there,” he said. “Where’s Tru and TJ?”

  “On a charter,” she answered. “Out snorkeling. There was somebody up here snooping around. I don’t think he saw me, though.”

  “Just go. Get somewhere safe and call me.” He disconnected and tried to return to the other call, but the line was dead. He knew staying here was not going to help anyone. If she had found something, it could solve his problems, but if Hawk got to her first, they would multiply.

  He ran to the beach and into the water. Untying the line, he pushed the bow forward to spin it and jumped over the gunwale. The engine started and he cruised out of the channel, pausing where the man-made excavation ended. The rock guarding the northern approach was exposed now that the tide was moving back out, and he looked down at the old cable lying in the water. Wood had rigged it to act as a boom, an old naval trick to stop boats from entering a harbor. When it was raised to just below the waterline, any approaching boat would either be holed or have its lower unit torn off.

  With Hawk threatening him, he contemplated rerigging it. The equipment was still there, but he doubted that the cable was still in one piece after so many years in the salt water. Adding it to his list of things to do, he reversed into deeper water and pushed down the throttles.

  The boat planed out quickly, and without the weight of the T-top, he didn’t even need the trim tabs. The display on the fuel gauge was showing the consumption per hour was down as well. All things to consider before replacing it. He cruised past the flat where the boat had grounded and spun the wheel. It would only take a minute, and he knew if he waited, the guns would be lost to the shifting sands after a couple more tide changes. Slowly he approached the flat, easing the bow forward until he felt the slightest resistance. He cut the engine, checked the current, and decided that if he was quick, there would be no need to anchor.

  Stripping off his shirt, he grabbed a mask from under one of the seats and hopped over the gunwale. Within a few minutes he located a Glock 9mm. The other gun was more elusive, and after a few passes, he gave up. Back aboard, he lay the pistol on the seat next to him and took off for Marathon.

  ***

  Alicia shut down the screens and pocketed the drive, intending to put it in the dive shop’s safe. She looked at her phone, knowing TJ wouldn’t be back for at least an hour. There was no answer on his cell phone, but she knew the reception at the reef was hit-and-miss. Once downstairs, she could try to reach him from the VHF base station in the shop. Grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter, she went for the door, but it opened before she could reach it. The body in the frame blocked the light, and she recognized the man who had been prowling around earlier.

  She screamed and he was on her. He was fast for his size, and right behind him came the other, smaller man. The larger man ratcheted her arm behind her back, forcing her to her feet by twisting her arm up. She tried to step on his foot and elbow him, but her blows were ineffective against his bulk. Unless she could somehow hit his groin, she had nowhere to go.

  “Scream and you’re done,” the voice said, increasing the pressure on her arm.

  She searched for a way out, but the dock was empty. The smaller man pulled a knife and showed her the blade. Calling out for help might only endanger the employees in the shop, and that was not an option. Mac knew they were after her. He would help. “Okay. I’ll go,” she said.

  They escorted her to the sedan. The larger man pushed her into the backseat and crammed his bulk in next to her. She slid across to the other side, away from the man. The smaller man climbed in the driver’s seat and backed out of the space. He pulled onto the road and followed it to the intersection with US-1, where he put on his left blinker. At least he’s heading the right way, she thought.

  The larger man was looking at his phone. “Pull over in two blocks. You should see a strip mall with a blue metal roof overhang.”

  “Hawk said to bring her right back,” the driver said.

  “This’ll only take a second,” he said, staring out the window at the passing buildings.

  Alicia watched and waited. If there was unrest between the men, it might give her the chance she needed to make a break for it.

  “There,” the larger man called out, pointing his finger at the approaching building. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Department of Veterans Affairs? I didn’t know you were a vet.”

  “Neither do they,” the man said and opened the door just as the driver parked. “Keep her running.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Alicia’s mind ran wild. The only redeeming factor was that they were heading toward Marathon, though she had no idea if that would be the final destination. The large man was subdued now, almost smiling. She had to assume it was drugs after seeing him emerge from the VA clinic with a small bag, and his new attitude as much as confirmed it. Filing the information away for later, she thought about her present circumstances.

  The pattern recognition program had pulled up a match, but of what she didn’t know. It might reveal the significance of the tattoos or just add another layer of questions to the puzzle. Now, away from her lifeline, with no phone or Internet hookup, she was starting to panic.

  They passed Islamorada and followed the chain of keys toward Key West. Marathon was only forty minutes away, and she needed some kind of a plan before they got there. A restroom stop and a run for it might work, but that would be her only chance, and the odds were thin at it succeeding. Assuming that they had weapons, and with flip-flops on her feet, it could end badly. Additionally, whatever trust she had gained by not resisting would evaporate.

  Her training had taught her to observe and record if she was unable to take action, and she watched the two men, listening to their sporadic conversation. Bored, her mind started to drift back to the images on her computer screen at home. Mac had contacted her about the data on the drive, so it had to be important. Now, with these goons involved, whatever was revealed by the tattoos had a danger factor. She looked at her watch. Three o’clock—TJ should be getting back from the charter soon. He would see her phone lying on the desk and start to wonder. She was confident that with the help of Tru, he would try to contact Mac, but where did this leave her?

  Marathon approached, and she returned to the present. They passed Key Colony Beach, and then the airport. After another mile, they turned left at the Kmart shopping center, and then right onto the first street. The road followed a golf course, where Wallace made a quick left after the clubhouse. A small bridge lay ahead with a group of boats working around it. They crossed and turned into the first driveway.

  “Don’t try nothing, you hea
r,” Mike said to her, lifting his shirt and revealing the grip of a gun. He got out of the car, walked around to her door, and opened it, pulling her out. Together they walked through the carport underneath the house and followed the path to the dock. A large boat was sitting there with the engines running. It looked like a research ship and appeared out of place in the residential setting. Mike pushed her up the gangplank, where she found herself face-to-face with another man, obviously the boss from the way the two men acted. Though balding, he had not caved in and adopted the current style of shaving his head. His fashion taste was off as well for the T-shirt-and-board-short capital of the world; he wore a tailored button-down shirt, tucked into khaki pants, and looked like he should be on a cruise ship in Miami.

  “Welcome, Ms. Phon. You will be our guest here. Act accordingly and you will be well treated. Otherwise, Mike here will instruct you.”

  He turned and walked through the cabin door. Mike pushed her forward. Her Agency training had taught her to observe things that didn’t fit, and as she looked at the deck before entering the cabin, she made some quick deductions. This was clearly not a pleasure vessel; rather, from the rigging, the electronics tower, and the utilitarian deck, she determined it was a commercial ship of some kind. Inside, it took her a moment for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she found herself in the main cabin. A large chart table was against one wall, and across from it was a desk with a built-in settee and several deck chairs off to the side. Ahead was the wheelhouse, where Wallace stood, working the electronics.

  “Get the lines,” Hawk called, moving forward to the wheelhouse and taking the wheel. Wallace and Mike ran fore and aft following his command, and she felt the boat move away from the dock.

  ***

  TJ skillfully placed the forty-two-foot dive boat against the pilings and called to Trufante to get the lines. While he held the converted sportfisher in position, Trufante tossed the fenders over and tied the boat off. TJ cut the engines and climbed down from the helm. He brushed past the glowing group that, many of whom, including Pamela, had just experienced their first taste of the reef.

  “Hey, man,” Trufante called, but TJ was already racing up the stairs.

  With the captain gone, the passengers looked to Trufante for direction. Although not technically crew, he had assisted many of them with their equipment and offered some technique instruction. “Hey, y’all,” he called out. “Thanks for coming. Grab some brochures at the front desk and spread the word.” He paused for a second and gave them his full smile. “And don’t forget to take care of your crew.”

  He signaled to Pamela to wait for a second and jumped onto the dock. One at a time, the passengers disembarked. He helped each one like they were his grandmother and shook their hands, taking the proffered bills, which he skillfully placed in his pocket.

  Pamela was last. “I’ve got a tip for you, but it’ll have to wait for later.” She smiled and took his hand.

  Now this was getting back to normal, he thought. “Glad you enjoyed it,” he said.

  “Really, that was awesomeness. I’m going to check out the store.”

  Smiling back at her, he patted her butt as she walked away. “I’m gonna run upstairs and see what’s up with TJ,” he said, starting for the stairs.

  “Okay. I’ll do some shopping,” she said.

  His long stride allowed him to take the treads two at a time. The front door was open, and he entered. “TJ?” he called out. There was no answer, and he moved inside. “TJ,” he called louder.

  “Hey. In here.”

  Tru walked through the double doors and entered the war room. He had heard about it, but never been inside. TJ sat at a desk with his head in his hands. “What’s up, dude?”

  TJ looked up at him. “Alicia’s gone. I knew something was wrong when she didn’t answer her phone when we were coming in. I had one of the guys downstairs come up and knock on the door, but there was no answer. Her phone’s on the counter, and the car’s still here too. I got a bad vibe about this.”

  “Shoot,” Trufante started.

  TJ cut him off. “It’s not like her,” he said, holding her cell phone. “She’d never leave her phone.”

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, looking around the room. On the side-by-side screens were the pictures of the tattoos. “I know that one,” he said, pointing to the image on the left screen.

  “What of it?” TJ asked.

  “That’s what Mac wanted her to look at.” He walked toward the screens for a better look.

  “I can zoom that for you,” TJ said.

  “Ain’t no need,” he said, staring at the tattoos. “That there’s from a dude named Diego. Don’t know what the other one is, but it looks kinda the same.”

  “That doesn’t help find Alicia,” TJ said.

  “I’ll call Mac. Maybe he knows something,” Trufante said, pulling the phone from his pocket and pressing several buttons. He held it to his ear, but after a minute, he pushed another button and slid it back into his pants. “Gone straight to voice mail.”

  “That’s not good,” TJ said.

  “Just the way he is. Thinks the boogeyman can find it if he keeps it on.”

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  TJ was getting anxious. “All roads lead down the old US-1 to Marathon. We had a run-in with some bad dudes last night. This has got to be connected.” Trufante rubbed the stubble on his chin, trying to connect the dots.

  “Okay. Let’s get going,” TJ said. Trufante followed him out of the room, and TJ grabbed the car keys from the counter.

  “Maybe we should take the boat. Won’t take but another half hour or so this time of day, and I’m guessing it’ll come in handy.”

  TJ nodded and dropped the car keys. “Hold on,” Trufante said and went back to the war room. He went to the desk and grabbed the coin.

  ***

  Mac had already pulled back on the throttles and was just about to round the piling marking the channel to the boat ramp when he saw the sheriff’s boat tied up to the dock. Without thinking, he dropped into neutral and pulled back slightly on the lever, giving enough reverse thrust to counteract his momentum. The boat was empty, but he saw the deputy that had brought the building inspector out talking to a couple about to drop their boat into the water.

  Not wanting a confrontation, and expecting that they might be looking for him for a statement about the incident at Hawk’s last night, he pulled back further and cut the wheel to the left. There was no doubt that Hawk would have blamed the crash on him. The bow swung over, and he had open water in front of him. Slowly he pushed the throttle forward, and the boat started moving away. Risking a look back, his eyes met the deputy’s, and he knew he had made the right decision. Not wanting to look guilty, he turned east, following the coast. He rounded a point and chanced another look behind when he saw the bow of the sheriff’s boat pull out of the cut.

  To his right was a narrow opening that led to the marina at Keys Fisheries. It was his best option. There was no way to outrun the more powerful boat, and doing so would likely land him in jail. Ducking into the marina was his safest bet. If the deputy saw him, so be it. If he didn’t, he had dodged a bullet.

  He entered the marina, where he saw several open slips usually occupied by charter boats. He pulled into one, running forward to grab the line looped on the pile and tie it off before the boat coasted to a stop.

  “Mac Travis. Come back to say thank you?” Celia put down her cell phone and moved toward him.

  He had meant to thank her for creating a diversion the other night, but before he could say anything, her gaze moved from him to the cut, and he knew the deputy was there. “Yeah,” he muttered, wondering what to do.

  “It’s your lucky day. Old Celia’ll help you out again. Got no love for that effin’ bastard. You know, me and him dated in high school,” she said.

  Mac jumped onto the dock and looked at her. “I’m open to ideas.”

  She shook an angry finger at
the sheriff’s boat as if it would ward him off. “Hide behind the console on that boat and watch me.” She pointed to a large open fishing boat.

  “I owe you,” Mac said and went for the deck of the adjacent boat. He ducked behind the gunwale and watched.

  Celia stood with her hand on her hip, her body language daring the deputy to come any closer. He must have gotten her message and idled out into the center of the harbor, where he worked both throttles to keep the boat in place, obviously not wanting to get any closer.

  “Where is he?” he shouted across the water.

  “What’s a matter, babe?” She swung her other hip out. “I won’t bite.”

  “I’m just trying to do my job here. We just want to talk to him, that’s all,” he said.

  Mac almost believed him, but then he remembered Hawk’s friendship with the new sheriff. There was no love lost between Mac and the sheriff, and even if they did just want to talk, they would make him come in and give a statement.

  “He ain’t here,” Celia called back.

  “I seen him come in here, and that’s his boat,” the deputy pleaded.

  “I don’t know nothin’ about that effin’ boat or anyone coming in on it,” she countered.

  “You run this place. Nothing happens here that you don’t know about.”

  “Well, Mr. Deputy. You calling me a liar?” A string of expletives followed.

  Mac was almost laughing when the deputy spun the boat and moved away. He rose from the deck.

  “I owe you for that,” he said.

  “That was sport, my friend. But, come on, tell ol’ Celia what you’re up to,” she said.

  “I gotta beg off. Got a friend in trouble,” Mac said.

  “Wait here,” she said, walking away with a swagger that made her weight seem right.

  She was back a minute later and handed him a single key attached to a piece of foam. “Maybe this’ll help. Ever run a quad before?” She pointed to the thirty-foot center-console that dwarfed his old boat. Four gleaming engines hung from the transom.