Joint Task Force #2: America

by David E. Meadows

  Two men were pulling the rubber craft farther inland. Another two lay in the bottom of the raft. Probably sea sick, Josiah guessed. He saw the small engine mounted on the rear of the rubber craft. If those four rode this thing ashore then they had to have been dropped off shore by a bigger ship. Another tidbit to pass to Janet, who would notify the Coast Guard up in Jacksonville.

  Josiah crouched, watching the two men and listening to them grunt as they pulled the raft away from the clutching suction of waves rolling back out to sea. The conversation was clear, but he couldn’t understand a word of it. Josiah had heard enough Spanish and Haitian Creole to recognize it when he heard it, but this language didn’t sound like either of those. He shook his head, concentrating on the two men talking, trying to figure out what nationality they were.

  Harry startled him, reaching out to touch Josiah on the shoulder. “Man, I thought you stayed back there to cover me. Scared the living shit out of me,” he whispered, the wind carrying their words up the dunes and away from the ears of the two men leaning against the sides of the rubber craft.

  “What in the hell are they speaking?”

  “I don’t know,” he whispered back.

  The two men stood and tossed the lines back into the raft. The two deputies watched, knowing they had the edge on the refugees, but Josiah liked to wait long enough to assess a situation before he barged into something. Even at Maude’s, he’d watch two men bashing each other’s heads in with their fists for a while before separating them. Better to have them too tired to fight back when he did step in. That philosophy had done him well during his fifteen years of law enforcement and three sheriffs.

  The two men lifted the other two out of the raft and half carried, half walked them to the edge of the beach about forty yards from Josiah and Harry. A flash of lightning lit up the sky for a moment, causing Josiah to cringe, expecting one of the refugees to spot them and shout a warning to the others.

  “They gonna see us.”

  “Well, they going to see us anyway eventually.”

  The two men returned to the raft and pulled two weapons out of the back.

  “Shit! These ain’t yore normal run-of-the-mill illegals.”

  The slight sound of Harry slipping off his safety reached Josiah’s ears. Using his thumb, he flicked off his own. Those were automatics, and here he and Harry were stuck with a couple of light .38s. This wasn’t going to be a pretty sight!

  “Harry, stay here and cover me. I’m gonna move closer to the two laying down. When I arrest them, you shout out at the two with weapons to drop their guns.”

  “Oh, man . . . oh, man, I don’t like that idea,” Harry said, Josiah detecting a tremble in the voice.

  “I don’t either.” He glanced around them and saw a small rise near the edge of the dune. “Get behind that in case they start shooting.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. I’ll go arrest those two who look dead and you stay here and arrest those two with the automatic rifles.”

  Josiah couldn’t see the incredulous look on his partner’s face, but he could imagine it.

  “Well, we gotta do something before they discover us.”

  “Why don’t we sneak back to the car and wait for reinforcements?”

  Josiah shook his head. “Naw, man. I’m just as nervous as you. We’re gonna arrest them.”

  “You gonna arrest them? Jesus, Josiah. They got guns bigger than ours.”

  “Yeah, well, our balls are bigger.”

  “Right now, mine don’t feel bigger. I think I see another car up there at lover’s lane. Why don’t we go check that out and call in reinforcements while we’re doing that?”

  “Those ain’t Haitians out there, Harry. You know and I know what they are. If we don’t do something, they gonna be spread all over America before we can stop them.”

  “Yeah, and if we do, we could be spread all over this beach. That’s a real gun the tall one near the boat is holding.”

  Josiah rose off his haunches and creeped to the right, closing the distance with the illegals. They were either terrorists or drug runners, and his money was on terrorists. Druggies would at least have some dope on them, and it’s the dope they would have hauled out of that boat first. Human life was inexpensive when it came to transporting drugs. But whatever or whoever they were mattered little right now. What mattered was they were in his county and his responsibility. What had the old sheriff who’d retired twenty years before told him? “Shoot first and clean your pistol later.”

  There was more the man had said between his quick breaths on the oxygen bottle, such as “Lie, lie, lie, because, boy, it don’t matter what you did and how right you were to do it, they still gonna come after you because deep inside, right here”—the old man had weakly punched his chest—“We Americans don’t really trust the government. We may trust our sheriffs, but we don’t really trust those who wear civilian clothes.”

  Josiah glanced back at Harry. He could barely make out his partner’s head and shoulders visible above the slight rise. He wished he had brought his walkie-talkie with him. One reason they seldom carried them was that Janet had a habit of broadcasting at the most inopportune times. If he had it, he might be able to reach Janet, and if he could reach her, she could hurry the backup along. Maybe Harry was right. He stopped. Maybe they should retreat to the cruiser, wait for backup, and then take on these four. If they did that, they ran the risk the four would disappear before backup arrived. Plus, the element of surprise they had now would be gone.

  He crouched, leaned forward on one knee, and held the pistol—which felt awfully small—with both hands. He licked his dry lips. Damn, it wasn’t as if this was something they did every day in Summer Haven, Florida.

  “Put your hands up! You’re under arrest!” Harry shouted.

  “Damn, Harry!” Josiah muttered softly. “I’m going to kill you, if they don’t.”

  The two men near the raft stopped, stood straight, searching in the direction from where Harry’s shout had originated. Then suddenly the two shouted something in a language Josiah didn’t recognize and began firing wildly with their automatic rifles. One of them charged in Harry’s direction. The other followed.

  Josiah knees felt like rubber. He moved the pistol to the left, aiming for the one in front, the barrel tracking the running figure a few inches in front. He pulled the trigger. The crack of the gunshot echoed off the sand dune behind him. The man tumbled forward, his arms outstretched, sending the automatic rifle spinning into the air. It was only then that Josiah realized he had been repeatedly shouting “Shit!” at the top of his voice.

  The second man stopped firing and dove toward the beach. One shot came from Harry’s direction. The bullet hit the man as he fell, causing him to throw his hands up. The weapon sailed out of the man’s hands and landed half in the surf. The man Josiah had shot lay motionless on the sand. The two men dragged to the edge of the beach never moved.

  Josiah, crouching, ran to the right, his gun in his left hand, digging with his right hand in his back pocket for the plastic strips used for makeshift handcuffs. They had the familiar metal cuffs, but the jingle they made when they were trying to roust sex-starved teenagers from lovers’ lane spoiled the fun of the moment when they tapped on the open window of a parked car. He kept his eyes on the two wounded men outstretched between the boat and where Harry crouched. Josiah glanced out to sea, expecting to see white running lights of the ship that had dropped these four, but fog, rain, and darkness obscured anything farther out than about a hundred feet from the ocean edge. Josiah dropped to his knees. He was about ten feet to the side of the two men dragged from the boat. Another flash of lightning lit up the beach, and when the following thunder dissipated, Josiah heard moans coming from the two men. One of them lifted a hand and threw it across his face. Josiah nodded. He’d be sick as a dog too if he had ridden through that rough water to shore. The man lifted his head and turned it in Josiah’s direction.

  He could hear the heavin
g as the man vomited.

  Seems these four had plans that did not involve staying on the beach long. He glanced back toward the top of the dune. What if someone was supposed to meet them here? Shit! He and Harry were going to be caught between two groups if that happened. Seeing no one coming over the top of the dunes, he turned his attention back to the two men. The rain slowed for moment, and as if in tempo with several heavy gusts, it came back with renewed intensity. The strong gusts off the sea drowned out the noise of the two in front of him. It took a few seconds for his night vision to readjust. In that flash of lightning, he hadn’t seen a weapon with the two men, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have one.

  Josiah glanced back toward where Harry should have been, but in the darkness he couldn’t see his partner. Harry may be the cautious type and may even have been right in wanting them to retreat back up the dune and call for reinforcements. Damn it! No doubt about it, his partner had been right. Josiah wished he had listened to the younger man this time. He took a deep breath. A brief perverse thought of his wife looking down on his bullet-ridden body passed through his mind.

  He stood, spread his legs, and gripped the pistol with both hands. One of the men sat up, his head turning back and forth, no doubt searching for his other two comrades. He aimed his pistol at the man. The other remained motionless, too ill to offer resistance. Well, if the gunplay didn’t tell them they were here, it was time for him to let them know.

  “Stop where you are! Raise your hands!”

  He heard the sound of running feet from behind him. That’d be Harry. He stepped out and held up his hand, failing to realize that Harry couldn’t see the sign to stop in the dark.

  “Stop, Harry!” Josiah shouted.

  A ripple of bullets tore up the beach as they worked their way in the direction of his partner. The man who had managed to sit up was shooting. The bullets raced out to sea, never coming near Harry. Josiah ran several steps to the right, kicked the gun, knocking it out of the man’s hand and onto the beach several feet away. Harry ran up beside him and pointed his gun past Josiah at the man, who began vomiting.

  Josiah reached out with his shoe and turned the man’s face to the side so he wouldn’t drown in his own vomit.

  “Sick assholes, aren’t they?”

  Josiah nodded. “I can’t imagine anyone trying to sail ashore in this mess. I’m surprised they made it.”

  “Kind of glad they did,” Harry said, his body practically dancing as the flood of adrenalin eased. “Man oh man, did we do well or not?” He waved his pistol in the air. “Did you see that, Josiah? One shot. That’s all I fired was one shot. And, you—you only fired one shot. Four of these assholes—who are they, anyway?—and we took out an armed gang with automatic rifles, grenades, and—”

  “What grenades? There ain’t no grenades.” Josiah reached up and with the back of his hand wiped the rain from his forehead. “Let’s get cuffs on these buggers, and then you hightail it back up the dune and tell Janet to notify our CIS friends to get their butts down here right now. Tonight! If we’re going to get soaked wrapping up this little episode, I want as many people as possible wet with me.”

  “You got it, boss,” Harry said, pulling out a few of the plastic handcuffs from his back pocket.

  Josiah realized he’d dropped his somewhere, but he stood at the feet of the two men, his gun trained on them, keeping an eye on the one he figured was dead—you could never tell when they were faking.

  A wail from behind him nearly caused him to shoot. He turned quickly, corkscrewing downward to a crouching position. One of the men he and Harry had shot wasn’t dead. They should have checked those two. Josiah noticed that the weapons of the men were nowhere to be seen, and he rightly assumed that Harry had detoured by them to throw the weapons out of their reach. He had also assumed, wrongly, that Harry had checked them to see if they were alive.

  He ran toward the second man. The one Harry had shot. The wounded man was moaning facedown in his own blood and vomit. He was alive, but Josiah wasn’t sure where Harry’s bullet had hit him. From the amount of movement and the complaining noises the man was making, it wasn’t life threatening.

  Josiah rolled the wounded man over, holstered his pistol, and pinned the man’s hands behind him. He might be wounded, but he wasn’t sure how badly. Josiah detoured a few feet around the man; out of range of any high jinks the asshole might try, and ran toward the other one, whom he had shot. He put two fingers on the man’s neck, moving it around searching for a pulse, unable to find one. “Dead,” he said to himself, whipping out one of Harry’s plastic handcuffs. He wasn’t the county mortician. Let them confirm it. Josiah quickly tied the hands of the dead man behind the body.

  “I called Janet!” Harry shouted from down the beach where he was running toward Josiah.

  A few seconds later, Harry stood over Josiah. “They’ll be here any moment,” Harry said through deep breaths. “Man oh man, I can’t believe you made me run all the way to the car. Here,” he said, holding a walkie-talkie out for Josiah. “I ain’t going back up that dune for some time.”

  This time several flashes of lightning crisscrossed overhead. They walked back to where the other two men lay. One had his hands tied behind his back, but the other’s hands were crossed over his chest.

  Josiah reached down, keeping his gun pulled back slightly in the event the man was faking and tried to grab it. He tugged the man onto his back. He didn’t want any more to die before higher authorities got here. Already, he was going to be spending the rest of the night doing paperwork on this. The more dead bodies, the more paperwork.

  He pulled the second man over, glanced at the wounded one in the middle of the beach. The man had somehow turned onto his side. At least that one wasn’t going to suffocate, though he was going to have a lot of sand in his mouth.

  He looked down at the two men breathing heavily at his feet.

  “Here,” Harry said, handing him a flashlight. “I brought both of ours. Figured we might need them.”

  Josiah turned the flashlight on and shined it on the two men at their feet. Their faces were covered in small blisters. The second one looked worse than the first, with blisters so large Josiah was sure the man couldn’t open his eyes. If these men were sea sick, that wasn’t the only thing bothering them. He walked over to the wounded man and shined the flashlight on the man’s face. This one was also covered in blisters.

  Whatever was wrong with these men, Josiah just hoped it didn’t mean more work. Bad enough he was going to have to call Harriet and tell her he’d be late. Bad enough he was going to have to listen to her twenty questions and convince her that he had little choice. Bad enough he was going to have to listen to CIS question everything he told them. He stuck his shoe under the body of the dead man and pushed it over.

  He shined his flashlight on the dead man’s face and wondered what had happened to cause the sea of blisters that covered the faces of these four men. They were like bumps, and for a fleeting moment, they made him think of acne gone so bad it was forcing the man’s eyes shut. He flicked off the flashlight. Josiah hoped whatever these men brought ashore with them wasn’t contagious. If it was contagious and he brought it home, he’d really catch hell from Harriet.

  CHAPTER 10

  LIEUTENANT EARLY LIFTED HER HEAD, SHIFTING HER JAW back and forth. Her vision had returned, though her left eye remained swollen. She twisted her head back and forth, trying to ease the muscle tightness of her neck. Early pulled herself to a sitting position from behind Senior Chief Leary. Senior Chief Leary leaned back against the bulkhead.

  “Senior Chief, it’s not working.”

  “We’ve only been at it a few minutes, ma’am. Besides, it’s all we got.”

  “I’d say more like a couple of hours.”

  “Let me see,” Lieutenant Scott Kelly said. He knee-walked across the small space between them, deliberately fell across the Senior Chief’s legs, and pulled himself around so he was between them.


  “Gotta-Be, you can’t see shit. Your eyes are too swollen. You can’t see and the Senior Chief doesn’t have eyes in the back of his head.”

  “I’ve heard that punch line, Scott,” she replied, her voice slightly slurred. She tightened and released several times the muscles in her jaw, then moved the jaw back and forth a few times. “I tried to get a grip with my teeth on the plastic strip, but the thing is so tight on your wrists, Senior Chief. Then, when I do manage to get a bite on it, it slips out as soon as I bite down hard or attempt to saw through it with my teeth. I just can’t get a good grip.”

  “Lean up, Senior Chief,” Kelly said, nudging Leary’s hard shoulder with his head.

  Leary leaned forward so the copilot could look. “Yeap, you’re right, Gotta-Be,” he said. “Your teeth have nipped the Senior Chief’s wrist, but the plastic is still intact.”

  “Lieutenant,” Senior Chief Leary said, turning his head so he could look at Kelly. “How about yours? Are they as tight as mine?”

  Kelly sat back up, tried to smile, and quickly stopped. “Ouch,” he said. “That hurt. Senior Chief, I can’t tell you if mine are looser or tighter. I lost feeling in my hands days ago, but if we stay here another couple of days, I’ll be free because my hands will fall off; so either way, I won’t be much use.”

  “Come here, Scott, and let me look,” Early said.

  The young Lieutenant leaned forward.

  “Turn around.”

  Kelly pulled himself onto his knees and shifted his body so his back was to Early. “What do you see?”

  “Wait a minute. I haven’t even gotten myself where I can see. Turn a little bit to the left, so the light from the porthole falls across your hands.”

  A moment later, he felt a tug on his restraints. “What are you doing?” he asked, looking over his shoulder and trying to see what she was doing.

  Early leaned back. “You got a small link that’s kinked in the plastic. I think I can get a better bite on yours than I did on the Senior Chief’s.”