Tortugas Rising

by Benjamin Wallace

  Steve stared at his friend for only a moment, “It’s not easy being your friend.”

  “Yeah, but it’s so worth it.”

  Steve pointed the game warden’s shotgun at the lifeless figure. “Grab his gun.”

  Paul scrambled to his side and examined the man.

  “It worked though. He’s done. Look.” Paul raised Savage’s arm and released it. It fell limp to the man’s side. He did it again and again.

  “Knock it off. There are still more of them coming.”

  Paul left the body and walked back down to the dock. He checked the gun and found that the ammo did not match his.

  He tucked the XD back inside the concealed holster and Savage’s H&K USP inside his waistband. Steve slung the shotgun over his shoulder.

  “Why do you think he tried to kill us?” Paul asked.

  “We can figure that out later. Ready for another swim?”

  “Ready.”

  Steve ran across the beach, dove into the warm water, and kicked to surface.

  Paul ran across the beach and prepared to dive in when the USP fell from his waist. It hit the ground in front of his foot and was stuck into the surf.

  “Hold on,” Paul scrambled into the shallow water and peered in the surf. “Just a second.” He felt around in the sand. Steve tread water while he waited for his friend.

  “I think I’ve got it.” He pulled his hand from the water. “Nope, that’s a rock, shit.”

  After a few more rocks and a lot more swearing Paul found the gun. He rushed into the water and swam with the gun in his hand.

  The two friends began the one hundred and fifty-yard swim to the neighboring island, praying that they would finally find a boat.

  # # #

  Brittany had finally stopped sobbing. After being in the room for an hour, it was becoming clear that they were in no immediate danger. They had received no orders, no threats. The men clad in black had said nothing.

  Katherine sat with Brittany. Vinnie had refused the subtle suggestions that he leave. He was a question in her mind. While she tried to imagine the faces behind the masks, why this was happening, what could the terrorists want, her thoughts always came back to who this man, Carlito, really was.

  It had occurred to her that she could simply ask him – call his bluff. But she hesitated, worried. Was he a part of the group that now held them hostage, planted in the group to quash attempts to call for help? Was he a competitor of Bennett’s? Or was he simply a dumb reporter trying to get a scoop on the true story of the islands, a few snapshots of the rich and powerful in Speedos and bikinis?

  She wasn’t willing to take a chance just yet.

  Nothing had happened since they were seated in the conference room. The guard simply stood over them with that menacing weapon. At one point another man in black had addressed him. Quietly. Whispering.

  Katherine had strained to hear. Even a language would give her some clue as to who they may be. But the words were hushed and mumbled behind distance and fabric.

  When her focus on Carlito’s purpose did ease, she found herself worrying about Steve and Paul. She had seen them leave with Savage, and no matter what she thought of the security chief as a person, she knew that he was more than capable with a gun.

  Yes, they would be fine. The other hostages were in more danger. If she was right, everyone in the other group was a major stakeholder in the island chain. Which meant they were rich, and would no doubt be ransomed or threatened into parting with some sort of valuable information or industry secrets. She wondered where they had been taken and how they were being treated.

  # # #

  Steve dragged himself onto the shore; Paul was close behind him. Both were exhausted. Never one for exercise, sports, or doing stuff, Steve’s physical fitness routine consisted of an occasional hike or canoe trip. Even then, the canoe trip was more about drinking than paddling.

  Paul didn’t fare much better. No friend of the treadmill, he preferred exercising his elbow to breaking a sweat. They looked at each other, and it was clear that they would have to find a place to hold up and rest. There was little doubt to the two of them that they had left a clear trail. The other islands bordering the reserve weren’t within swimming distance and sand did little to hide their footprints.

  “I’ve got nothing left. We have to find a shady spot and rest.” Steve did his best to dry the shotgun. He pointed the barrel at the ground and watched the seawater trail out. He had no idea what the saltwater would do to the weapon; he imagined that it wouldn’t be good.

  Paul nodded his agreement. “Maybe this parcel of paradise has something on it. Even if we could crawl into an attic or something. Just to give our legs a break.”

  “C’mon. There were at least four after us, not including Savage. We can’t give up our lead now.”

  They helped one another to their feet and stumbled up another beachhead, to another tree line, on another beautiful island.

  TWENTY

  Martin and Ramirez slowed their pace. The lion’s roar had startled them, and they had changed to a more defensive position.

  Circling back to back, they stepped slowly over the dried earth of the artificial savannah. They watched the tall reeds over their gun barrels, each imagining the horrific carnage a lion could inflict.

  Movement caught Martin’s eye and he squeezed off a shot into the thick grasses. The report startled the hidden creature and it darted from its cover deeper into the reserve.

  Martin watched the creature run. Black and white stripes made clear the error of the map.

  The pair dropped their guard and quickened their pace towards the dock.

  Sanchez had arrived moments before and was crouched beside the security chief. “We’re going to need a clean up team.”

  “Is he dead?” Ramirez kneeled next to his fallen commander.

  “No, but Austin is.”

  “Bennett and his friend?”

  “Lion. We never saw Bennett.”

  Ramirez pulled the radio from his belt and tried again to radio for help. “Master Key?”

  The radio was silent.

  “Master Key?” Ramirez’s vision clouded red as he thought about Austin. He didn’t really like the man. He had been short-tempered and overly confident; the product of too many back issues of Soldier of Fortune magazines.

  But, like him or not, he’d been part of his detachment, and Savage was going to be more than upset. If the man ever woke up.

  His radio crackled to life.

  “Master Key?”

  “Master Key.” The voice was winded and worn.

  “This is Ramirez. Savage is down and Austin is dead. We need the doc to the preserve, now.”

  “Just bring him back on the boat.”

  “The boat is gone. Send him over.”

  “We’re a little busy ourselves. We’re in the middle of a hostage situation. We’ll send a boat. Just get back here.”

  “Bennett and Nelson are still...,” Ramirez was interrupted.

  “They can wait. So can Austin. You’re needed here. How bad is Savage?”

  “Unconscious.”

  The radio was silent for a moment. “Bring him to, and bring him here. We need all the help we can get.” The static cut and the radio went silent.

  “He’s coming around.”

  Sanchez helped the security chief sit up. His glazed eyes took a moment to focus.

  “Where are they?” Savage tried to stand but found his legs shaky. Ramirez helped him back down.

  “We never saw them. Best we can figure is that they swam for another island.”

  Savage studied his men’s faces, and noticed one missing. “Where’s Austin? Did he make it off the boat?”

  “A lion got him.”

  “What?” Savage reached for his radio and found it missing.

  “Boat’s on the way, sir,” Martin said.

  “We’re to call off the search. They need us back at the hotel.” Ramirez forced the radio back into its
holster.

  “Under whose orders?”

  “Michaels’. He sounded scared.”

  “He’s always scared.” Savage glared at his second in command.

  Ramirez could see that Savage wanted blood. “Bennett and Nelson won’t get anywhere. Even if they manage to get to the edge of the islands it’s a seventy click swim back to Key West. All the long-range boats are at Master Key. Tomorrow we can flood the islands with teams.”

  Savage felt the knot on his head and grit his teeth. Blood ran down his arm; beneath his Kevlar vest, his entire chest ached. He was going to enjoy murdering Paul Nelson and, to a lesser extent, Steve Bennett.

  # # #

  It was a castle. Cold and domineering, it filled the landscape of the island. The walls were tall and real. Steve checked, believing it to be a fiberglass shell detailed to look like old rock. But the rock was genuine.

  They crossed under a portcullis and into a courtyard.

  Steve was lost in the scale of a topiary garden when he heard a slam.

  Paul had found the release for the gate and was apologizing for the noise.

  They both returned to the portcullis to examine the gate. It seemed strong. Again, it wasn’t a fiberglass reproduction, but an actual castle gate, built of timber and iron.

  It was the safest they had both felt in a while.

  They made their way through the courtyard to the main structure. The door was unlocked – in fact it was missing a handle entirely. They crept inside the moonlit room.

  Scaffolds lined the giant walls, drop cloths covered the granite floors, and tools were stacked with care. Though incomplete, it was obvious that inside was where the authentic reproduction ended.

  Network cables and speaker wire hung from contact points in the ceiling and near the floor where jacks would be placed. It was well past midnight and there were no workers present. This spurred a thought in Steve’s mind.

  “I haven’t seen anyone working on these islands.”

  “So.” Paul moved to the archway at the end of the room. Steve followed.

  “It just seems odd, that with so much construction going on, that we haven’t seen anyone around.”

  “Baxie probably didn’t want the collar colors mixing on his final big sell.”

  “Maybe. But, it still seems odd.”

  Moonlight passed through unfinished plate glass windows and lit their way as they moved from room to room. They found drop cloths covering expensive flooring in each one. Some rooms were decked in wood paneling; in others the paint was already dry, and the artistry of the texturing caused the men to pause.

  “This is the kind of place you need, Steve. Unabashedly expensive.”

  “My place is fine.”

  “Your place is small. I told you before you needed to get a nicer place.”

  “What does it matter? I’ve been living out of hotel rooms in Toronto and New York for the past six months.”

  “Yeah, and the only reason those were nice places is because Campbell set them up.”

  “I’m not having this argument now.”

  “You never want to have this argument. I want to have this argument. You’re rich and you need a new place and a new car.”

  “I bought a new car!”

  “You bought a Chrysler. You need an Aston Martin. You need a Ferrari. You need a Porsche.”

  Steve withdrew from the conversation.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Why start now, Paul?”

  “I’m just saying. He left the money to you. Not so you could mope about it. Maybe he felt guilty. Maybe it was a selfish way for his name to live on. It doesn’t matter. It’s yours and it’s what he wanted.”

  “And look where it’s gotten me. I’m stuck in a castle on an island being chased by, who knows how many killers. And on top of it all I have to listen to you tell me how to be happy. It’s not what I want. Maybe it would be best if I gave it all up.”

  “Slow down. Let’s not talk crazy.”

  “Or, why don’t I give it to you?”

  “No.” Paul did not hesitate, and when he spoke there was no snide tone in his voice. “Steve, I already have your money. I’ve probably spent more of it than you have.”

  “Then what do you want from me, Paul?”

  “I want my friend back. You’ve been mostly mopey since you found out that – one, you had a father, and, two, that he was dead. I understand grief. I know that there are some things that may take some getting used to. But, and I mean this in all sincerity, money can buy happiness.

  “Look at this watch.” Paul held out his hand. “I don’t need it. And, to be honest, sometimes I don’t understand it. The little bulb in the middle confuses me. But, damn it, it’s just so shiny.”

  Steve said nothing for a moment. He stared at his friend. And, then, at the watch.

  “It is a nice watch. Did I buy that for you?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “What are friends for, right?”

  “Interest free loans.”

  Paul smiled and Steve chuckled.

  “What do you want, Steve?”

  Steve grabbed Paul’s wrist and looked at the watch. “It’s late. I want to get back to the hotel, make sure everyone is okay, rat out Savage, then I want to get to sleep.”

  “Okay, but let’s grab a drink before bed.”

  “You’re on. And you forgot to set your watch forward.”

  They crossed into the next room; a room that would one day be the study. Built-in hardwood bookcases lined every foot of the walls. One large window let the moonlight in. Blue-green shadows filled the room.

  “It looks like a dead end.” Steve turned to leave.

  “Wait, hit the lighter.”

  Steve spun the wheel and the yellow flame fought against the shadows.

  “Over by the back wall. It looks like a door.”

  They moved to the back of the room. The shelving had appeared seamless in the dark, but along the back wall an entire section of bookcase was missing. And, where the shelves weren’t, there was a doorway.

  Paul stuck his head into the doorway and saw a staircase. “The Count seems to be putting in secret doors. Oh, this place is so cool.”

  Steve took the lead with the Zippo and descended the stairs. A thump filled the narrow staircase. Steve whirled around to see Paul with his hand on a lever.

  “Found the door. This should at least give us a place to rest.”

  Steve shook his head and continued down the stairs. They wound senselessly, seemingly taking them nowhere. They walked for a minute before they came to the bottom. The stairs had not led to another room, instead it had brought them to a narrow tunnel that seemed to grow brighter as they went on.

  They came to a cross in the tunnel. The path to the left was in complete darkness. Moonlight awaited them on the right. As he moved closer to the source of the light Steve’s Zippo flame began to dance and flicker in a breeze.

  Paul felt the breeze on his face. “We’re back outside. I think we should go back and wait out the night.”

  “Wait, we’re not outside.” Steve stepped from the narrow tunnel and into an open and damp room. “We’re in the boathouse.”

  Paul followed his line of sight and saw it too. A channel had been dug from the island’s coastline under the castle.

  “Dude this is like the batcave. Who is this guy?”

  Steve’s eyes landed on the prize. Four jet-skis were tied up at the in-home dock; he turned to Paul. “Fire ‘em up, Hot-Wire. We’re going back to Master Key.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Captain Richards was awakened from a dream of his cabin in the mountains. As he shook the sleep from his tired eyes he began to think that maybe a condo would be smarter. His bones were tired. He could actually feel the exhaustion in his bones.

  With a nod, he dismissed the ensign that had summoned him to the dredge’s bridge as his eyes focused around the blur of dreams. He stood and wondered why he had been call
ed. The weather was clear and he could tell from the movement of the deck under his feet that the engines were running properly.

  The first decision he made, after he splashed water on his face, was to be very upset with whoever called him. But, as the desalinated water dripped through his beard, he shrugged it off.

  “Go easy on them, captain. There’s only one more round after this,” he said to himself.

  This voyage would deliver the second to last hopper of reclaimed earth from the Intracoastal Waterway. One more trip back and forth and he could hang up his cap for good. These two hoppers would top off the last island. His cutter suction dredge would be replaced by another in Wassaw sound that would pick up sand from the sea floor and deposit it as pristine beachfront property.

  The captain strode from his cabin and approached the bridge. As he walked, he admired the ship. It was a good ship and a good crew. He would miss them as well. Aside from the boredom of an uneventful tenure, there was little to complain about.

  He reached the foot of the stairs to the bridge.

  “Captain.”

  Rogers, one of the crew, was standing on deck outside the superstructure. He waved the captain over and out into the night air.

  Captain Richards followed the motions. Rogers disappeared around the corner. Richards stepped onto the deck and looked toward the bow of the ship. Three of the crew were examining the retracted cutter suction arm.

  He approached the group.

  “Is there a problem with the span?”

  One of the crew sat astride the arm tying a knotted rope to the arm.

  “No, sir. I’m just replacing one of the Jesus ropes. The old one was about finished.”

  Richards bit at his lip and felt the anger that he had shrugged off come rushing back.

  “This is why you woke me? A safety rope?”

  “No, sir,” Rogers had reappeared behind him. “We need you to check the hopper.”

  Rogers and Carlson moved in on Captain Richards. They both grabbed him – one hand on his arm and the other on his chest.