Wood's Harbor

by Steven Becker

  ***

  A swarm of tiny bugs swirled around Mac’s head and he had to force his eyes open as the near invisible insects attacked. He squirmed in the sand for a better vantage point of the camp and saw the men standing around Alicia. Something moved by his side and he jerked, thinking it was one of the myriad of bugs or snakes common here, but he heard a grunt and felt a hand on his back. Fingers pried at the restraints and he heard Trufante whisper something, but the men were talking louder and he couldn’t understand.

  “Come on, Bugger. Let’s have some fun.”

  He heard a slap and Vance whined, “I told you to stop calling me that. Now take Junior here and go finish the batch. From the look of this group, they’re running from something, and we don’t need no company with that shit cooking.”

  Mac saw the two men walk away and sniffed the air trying to place the smell. He’d thought at first it was acetone, but realized it was ether. He looked at Bugger, who leered over Alicia, his hand moving toward her face.

  “Hey, let us go and we won’t turn you in,” he said trying to distract him.

  Boots kicked sand in his face as Bugger came towards him and he looked up at the rotting teeth just before the man wound up and swung the golf club, falling slightly off balance before landing a blow to Mac’s side. Even off balance, the blow hurt and he held back a scream. Had the tweeker been sober, the stroke might have done serious damage, but he was dealing with meth heads. These men had obviously not learned the lesson from Scarface: the first rule of dealing was to not use your own shit.

  “Y’all are dead once my boys finish this batch. I’d do it now, but I gotta play a few holes, and then I promised them we’d share the girl around first.” He turned towards her. “Besides, can’t afford no gunshots till we’re ready to go.”

  Mac sat helpless as Bugger grabbed Alicia’s bound hands and lifted her from the chair. Ignoring her screams, he pushed her forwards towards an opening in the brush.

  “Now act nice, little girl.” He laughed and pushed her onto the narrow trail leading out of sight.

  They were alone now and Mac turned to Trufante. “Can you work them loose?” He felt fingers working the restraints.

  “Old boys tied them good, and the barnacles ain’t helping. Nasty ass line.”

  Mac looked around for anything that could help and saw Armando slithering towards the chairs. He watched as he moved towards the fire pit and knocked his legs against a tree stump used for a table. A glass pipe fell from the stump and he grabbed it in his mouth, gagging at the taste, but secured it and slid towards them.

  “Nice,” Mac said. He took the pipe from Armando’s teeth. “Tru, can you find something to break it?”

  They froze as a man entered the clearing. He looked at the stump and started searching the area around it. Mac could tell he was becoming anxious by his body language as he widened the search, finally focussing on the pipe in Mac’s hands.

  “Y’all should have said you wanted to get high. We could use you to test the batch. Bugger usually makes me do it, but hell, better you than me.” He reached for the pipe. “You never know when Bugger has a few bad holes how the batch is gonna come out.”

  Mac dropped the pipe and the man bent over to retrieve it. With all the power he had left, he spun his body and struck him with his legs. The man lost his balance but stayed on his feet. He stumbled away and dug a container from his pocket, filled the bowl and lit it. Mac watched him inhale and hold the smoke until he almost gagged. Before he released the drug from his lungs, he crossed to Mac and blew it in his face. Mac was able to hold his breath, but the man relit the pipe and inhaled again. This time, before he blew the smoke into Mac’s face, he kicked him in the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. Mac had no choice but to breathe in the evil vapor.

  He choked on the acrid fumes, gagged, and accidentally inhaled more. The smoke stung his lungs and he tried to repel it, but gagged again and inhaled another breath.

  “Never know if we got us a good batch or not. Old Bugger was smacking those balls around this morning. Should be a good one.” He put the pipe back to his mouth and sucked hard.

  Mac was prepared this time and did his best to hold his breath until the smoke dissipated. The cloud hung in the humid air; the only benefit was it cleared the bugs out. The man was about to repeat the process when they heard a scream.

  “Shit, gotta go or I’ll miss the fun.”

  Mac’s heart was slamming in his chest and he feared the chemicals were working. Another scream and he searched frantically for anything to free them. The small knife he had found on the sailboat had been confiscated in Krome, but the memory moved his focus to his pocket and he felt the small piece of carbon fiber, the broken handcuff key.

  “Tru, in my pocket.” He faced him. “There’s half the key.”

  “What’s a key going to do?” the Cajun asked.

  “Just do it,” Mac said, and thrust his groin uncomfortably close to Trufante’s bound hands. He felt fingers enter the pocket and the key move. “That’s it.”

  Trufante worked the broken key out of Mac’s pants and stared at the splintered end. He took it and maneuvered into a position to work the restraints. Another scream, this time a man, came from the brush.

  “Hurry up. Something bad is going down,” he said. Two men could be heard yelling at each other. He couldn’t make out the words, but he had a good idea what they were fighting about. Something crashed just as his bonds released. With the use of both hands, he fumbled with the knots holding Trufante and Armando tossing the nasty rope to the side.

  The three men edged down the trail, the sound of a fight directly ahead of them. As long as the tweekers were fighting between themselves, there was a better chance Alicia was unharmed. They reached the edge of the clearing where several tables were set up with beakers and Bunsen burners like a primitive chemistry class. Two men were rolling in the dirt, Bugger standing over them. He yelled something to encourage them to continue and went into the shack

  Mac gave a signal for the others to wait. He went to the table, grabbed a beaker full of clear liquid, ran to the shack and entered the dark room just as Alicia screamed. He heard a slap, but had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he could act. He had no idea what was in the container, but he knew it was bad.

  “Bugger!” he yelled, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He could see the man lurching over the bed. Vance turned, about to move on Mac, when he tripped. Mac flung the liquid in his face and went for Alicia. Bugger grabbed for his eyes and screamed.

  Mac led her from the hut and ran to Trufante and Armando. Bugger ran from the shack and stumbled into the table, knocking it onto its side.

  “Hurry up!” Mac pushed the group forward. He knew there were volatile chemicals mixing together. They raced forward. He chanced a look back. A beaker lay overturned by one of the burners, its contents burning blue as it spread across the ground. Mac ran after his group, a loud whoosh behind him and the clearing ignited. They felt the heat from the blast on their backs. Something else blew, the concussion from the explosion knocking them to the ground. Fire burned around them as the liquid, spread by the explosion, carried the flaming fuel to anything that could burn.

  “The other side. They have to have a boat,” Mac yelled.

  They ran to the water, skirting the shoreline until they could see the engine of a skiff sticking from the brush. Mac raced towards the boat. The fire was burning closer. If it reached the fuel tank, they would be stranded in the inferno.

  Armando beat him to the boat and both men struggled to pull it into the water just as the flames kissed the bow. Mac jumped in and frantically pulled the starter cord. Flames burned on the water and he pulled again. Armando kept pushing the boat towards deeper water, but the flames came greedily towards them as if they knew more fuel lay ahead.

  Mac looked back and saw Alicia, knee deep in the water, frozen in place. The flames were skirting around her, small droplets of fire
approaching as the chemicals surfed the small waves. She hugged her life jacket with her arms and screamed.

  “Tru!” Mac yelled towards the shore at the Cajun striding towards the boat. “Start this piece of crap and circle back.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Alicia was in a total panic less than fifty feet away. The water was only a few feet deep. He took a deep breath and dove into the shallows. His only chance of reaching her safely was to stay submerged. Mac squinted, eyes burning from the salt water, the orange glow on the surface above. Bubbles escaped his lips as he metered out his breath in an attempt to stay calm and reach the girl. He knew from years of experience never to empty his lungs. Devoid of air, the body would react by gagging and he could drown - or burn.

  He saw her legs underwater, dancing frantically. Without knowing if the fire had reached her, he blew the last of the breath from his lungs and surged forward, surfacing beside her. He felt the heat of the fire by his face and took in a huge breath.

  “Breath!” he yelled at her, and without waiting for an answer, took one last breath and hauled her under the surface just as the flames found the vacant spot. She was dead weight made worse by the buoyancy of the life jacket, but at least she was not fighting him as he kicked towards deeper water. Just as the last bubbles left his mouth, he heard the sound of an outboard. He rolled his head back and looked at the surface. Flames were still visible. He could only hope they had lost their intensity as the chemicals burned off. They surfaced and he looked for the boat, spinning almost completely around before he saw the bow coming towards them. He feared they were out of time as flames kissed his face and found Alicia’s life vest. Alone, he would have gone under to protect himself, but he glanced at the girl. She was barely conscious and he doubted she could breathe on her own. With his arm around her neck in a rescue hold, he sidestroked towards a small patch of water where the flames had burned off.

  TWENTY

  Trufante was in the stern, the smile back on his face while he steered the old metal skiff from the motor. The aluminum hull was about fourteen feet long, dinged and abused. A forty horsepower Evinrude engine from another decade was bolted on the transom. There were no controls: steering and throttle were all on the engine itself.

  Mac looked forward at Armando, who stared at the water ahead as if he was wondering what tragedy awaited them now. The man had seen the worst side of America in less than a week. Alicia was curled up on the deck, still clutching her life jacket. The sobbing had decreased to an infrequent chest heave, but she was not responsive when he asked her questions. There was not much he could do for her until they reached land. The experience of Bugger Vance and his meth lab would likely stay with her for a while. They were the kind of wounds time healed slowly.

  He looked back at the plume of black smoke rising from the island, the chemical-induced flames had burned fast and hot but were now reduced to a smolder. Daylight faded and they dropped the anchor once out of sight of the island. There was nowhere to go in the dark. Mac kept watch, unable to sleep with the drugs running through him.

  They were all awake when the sun lit the horizon. Trufante started the engine and they headed for the mainland. Mac navigated by dead reckoning, using what he knew of the area, and the sliver of sun just creeping into view, to establish a course. The Keys lay to the east and he pointed Trufante at the chain of islands somewhere over the horizon. With no electronics, he tried to recall charts he had seen and figured they were still at least ten miles from Key Largo. The light blue water below the boat told him how shallow the bay was, but the boat only drew a foot or so, and unless they struck a coral head, they would be fine.

  The mood of the group lightened as the sun climbed into the sky. Mullet jumped nearby, taunting the birds that circled overhead, hunting the bounty below the water. Occasionally a bigger splash indicated a predator attacking bait from below, or one of the birds grabbing a baitfish from above.

  Alicia stirred and lifted her head. “Where are we going?”

  She looked ragged, her mascara tracing the lines from her tears. Mac took his hand and draped it over the boat, catching some water in his palm. She flinched when he reached for her face, but relaxed as he wiped the black streaks from her cheeks.

  “Should be in Key Largo in about an hour; figured we’d slide into one of the coves there and work things out.” He looked down at the water and guessed their speed at ten knots. The days had blurred together and he had to pause to think if it was Friday morning, calculating he had a day and a half, at best, to get Armando home before Davies could inflict his will on Mel. “You trust that boss of yours?” Mac asked Alicia. It might have been her condition, but her pause gave a clear indication that maybe she didn’t. He had completed phase one of the promise and gotten Armando out of Krome. It was time to see what the CIA man was made of, and if he could deliver his boat as promised.

  “Sure. His word is good.” She paused again and her face tightened. “I’m just not so sure of his motivations.”

  The first small Key drifted by to port. Mac checked their bearing against the sun to make sure Trufante remained on course, and watched the color of the bottom to estimate the depth. He called out a slight correction and faced her again. “You’re the Cuba expert. Tell me what you’re thinking.” He knew she was vulnerable right now, but the information could be critical. If she had doubts, he needed to know them.

  “There are some things that are not making sense,” she started.

  He gave her a reassuring look, but remained quiet. If she was going to talk, it needed to be her own choice.

  She drew a deep breath and began. “OK, so…I have to give you some background first. None of this is in the news.”

  Mac leaned forward, sure the dam was about to burst.

  She spoke quickly. “It’s China. Chinese politics are very complicated. They are not interested in immediate gratification, as we are. Their foreign policy is designed to win by attrition, wear down the opponent over time. Since the Soviet bloc broke up in the eighties, they have been working to gain a foothold into the Americas. Cuba has two choices; they had three, but since Chavez died, Venezuela is out of the picture. They need the help of either the United States or China, the only countries with the resources to bring them into the twenty-first century. The government is split into two factions: one supporting patience and waiting for the US to come around, the other more interested in the cash that China is willing to dump in the country right now. With the president easing trade restrictions, the pro-US faction is happy, but the Chinese, seeing their plans about to unfurl, are getting nervous.”

  Mac absorbed what she was saying. She was right. He had no idea China was a player, but it all made sense. “What does this have to do with Armando?”

  She was about to speak when the boat jerked forward and the engine changed pitch. The lower unit snapped back and lifted out of the water. They stared at each other, fearing they were stranded again, but the propeller fell back into the water and they resumed their course. Mac checked the horizon, the thin land mass a faint blur. A stern look back at Trufante and he turned to Alicia, waiting for her to continue.

  “Armando Choy, his grandfather,” She looked over at the Cuban resting against the gunwale, “Was instrumental, along with a surprising number of Chinese, in Castro’s revolution. The Chinese faction remained strong in the government, often assimilating, as his father did, by marrying local women, and in some cases changing their names - in this case from Choy to Cruz.” She stopped. “Ok, that’s the background.”

  They stared at the horizon, the land mass rising from the water as they approached. Mac knew he had to keep her talking. Once they reached land, her attention would be diverted. He felt awkward, needing to reassure her. He looked her in the eye and nodded.

  She breathed in again. “It’s more about money now, but some of the old guard, especially the Chinese, are still driven by ideology. For their goals, at least for now, Cuba can remain in the fifties. The closer they move to the United Stat
es, and the evils of the internet and social media, their grasp on the island weakens. There are some that would do anything to keep it that way.”

  “What would anything mean?” Mac asked.

  She looked down at the deck as if she was confessing, “There has been chatter lately about an EMP being set off, but I think that is too drastic. I’ve been digging and heard some rumors, but since the Clinton’s cut the intelligence agents in the field, we have little information.”

  The boat lurched again, this time tilting to a forty-five degree angle as it struck a shoal. “Can’t you drive?” Mac yelled back at Trufante, and then turned back to Alicia, but he knew he had lost her.

  “The glare; I can’t see,” Trufante yelled back.

  Mac looked ahead and tried to read the water, but with the angle of the sun, it was impossible. They were close to land and he concentrated on their surroundings, trying to pinpoint their position. A long stretch of barren land lay to the port side and a more developed area was ahead. He pointed towards the tallest building and racked his brain, trying to remember the area.

  “Blackwater Sound to the left,” he called back to Trufante, “Key Largo ahead.” He stood and scanned the horizon, the letters EMP resounding in his head. From the bow, he studied the water. Using his outstretched arm like a weather vane, he guided Trufante to the lee side of a small Key about a mile off the mainland. Trufante cut the engine. Mac leaned forward and tossed the anchor line.

  “Can you get a signal on that tablet of yours?” he asked.

  Alicia released the grip on his arm and looked for her bag. “My bag is on the airboat.”

  Mac wondered how he was going to contact Norm now, and then remembered Alicia had the phone. He prayed it still worked after their swim. “How about your boss’s phone?”

  Alicia looked confused. “I don’t know——“

  “You mean this?” Trufante slid his hand in his button-down breast pocket and triumphantly held up the phone, his trademark grin spreading across his face.