Tortugas Rising

by Benjamin Wallace

  Suppressing fire from his men caused the craft to veer away. He turned to grab a rifle and saw Bennett and Nelson swimming for the nearest island.

  “Austin, Ramirez. Take two men. Take care of Bennett and Nelson.”

  Austin and Ramirez responded without a sound. Tapping two men on the shoulder, they made their way to the rear of the craft.

  The four men broke from the firefight and slid over the side of the boat to pursue the guests.

  # # #

  Paul scrambled to the shore first. Steve followed. The gun in his hand still seemed out of place. Paul’s awkward grip held the weapon ready as he scanned the beach.

  “Steve, are you okay?”

  Bennett was sputtering. Seawater dripped from the corners of his mouth. Coughing, he nodded. “Warn me next time you’re going to do that.”

  “Fair enough. You warn me the next time some psycho security guard is going to kill us.

  “He wasn’t going to kill us.”

  “Then what was with the gun?” Paul watched the firefight rage at sea. The two boats turned so hard that they threatened to flip as the crews tried to gain the firing advantage.

  “He was going to shoot you, maybe. I don’t think me.” Steve rose to his feet; his legs shook beneath him.

  Paul placed his hands on his hips. “I’m hurt, Steve.”

  “He wasn’t going to kill us. He was trying to scare you. You pushed him over the edge. The gun probably went off when you hit it.” Steve pointed to the boat that attacked the security force. “They were going to kill us.”

  “I don’t want anyone to kill me. I want to go home.”

  “We have to get back to Master Key.” Steve found his footing and walked towards the interior of the island.

  “We have to get back home. This place is nowhere near as relaxing as I first thought.”

  “Come on. Let’s cut across this island and see if we can find a boat for you to hot-wire.”

  Paul moved past his friend and took the lead as they made their way into the heart of the dark island. He kept the gun in front of him while casting quick glances behind them. He crinkled his nose. “This island smells funny.”

  # # #

  Katherine Bernelli stared at her feet as Warren Baxter set a cup of coffee in front of her. The ImagiNation logo presented itself on the curved porcelain as the coffee warmed the cup. Some of the liquid spilled over the top and settled into the ImagiNation napkin he had placed beneath it.

  The Rorschach blot that formed reminded her of a pool of blood.

  “My Dear, I’m so sorry for this. Had I known these environmentalists had tendencies toward violence I would never have permitted their presence.” Baxter wrung his hands together.

  “Why now? After all this time?” She wasn’t asking him. He couldn’t know.

  Baxter placed a hand on her shoulder and was silent for a moment. He sighed deeply, “I don’t know. The islands are nearing completion. Their complaints have fallen on deaf ears. It could be simple frustration running unchecked.

  “Let’s face it. Their cause was weak. Until the press releases began to garner us such attention, few people even knew the Tortugas Bank existed. Avid divers not withstanding, the location had to be one of the most unknown parks in the world.

  “The coral is safe. The species are unthreatened. We are reclaiming the land from the Intracoastal Waterway. An effort that has been lacking, despite federal law, for decades. It’s a great service.

  “They have no outrage to exploit. No fire to fuel. They must have felt this was there last option.”

  “But why try and kill us?” Katherine began to shake. The day’s events hit her harder the further they moved into the past.

  Baxter placed his arm around her. “You’re safe here, my dear. Mr. Savage will investigate. And your friend, Mr. Bennett, will be back shortly.”

  She said nothing. After a long moment she finally reached for the coffee.

  “May I ask what you two were doing out there on your own?” Baxter moved across the room and poured his own coffee.

  “I was just giving Mr. Bennett a tour of his island.”

  “But his island is unfinished. Although, it was a good idea to show him the reclamation process. It’s still fascinating to me.” Baxter chuckled, “I felt like a new father every time one of the islands rose to the surface.”

  “I was showing him the sunset.”

  Baxter nodded unsurprised.

  “He seems like a nice man, Mr. Bennett. I met his father. His passing was a terrible thing. Sadder still was that he had never met his son. Did he enjoy the view, Ms. Bernelli?”

  She smiled despite the terror, “I think so.”

  Warren Baxter smiled back, but it wasn’t the showman’s smile she was used to seeing; it was genuine. “There you go. It’s not all doom and gloom. Now then, Let’s focus on the work shall we.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “If you feel up to it, it may prove the distraction you need. I still have an Amber Room full of investors with questions and, regrettably, some doubts and I need your help with the answers and reassurances. Let’s not lose sight of what we are doing here. We are creating a perfect little world away from the violence and chaos of the mainland – in paradise there should be no tears.”

  “Mr. Baxter... “

  “Please, Katherine. For me, put on a brave face and try to forget about this evening. You can rest assured that nothing like this will ever happen again. Enjoy the party. Have a drink. I’ll be down shortly for the presentation.”

  Warren Baxter smiled to himself and puffed out his chest. The showman was back in the room. “It should be quite a night to remember. I feel in rare form and can’t wait to address my fellow ImagiNation citizens.”

  Katherine smiled and decided that pouring herself into her work might be a good idea. She could fret later when Steve was back. They could get over the ordeal together. Perhaps while drifting off in the hammock he seemed to enjoy so much. Turning on her heel, she stopped herself short and turned back to Baxter.

  She smiled, “Mr. Baxter.”

  “Warren. I think this ordeal has brought us to a first name basis.”

  “Warren. Could you let me in on the secret? What is the real name of this place going to be?”

  The old man feigned offense, “You don’t like ImagiNation?”

  Her wry smile caused him to laugh.

  “It is a little corny, I’ll admit. The real name is still a secret and as the Chairman of ImagiNation I can not let the cat out of the bag just yet. But, I promise that you’re going to love it.”

  Katherine shook her head, smiled, and left the ornate office. Warren Baxter smiled, turned and crossed to the windows.

  The French doors to the balcony had been closed during their conversation. He felt she might be dismayed if she had to look upon the islands that had given her such a fright. He swung the doors open with great flair and stepped onto the balcony as he lit his cigar. In the distance he heard gunfire.

  “Give those troublemakers hell, Mr. Savage.”

  FIFTEEN

  The speedboat ambush soon evolved into a test of piloting skills as the two powerful crafts maneuvered for superior firing position. The roar of the engines overpowered the chatter of the gunfire as the two boats throttled and churned the water into froth.

  The dark craft tried to gain the distance needed to maneuver, but found that the security boat was more than able to keep pace.

  Rick Savage screamed into the radio for reinforcements; he relayed locations and instructions between bursts of gunfire.

  David Jefferson barked orders to his men to keep the fire on the patrol boat.

  This went on for minutes, each boat tearing a wake that crossed the other. Inside the boats, the men were thrown about, and careened off of one another. The pinball effect made firing dangerous.

  The fiberglass hulls of each boat were gashed, as intended passes became collisions on the crests of the waves. Piercing shrieks screamed across
the channel as the boats rubbed together.

  It seemed an endless dance until a loud and hollow sounding “kathunk” echoed across the water. The muted bass note was followed by an explosion that tore a chunk from the security boat.

  The craft began to list immediately, exposing the guards to their assailants. Still, they fought on. As the boat turned they stood on top of gunwales instead of behind them and continued firing.

  Jefferson shouted another order; the M32 grenade launcher belched again and fired another 40mm round at the patrol craft.

  The grenade tore the security boat in two. Bodies spilled into the Gulf as the craft was lifted from the surface and blown apart. The security force’s guns fell silent. Their motors ceased roaring.

  David Jefferson stood to his full 5’ 8” height and surveyed the calming waters around the flaming wreckage; he saw no other movement beyond the quickly sinking boat. He nodded to his men and the engine of the black boat screamed back to life. “Let’s go see what’s shaking on the island.”

  SIXTEEN

  The launch was still in sight when Rick Savage regained the surface. The first grenade had thrown him clear of the craft, and he had raced to the bottom of the channel, anticipating the second round.

  Thankfully, the black craft had not lingered long. Striking the water had driven the air from his lungs, robbing him of all but a few moments to hide.

  Smoke from the wreckage of his boat filled his eyes, causing them to water. The roar of the fire made it difficult to hear calls for help.

  There were no voices in the wreckage. If any of his team survived, they would swim for shore. He would meet them there.

  He spun in the water and spotted the closest island. He recognized it instantly – it was the same one Bennett and Nelson had been swimming towards. Rick Savage smiled. It was one of the more distinct islands in the chain; an animal refuge, which made it an interesting choice as an escape route for the two friends.

  Powerful kicks moved him closer to the shore. He watched as Austin, Ramirez, and two other members of his team rose from the sea, and ran across the beach. The men were two of his best; there was no doubt that they would catch Bennett and Nelson, but he wanted to be there when they did.

  Moments later he pulled himself onto the sand and grabbed the water-resistant radio from his belt. “Savage calling Master Key. You there Jenkins?”

  There was no squawk. No static. He looked at the radio in his hand.

  A bullet had cleaved a path through its casing. Plastic shattered in his hands as he growled his frustration. The remains of the radio embedded in the sand as he threw the broken device to the ground. Shards of black landed in the depression of a footprint.

  His own footprints tore at the beach’s serenity as he raced to catch his men. There was no doubt they had radioed the situation to Master Key. But Baxter would want to talk.

  Despite the urgency, he smiled; the thought of Nelson with his head in a lion’s mouth made him happy.

  # # #

  “Okay, it smells funny,” Steve whispered as he forced the brush out of his way.

  “I told you.” Paul kept a watchful eye over his shoulder. He was certain that they were being followed, and was the one who insisted on the whispering; but he had not given up on complaining about the island.

  Designed as one of the premier tourist attractions in ImagiNation, the wildlife refuge was one of the first completed islands. Its vast topography and exceptional species list was the center spread of the first several brochures, PR releases, and online campaigns for the resort. It was here on Kingdom Key that residents and tourists alike could safari with all the adventure and little of the danger of a trip to the African savannah.

  Kingdom Key’s ecosystem was modeled after that of the Ngorongoro Crater: rhinos, elephants, lions, hyenas, and leopards roamed the grounds.

  From the perspective of the guest, the ecosystem was seamless. The species intertwined in the precious circle of life and nature was free to run its course.

  In reality, the predator species were separated from their prey by large ravines. These waterways were designed to maintain the illusion of the crater’s functioning ecosystem, without having to replace countless zebra every few months.

  “Down here.” Paul scurried over the edge of a ravine and landed knee deep in the saltwater moat. “I am so sick of being wet. Next time, you’re going to buy a condo in the damn desert.”

  Steve dropped in behind him; he felt no resistance from the current in the water, but the mud beneath him did its best to hold his feet in place. “What’s with the moat?”

  “Maybe this is where that guy built his castle.” Paul lifted his feet high with each step to escape the suction of the muddy soil.

  “Good. Let’s raise the drawbridge and call for help.”

  “That’s stupid, Steve. Castles don’t have phones.”

  SEVENTEEN

  She had seen its conceptual art and had witnessed its construction, but every time Katherine entered the Amber Room, she was stricken speechless by its beauty. The semi-transparent sheets of amber were layered over mirrors and gilded scrollwork. The craftsman had created a masterpiece of luxury that made the entire room warm and inviting.

  Usually the air was filled with the fragrant scent of the polish that was used to enhance the sheen of the amber. Now that was lost to the lavish aroma of the fine food and wine that filled the trays of the waitstaff.

  White formal attire distinguished ImagiNation’s employees from the guests who had chosen the standard black tie uniform for the evening.

  The majority of the guests were accustomed to having the finest of luxuries served to them on silver platters, yet they still mused over the quality of the food as they plucked the hors d'oeuvres from their elaborate presentations.

  Baxter had searched the world for the finest chefs, personally sampling their fare, and hired them away at great expense. He stole the head chef from the ranks of the French Laundry in Napa. Baxter had risen from his table, invaded the kitchen and hired the man on the spot.

  Fresh ingredients were flown in daily by floatplane and prepared for the evening meal. And this attention to freshness was lost on no one in the room. Investors did their best to maintain their dignity as they shoveled food into their mouths. The representatives made no such attempt, as they stalked the bearers of the silver trays.

  Katherine found a dainty and delicious bacon-wrapped mignon. Answering the call from her stomach, she wolfed it down. Then, answering the call from her nerves, she made her way to the bar.

  “Ms. Bernelli.” The bartender greeted her, “May I get you a water or cranberry juice perhaps?”

  “Gin.”

  The bartender raised an eyebrow.

  “Just pour.” She thought of Paul and Steve and prayed that they were all right.

  Antoine fixed the drink with a set of ice cubes and handed it to her.

  She knocked it back and grimaced at the sharpness of the booze. A wave of warm calm flowed through her. She handed the glass back to him. “Now I’ll take that water.”

  Water in hand, she turned to survey the room. No one looked bored or as if they had questions. They looked as if they had never eaten before, and as if each had forgotten their finer upbringings.

  A guest, a rich man’s aide, placed his hands on the bar next to her.

  “Another please, Antoine.” He turned to Katherine, “Can you believe this place? The food? The view?”

  She forced a smile, “It is quite amazing.”

  “My name is Vincent Carlito. Vinnie.” He extended his hand.

  “Katherine Bernelli.” She shook it.

  “You know I almost didn’t get to make it. My boss was dead set on coming down here. But a last-minute meeting in Denver dropped me on the boat instead. Thank God for that meeting in Denver.”

  Over the course of the last few years Katherine had come to despise the investor’s representatives more than the investors themselves. They often spoke from a pow
er they craved instead of one they possessed. But this man seemed sincere. His top button was undone and he leaned against the bar on his elbows, nursing what was obviously one of several beers.

  “I’ll tell you, this is probably the smartest investment he has ever made. This place is going to make a fortune. And I haven’t even seen the other islands up close yet? Have you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Carlito.”

  “Uh oh. You just got formal with me,” he studied her up and down, lingering on the middle. “You work here don’t you?”

  “Yes. I work in Investor Relations.”

  “So, you’re supposed to answer all my questions? Keep me interested so I’ll go back and tell my boss to keep sending his money down here?”

  She nodded.

  “Well. You’ve got it easy tonight. I’m sold. I can’t wait to see the rest of it all. I hear that you even have a zoo here?”

  “Of a sorts. There is an island preserve modeled after the Ngorongoro Crater.”

  Vinnie Carlito tried to repeat the words after Katherine, but lost the pronunciation in his drink.

  “The Ngorongoro Crater...it’s in Tanzania.”

  “Lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my?”

  “Lions, yes. But no tigers or bears. The designers tried to keep the island as close to the actual park as possible.”

  “Amazing.”

  “You must be excited to see the presentation. It should begin shortly.”

  “Another presentation. This Baxter fellow likes putting on the show, doesn’t he?”

  “The islands are his dream come true. He gushes about them as if they were his children.”

  “Children? Now that you mention it.” He swung his arm wide across the crowd, “Where are the kids? This place would be great for families.”

  Katherine had not considered this before but shrugged the comment off. “This event is for the shareholders and their representatives only.”