“No, how do you know there are 1250 kilos in the boat?”
Wilfred chuckled. “It’s what I heard.” Petersen remained cautious.
The guide gave the engine full throttle and the boat planed and took off.
Ten minutes later, Wilfred cut the power to the engine. He had been quiet for the entire ride. Wilfred retrieved his push-pole and climbed up to the guide platform. Slowly, he pushed the boat along the grass-covered flat. The water was clear and appeared to be about three feet deep.
He seemed to be looking for fish when he pointed to a film on the surface, about forty feet to the left. Immediately, checking his boat engine to see if it was leaking, he said, “Nothing’s coming from here.” He became visibly excited and slowly used his pole to move the boat closer to the slick.
When they were near, he jumped down from the guide tower and checked the depth finder.
Petersen watched him with a great deal of interest. He realized he was out of his element and all alone with a fishing guide who had too much knowledge of the situation. He watched Wilfred’s hands intently. You never know…
Steve decided to try to figure out what Wilfred knew. “Wilfred, why didn’t you just tell me you were looking for Sean and Preston’s boat?”
He seemed to hesitate, then looked at Petersen. “Why, you want to help?”
“Absolutely.” Petersen looked at the depth finder to get a reading while Wilfred opened the compartment at the bow of the boat. As a recreational diver, Petersen recognized diving equipment carefully stashed inside. He saw fins, two air tanks, weight belts, and a rope. Wilfred grinned and donned the diving gear.
What they saw on the fish finder indicated they were directly over something large. The film on the water suggested the object was leaking fuel and oil. Whatever it was, it sat on the ocean floor at roughly twenty-five feet below the surface.
Petersen heard another boat engine and looked up to see Bubba and Dix slowing down to fish about a quarter mile away.
Just north of the object on the fish finder screen, the ocean floor plummeted to several hundred feet and eventually several thousand. Petersen was pretty sure Wilfred wouldn’t have much time to examine whatever was below them based on the depth, strong currents, and minimal air in the small oxygen tanks. Plus, they had no idea if it was Gray Ghost.
Petersen recalled the concern their friends felt for the dead men. Even though he’d never met them, he felt like he wanted to help bring closure to their families. This feeling had drawn him to law enforcement in the first place. He genuinely liked helping people.
Wilfred began to feed Petersen more information. “I’m pretty sure Sean and Preston were running dope. Bubba and I think they were killed while transporting the stuff to Miami.”
Petersen thought it funny how people always told him everything without much effort on his part. He’d been successful at his job because he was a good listener. He decided his initial assessment that Wilfred might be a threat was wrong. This is shaping up to be a real mystery.
After he had finished talking, Wilfred entered the water.
Petersen kept the boat steady with the anchor and monitored the rope they’d tied onto Wilfred for safety. It seemed as if Wilfred had been gone for hours, but in reality, he reappeared in less than twenty minutes.
Dix and Bubba pulled the other boat up close to them just in time to see Wilfred surface. The big man’s eyes behind the mask were wide. He produced three objects wrapped in cellophane. They were off-white in color. Dix and Petersen gave each other a knowing nod.
Before anyone could comment, Wilfred said, “The whole bow and transom of the boat is full of these. It’s definitely Gray Ghost.”
The detectives looked at each other again and simultaneously said, “Oh shit.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Wilfred’s discovery forced Dix and Petersen to shift from fishing into police work mode.
Dix spoke first. “Our problems are many. The biggest is our lack of jurisdiction. The local police are definitely going to want this case. However, they’re probably not prepared for anything this big. A substantial load of narcotics like this surely means cartels or Colombians are involved. If the United States has no solutions for dealing with them, it’s likely the Bahamians don’t either.”
Bubba, Dix, and Petersen discussed the jurisdiction issue awhile, but couldn’t come up with a way of justifying their involvement. They finally decided the largest problem now was what to do about the wreck and the contraband.
They’d discovered a crime scene, which also meant more headaches. Paperwork, confusion, and frustration lay ahead. Dix wanted to report the situation immediately to the Royal Bahamian Police Force, but Petersen wanted to search the area for more clues.
“Sharing the information with the locals would generate phone calls to the U.S. Navy, Royal Navy, Royal Netherlands Navy, and Coast Guard. The red tape that kind of storm would generate would take months to sort out, providing any suspect or suspects ample time to escape,” Dix argued.
“But the speedboat could reveal clues as to who killed Sean and Preston.” Petersen watched, knowing Dix’s analytical mind was probably bouncing theories and hunches around his brain.
Wilfred’s eyes brightened. “We could fetch the speedboat from the ocean floor and store it without anyone knowing. You could conduct a private investigation. Let’s mark the location with my GPS unit on the fish finder and return with the proper equipment after dark.” He turned to Dix. “We’ll use the moon for light. We should have the wreck up in less than an hour. Besides, we already have the boats, airbags, night vision goggles, and other necessary equipment in a safe place.”
Why do these guys seem to have so many resources?
The four agreed, regardless of the outcome, further secrets were forbidden. Their goal formed an instant bond between them.
“What do you think?” Petersen asked Dix. He’d waited for this fishing trip for six years but felt compelled to help the locals now that they were involved.
“This could get ugly… quick. That load of cocaine and two murders makes this more than a simple drug deal gone wrong. We may have stumbled upon a sophisticated operation run by someone with vast knowledge of the narcotics world.” It passed briefly in his thoughts that solving the case would be good for his career. Maybe it would be enough to get promoted.
Dix nodded. “This discovery would be one of the biggest seizures from Caribbean waters in a long time. But running an independent investigation in foreign waters?”
Petersen knew his partner didn’t follow the rules all the time, but they were currently in the Bahamas, out of their jurisdiction. “We probably have no business getting involved in Bahamian drug trafficking problems,” he conceded.
“I thought I was on vacation.” Dix sighed. “I want to help, and the case is intriguing, so I guess I’m in.” Dix pointed to the packages sitting on the deck and turned to Wilfred. “Wilfred, at the risk of sounding stupid, did you find those on the same speedboat you believe Sean and Preston were in when they were killed?”
Wilfred nodded. “Yes.”
“Was there any evidence down there, such as registration markings, that may be helpful?” Wilfred nodded his head again.
“Well,” Dix said, “It seems we all have a choice. We can leave one boat here to mark the spot while the other goes to get help. Or, we can put that off a bit, keep an eye out for spectators, and gather more information. Of course, then we have to decide how much of what we find, if we find anything at all, we should share with the local authorities. As far as I can tell, we wouldn’t break too many laws by postponing the announcement of Wilfred’s discovery. But make no mistake about it, we’ll have to tell them eventually.”
Petersen nodded. “I say we kindly ask Wilfred to dive once more to gather additional evidence.”
Bubba, who up until this point had just watched and not said much, finally opened his mouth. “Will, ask them what dey need from Gray Ghost and go down to get it.”<
br />
Dix assumed his natural role of lead investigator. “Listen, Wilfred, we need to figure out where the boat originally came from and where it was most likely headed. The closest spot I can think of is my neck of the woods, Miami. Florida requires Class II boats to have a registration decal on the port side and a painted registration number on both sides, usually all black and in three-inch block letters. If we’re lucky, there will be an HIN on the outside of the transom.”
Wilfred looked confused. “An HIN?”
“Sorry, that’s short for Hull Identification Number.” Dix chuckled. “I’ve always loved boats but never thought all my knowledge about them would be worth much. At the moment, I’m glad I know what to look for.”
Dix and Wilfred spoke some more while Bubba and Petersen began to examine the packages Wilfred had brought up.
After grabbing a new tank, Wilfred entered the water again.
CHAPTER SIX
Coast Guard Lieutenant Commander Jim “Bloodhound” Calhoun stood on the bow of Venturous, a new Coast Guard Cutter. He was enjoying a very expensive cigar while he and the crew were finishing a fifty-day tour of the Caribbean. The cigar was a personal reward as he and the men had performed very well earlier in the day.
About a month had passed since the Coast Guard had intercepted a substantial load of narcotics headed for the United States. Contributing to the legend, the Coast Guard’s Bloodhound laid claim to over sixty major drug interdictions, more than triple any other individual. Not only did he have a knack for sniffing out contraband, but he apprehended the smugglers with precision and ease.
Today’s seizure was number sixty-one. Everyone on the cutter was talking about the ordeal since it was the Bloodhound who’d suggested moving south when recent intelligence suggested moving north to locate suspected illegal contraband. Bloodhound had told the Captain he had a hunch about a large amount of narcotics heading north toward Miami from Jamaica. He knew his old friend, the Venturous’s captain, trusted his instinct. So the command to redirect to the south was given.
Seven hours later, a Stingray helicopter was deployed, as well as a few prototype boats. They’d intercepted a speedboat containing 500 kilos of cocaine and 100 pounds of heroin. Lieutenant Commander Jim Calhoun felt good about himself. The crew was raving over the accuracy of his sniper shot, which had disabled the fleeing speedboat. No Coast Guard casualties. That was the best news. The brass loves it when no one dies. As customary, Jim Calhoun had just provided the following detailed report to the Captain.
OPERATIONS REPORT:
On April 23, 2012, at approximately 1530 hours, a prototype boat, a Long Range Interceptor (LRI) in the final stages of testing, launched from the Cutter Venturous armed with .50 caliber machine guns and several Coast Guard seamen toward a previously fleeing vessel suspected of containing illegal contraband. The men had trained many hours and done hundreds of drills; however, this was a live-fire event. The suspected smugglers’ vessel had been previously disabled by sniper rounds to the vessel’s engines fired by Jim Calhoun. The Coast Guard units converged on the suspects quickly.
After the vessel was disabled, the two suspects on the speedboat were observed arming themselves. Each of them racked rounds into their AK-47s and donned flak jackets with full body armor. One of them retrieved a rifle fitted with a grenade launcher from the storage compartment of the speedboat. This area was later confirmed to be a modified weapons cache. The suspect chambered a 40 mm round into the launcher and appeared to say something to the other suspect.
Lt. Commander, Jim Calhoun and the spotters on the LRIs were not prepared for their aggressive actions. None of the Coast Guard personnel involved in this incident has been involved in a live-fire event except Calhoun, who confirmed with the advancing units that this was not a simulated drill. Based on the actions of the men in the vessel, it appeared a firefight was inevitable.
Rookie Coast Guard Seaman, Todd Ross, later reported he felt his heart race as he taped the firing mechanism for the .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the bow of the LRI with his fingers. Seaman Ross stated he had tunnel vision because all he could see was one of the AK-47s in the hands of one of the suspects. It should be noted that Seaman Ross performed his duties superbly and followed all directions and procedures from his superior officers.
Calhoun reminded everyone over the air not to engage the suspects on the disabled boat until they were fired upon first or the men trained their weapons on Coast Guard personnel. The recording of this announcement and all other radio transmissions has been retained per protocol.
The suspects on the disabled vessel were seen to look at each other and grin. Both suspects then swung their weapons toward Coast Guard personnel and began shooting at the advancing Coast Guard boats and also the helicopter Jim Calhoun was in. The first rounds from both suspects slapped the water near the incoming boats, but the boats continued. Seaman Ross said he saw rounds from the suspects pierce the water to the left of the LRI he was in. Observing the attack, Jim Calhoun radioed, “Green, go, go, go.”
Seaman Ross fired a flurry of rounds at the suspects after being ordered to return fire. The .50 caliber rounds swept from left to right and finally caught the front of the boat. Ross stated he stopped firing when he believed the boat had been disabled.
One of the suspects raised the 40 mm grenade launcher and propelled a round at the helicopter. Jim Calhoun simultaneously squeezed the trigger of his sniper rifle, hitting the suspect in the chest. This suspect has been confirmed deceased.
The other suspect grabbed a .45 Glock from his hip and squeezed the trigger. The round traveled through his skull and out the other side. The final suspect has been confirmed as deceased by his own hand.
The incident ended at 1532 hours when Jim Calhoun announced over the radio, “All units stand down, repeat, stand down.”
Both LRIs arrived at the disabled speedboat just after the last suspect committed suicide. The Stingray helicopter carrying Jim Calhoun returned to Venturous as it was low on fuel.
Coast Guard Seaman Ross and his partners needed most of the remainder of the day to process the contraband located on the vessel. Personnel recovered roughly 500 kilos of cocaine, a hundred pounds of heroin, illegal rifles, ammunition, and a few bundles of cash estimated to be a million dollars. No identification was located regarding the two deceased suspects. All efforts will be made to identify the suspects once their remains are brought ashore.
END OF REPORT.
Beyond the obvious highlight of the seizure, the events made Calhoun, and by extension, the Coast Guard, look very good. It also helped justify the seventeen billion dollar Deepwater Project he’d helped push through Congress.
He smiled, knowing drug interdictions such as these made the politicians, and the voters, very happy. With the proposal for the project calling for ninety-one ships, thirty-five planes, and thirty-four helicopters and costly upgrades to the forty-nine cutters and ninety-three helicopters already in service, Calhoun realized he would need every bit of support he could muster to help the cause gain momentum. Positive media coverage was essential to promote the Coast Guard. However, he still felt a few more solid interdictions like the one today would be required to have any chance of getting enough votes for the project funding.
Calhoun was joined by several of his close friends on the bow of the ship as he finished briefing the Captain and handed him the report. The wind had picked up, making it difficult to light their cigars. Calhoun shielded his with his body and lit it. The others quickly followed his lead. These cigars had special meaning as they were recently seized from the captured speedboat listed in his report.
Soon after the first puffs, war stories began and expensive whiskey was poured. Calhoun focused on swirling the contents of his drink slowly around and around to help melt the single ice cube. He inhaled deeply on the cigar and found it to be smooth, with a clean burn. He wondered if Fidel stepping down would open trade up in Cuba, at least as far as cigar exportation was concerned. T
he poor bastards who died today must have been rather well connected.
Calhoun admired men with a taste for the exquisite. Unfortunately, the two dead men had chosen the wrong path. They wouldn’t run dope again, that was for sure. Regardless, none of my sentimental crap does them any good now.
A discussion among the other men on the cutter about malfunctioning Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAVs) got his attention. The Captain and his crew often deferred to Calhoun because he was widely considered the expert when it came to technical systems, particularly computer and network communication with the fast unmanned aerial vehicles.
Calhoun had spent two years at MIT before finding himself bored and unchallenged, forcing him to move on to other things. From there, he’d landed in the Marines. Before long, he’d been selected for Special Ops missions, received the extensive training required for the various jobs he was assigned and spent a lot of time on foreign soil.
On this occasion, he explained to the rapt audience his theory about what was needed to prevent the UAVs from occasionally crashing into the ocean without any indication as to why.
Shortly into the discussion, his cell phone began vibrating in his chest pocket.
“Gentlemen.” He retrieved his phone and glanced at it. “At the risk of boring you to sleep, I’ll spare you of the required adjustments needed for the program to work efficiently. I have an important call to take. How about we meet for dinner?”
The men nodded and turned to walk toward the entrance to the ship’s bridge while Calhoun answered his call.
Gray Ghost (The Bill Dix Detective Series Book 1) Page 3
