Tortugas Rising

by Benjamin Wallace

  David was stern, “My men never fired on you.”

  “They fired on Steve and his date.”

  David saw the conviction in Paul’s expression. “Do you think, Mr. Nelson, that there is a chance that in the great blue sea, there may be more than one black boat? They were Baxter’s men. But I guess we did shoot the boat out from under you. Sorry. It was defensive fire.”

  “What the hell is Homeland Security doing here anyway?”

  “We’re looking for a bomb.”

  Paul felt the answer came a little too easy.

  “What?”

  “We think Baxter has it. And we think you and your friend can help us. Tell us what you know.”

  “You first.” Paul scratched at the shirt.

  David’s eyes narrowed. Paul met his stare with a look of complete contempt. Jefferson relaxed his gaze.

  “Like I said, we’re looking for a bomb.”

  “What kind of bomb?”

  “A Mark-15 bomb.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s an old bomb.”

  “Okay, how old is it?”

  “More than fifty years old.”

  “Why do you think Baxter has it?”

  “Baxter is dirty; he has been for a long time. We can’t prove this, but his ties go deep into organized crime, the cartels and terror groups. He’s kept himself clean by hiding behind an army of lawyers and false fronts.

  “We suspect that he uses this island chain as his own little duty-free store for smuggling contraband in and out of the country. An item on the shelf is a hydrogen bomb.”

  “Nuclear bomb?”

  “Hydrogen. An old hydrogen bomb that has been missing from the U.S. nuclear arsenal for decades.”

  “If you guys lost a bomb, there would have been a movie about it.”

  “In 1958 a B-47 from Homestead Air Force Base in Florida was on a practice run. During the flight it collided with a fighter. Certain of a crash, the pilot jettisoned his cargo – a Mark-15 hydrogen bomb. The plane crashed in Wassaw Sound off Tybee island in Georgia. The bomb was never found.

  “Baxter is topping his islands with sand from the sound. We think he was looking for the bomb. We think he found it and is going to sell it to whichever angry man has the deepest pockets.

  “We’ve searched almost every island in this ImagiNation of his and still haven’t found it.”

  “Didn’t you hear? It has a new name now.”

  Paul told Special Agent Jefferson about the party and Baxter’s impassioned speech about the Liberated States of America.

  “He’s not selling anything but time shares, G-man. A paradise destination all his own, run how he sees fit. With his little laws and his own immigration standards.”

  David digested the information. Had his men spent a year sneaking about the archipelago looking for something that wasn’t there to be found? Was the dredging in Wassaw a coincidence?

  They had hauled the Geiger counter over every island and it had never registered above ambient radiation. Had it all been for nothing?

  There had always been the frightening possibility someone had gotten to the bomb years ago. A search in 2004 had turned up nothing.

  “Don’t look so glum. You’ve got him on treason,” said Paul. “If you’ve got a yardarm on this thing you can hang him from it.”

  David stood and headed for the door.

  “What about Steve? We can’t just leave him.”

  “Wait here, Mr. Nelson.” Jefferson and the medic left the room. They left the door open. Paul wandered through it into the ship.

  # # #

  The dredge approached island 38 and began to rainbow its load from the ship’s massive nozzles. The fountain of mud soiled the water around the uncompleted island and drifted with the current. No soil struck the island. Island 38 did not need another round of fill, only a coating of sea sand that would be provided by the Pacific dredge later in the week.

  The dredge’s hopper needed to be emptied, though, and if they spread the earth on the island they might have buried Savage’s men who now worked the earth-moving machines to uncover a chamber in the center of the island.

  # # #

  Warren Baxter’s office had changed since Katherine had seen it last. Her eye had always been drawn to the French doors that overlooked the paradise that he had built; now she could not help but look at the massive “Liberated States of America” map that dominated the wall.

  Baxter had had it created in an old-world style. Written in script, as if Ponce de Leon had discovered the water park and five-star resorts on his explorations. In truth, it had been illustrated and art directed by the same undergraduate student that was responsible for most of the park maps. Many of the locations were out of place. It didn’t seem to bother Baxter.

  He drew on his cigar and surveyed his land as Katherine and Steve were brought in. Steve stood on unstable legs, and, after only a moment, drifted across the room to a couch. No one moved to stop him. He collapsed on the elegant sofa and bled on the upholstery.

  Savage’s blow had left a gash on his temple; Savage had left the gash unattended.

  “Sorry about your sofa.” Steve’s voice was weak.

  Baxter fumed momentarily but quickly regained his composure. He turned to Savage.

  “Was this necessary?”

  “He’s alive.” Savage took a seat across the room, relaxing, perhaps against his will. Steve could finally see his own wounds taking their toll on the hardened chief of security. He had come after them with such fury that Steve was pleased to see that the rough and tough mercenary was human after all.

  “Steve, my boy. I’m sorry it came to this,” Baxter said, offering him a drink.

  Steve huffed.

  “I never intended for any of this to happen. I want you to be a part of what we are creating here. As your father would have been.”

  Steve’s stomach dropped. So it was true. His father had been involved with the plot.

  “Let’s leave daddy out of this, Mr. Baxter.”

  Warren dropped his head and nodded. “You’re right. It must be so much for you to take in. But, think of it. Not only did you inherit one of the greatest fortunes in North America, you stand to inherit a nation. A new world.”

  “I don’t want it. What makes you think that they’ll let you secede anyway?”

  Warren smiled and bared his teeth. “America has overthrown its weight in the world, Steve. They’ve overstepped their bounds to the point where college students travel under the maple leaf instead of the stars and stripes. The world hates America. And, rightfully so.

  “The L.S.A. offers a paradise set apart from the country the world detests. We want no part of the stigma that the States have earned. We can be a beacon of peace. As a matter of fact, in six months time we will be hosting a world summit.”

  Steve smirked.

  “We would bear no animosity to the U.S.A. We don’t want to be Cuba. We would be a partner.”

  “You already run this by the president?”

  “The president is a fool.”

  “You may still need his permission.”

  Baxter’s smile faded. “The president is about to be too busy to care about little old us. It’s not as if we’re a threatening regime partnered with the great red evil. We pose no threat to the U.S. We just want a chance to make it on our own without the actions of our host nation holding us back. These islands are for the world. A gift from us. A place free of society’s ills. A place where you can feel safe. There would be no chance of that if America’s enemies were ours as well.”

  Steve sat upright. Baxter smiled too much; but, for the first time his smile seemed genuine. He glanced over at Savage. He was obviously weakened, but his eyes were still sharp.

  “Why me?”

  “I feel I owe it to your fa...”

  Steve held up a hand.

  “Of course. We’ll call it a sense of debt, then. And, of course, as you say, our withdrawal would n
ot be openly accepted all across the Potomac. I have no doubt that in time, after we’ve shown them our true intentions that we would be welcomed in as a trade partner with open arms.

  “But, until that time we will still need trade. Your fath... your companies hold such sway over the Canadians that you could provide our burgeoning nation with the supplies it needs.”

  “You have a lot of faith in the Canadians. What makes you think they won’t feel like the U.S.?”

  Baxter’s grin got larger, “Because Canadians are too nice.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know many Canadians.”

  “You know Mr. Campbell. He has been a great friend to our country all along.”

  Steve was silent.

  “And, he’s a nice man.”

  Campbell was nice. Aside from initial disbelief, Steve never had any reason not to trust the Canadian attorney.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Steve. Our intentions are nothing but the best. We only want to offer the world a paradise. And a paradise can’t exist with the threat of terrorism.”

  “You think Al Qaeda is going to come for your hammocks?”

  “Terrorist attacks persist to haunt the nation. It is my belief that it will only escalate. And, with those who would visit here, it would provide too tempting a target for them.”

  “I always knew there was something wrong with you,” Katherine had been quiet until now.

  “Ms. Bernelli, please.”

  “All this time I’ve been singing the praises of ImagiNation to investors, to venture capitalists, even my own family. And behind it all was a madman’s grab for power.”

  “I never meant to mislead you, my dear.”

  “No! Then why wasn’t I selling stake in a new nation? Because, no one would have bit.”

  “You would be surprised, my dear.”

  Steve’s eyes glazed over and he thumped back on the arm of the sofa.

  “Steve? I need an answer.”

  There was no response. Baxter walked to the couch and placed his hand on Steve’s arm.

  “Don’t you touch him!” Katherine slapped the older man’s hand away.

  Savage rose and crossed the room.

  Katherine ignored him, and turned her attention to Steve.

  “Steve. Steve.” She patted his face. He breathed heavily but did not wake.

  Baxter held up a hand to his Secretary of Defense. “Katherine.”

  She turned with hatred in her eyes.

  “I’ve done what I can. When he awakes it will be in your best interest – and his – to convince him. I want him as a friend. I do not need him. And you are completely expendable.” Baxter turned to Savage. “Get them a room.”

  Savage spoke into his radio and three guards entered the room and removed Steve and Katherine.

  Savage leaned against the desk until Baxter snapped. “Where’s the dredge?”

  “Dumping now.”

  “Is it ready to go?”

  “Almost. We had to wait. There’s been some activity on the island. We think it was the hippies.”

  “Sink the boat.”

  “Not a good idea.” Savage said. “It would be pretty obvious that it was intentional. And who was responsible.”

  “We have a right to protect ourselves and our patrons. Besides, in three days the officials will be too busy to even care.”

  “What if plans change?”

  “Plans won’t change. Will they Mr. Savage?”

  Savage straightened and made his way to the door. “Of course not.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Paul made his way to the bridge. Jefferson was talking to one of his men as they pored over a map of the chain. Notes were scrawled on each island; numbers and notations made some of the smaller cays hard to see.

  “We’re missing something.” Jefferson muttered.

  “What about Steve?”

  Jefferson didn’t even look up. “There’s nothing we can do right now.”

  “I’ll admit the FBI isn’t the best with hostage situations. But, you’re the law. You have to do something.”

  Jefferson turned his attention from the map. “You can’t even tell us where he is.”

  “Find him.”

  “How?”

  “You’ve got to have a man on the inside.’”

  Jefferson was silent.

  “You’ve been on this for years. You couldn’t even get a man on the inside?”

  Jefferson erupted. He was short and stocky but incredibly quick. Before Paul could move he was pinned against the wall. The agent was inches from his face breathing hot spit onto his cheek.

  “I had a man on the inside you little puke! And, he died helping your girlfriend escape. I’ve lost two men here, and I’m not willing to lose anymore for some spoiled rich kid who didn’t have enough sense to know what he was getting into.”

  Paul flared and shoved Jefferson off. Jefferson seemed stunned that Paul could muster the strength. “And you wonder why Baxter wants to form his own country?”

  Jefferson said nothing.

  “Give me my gun back. I’m leaving.”

  David nodded. Two agents grabbed Paul from behind.

  “You’re going back to your room, Mr. Nelson.”

  “Please, Susie. Call me Paul.”

  # # #

  It was dark out. This, despite the crystal blue water, made it difficult to see the approaching frogmen. There were five of them moving toward the boat. Each carried a satchel draped around his neck. Each satchel carried a charge that would crack the hull of the Rainbow Connection.

  # # #

  Paul was thrown into his room. He bounced off the wall and rushed back to the door, as it slammed shut. He immediately tried the handle, and found that it opened, but when he pushed on the door, it was shoved back closed from the other side. He looked again at the handle and could see no lock. He assumed that he would stay guarded. He ran to a porthole and pulled it open. His shoulders were too broad for it to be of any use.

  He paced the room looking for anything to hit the guard with. There were some books, the mattress, and a pillow. Everything else was bolted down.

  He had just finished unlacing his shoe when an explosion echoed throughout the boat. Shrieking metal reverberated throughout the hull. The horrendous noise was followed by several more explosions.

  Paul was thrown off his feet and against the wall. The unlatched portal swung open and struck his head. He fell and landed on the mattress. He rolled to the corner of the bed as the ship began to list. He struggled to his feet, lurched across the room, and grabbed for the door.

  It was stuck. As the ship rolled, he wasn’t pushing the door open so much as he was pushing it up.

  “Hey!” Panic filled his voice as he charged against the door. It would open a fraction, and fall back shut. “Hey! What was that?”

  There was no answer. The ship rolled further. Paul placed his feet against the bunk and shoved against the door. It opened further this time. The guard outside was unconscious, collapsed against the door. Blood seeped from his head. Paul held the door open with his shoulder and tapped the agent on the head.

  “Wake up! Get up! Get up!”

  There was no response; only more bleeding. Paul shoved at the door again, but even extended to his full height, he was short of being able to force the guard off the door.

  His feet were wet. Paul turned back to the room. The porthole was still open and the ocean was trying to share the room with him. He let the door slam shut above him, and dropped into the water to close the porthole. It stopped the water from entering, but he judged by the angle of the floor that the ship wasn’t sinking just because he left a window open.

  The mattress floated next to him, making it difficult to maneuver. Paul grabbed the gray-striped fabric, and began to roll the thin padding. It wasn’t much, but the rolled bundle would give him an extra foot and a half of leverage.

  He placed it on the edge of the bunk, stepped on top, and shoved the
door again. The guard had not gotten any lighter, but the added height gave Paul enough room to force the door open far enough for the agent’s body to slide off. He grabbed the doorframe and pulled himself up into the hallway.

  The amount of blood was tremendous. It had spilled into the doorframe, and coated his hands as he dragged himself to stand. Paul checked the fallen agent for a pulse, and was almost surprised to find one.

  He knew that head wounds bled a lot, but whatever had struck the guard had caused more than a scratch and a nap. Paul grabbed the guard by his collar and tried to lift him. He suddenly regretted shoving Jefferson. Had he not done that, they may have posted a smaller guard.

  He strained against the guard’s weight, but managed to lift the unconscious agent onto his shoulder.

  The walk was difficult. Odd footing and the guard’s bulk slowed him down. The stairway at the end of the hall stopped him. The staircase was at a twenty-degree angle to where it was supposed to be. Paul couldn’t climb the stairs as they were, or even use the wall as a floor.

  “Help!” He shouted beyond the doorway, suddenly worried about everyone else. Was Brittany okay? She was hot and he was concerned about her safety. “Help! Uh, man down, man down!”

  He wasn’t sure if it was the timing or his use of the talk of the trade but two agents appeared at the top of the stairwell and reached out for Paul and their fellow agent.

  “Get him! I can make it.”

  At the sight of a fallen friend, the two agents turned their focus from Paul. They pulled at the injured agent’s arms while Paul did his best to lift the man by his belt.

  The fresh strength of the men made it easy work, and Paul soon clambered up the tilted stairs unencumbered.

  The commotion on the deck forced Paul to yell.

  “Where’s the girl?”

  The agent shrugged. “Everyone’s getting on the boats.”

  Paul fought for balance as he crossed the deck of the ship with the two agents. The ship’s captain was at the bow, calmly delivering orders. The boats were already in the water. Jefferson stood beside the captain.