Tortugas Rising

by Benjamin Wallace

“You’re starting to sound like the brochure.”

  “I’m sorry. I spent the last three weeks poring over the literature to get ready for today. But, you won’t be alone on Master Key. Most of the guests here today are staying on the island.”

  “Are their paradises not ready yet?”

  “Mostly, no. Power will be supplied from the central island. But, it has yet to be run beyond the core islands. So, unless they’ve put in a generator, they’d be sleeping in the dark. Plus, not all of the people here are owners. They’re merely representatives here to watch over the investment.”

  “I’ll resign myself to the super-premium hut then.”

  She laughed and placed her hand on his arm. “You’ll have to excuse me. We’re not far from docking and I need to see to the arrival. But, I’d be happy to show you around later. There’s so much to see. And not all of it’s in the brochure.” She turned and walked away, slowly.

  Paul and Steve each looked after her longingly as she disappeared in to the main cabin.

  “She laughed and touched you,” Paul said.

  “I know.”

  “What you said wasn’t funny.”

  “I know.”

  “I think she likes me, Steve.”

  “I think you’re an idiot, Paul.”

  # # #

  “Come, everyone. I can’t wait to show you what we have done. Together we have all built paradise!” Warren Baxter led the crowd down the composite gangplank onto the central dock at Master Key.

  “Every island is unique. Each investor has complete control of his or her environment. Vegetation, development, even the shape of the island itself can be changed to fit their vision of a perfect paradise. Of course you all know that. Many of you, or your employers, have already crafted that paradise from your very imagination. But, what I want to show you is the rest of the amenities available to our residents and future guests.”

  Steve and Paul fell to the back of the crowd, each hesitant to step from the gangplank. Steve felt out of place; Paul was drunk. An army of porters forced them to move from their perch as the uniformed force moved up the ramp to retrieve the luggage.

  Baxter continued, “This is Master Key – the largest and central island in the archipelago. On it stands the grand hotel and casino. Here you will find shopping that rivals Rodeo Drive, spas offering the most indulgent treatments and so much more. We have brought the world’s finest goods and services to ImagiNation.”

  Steve looked at the boats that lined the marina. Yachts and sailboats sat empty. Sailed by their crews to the island chain, they awaited the arrival of their owners. Even the fleet of water taxis bobbed in silence against their moorings.

  “As you know, the only way to ImagiNation is by boat or seaplane. And, the only way between the islands is by private boat or water taxi. Around us sits a small portion of our fleet. These vessels will take visitors and residents between their destinations. Because, even though we have it all on Master Key, there is so much more to do and see.”

  “The old guy is turning in to Dr. Seuss on me. When do we get to the hammocks, Steve?”

  “You were the one that talked me into this. Remember, Paul?”

  “Spread throughout ImagiNation are specialized islands: sporting fields, water parks, we even have a game preserve with guided safaris. You can see the world from Master Key.” With this Baxter paused for effect. The only sound was slight lapping of the waves in the protected harbor and the rustling of the palm trees. Birds chirped occasionally. Steve wasn’t sure if they were migratory, imports, or animatronics, but they remained true to the ‘world of your own’ effect.

  An engine tore through the silence.

  The crowd turned to face the disturbance. A large patrol boat roared into the harbor.

  “Ah, and security. ImagiNation offers the best in security to ensure the safety and privacy of all of our guests.” Baxter said.

  A security officer leapt from the boat as it drifted into its berth. Despite the heat and humidity of the day, the guard wore a full uniform that consisted of a dark long-sleeve shirt and matching pants. No badge or patch presented the man as island security, but the large pistol at his side, and the shotgun slung around his neck, were more than enough to distinguish him from any guest on the island.

  The boat was moored. Another man in uniform stepped from its deck. He addressed the crowd.

  “My apologies, Mr. Baxter. We didn’t expect you so soon.”

  “That’s quite all right, Chief. Our pilot surprised me as well. He put the ferry through its paces and got a new top speed out of her. Shaved ten minutes off of our time.”

  “Still, I’m sorry for the dramatic entrance.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen. This is our Chief of Security. Mr. Richard Savage. Chief Savage leads a small army of officers hired to protect the property and privacy of our residents and guests. Their experience makes them more than qualified to chase off the paparazzi, discourage a peeping Tom, or sink a pirate ship.” Baxter laughed at his own joke. “Though the likelihood of that is slim.”

  The security chief nodded but didn’t laugh at Baxter’s weak attempt at humor. A scar ran through his right eyebrow and intensified the hardness in his eyes. He looked to his men, who scrambled to secure the equipment from the patrol craft. He turned back to the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Master Key. If there is anything myself or my men can do to assist you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  “Do your men carry rifles all the time?” An older woman nodded to the weapon across the man’s chest and took half a step behind her husband. It was unclear if she was more afraid of the weapon or Savage himself.

  “Shotgun.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No, ma’am. As I mentioned, you arrived before we expected you. My men will only have their sidearm at all times. Rifles and shotguns are mission specific and will be kept out of sight of the guests. As a matter of fact, my men will remain out of sight, as best as possible, unless needed. Each of them has extensive training in weapons and security, and are only here for your safety.”

  With this said the security personnel on the boat left the dock and disappeared into the landscaping that surrounded the dock.

  “Cool,” Paul leaned into Steve, “ninjas.”

  The older lady had relaxed little; it was the security chief that frightened her. She stared at Rick Savage as she spoke. “Warren? Is all of this really necessary? Guns and fast boats? Is it really paradise with all of this? Can’t you just give your men pepper spray or those laser things?”

  “I assure you ma’am, my men are the best. Each has years of milit...”

  “I wasn’t speaking to you, Mr. Savage.” The braver her tone, the further she stood behind her husband.

  Baxter raised his palms, “Mrs. Pritchard, I assure you that we are in good hands here. And, whereas we are in paradise, we must assure that all of our guests are safe from any possible threat. With this much wealth in one place, ImagiNation may seem a tempting target were it not for Chief Savage and his men. And as he stated, the ‘big guns’ only come out when absolutely necessary.

  “Now, if you will please proceed down the path. The porters will take you to your rooms and our brunch should be ready for us in the hotel in an hour.” Baxter turned to Savage as the porters hefted the passengers’ bags and led the guests down the path to the hotel.

  “Mr. Savage. What is with the shotguns?”

  “A hippie boat needed a hole in it.”

  “Please, watch the labels. Just make sure they don’t interfere with the tour again. They buzzed the ship on the way in. They gave one of our guests quite a soaking.”

  “They’ll be stuck on their ship for a while. My men put their launch out of action.”

  “Very good. Try to keep your men out of site. And keep up the good work.”

  Steve and Paul stood on the dock and watched the crowd, and Warren Baxter, disappear around the bend. They each shook their head in disbelief
at the choreographed movements of the porters and laughed.

  Rick Savage also shook his head is disbelief. “Pepper spray. Yeah, right lady.” He stepped back onto the boat to retrieve his gear.

  “What do you think about the security, Paul?” Steve mocked Mrs. Pritchard’s arrogant tone.

  “I think with a name like Rick Savage he had to enter private security. You know? Or porn. I’d have picked porn–if it were me. But, I don’t know what his options were. Maybe he’s got a little...”

  “I think it would be best if you gentlemen caught up with the rest of the group.” The security chief had come from nowhere. One moment he was on the boat; the next he was behind them.

  Paul jumped.

  Savage was relaxed but there was a menace in his expression. It was the scar. The change was subtle at first; but as the security chief glared at Paul the scar across his brow darkened to a deep crimson.

  Steve shuffled off, trying to hide a laugh as Paul and Savage locked eyes.

  “Sir?” Savage gestured to the path.

  Paul stood silent, too brave – or too drunk – to let go of the stare. Finally he smiled and pointed to the holster on the security chief’s hip. “I have a gun. It’s not as big as yours though.”

  Savage said nothing. There was no change in his breathing, no anger in his eyes – only the deepening red of the scar.

  “So, I’ll see you at the brunch then?” Paul stepped around the broad shoulders of the security chief and walked to the end of the dock. He turned the corner of the path.

  “I hate the rich.” Savage said as he heaved the bag of gear over his shoulder and strode down the dock to his office high in the Grand Hotel of Master Key.

  SIX

  Protests of old metal filled the deck of the Rainbow Connection with squeaks as the hoist set the launch on the deck.

  Water flowed from the holes in its hull; seawater spilled across the deck, washing fiberglass threads over the sandal-clad feet of the crew. Five rounds from the security team’s shotgun had caused the craft to list, forcing them to limp back to the Rainbow Connection. The launch was crippled, but it could be repaired. The ship’s crew began to measure and cut patches before the boat was completely drained.

  The Rainbow Connection’s engineer stood back to inspect the damage. “It’ll be all patches soon. I’m getting a little tired of these Bondo jobs. How long are we going to let them do this?”

  “If we get the launch fixed in time, we should be able to hit the island tonight.” Jefferson spit on the deck. “Is Reynolds back with the Zodiac yet?”

  “Not yet. He should be.”

  David Jefferson looked off at the nearest island; a marvel to some, trouble to him. An entire ImagiNation rising from the gulf was unnatural in its truest sense. He shook off the disgust. “Give me an ETA on repairs when you can. I’m going to grab a bite to eat. What’s in the mess for lunch?”

  “Steak.”

  He cast one more glance toward the islands and then stepped below to eat.

  Fredericks sat at a table on the far side of the mess hall. The man was so tall that he hunched as he shoveled food into his mouth with one hand and worked the keyboard of a scratched and beaten laptop with the other. He spotted Jefferson and waved him over.

  Jefferson sat across from him and let the bulk of his weight rest on the table. “What’ve you got?”

  The wiry man spun the laptop around to face David.

  Jefferson leaned in closer and saw an online profile that outlined the man they had splashed. He squinted.

  “It’s Steven Bennett,” said Fredericks.

  “Bennett? He isn’t supposed to be here.”

  “He’s here.”

  “This isn’t good. What’s his background?”

  Fredericks turned the screen back around and pulled up a second file. He scanned the information and called out the highlights. “Steven Bennett. 28. Get this? The kid’s a billionaire. He inherited it from his father.”

  “Another rich kid playing with Daddy’s money.”

  “No. It says here that he didn’t even know he was rich until several months after his father died.”

  “They weren’t close, huh?”

  “Not at all. Bennett didn’t know whose kid he was until the lawyers tracked him down.”

  “Still. I thought he wasn’t coming.”

  Conner Fredericks shrugged.

  “Doesn’t matter,” David Jefferson stood and shook the concern out of his expression. “It’s too late to do anything about it now. We go ahead with the plan.” The hemp shirt had risen up his back; he pulled it down over his massive frame and made his way to the serving line to get some steak.

  # # #

  Captain Richards stroked his silvered beard. Each gray hair marked a day running cargo across the Atlantic. This job was his retirement run – easy and safe. All he was hauling now was dirt – earth dredged from the bottom of the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway. Scoop it up, steam to the Tortugas Banks, and pump it out; that was all there was to it.

  He still had the nerves for stormy weather, but spending most of the job in the protected river way wasn’t causing him to complain. If there was anything to complain about it was the distance of the haul. Dirt was everywhere. Soil lined the bottom of the gulf. Yet, they were hauling it hundreds of miles from the Intracoastal.

  The reason had been made clear to him. The reclamation project could only proceed in the Tortugas Banks if the project served a greater purpose. Forming new islands near a national park would have been impossible if the company had not agreed to dredge 90% of the reclaimed earth from the clogged transportation route.

  The logistics frustrated him, though not enough to add more gray to his beard. At his age he should have been getting his legs back under him ashore, but the money had been substantial enough to keep him off the porch and man one more helm. And since the company had provided him the latest dredging ship to command, he had very little to do other than give orders to the crew and say, “very well.”

  There was a time in his life when such little involvement would have made him restless; but that time was twenty years ago. His wife had her eye on some property in the mountains of Colorado, far away from the sea, and, whenever the ship was pointed in the right direction, he would kick back and think about the large log home she told him he was going to build her.

  She would decorate the home; there would be no stopping that. His grandchildren would run and play and break the nice things he had brought her from his many trips across the world. But that’s what grandkids were for.

  A wood shop out back would be his escape. And that would be his. All his. Dark and quiet, it would have a giant padlock on the door that could be locked from the inside and out.

  A chime brought him back from the Rockies as the hopper neared capacity. The sluice foamed as soil filled the large tank in the center of the ship.

  “80 percent, Captain.” The crewman working the dredge’s pumps was one of the best in the world. The company had made up for the distance by hiring the best crew possible. “Another half hour and we’ll be ready to head back to the chain.”

  “Very well,” said Captain Richards. “Very well.”

  SEVEN

  The bags hit the floor and Paul hit the couch. “Wake me for lunch.”

  “It’s brunch.”

  “I don’t want brunch,” Paul draped his arm over his eyes. “When they put away the crepes and break out the burgers, you’ll know where to find me. I need a little booze-snooze if we’re having cocktails tonight. I want to be in peak condition.”

  “Do you ever think that you drink too much?” Steve sat his bag down and dug his wallet from his pocket.

  “No, but I know that you talk too much.”

  “You don’t...”

  “See? More talking.”

  Steve tipped the porter. Paul began to snore.

  Tuning out Paul’s raspy gasps, Steve strolled through the private villa. He was still not accustomed to being
surrounded by luxury, and examined everything with the apprehension that touching anything in the room would result in a holler, a leer, and a reminder of a you-break-it-you-buy-it policy from an unseen maternal figure lurking in the wings.

  The villa was larger than the exterior had led him to believe. Two master suites, each with a private living area, were connected by common living space and dining area that overlooked the beach. The kitchen was large enough to feed more people than could possibly occupy the space. Steve wondered if the stovetop or oven would ever see use.

  The bathrooms were marble and spacious. When he spotted the bidet he decided to step outside.

  He continued through the master suite to French doors that opened onto the beach. Thick-cushioned patio furniture lined a wooden deck around a fire pit that popped to life as he approached. A TV mounted under the pergola streamed the financial news. The sand began a few feet beyond it all.

  Steve lit a cigarette with the Zippo he always kept in his fob pocket. He snapped the lighter shut and studied it. There was no logo, no design. Not even an engraved sentiment marked the smoked chrome finish. It was chipped in places and the lighter itself was pocket-worn on the corners. There was nothing fancy about it all. It fit comfortably back into the fifth pocket of his broken-in Levi’s. It had felt odd bouncing around loose in the suit pants he had worn most of the day. It was reassuring to have something back in its place.

  Past the porch was Paul’s desire; he had fallen asleep only steps away from it. Two palm trees framed the beach in front of Steve. Between them, a hammock rocked gently in the breeze. He walked to the palms and rolled into the hammock, distributed his weight diagonally across the Brazilian design, and stared out beyond the beach.

  Islands surrounded him. Roughly one hundred-fifty feet separated each cay, but from his position, there was a beautiful blue canal stretching onto the horizon and beyond. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Exhaling with a slow continuous breath, he closed his eyes. The beauty remained, even behind closed lids. He inhaled again, slower this time through his nose and pushed the air out through his mouth.