Tortugas Rising

by Benjamin Wallace

Savage kicked the ground. “No. Get the Tybee on the ship and get back to the Intracoastal. If we’re lucky we can still deliver it.”

  “The Feds will be missed.”

  “They’ll be forgotten when a bomb goes off in the White House’s front yard.”

  He ran to the docks and joined two of his men as the radio barked his orders to the rest of his regiment. Minutes later, thirty guards piled into the security boats and left the floating dock undulating on their massive wake.

  # # #

  “I can’t get through. Even the emergency signal is just giving off static.”

  Jefferson looked inward to the island chain.

  “They know. They’re jamming the signal.”

  “Master Key has a communications center.”

  “That’s where the interference is coming from. Did you try the satellite phone?” Jefferson motioned for his radio man to put the set down.

  “No luck. It was destroyed when the Rainbow sank.”

  Jefferson thought a moment. “Peterson?”

  “Sir,” a young agent answered from the back of the boat.

  “I’m going to drop you and the girl on an island. You will lay low until help arrives.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Carlson. Send three men to Master Key and take the radio room. Have them call in the Coast Guard, Navy, DEA, anyone who has a ship in the area, and instruct them to intercept the dredge. Then have the men find Bennett and Baxter.”

  The orders were given. Brittany and the young guard were dropped on the closest island. Peterson was given a radio and instructions to periodically try the emergency channel.

  Jefferson watched the two disappear in the distance. He felt the weight of the gun in his arms and gripped it tight. He wasn’t sure any of his men would make it through the night.

  # # #

  Savage’s armada arrived at the site of the sunken Rainbow Connection. Floodlights from the security ships bathed the area in light. There was no sign of the crew.

  Savage directed the light on his ship across the deck and saw it devoid of lifeboats and the launch.

  “Find them. Kill them.”

  His second-in-command pulled the radio mic from his shoulder and directed the brigade. The boats split up and began their search to the find the crew of the Rainbow Connection.

  Within moments only Savage’s boat sat above the wreck of the Homeland Security ship.

  “Take me to the dredge.”

  # # #

  The Zodiac plowed onto the beach. Paul had cut the engine only moments before reaching land and ran the boat up onto the white sand beach. He leapt from the boat and ran to the cover of a nearby cabana.

  The island was quiet. He listened for the whir of the electric carts and heard nothing. There were no footsteps, no crackling radios.

  He was certain that after the attack on the Rainbow Connection, the guards would be on high alert, but he could detect no signs of heightened security.

  He ran from cover to cover, and peered around each corner before moving to the next. The wet hemp shirt rubbed his chest raw and he was sure that at least one of his nipples was bleeding.

  He reached the casino in a matter of minutes and approached its entrance while staying concealed in the bushes that lined the walkway.

  He crouched for several minutes, looking for any signs of activity. He saw none. He considered finding a back way in. The balcony they had used to escape was not an option.

  It would take time to move around back, and the bottom of the ladder was still sealed. It had been too long already. There was no telling if Steve was still alive. Stalling would only make his death more of a certainty.

  Paul eyed the front door, and steeled himself for a frontal assault. He growled inside, breathed deeply and charged from the bushes at full speed toward the front gates of his enemy’s stronghold.

  He tripped on the paved walkway and fell forward to the ground. The gun flew from his hand and slid across the hardened surface; he caught himself with his palms and a knee, skinning each in the process.

  He inhaled sharply and fought the pain. “Ouch.”

  It took a moment to locate the black .45 on the black footpath. The checkered grip dug into his skinned palm.

  He took several more deep breaths and slowly limped toward the front door.

  He peered through the smoked glass. There was movement on the other side. A muzzled flash pierced the tinting and Paul stepped back and raised the gun.

  He screamed as he returned fire.

  Shots fired from both sides of the door quickly filled the tempered glass with holes and fractures that spread like spider webs across the surface. Paul emptied the clip as the fire ceased from the other side.

  He held the gun firm, the slide locked back. He had to have hit the gunman. How could he have missed?

  A moment was filled with the sound of cracking glass. Fractures grew and spread. The stillness ended when the glass door could no longer hold itself together. The pane shattered and crashed to the ground.

  Paul had missed. The gunman stood on the other side of the door. He stood like Paul’s reflection; an empty gun in his hand, still pointed at the door.

  Steve lowered his weapon first.

  “What did I tell you about pointing a gun at me?”

  Paul lowered the gun. It was only through some miracle that the two friends had not killed each other.

  Katherine stepped through the casino entrance, straightened her dress, and examined the damage. “You two are the strangest friends I have ever met.”

  Paul didn’t smile when he saw Steve. He smirked.

  “I stole a boat. It’s just down the beach.”

  “Does the radio work on this one?”

  “Too well. Oh, and Baxter, he’s into bombs.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean chances are pretty good that on that island, where you two were making out, there is a fifty year old hydrogen bomb.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “My best guess is that Baxter is planning to smuggle a reconditioned hydrogen bomb into the United States on a dredge. Blow up a good chunk of some city. Then use the resulting chaos to secede from the union and form his own nation. Does that spell it out for you?”

  “I guess that sums it up nicely – that’s a lot to take in.”

  “How do you know all this?” Katherine asked.

  “Oh, right. The hippies are Homeland Security.”

  The couple stared at him in silence as they tried to adjust to the new situation.

  Katherine spoke first. “Great. All we need to do is get to their ship and we should finally be safe.”

  “Well... Savage sunk the ship.”

  “I didn’t think we’d been gone that long.” Steve looked back at the casino and up to Baxter’s top floor. “It sounds like we’re just as screwed as we were before all this.”

  “Don’t fret, Steve. We’ve got a little rubber boat and a full tank of gas. We should be able to get at least halfway back to Key West before we’ll need to paddle.”

  Steve resigned himself to the situation. “Where’s the boat?”

  Paul led the trio back to where he’d beached the Zodiac. He wondered if it was still there since, in his haste he had not moored, anchored, or even asked the craft to sit.

  # # #

  They wound their way through Master Key. The island was quiet. Steve noted that he hadn’t seen another guest since the party. He began to wonder if they had left the island when the shooting started.

  The hostages were another story – they were most likely still under watch. Steve speculated that they were insurance if the bomb plot did not succeed. There was no threat to Baxter; he could still hide behind a terrorist alibi. Provided he killed everyone who knew the truth.

  The Zodiac was still on the beach, a solid ten feet above the waves. Paul must have been running the throttle wide open when he hit the shore.

  What none of them expected to see was a
nother Zodiac pulling up alongside.

  Three of Jefferson’s men leapt from the second craft and ran at the friends. Paul raised his gun. “You can’t have the boat back.”

  The agents approaching Paul knocked the gun aside and rushed past.

  “Hey,” Steve said.

  The three agents moved into the interior of the island.

  “Let’s go. Mine is the one on the right.” Paul started toward the rubber boat.

  Steve turned back toward the island.

  “Come on, Steve.” Paul had one foot in the Zodiac.

  Steve turned to Katherine. “They must be going after Baxter.”

  “Let them.”

  “They may need help.” Steve took a step to follow.

  “Whoa!” Paul started to jump from the boat. His foot stuck on the gunwale, and he had to hop to maintain his balance. “Steve, stop. You are not a soldier. You are a trust fund baby. And, to tell you the truth, you’re kind of a wimp. Let the feds handle Baxter. We’ll handle the running away.”

  “I have no intention of getting into another gun fight. But we can tell them the layout of the hotel – where to find Baxter’s office. We can help.”

  “But the boat. Just the three of us. C’mon Steve. Rub a dub dub.”

  “If they can stop Baxter, we have to help. If they can save the hostages...”

  The three agents were nowhere to be seen. They moved fast. Steve and Katherine started running after the squad.

  Paul swayed back and forth. “Argh, I’d better get my picture in the paper for this.”

  # # #

  The last man on island 38 fired up the Caterpillar front-loader and dragged closed the lid of the lead-lined bunker that had concealed the Tybee bomb for the last several months. A solid thud was heard when it settled into place.

  He removed the chains and placed them on top of the bunker. Moments later the Caterpillar covered the cache and chains. He left the machine sitting on top of the hatch, concealing it, as always.

  The mercenary stepped from the machine into the wet topsoil of the unfinished island.

  “How is it?”

  The man was startled to find his commander standing before him. He looked terrible. Pale and weak, but his voice still boomed with authority.

  “The detonation charge was a perfect fit. Baxter’s connection really came through.”

  “He’s nothing, if not well-connected. It seems everyone owes him a favor.”

  A short boat ride later, Savage stood at the bottom of a rope ladder that hung from the side of the dredge ship. He spoke to the men in the boat. “Join the search. Those feds can’t leave the islands.”

  Savage scaled the ladder slowly. The hole in his arm was slowing him more than he wanted to admit. He was greeted by more of his men on the deck.

  “Where is it?”

  One of the officers pointed into the hopper. The Tybee bomb sat on the bottom. The old hydrogen weapon was coated with rust, which was to be expected considering it had sat beneath a Georgia bay for nearly fifty years.

  The casing was well-built, and had been sealed well – it was the only portion of the weapon that had taken any of nature’s toll.

  Restoration of the bomb had been simple; it was the only part of the operation that had proceeded ahead of schedule.

  Savage still marveled at the weapon. The casing looked like a large iron keg. Ribs lined the riveted shell giving it the appearance of an obsolete steam engine. It looked antiquated. It looked useless. But the material inside the bomb still had the potential to shatter a nation and forge a new one.

  “Cover it.”

  The officer waved to the bridge and the deck top engines roared to life. Savage watched as the boom arms of the dredge moved into position.

  Rick felt more than he heard the powerful suction cutter heads spin to life. They dipped beneath the water and, seconds later, sand and water began filling the cavernous hold.

  Savage could no longer see the bomb as the slurry filled the hopper.

  The boom rose and the crew prepared to get underway.

  Savage grinned.

  THIRTY-TWO

  They caught up with the commandoes. Emboldened by the presence of the agents, Steve, Katherine, and Paul had run quickly and joined the team across from the casino.

  Winded, but still standing, Steve explained the situation, “There are no guards. At least we haven’t seen any since our escape.”

  The agent in charge gestured toward the shattered front door. “So who shot up the door?’

  Steve and Paul pointed to each other.

  “Baxter is on the top floor.” Katherine said.

  “We’re not here for Baxter.”

  “But, this whole...”

  “Our first priority is the dredge. I’m sure your friend told you all about it. He doesn’t seem to be good with secrets.”

  Paul began to argue. Steve held him back.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Ever since your idiot friend here blew our cover, someone has been jamming our equipment. We can’t reach the Coast Guard. We can’t reach the Navy.”

  Paul raised his voice and pointed out to sea. “But the bomb is on that dredge.”

  The agent pointed to Paul with his thumb, “Told you he was an idiot.”

  Paul bristled; Steve held him back. “Can my idiot friend and I help?”

  “No. Your best hope would be to take Ginger and Gilligan here, get back to the boat and find a nice little island to hide on.”

  “That’s it. I’m gonna give my foot a three-hour tour of your ass.” Paul stood up and grabbed the agent by the collar.

  The agent didn’t seem to move but in a moment Paul was on the ground. Two others had him pinned.

  “I know where the communications center is.” Katherine blurted.

  The agent in charge looked to Katherine. “How?”

  “I work here. Well, worked here. I’m fairly certain I’ve been fired by now.”

  The agent turned and took in the size of the casino. The complex was massive. “Let him go.”

  Paul was released; Steve helped him to his feet. “‘Three hour tour of your ass?’ That was the lamest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  Katherine led the group across the path and through the shattered doors of the casino. Other than the corpse of a security guard, there was no one inside. Katherine led them past the elevator bay and through a staff door.

  The glitz and din of the casino gave way to cold, silent concrete. The hallway extended for a quarter of a mile – the length of the enormous building. At fifty- to seventy five-foot intervals, another hallway or storage room intersected it.

  They continued past the first several tributaries. Each man moved silently. Steve marveled at their lack of sound. Each wore a vest that looked as if it was designed to rattle. Knives, guns, smoke flares, all hanging from designated clips and bouncing with each step; but neither the men nor the equipment made a sound.

  Katherine turned down a hallway and pointed to a door. “It’s the next one on the right. Down the hall.”

  “You stay here.” The agent pointed to Steve and Katherine, but shoved Paul a little for emphasis. “I’d take your weapons from you but we don’t know what could be coming down this hall. I don’t want either of you to even draw unless absolutely necessary. Even then I’ll be pressing charges. Understood?”

  Steve nodded. Paul saluted.

  “Let’s clear the air gentlemen.” The agent took point as the team gathered around the hallway. There was a flurry of hand signals and the group moved together.

  An agent kicked in the door and an explosion ripped through the small hallway and into the larger corridor. Steve grabbed Katherine and pulled her to the ground shielding her from the blast. Paul jumped on Steve. Katherine gasped as the air was driven from her lungs.

  The smell of cordite hung in the air. The three stood on wobbly legs – their equilibrium shaken by the blast
. They could hear nothing at first. Steve yelled at Katherine to see if she was all right.

  She was shaken, and temporarily deafened, but nodded that she was okay. Paul stumbled. He double-checked to make sure he had not been hit. His pants were hole-less; the explosion had just thrown off his balance.

  They had to shout to hear themselves speak, but over the roar in their ears they heard the screams.

  “Wait with her.” Steve ran to the intersection of the hallway. It was horrific. Blood and body parts were everywhere. One agent was on his knees. Steve saw no cuts, scrapes or missing limbs. The rest were dead.

  “Are you okay?”

  There was no response. The agent rocked back and forth on his knees. He seemed unsure of what to do. His weapon was drawn but trained on nothing.

  “Are you okay?” Was he yelling? He couldn’t tell.

  The agent finally saw Steve approaching. “All of them! All of them!”

  Steve focused on the agent. He looked him in the eyes. Steve couldn’t bear the site of the carnage.

  “Are you okay?”

  The agent looked at him puzzled. The question finally registered and the man began to feel himself for holes, cuts, or shrapnel. First a look of relief crossed his face, then one of guilt.

  “I was shielded; hadn’t cleared the wall.”

  Steve put a hand on his shoulder and was quiet for a moment. He looked into the agent’s eyes again. “Is the radio working?”

  It must have seemed a foreign language. The agent stared at him a moment, processing the question; his ears had to be ringing worse than Steve’s. Then he reached for the radio on his shoulder, and spoke rapidly into the handset. He paused, and then spoke again.

  “No. It must not have been coming from here.”

  Steve peered into the communications room. A smoking mass of copper wires and twisted metal was all that was left. There would be nothing in that room that still functioned. Steve’s heart sank.

  “We have to stop that ship!” Steve was firm with the agent. He hoped the tone would keep his mind and his eyes off of his fallen friends.

  “There’s no way. Even if we could find the signal, I can’t take a fortified position by myself.”