Wood's Reef

by Steven Becker

  “Can’t trust ‘em,” he said as he pushed the button on the remote, releasing another dose of pain killer into his system. His eyes drooped.

  Mac was about to probe further when Wood’s head fell to the side. The monitor by the bed continued as before, easing his fears, but he sat and wondered why holding on to this bomb was so important to his friend.

  Mel broke his thought as she sat back in the chair next to the bed. “The nurse says the doctor will be up here in a few.”

  “Great. I’m going to get some coffee. You want anything?”

  “Something stronger would be good, but coffee will work for now. I’ll wait up here and see what the doctor says.” She pulled out her phone and started pecking at the keyboard.

  ***

  Mel was lost in her phone when the door opened. She looked up and felt naked. The doctor Hanson was looking right at her, not your usual ‘say hello’ look, this was definitely an ‘I’m interested’ look. Her hair was a mess, still blown from the boat ride, and salt rims were forming in all the wrong place on her t-shirt. What little makeup remained was from yesterday. She got the feeling he really didn’t care, but still felt awkward.

  He gave her an approving nod and walked over to the computer monitor, chart in his hand.

  “He looks stable. Really good, actually, for his age and what he went through. Name’s Dan.”

  “Mel,” she replied combing her hand through her hair. “He's pretty darn tough.” She glanced first at her father and then at Dan. She tilted her head without even thinking about it. “What can we expect from here?”

  He picked up on her body language, and smiled. “Well, you can expect a dinner invitation. He can expect some serious recuperation time. His internal injuries should heal by themselves, as long as he doesn’t get an infection. We’re pumping enough antibiotics into him for a large elephant, just for that. The bigger problem is the stitches healing. I don’t know him, but a lot of folks have warned me that he may not be an ideal patient.”

  Mel laughed and tilted her head again. “That’s my dad.”

  “The stitches — staples, actually — are in a bad place. Forty-eight from his side around his back. He needs to stay immobile for a week to ten days, allow the wound to heal.”

  She ignored his first remark about dinner and got to business first. “That's not going to be easy with him. Can’t you just drug him for a couple of weeks?”

  Dan laughed. “That would be the easy way. We can probably release him in a day or two. You’ll just have to keep an eye on him. Is there somewhere he can stay and not get in trouble?”

  Mel grimaced, thinking she would have to forfeit the next week of her life fighting with her father. She looked back at the doctor, then, thinking that it might not be so bad.

  Mac walked in then, doing a juggling act with the door handle and coffee as Mel replied.

  “We can put him up at Mac’s. That might give us a couple of dinners.”

  Mac spilled coffee on his shorts.

  Chapter 23

  Vice President Joe Ward had a drink in one hand and the phone in the other. He was kicking back in his suite in Atlanta, winding down from the fundraiser.

  “Go through this sequence once more for me, Dick.”

  “An intern came up to my office a couple of hours ago with a printout from your White House web page. It implied that the author served with you in Key West at the Naval Air Station during the Cuban Missile Crisis. That’s pretty much it. Said something about remembering a pilot coming in light, whatever that means.

  “We figured we ought to at least run the guy’s name by you and see if it meant anything. Turns out this Jim Gillum is actually Captain Jim Gillum, commander of the Key West Naval Station. So what’s the connection here?”

  Ward took his time responding. He thought back to the early 1960s, when he was stationed there. The name didn’t ring any bells, though the reference to coming in light sure did. He reconstructed the landing where light on fuel, he’d jettisoned the wrong bombs. There were two men on the ground involved, this must be one of them. But what did it mean now? Did this guy just want to make some points, remind the future President that he had old friends with secrets?

  “I’m not really sure what this is about. Could just be some guy I may or may not have known, trying to hitch his star to mine. We still talking about a campaign stop down there next week?”

  “I think we should. Florida is looking good, but not secure. I think some time there would be well spent. I’m not sure how we should play the Missile Crisis thing, though. Cubans will line up to vote for you if you hit on it, but we better float some trial balloons and see how the blue hairs are going to react. Those folks are the ones that are going to win this for you.”

  “You do that. Maybe contact this guy and keep him in the loop. Heck, maybe I ought to call myself. I’m trying to remember who he is, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. At least I’ll get a vote for the phone call. I’m not polling too high with the military. Get his number for me.”

  “I’ll get Stacy to look up the commander’s number at the base for you.”

  But Ward wasn’t sure he wanted this to go through the base switchboard. He didn’t want a record of the call. “Why don’t you have her call down there and get his cell number? You can probably get through now. I’ll call him tonight.”

  ***

  Stacy Green was nothing if not efficient. She handled all communications for the VP, and within minutes of receiving the order from the Chief of Staff she was on the phone with Key West. It only took a few well-constructed sentences, and she had the cell phone as well as the home phone number of the commander. She handed a piece of paper to Ward.

  He excused her with a glance, picked up his cell phone and dialed the home number.

  Gillum picked up on the forth ring. “This is Jim Gillum,” the sleepy voice slurred.

  “Jim Gillum, if it isn’t you, and you probably thought I wouldn’t remember you after all these years.” Ward used his best campaigning voice.

  Gillum was startled awake. “Mr. Vice President, it’s been a long time. You’re right, I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me or not, and I had no idea how to get a hold of you. I’m glad you called, sir, something’s come up from our past that I think you need to know about.”

  “Your message mentioned something about coming in light. If I remember that reference, you’re talking about that incident that happened down in Key West?”

  “Yes, sir. I thought that was over and done with. We’d never have to think about it again,” Gillum said.

  “Has something come up?” the Vice President asked.

  “Do you remember that third guy on our team? Name of Woodson? He’s been down here in the Keys, building bridges since he retired from the Navy in the early 70s. I’ve had several run-ins with him. He’s always been a little bit difficult to work with. Now it seems that a buddy of his was diving out on the Gulf side and found it.”

  “Well, what’s the problem, then, Jim? You’re commander of the naval base down there. Can’t you just put together an operation and go get it?”

  “It’s not quite that easy, sir,” Gillum said. “If I authorize a mission, it’ll have to be open book, and everyone will know about it. Not really a big deal — recovering munitions, even this kind, is a good thing. What I’m worried about is if someone started digging around about how it got there. Congressional hearings have happened over less. Your name’s bound to come up. I don’t have the authority to authorize a classified mission. I would never think to bother you if I could handle this myself.”

  “This puts us in a bind, then. We’ve only got about a week until the election, and everything I’m doing is under a microscope right now. There’s no way I can authorize anything without the press and my competition looking over my shoulder. Isn’t there any way we can just make this go away until after the election?”

  “Too many people know, and half of them have their own agendas
, and they don’t line up with ours. I don't want to make this a bigger deal than it is, but the nature of the item is going to raise eyebrows. If it wasn’t for Wood, there’d be no problem putting this on ice. But he’s a loose cannon, and there are several other people down here that know about it, including a person we suspect to be his daughter. She’s a lawyer. Some kind of activist. Could be more trouble than he is.”

  The Vice President sat back in his chair and started reviewing his options. Best case was this would go away until he was firmly in office. Second best was to find the bomb and dispose of it, but that would leave a trail.

  “I’ve got an idea sir,” Gillum said after a moment.

  “Run with it. I need the plausible deniability — no details. I trust you, Jim.”

  “Thank you, sir, I won't let you down.”

  Chapter 24

  Jim Gillum was up early, a second cup of coffee had just started to make a dent in his hangover. The four inches of liquor last night had his head pounding. He had a lot to think about. He replayed the conversation with the Vice President from the night before. There was no mistaking the tone — if he succeeded in making this go away, he could write his own ticket to the top. There were several juicy postings in the Pentagon he’d had his eye on for years. That would make the remaining years before his retirement easy, as well as giving a nice boost to his pension.

  The promise made last night had been empty. He had no idea how to get the bomb and dispose of it without a paper trail. The Navy loved paperwork — there were records for every PT session conducted here over the last fifty years. Using Wood was out of the question. There was no way that ornery old man was going to help him with anything. He started thinking about the other two from the video. The guy that came to his office with Wood a couple of days earlier, and the girl that was with him on the island — Wood’s daughter. She must be. They both obviously knew where the bomb was, and where it came from. If there was some way to get to the guy, that might be the answer. With a little patriotic pressure maybe he would cooperate and help him get a hold of the bomb. A plan started forming in his mind. He picked up the phone and asked the secretary to connect him to the Master at Arms.

  “Chief Petty Officer Garrett.”

  “This is Captain Gillum. I need to arrange for an officer and a vehicle to go with me to Marathon and remand someone.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll need to fill out some paperwork, but we can do that when we get back. I’d be happy to go with you myself. When would you like to leave?”

  “Thank you for your cooperation. I'd like to leave as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll fuel a vehicle and pick you up in ten minutes.”

  Gillum hung up, still fretting about the paperwork trail. He’d have to make a decision on the fly about CPO Garrett. Mingling with base personal was not his thing. He didn’t know more than the names of most of his command and had no idea who he could trust to keep this quiet. His plan skirted the edges of the law, possibly crossing into the wrong side.

  ***

  Gillum was consulting the papers in his lap — printouts from the Internet. The men had been quiet during the hour long ride. Gillum obsessed with his own thoughts and Garret only speaking when spoken to. Once over the Seven Mile Bridge, he directed Garrett to turn right after 15th Street.

  “Dammit, that was the turn.” Gillum exploded.

  “Sorry, I need a little more notice.” Garret pulled into the next street and executed a three point turn. Back out in traffic, he waited patiently in the left turn lane. Several cars later he turned.

  They drove slowly to the end of the street checking numbers on the mailboxes as they went. They reached the last house and pulled into the driveway. It was more of a commercial area than a residential one — mostly small, commercial buildings backing up to a canal. Commercial fishing vessels and construction barges were moored in front of most of the buildings. Stacks of traps, lines, and buoys were scattered throughout.

  “You think we might need some backup? Is this guy going to be any kind of trouble?” Garrett asked.

  They got out of the car and walked toward the door. Gillum was sweating heavily, nervous about how this could go wrong. His hand shook as he reached for the holster.

  “Just sidearms should be fine. I don't believe he’ll be armed.” His voice cracked.

  ***

  Mel answered the door, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. The two men had been pounding on it for several minutes and were clearly impatient. They pushed past her, sidearms drawn, scanning the interior. The first floor was mostly open space, divided into a workshop, with a small gym area off in the corner. Stairs led up to a living area. It was actually the old exterior of the house. Mac had added an atrium on the front, enlarging and connecting the downstairs space to the living quarters above.

  “US Navy. I’m Captain Gillum. This here’s Garret. Where’s Mac Travis?” The older man asked.

  She looked him over, worrying about the shaking hand holding the weapon. “Do you guys have some kind of a warrant? You can’t come in here with sidearms drawn, tidy whities in a bunch. I want to see a warrant right now or I’ll have your butts in court this afternoon. And that’s no idle threat. There is nothing I would like better than to see you two squirm in front of a local civilian judge. I don’t think they take kindly to a couple of Navy goons ignoring civilian civil rights.” She played on the man’s nervousness.

  “Just tell us where he is, ma’am,” The younger man said. He looked more confident - like he was used to doing this. “We’ve got a warrant to take him in for questioning.”

  “I’d like to see that warrant right now, please. And those guns had better find their holsters. This’ll look great in the papers,” Mel snapped back.

  Gillum holstered his weapon, motioning for Garrett to do the same. He dodged the question. “Let’s just make this easy, ma’am. Tell us where he is, we’ll take him down to Key West to answer some questions, and he’ll be back by dinner.”

  “You guys think you can just barge into a private home, grab a citizen and take him down to Key West to answer some questions” she said sarcastically. “We’ll see what the ACLU says about this. What is this, Nazi freakin’ Germany?”

  Gillum was turning red, clearly flustered now. “This is a matter of national security. I am well within my rights to detain and question a civilian that has knowledge.”

  Mel noticed his agitation. “This wouldn't have anything to do with that drone that we saw yesterday, spying on us out at Wood’s Island, would it?”

  “Ma’am, you’re welcome to come with us if you like, but one way or another we’re taking him to Key West.”

  “What's all the commotion down there, Mel?” Mac asked from the balcony overlooking the main floor.

  “These Navy boys have some kind of a wild idea they can haul you down to Key West for questioning.”

  Mac moved down the stairs. “I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in me going down there to answer a few questions for you. Can I have a word with Mel in private before we go?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Mac grabbed Mel’s arm and took her off to the side. “What the hell? They can’t just detain me, can they?”

  “Not legally,” she said. “I’ve thrown out every threat I have. I think your going to have to go along. I’ll get to a judge and clear this up.

  “We need to get going, Travis,” Gillum said.

  Mac whispered to Mel, “Follow my lead, we’re going to head for the boat.”

  “Just a minute,” Mac said to the Navy men. “I’ve got to shut down the boat and close up here.” He headed out the rollup door and onto the gravel path leading to the dock without waiting for an answer. “Mel, let me show you how to switch the shore power.”

  She got the message and caught up to him, the Navy men followed behind. Just as she was clear of the door, Mac turned and pulled the rollup door down as fast as he could. “Make a run for the boat!”

  They sprinted for the
dock. Mel, exhausted from her workout tripped on the transition from the concrete path to the wood dock. Mac grabbed her, looking over his shoulder at the men coming through the door. He pushed her forward. “Jump on and start her. I’ll get the lines.”

  Mac jumped on the boat just as the Navy men hit the concrete. Garret was in front, Gillum trailing behind, face red. He doubled over and gasped for air. Lines hit the dock, the engines started. Mac looked back from the bow, a smile on his face as the boat moved away from the dock.

  “Stop that boat!” Gillum yelled.

  Garrett was running through his neighbors’ yard, gun drawn, Gillum following. Mac took the wheel from Mel. The boat had been docked with the bow towards the back of the canal. Mac had to spin the boat before he could move into the main channel. This gave Garrett enough time to pull even with the boat

  Mac watched as Garrett stopped to pick up an anchor shaped like a grappling hook from a neighbors dock. Garrett picked up the hook with his right hand and quickly coiled a half dozen turns of the line in his left hand, then threw the hook at the boat and watched it land on the deck of the boat. The line quickly went out as he grabbed the bitter end and tied it to a cleat on the neighbors dock. It came taught and jerked the boat.

  Mac had the boat turned and was moving toward the end of the docks lining his street, about to gun the motors when something hit the transom. He had to think, quickly evaluating the damage before it happened. Something had to give. The hook was either going to take the transom off the boat or tear the dock off. He grabbed a knife from the console and dropped the boat into neutral, ready to cut the line, but the boat’s forward motion kept too much tension on the line. The transom started to creak, forcing Mac back to the controls. He slammed the controls down. The line sagged slightly as the boat reversed its forward progress, churning up water as the propeller reversed.