Authors: Steven Becker
“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 States, 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.
***
“Open the door.” Norm pounded again. He was covered in sweat and breathing heavily after running to the house. “I’ll have your ass deported!” He moved to the living room window to see if anyone was there. There was a car in the driveway, the same as last night, and he wished he had his gun. Whatever was behind the door, he would have to face it to get his credentials back.
The window opened and he faced the barrel of a gun. “Quiet, CIA man,” a voice called through the screen.
“Keep the cash, OK. I just need my credit card and credentials.” He lowered his voice and searched for a solution to the standoff.
“You promised me a green card if I helped you. Now you leave without even a word,” the girl spat back.
“Let me in. We can talk about this,” he pleaded. Without his credentials and credit card, he was powerless. It would take too long to get replacements and explaining to the local office that he’d lost them would be a bad idea.
“What? You going to promise me something again?”
“I can still get you a green card. You just have to trust me.” He had no other cards to play.
The door cracked open and she motioned him inside. They stood in the living room, her hair unkempt as if he had just woken her. The shotgun covered him. He hated the scatter effect of shotguns. Rifles and handguns were so much cleaner. Her black rimmed eyes stared at him. You could tell after enough people pointed guns at you whether they had the nerve or experience to pull the trigger, and from the look on her face, she had both. He raised his hands, trying to buy some time.
She made a gesture with the barrel towards the couch. He sat and removed his phone, still unsure what to do. Just as he started to scroll through his contacts, the phone vibrated. He looked at her and she nodded.
“Travis.” The number for the phone he had given him appeared on the screen. “You have the package?”
“Yeah. I want my boat back.” The connection was filled with static.
“Where are you? I’ll arrange transportation,” he said.
“Key Largo,” the voice came back. “What about my boat?”
Norm ran the numbers in his head. There was not enough time to get the boat, meet the men and get them into Cuba before the General’s threat reached reality. “No time. I’m flying to meet you. I’ll call for a location before we take off.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you?”
Despite the gun pointed at him, he smiled. “Your girlfriend will die if we don’t get this done. Surely her life is more valuable than a boat.”
The line was static for a long minute. “Call me,” Travis said.
Norm looked at the girl. “How about we go for a plane ride? I’ll make the calls on the way.”
TWENTY ONE
They had arrived in Key Largo about an hour ago, tied up to an empty dock and walked to the first food they could find. Tired and hungry, their last sustenance twenty-four hours ago, the waitress at the Waffle House had looked on in amazement as Trufante and Armando consumed plate after plate of food, eating at least two meals each. The restaurant had a WIFI connection and Mac watched Alicia stare at some of the other customers on their tablets and smartphones. She was powerless without her tablet and squirmed in her seat, barely touching her food.
Mac knew he should be starving and tired, but he sat there grinding his jaw, his stomach fluttering and pulse pounding. He had felt weird on the boat ride but had written it off as adrenaline and stared at his picked-at plate of food wondering how long it would be until the drug wore off. At least the others had gotten a meal, he thought. The phone vibrated on the table and he jumped. He answered the call, talked for a minute and disconnected. “Half an hour; we got to move.” He looked at Trufante to pay the check, hoping the rednecks hadn’t searched him, but the Cajun laid the cash on the table. They left the restaurant and jogged to the boat.
Twenty minutes later they were drifting with the current a quarter-mile from shore when Mac saw the opening and directed Trufante into Little Buttonwood Sound. The sun blazed high in the sky and he felt like they were baking in the uncovered metal boat. Sweat dripped from him and he ground his jaw as they waited, wondering if he could survive another minute. After years in the Keys, he was used to the heat, but the drug was taking its toll on him. Alicia had tried to comfort him, but his mind was numb, focused only on Mel. He looked towards Marathon as if he could commune with her, then felt the acidic taste return to his saliva and readied himself for another rush.
Finally he heard the drone of an engine and saw a dot in the sky. The plane came into view and banked sharply. Trufante stood and waved his hands over his head to give the pilot a target, smiling when the plane wiggled its wings and approached. They watched the pontoons skid into the water and the plane landed a few hundred yards away. They waited for it to taxi towards them.