Authors: Steven Becker
SIXTEEN
Mac hit the send button on the text he had already typed just before the guard took the phone and asked him to empty his pockets. Relieved he had given the hard drive to Alicia, he handed over the pocket knife and loose change, trusting her that the small carbon fiber key would not be detected. After a stroll through the metal detector, he followed the guard down a narrow hall with doors on each side. He tried to look through the small windows, but the view was obstructed by the wire mesh embedded inside the glass.
The man stopped in front of a door with the number fourteen on a small metal sign, looked through the safety glass and inserted a key into the lock. He pushed the door open and waited for Mac to enter.
“Fifteen minutes. If you need out sooner, hit the button by the door,” the man said and turned to leave.
“I heard with a minimum security detainee, that we are allowed to go into the yard.” Mac used the words Alicia had made him memorize. She had stressed the importance of saying detainee instead of prisoner.
The guard glared at him and turned toward the door. “I’ll see if I can get you a pass. Wouldn’t mind some fresh air myself.”
Mac turned tentatively, no idea how Armando would react. “I’m glad to see you, my friend.” He spoke in halting Spanish, again using the words Alicia had told him.
The Cuban sat in the metal chair, wrists and ankles shackled together and attached to bolts protruding from the floor. “
Mi amigo
, Mac,” the man started. “I too am glad to see you.” There were at least three cameras, Mac thought while surreptitiously scanning the room, each with a different angle of the chair Armando occupied. He was out of Spanish and nervously waited for the guard to return.
He could tell Armando was nervous as well. “
Vamanos
,” he whispered and the man nodded.
The door opened and the guard entered. “We’re good. You can have the yard for half an hour. I’ll be watching, so no crap,” he said and held the door. Mac exited and waited in the hall for the guard. Suddenly a buzzer went off in the room next door and he stood back as the guard rushed from the room joining several other men responding to the alarm. That was the first sign that Alicia had triggered the alarm and he started the countdown in his head to the next diversion.
More alarms sounded. Uniformed guards streamed into the hallway to answer the calls, confused by the red lights flashing everywhere. Carefully he eased the door closed so the latch didn’t engage, and went to Armando. With the carbon-fiber key shaking in his fingers, he released the Cuban’s ankles and they crossed to the door; his hands would have to wait. They had only seconds to get out of the building.
***
“That’s the alarm,” Alicia said. She stared at her tablet. She was regretting the decision to let Trufante drive, alarmed every time the car bounced on and off the gravel shoulder. She had the tablet on her lap, one eye on the screen, the other on the road. They were on highway 41, the southern of the two routes across The Everglades. Canals ran on both sides of the road, draining water from the swamp, known as the river of grass that covered South Florida, to accommodate the ever-increasing population. Decade old cars were pulled to the side where the trees allowed access to the water, clusters of families fishing with cane poles after the bass, gar and catfish.
“It’s another few miles on the left. Gator Jim’s,” she said and resumed her vigil, staring at the screen, thankful for the satellite connection after noticing the austere surroundings. A small timer in the upper right of the screen counted down the time since the first alarm had gone off and she monitored the camera feed she had hacked into, watching what was happening in the detention facility in real time. She opened a text window and started typing the next set of instructions.
“Whatcha got going on there, Chi-fon?” Trufante asked. He peered over her shoulder. The car slammed against the gravel embankment and he looked back towards the road before she had to say anything.
She ignored the name. “It’s a matrix of the security grid from ICE’s server. From this I can lead them out and see where the alarms are sounding. I’m getting ready to create a diversion as soon as I see the alarm from the exterior door go,” she said, staring at the screen.
“That it?” Trufante asked.
A parking lot appeared out of the wilderness of sawgrass and scrub, the only sign of life they had seen since the fishermen several miles ago. The car pulled into the gravel lot and coasted to a stop alongside a tour bus.
“Go in and rent an airboat,” she said. She typed something else on the screen. “They are outside now and I’m about to set all hell loose. You’re going to have to hurry to make the rendezvous.” With a swipe of her finger, the screen changed to a satellite view of the area. “Here we are.” She pointed. “It’s a straight shot to meet them. First building you’re going to see over the embankment is where they’ll be.”
“You ain’t goin’ with?” Trufante asked, opened the door and slid his tall frame out of the car.
“I have to manage this,” she said and waited while he walked towards the entrance. She looked back down at the screen. So far so good, she thought. She typed a line of code. Seconds later the top left of the screen lit up with red dots. The alarm must have worked. She picked up the chatter in the text box about men being dispatched to the high security area where she had set off the smoke detectors. She waited several minutes, fascinated by the havoc she had caused by pressing a few buttons, and typed in another snippet of code that would deactivate the electric fence on the other side. An orange icon appeared on the disabled section of fence, but in the big picture, with the red dots indicating a higher security breach on the other side of the compound, it would probably be ignored or given minimal support.
It was up to Mac and the Cuban now, and she hoped he had memorized the plan. There was nothing else she could do to help after drawing off the guards and shutting down the fence. She slid the tablet into her messenger bag and got out to stretch her legs before heading back to Miami. Just as she got out, Trufante burst through the front door in a panic.
“I got no ID. They ain’t renting me no boat,” he said.
“No ID? Everyone has ID!” She couldn’t believe it.
“Shit, Ain’t no one giving me a credit card and I got no use for a license.” He moved to the side as she brushed past.
She went for the glass door and paused. There was no choice but to use her ID and credit card. It was not what she had planned, and she would have to act quickly to erase the transaction from the credit card company’s files, but the entire plan and her future hinged on getting the Cuban out of Krome, and this was their only chance.
“Here,” she thrust her ID across the counter at the clerk. He took the driver’s license and stood there in his straw cowboy hat comparing the picture to her face. Apparently Trufante had done little to engage the man’s trust. “We are in kind of a rush,” she said.
“I got the paperwork right here, Miss Phon. Just sign the waiver and leave the card,” he said.
Her blood boiled at the pronunciation of her name, so similar to Trufante’s. If she was going to continue field work, she might need to consider an alias that rednecks could pronounce, she thought as she mindlessly filled out her name and address on the form. The big Cajun drifted in beside her.
It would be easy enough to erase the computer trail, but the physical form and having to leave the credit card were troubling. She smiled, “Do we really need all this paperwork?” she asked and slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter.
“We can work with you there,” he grabbed the bill and smiled, his grin a stark contrast to Trufante’s, “but I gotta say, the two of you are one unlikely couple.”
“You know what they say - opposites attract.” She giggled and put her arm around the Cajun. He finally reached behind him and took a set of keys off a hook on the pegboard. “Either of you drive one of these before?”
“I’m from the bayou. Been playin’ chicken with these bad boys since I was knee-high to a ’gator’s back,” Trufante said.
She had assumed correctly that he could run the airboat, basing her opinion solely on the inherent redneck factor. They followed the man to the dock where a half dozen boats were tied off. Trufante grabbed a line, pulling the boat towards him. He got on, held the boat close to the dock for her and extended a hand. She crossed the dock but one of her heels caught in the gap between the boards. Mac’s phone flew out of her pocket, almost landing in the water, and she cursed. After extracting the heel, she remembered the messenger bag was still in the car. “Just a second.”
“Wait,” Trufante said. “You’re going to break an ankle in those shoes, end up in the ‘glades as ’gator bait. Let me have those.”
Warily, she took off the shoes and handed them to him. One at a time he snapped the heels and handed them back. Straw cowboy hat was laughing and she put them back on. She scooped the phone off the dock and passed it to Trufante and waddled back to the car, trying to get a feel for the new footwear, grabbed the bag, and made a mental note to contact the office and have the vehicle picked up.
The roar from the motor startled her and she felt the backdraft from the huge propeller. The airboat reminded her more of an amusement park ride than a boat, not that she would be comfortable on anything short of a cruise ship. In all truth, she was more at ease in a cool, dark room staring at computer monitors, than out in the field, and The Everglades were WAY out in the field.
Steeling herself, she approached the boat and stared at the craft. The huge propeller jiggled inside the steel cage as the motor idled, just waiting for the signal to start spinning at mind-boggling revolutions that would propel the narrow, flat-bottomed boat at close to sixty mph.
Straw cowboy hat extended his hand again. She took it and boarded, acknowledging she was better for the footwear modification. There were four seats, two abreast. She went to what would be the passenger seat and buckled herself in, clutching her bag to her chest. The man grinned, grossing her out as he rubbed against her to make sure the belt was secure. Trufante sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the stick between them, a wild grin on his face.
The man jumped onto the dock, untied the line and tossed it onto the deck of the boat. With a quick kick from his cowboy boot, the boat floated backwards into the canal. Trufante wasted no time and engaged the throttle, moving the boat forward.
“Ready, little lady?” he yelled over the roar of the engine.
“Wait,” she screamed. “Aren’t there life jackets?”
Trufante bent down, reached into a hold set in the deck, and withdrew an orange life vest which she placed over her head and tied. She carefully took out the tablet from her bag and clutched it tightly with both hands, wishing she had brought the military-grade case with it. The GPS map opened and she pointed towards the south. “There.”
He wasted no time. The boat swerved as the propeller started to spin only six feet behind her. The noise was deafening. She gripped the base of the seat with her legs while holding the tablet in a death grip. The boat straightened as he accelerated and she could feel the water barely kissing the hull as they approached fifty mph. Ignoring the scenery, she called directions and focused on the green dot on the screen that marked their position. The boat flew through the maze of sawgrass.
Without the GPS, she would be totally lost, and even with it, everything looked the same. When she finally looked up, sawgrass and water surrounded them, except for the narrow channels that acted like roads through the field of grass. They reached the main canal and she was almost thrown from her seat as he banked the boat hard to the right without slowing.
The detention facility appeared in the distance, impossible to miss. It was the only building for miles. She could see the pick-up point ahead, but there was no one there.
SEVENTEEN
They ran down the hallway and reached the exit door. Mac pulled Armando into a shallow alcove and looked through the small window. Men and vehicles moved like ants across the yard chasing invisible threats. He brought his attention back to Armando and tried the carbon fiber key in the handcuffs encircling his wrists, figuring it would be better to lose a few minutes here, where it was relatively safe, than have his motion restricted when they went to climb the fence. His hands shook as he inserted the key in the lock and tried to turn it. It bound, and he twisted the thin key, easy at first, but then he heard a sound by the door and tried to free it. It snapped in half. He looked the man in the eyes, shrugged and stuck the broken piece in his pocket. He was about to open the door and move outside when he looked through the window and saw a group of men dressed in riot gear coming towards them. He pulled Armando back into the alcove and peered out the door, waiting for the men to pass.
Armando held the cuffs up with a pleading look on his face, but there was nothing Mac could do. The alarms were still sounding when he pushed open the exit door, adding one more siren to the confusion, and entered the yard. Armando followed him. He stayed close to the building, using it for cover. They reached the corner, looked across to the holding pond, and saw the double row of twelve-foot high fences. A single-story utility building interrupted the chain-link barriers topped with a swirl of razor wire on top. Fifty yards on the other side of the building, Mac saw the section of fence Alicia had promised to decommission.
He looked at the Cuban, whose eyes were wide with fear, raised his eyebrows to try and reassure him, and breathed deeply while he waited for him to acknowledge he was ready. Armando nodded and they sprinted across the yard to the fence. Mac ran to the building, using it for cover as they moved towards the single fence on the other side. They reached it unobserved. He hesitated for a second, his fingers inches from the links. It was up to Alicia now. If she failed to disable the electric fence, in seconds he would be twitching on the ground.