When the MH-65 shut down, the gunner escorted Cole over to the C-130. One of the pilots spoke briefly with the gunner then looked at Cole. He spent a few seconds looking him over before saying, “You are a pretty important mother-fucker, you know that?”
Cole, not knowing what he meant, replied, “Sorry, don’t know what you mean.”
“They sent us over here from Clearwater to get you to Key West today, and there’s a whole damn party of people waiting for you. You must have really pissed someone off.”
Cole thought about it and nodded. “Where are we, anyway?”
The pilot laughed and replied, “Borinquen.”
Cole looked around and took a deep breath, not wanting to pass on the opportunity to take in the sights and smells of somewhere new. Under any other circumstances, Puerto Rico seemed like a nice place, and a far more pleasant option than Guantanamo Bay.
To relieve any apprehension for the C-130 crew, Cole assured them he wouldn’t be any trouble. Two guys in civilian clothes then walked over from the hangar and introduced themselves as Coast Guard Investigative Service agents. They promptly swapped handcuffs with the gunner and took Cole by the arms. He stepped up into the C-130 through the crew entrance door and took a seat in the cargo compartment on a troop seat. Before long, the engines were up and running and the plane shook and rattled as they started a slow taxi. The C-130 felt massive compared to the MH-65 he’d been in before. Cole thought back to the C-130 crew from Panama and saw in this flight crew some of the same mannerisms and friendly back and forth banter as they prepped for takeoff.
The two agents stood a silent watch over Cole as they climbed up and away from Puerto Rico.
Several minutes into the flight, Cole turned to one of them. “I thought we were going to Guantanamo Bay.”
One of the agents shook his head. “Change of plans. They want you in Key West,” was all he said.
g
Three hours later they landed. The C-130 had no windows that Cole could see, so it was a boring flight with nothing but the two agents hovering around him. When the plane shut down, they brought him down the same steps to the concrete ramp and there were two black Chevy Suburbans with blue lights flashing under their grilles. They hurried Cole into the first one and drove off. At least now he had a window to look out of.
The plane had landed at the Navy base on Boca Chica and they drove almost 30 minutes to get to Key West. Speeding over the A1A bridge, Cole couldn’t help but smile when he saw the familiar blue and green shades of water beneath him. It reminded him of better times. A few minutes later, they were back on Key West’s main streets and Cole almost forgot his troubles as he looked around at the familiar intersections and side streets of Key West. He tried to put the window down, but the agent seated next to him stopped him from doing so, instructing him to roll it back up. Cole was forced again to face his prisoner status.
Before long, they pulled into a parking spot in front of an unremarkable multi-story building. Two agents escorted Cole inside, up a set of stairs, and into a conference room. He was still in handcuffs, and they left him by himself. It felt odd to be alone again, as it had been almost a day since he’d been caught. A clock on the wall showed a little after seven p.m. Through the tinted windows, Cole could see the rooftops of Key West and the setting sun to the west. He sat there looking out over the city.
After about 30 minutes, four men walked in. Two were in suits, but the others were in jeans and button-down shirts, their hair unkempt and long. Cole spotted bulges at their hips under their shirts, indicating that they too were agents doing a less than stellar job of hiding their sidearms.
One of the guys in jeans spoke first, asking, “How does it feel, Cole?”
Cole looked at him. “How does what feel?”
The guy laughed and said, “To be sold out like that.”
Cole shrugged. “What are you talking about?”
The other guy in jeans took a turn at him. “How the fuck do you think we caught you, Cole? You think we just got lucky with a Go-Fast in the eastern Caribbean? Your boys sold you out. We knew you were coming and we nailed you—and now you’re fucked.”
Cole recognized it as the appropriate time to put on his game face. His mind hardened. The reality was they had nothing on him. He’d burned the boat and the drugs. The evidence, if any was left, was on the bottom of the sea floor.
Cole didn’t want to piss them off, but he wasn’t going to roll over either.
“I’m confused. Are you talking about my fishing trip?” Cole looked at both of them back and forth.
“Quit the shit, Cole. We’ve been watching you.”
Cole tilted his head to one side and asked, “Who are you guys, anyways?”
“Three letter agency. You can guess from there.”
The first guy pressed both his hands onto the table in front of Cole and leaned in. “Cole, you’re left high and dry on this one. You’ve got nothing, so why not see if we can help you?”
Cole thought for a second. It was plausible that David would have tipped them off. He was in hot water over the Panama thing. Cole pieced bits of it together quickly in his head. On this last run, the stoner was his only crew, the boat didn’t have as many bales as it could have held, and he’d been busted only a few hours into his trip. Perhaps David had bowed to pressure from his bosses or the other cartels to get rid of Cole. Still, the feds weren’t really going to help him. If anything, they were looking for some charges to stick Cole with and put him away.
The second agent in jeans smashed his fist against the table. “You little piece of shit. You’re scum, you know that? We’ve watched you since you left Florida and knew you were a piece of shit from day one.”
Cole asked, “How did you know about me leaving Florida?”
The first agent in jeans intervened, saying, “Mickey told us all about you heading south, Cole. We’ve kept tabs on you for a while now. But your connection in Panama is the one who really sent you down the river.”
Cole sat back in his chair, thinking back to Mickey. Had Mickey really turned his back on me? Cole asked, “How do you know Mickey?”
The first agent replied, “Are you surprised? Mickey’s one of our guys, but he’s not the point right now. You are.”
Cole could see that they were pissed. He didn’t want to risk another punch to the face.
The agents in suits sat back against the wall, but the second one in jeans seemed genuinely irate.
“Sorry guys, but I don’t think I can help you. Come to think of it, I’d like to speak with an attorney.”
He’d said the magic word. Mickey complicated things beyond Cole’s comfort zone. Now, everything was potentially on the table. With the mention of a lawyer, the first two agents stood up and walked back towards the door, followed by the other two in suits who hadn’t said a word. One of the guys in jeans turned to Cole before leaving.
“Cole, you’re playing with life and death with these guys. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
g
They left him for nearly four hours in that conference room. It was almost midnight when one of the agents in jeans walked back in by himself.
“Cole, you’re smart, I get that. But I don’t think you understand everything that is going on here. They don’t want you around anymore, so they gave you to us.”
Cole nodded, “I was fishing. That’s my story.”
The agent wasn’t pissed this time. He handed Cole an ice pack for his eye and said, “I know, man, but let’s be honest. You look like shit. If you’ll work with us, we can help you. I mean it.”
Cole nodded again, put the bag against his still-swollen eye, and asked, “So what now?”
The agent looked at Cole for a second, took a breath, and said, “You can sit in jail and wait for a trial. Or you can turn this thing around.”
Cole thought it over in his head. His decisions over the past year had proven time and again to be reckless
. He’d gotten carried away with it all, that much he was sure of. Runs to Cuba were crazy enough, but spending half a year running drugs out of Central America had nearly cost him his life. Worse yet, he was nothing short of a traitor to his own country, all in the name of sticking it to Potts and Delaney. On top of that, he’d abandoned Isabella for stupid and selfish reasons.
Cole asked, “So how do I turn this around?”
The agent pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs on Cole’s wrists. Cole rubbed his hands together as it sunk in that he still might have a chance. He was seconds away from spending the rest of his life in jail and butterflies formed in his gut. Even heavier on his mind was the thought that David had left him for dead. Cartels dealt in death on a daily basis and Cole was convinced, now more than ever, that he was a target.
The agent walked him down the hall and opened the door for him, out onto a patio. They both walked out into the nighttime air and the agent extended his hand.
“I’m Tony, by the way.” He passed Cole back his wallet and a few things that had been in his pockets when he’d been caught. There was some change and his key to his room at Bakoua. It made him think of Isabella, although he tried to keep those painful thoughts buried as best he could. She was most certainly worried about him by now, as he’d promised he’d be back by now.
Cole shook Tony’s hand, saying, “Thanks.”
Tony started laying out a plan. “Cole, you’ve got some connections that we want to know about. For an American, you’ve been deeper inside one of the major drug cartels than any guy we’ve ever gotten our hands on. The honest truth is that it’s pretty impressive what you’ve done. We want to exploit that to hit back at the cartel—and we need you to help us out. We want to get you back on the right team.”
“What specifically do you want me to do?”
Tony laughed and replied, “There’s a lot you’re going to do, but for now I need a show of good faith. I need you to call your guy, tell him you’re fine, that you got away, and talk with him for a minute or two while we trace the call.”
Calling David was the last thing Cole wanted to do, and he took a few minutes to stare out over Key West. Why had I ever left this town? Cole cursed his own decisions, and at the same time wondered if he could still turn it all around.
Tony was still trying to convince him. “Cole, this can be a turning point for you.”
Cole asked, “Does it keep me out of jail?”
“Yeah, it will. We need to keep tabs on you, but you’ll be more or less free to do your own thing during the downtime.”
“What do you mean, downtime?”
Tony nodded again, realizing Cole still didn’t grasp the entirety of the plan. “Cole, you’re going back in at some point.”
Cole shook his head and asked, “Back in? You’re going to send me back to Panama?”
“Yeah, Cole, you’re going to have all the support you need, but you’re going to be at the tip of the spear on this one.” Tony took a deep breath. “You don’t seem like the kind that minds a little bit of danger.”
Cole stared out again into the nighttime sky. He thought of Isabella and how she was expecting him back that evening. He felt his stomach tie in knots when he thought of her in his bed without him.
“When do you want me to actually go?”
Tony thought about it for a second and replied, “It will be a few weeks, maybe a month at the most, for us to put things in place and get a team ready.”
Cole nodded and motioned to go back inside. Once back in the conference room, Cole and Tony talked it over some more and then went down another hallway, into a secure comms room, and Tony sat Cole down by a large phone, saying, “Let’s do this.”
With some hesitation, Cole dialed David.
If David had been behind it all, he hid his surprise when he answered the phone and the two started talking. Two agents stared at computer screens as Cole talked with Tony standing right behind him.
David told Cole to once again lay low. When David sounded like he was going to end the conversation, Tony patted Cole’s shoulder and motioned with his fingers for more time on the call.
Cole asked when he could return to Panama, and David again told him to lay low for a bit. Cole suspected it was all a lie on David’s part, but played along and finished up promising to stay in touch. To keep David on the line, Cole asked if he’d seen Maria. David laughed and said he hadn’t, reminding Cole again that he shouldn’t have blown his money on a girl like that. Cole smiled to himself, knowing it was the only thing he could feel good about from the months in Panama. With any luck, Maria was back in Colombia and with that, Cole was lost in better thoughts for a brief moment. One of the agents gave a thumbs up and Cole ended the call, setting the phone down and sitting back in his chair. He wondered still if Maria was back with her family. If so, he at least had gotten something right.
Tony asked, “Now, how does that feel, Cole?”
Cole reclined further back in the chair, looked up at the ceiling for a second, then back at Tony, saying, “Hard to say right now. I’ve got a lot to process.”
The two walked back to the conference room and took seats. Tony laid out some expectations. They had a room for him at the Truman Annex, which housed the Joint Interagency Task Force South headquarters. He could come and go as he pleased, but had to check in each day and couldn’t leave Key West without Tony’s permission. Cole nodded silently along as Tony went through the details. With his belongings in hand, Tony also gave Cole a phone for keeping in touch. Cole had to have it on him at all times. Silently, all Cole could think about was Isabella and how he was going to get back to see her, but he nodded along at Tony’s terms. He thought briefly about telling Tony about her, but dismissed it as a bad idea.
Well after midnight, Tony dropped Cole off at a barracks room at Truman Annex and said he’d be in touch the next day. Cole settled into a spartan room with a small bed, a dresser, and a table in the corner. Cole still had the same clothes on from the boat. His wallet was damp from jumping in the water, and he sat on the foot of the bed, dropping his head into his hands and cupping his swollen eye with his left hand. The magnitude of his situation was overwhelming. Tony wanted to send him back to Panama. It was the last thing Cole wanted to do, but at the same time he owed Tony for giving him a second chance. Moreover, it offered some closure and, if it worked out, a chance to move on with his life. He thought for some time then eventually laid down and even with his mind racing, Cole fell asleep on top of the sheets, still in his salt-crusted shorts and shirt.
g
The following morning, Cole walked to Blue Heaven for breakfast. Along the way, he picked up a disposable cell phone and charged it up at the bar while he ate, figuring that Tony could trace every call Cole made with the other phone. Walking back to Truman Annex, he pulled Murph’s number from his wallet. The paper still wet, Cole carefully peeled it apart, and dialed.
When someone answered on the other end, it was not Murph.
“Who is this?” Cole asked as he stopped walking.
On the other end of the line, a man cleared his throat and replied, saying, “This is Scott’s brother.”
Cole had never known Murph as anything other than Murph. The first name threw him off and Cole asked, “Where’s Murph at?”
Murph’s brother paused before saying bluntly, “Murph is dead.”
“What?” Cole asked.
Murph’s brother explained that the State Department had visited him two weeks ago with what was left of Murph’s belongings. Apparently, he’d been shot down flying out of Venezuela on suspicion of carrying drugs. The Venezuelans had turned over what they collected from the crash site to the U.S. Embassy, and Murph’s phone was one of the only things left.
Cole’s mind raced back to his last conversation when Murph was leaving Martinique. He’d mentioned the trip for David and Venezuela specifically. Cole struggled to swallow with his mouth completely dr
y and realized that Murph’s flyby of the Bakoua was perhaps his last stunt before being killed. With the phone pressed to his ear and his other hand against his forehead, Cole apologized to Murph’s brother and hung up.
After that, he tried to call the Hotel Bakoua, worried even more now about Isabella, but between a poor connection and the language barrier, he couldn’t get through to anyone speaking English. Cole was lost between anger and fear, feeling himself slip into a panic. He knew it was time again for action.
g
Back at his room, Cole sat once more at the foot of the bed. It took time for Murph’s death to sink in. Cole knew that it was more than unfortunate. With his friend dead and Cole set up to rot in prison, it seemed all-the-more plausible that David was cleaning house. If David knew Cole had been in Martinique, that meant Isabella wasn’t safe either.
Cole dialed Tony and when he answered, Cole said, “I’m in, Tony. If I was on the fence before, I’m not anymore. I’m onboard to bring these assholes down.”
Tony laughed at Cole’s enthusiasm before inviting him down to the JIATF-S building to get acquainted with some of the team. With that, Cole moved quickly down the road and Tony met him by a door leading into a windowless and nondescript building. After clearing a few more checkpoints, Cole found himself in yet another secure comms room littered with computers, video screens, televisions, and about a dozen men and women working at a hurried pace. Tony had Cole sit against a wall and instructed him to watch the show.
On the screens in front of Cole, he watched streaming video from aircraft like the ones that had chased him off of Panama. There were real-time feeds from both the Caribbean and Pacific coming from what must have been six or more planes. Radios crackled with chatter from across the Caribbean basin. On another screen were the positions of aircraft as they conducted their searches, and on yet another screen, was a satellite map of Panama City. Tony motioned for Cole to pay attention to that screen more than the others as a blip moved around overlaid on the city grid.
Caribbean's Keeper Page 25
