Wood's Reef (25 page)

“Got it. Now we have to open this up. How big is the head?” 

Wood crawled out of the shade, stood, and walked to where Mel had left the spear gun. He disengaged the band and withdrew the shaft. “Looks like this.” He said wiggling the barb back and forth. See what I mean?”

“Yeah, that would have torn him up if I just tried to pull it. Let me see that.” She took the shaft and folded back the barb, eyeballing how big the exit hole would need to be. Tequila was the only thing available to sanitize the incision, so she poured it liberally on both sides. The sharp bait knife was sterilized with a lighter. Once it started to glow, she quickly punctured the skin with two incisions, creating a small X. Before blood found the wound, she started to move the shaft. As it emerged through the exit hole, she gently pulled it. It came out, blood spurting behind it. 

“Got it. Get that towel and put some pressure on both sides. I’ll get something to stitch him up.”

Without a suture kit, she had to improvise. Fly line backing made of Dacron and a sewing needle were the only supplies available. Another splash of the tequila went to clean the holes again. Wood accepted the bottle, gauged how much was left and drank half. Her shaking hand accepted the remainder. 

The needle caused the man to jump every time it passed through his skin. Wood inched over to hold him down as she finished the wound on his back. They rolled him over together and he watched as she started on the front wound. Nothing like watching a competent woman work, he thought as he laid back in pain. 

She grabbed a pill bottle from the supplies, tossed two at him, and tried to get the sailor to swallow a couple. “Found these in your medicine cabinet. They’re old, but should still work.”

The sailor was resting comfortably on his back now. Still unconscious, but out of danger. “Good job, girl. Now you gotta help me operate on this baby before these kick in.” He popped the pills in his mouth and slapped the bomb.

***

Wood had his tools laid out like a surgeon. He moved to the access panel covering the trigger mechanism. “This is the tricky part. One spark hits the wrong spot in there and this could blow.” The tequila had accelerated and amplified the effect of the pain killers Sue had given him. He needed to finish before their full effect hit his system. For now, his pain was at bay and his nerves calm.

The cordless drill spun as slowly as the trigger would allow, boring a pilot hole through the fifty-year-old screw head. He repeated the procedure with the remaining eleven screws. 

“Why so slow?” 

“It’s metal. The slower the better. You wouldn’t think so, but rip off at high speed and you’ll burn the tip of the drill bit. Sparks fly off, hit something sensitive, and that’s the end of it. Any more questions?”

She looked down. He removed the drill bit and inserted an easy out, a cone-shaped piece with a spiral wrap. As he drilled these into the pilot holes, the screws started to emerge. Once they were out, he removed the panel and the bomb’s guts saw daylight for the first time in fifty years. The Python 35 trigger mechanism was undamaged, but the barometric pressure sensor — the device which was set at the depth the bomb was to explode — had corroded.

“Damn. Lucky this thing hasn’t blown yet.” He took the wire strippers and eased a section of insulation about midway off each of the two wires connecting the switch to the trigger. The ends of a separate loose section of wire stripped, he wrapped each bare end around his incision in the trigger wires, making what looked like a bridge between them. The connection sparked causing him to jump back, slamming Sue in the head. “Damn girl, I could use some space here.” He eased his hands back inside the case, more careful this time. Using the wire strippers he wrapped the bare ends of wire around each other. Next he cut the wires close to the sensor and pulled it out. 

“Ok,” He withdrew from the casing and took a deep breath. “That thing’s cut out of the loop now.” 

The Python was held in by four large screws. He craned his neck to check out the device before trying to remove it. He extracted the screws, undamaged by the salt water, and lifted the trigger out of the bomb, removing the firing pin to disable it. “Done. She’s safe enough for a baby to play with.”

Sue relaxed now. “That’s it? No more boom?”

“That’s right, girl. Still have to take out the core, but it needs this here to set her off. Fission bombs need a separate small explosion to trigger the actual bomb, which starts bombarding atoms, setting off the actual explosion.” He sat back against the bomb and felt the adrenaline wash out of his system. The creases on his face resisted the rare smile, not from the drugs, but from the success at disarming the bomb. The fifty year nightmare had only one act left, and that was up to Mac, Mel and Trufante. His body fell to the side as the pain killers took full effect.

Sue grabbed him and propped him up. “I’m going to look in on my patient if you’re ok over here.”

“I’m good. Maybe take a walk back the house and find me some more of that tequila. Kind of help out those pills.”

“I’m going to veto that prescription. You stay right here. Maybe I ought to have a look at your wound as well.”

Chapter 47

Behzad and Ibrahim looked around as they made their way to land, the boat behind them. There was no sign of activity anywhere. 

“So, you have a plan?” Doans asked as he followed them. 

Ibrahim turned. “We no longer need you. As you say, the bomb is coming to us. We only need to wait and intercept it. The sheriff can pick you up and deal with you. Maybe we’ll be generous and call, so you are not out too long and sunburn your white skin.”

“You don’t need me, fine. But the sheriff is going to put a helicopter up. They’ll spot this boat in minutes. I’ll be happy to tell them where you are and what you’re up to.”

Ibrahim spoke quietly to Behzad, who ran off toward what appeared to be a maintenance shed. “I knew better than to get mixed up with you. My friend has proved to have questionable acquaintances. We will free you, but you will stay with us. Do not think you can make a deal with the authorities - not that they would believe you. I will be watching you and have no remorse in the death of a lying infidel. Understand?”

Behzad returned with a set of bolt cutters, and Ibrahim instructed him to cut the chain connecting the bracelets. Doans extended his hands as far as he could, and Behzad slid the tooth of the cutters onto the chain and started to close the levered handles. 

“You need to get the link all the way in,” Doans corrected him.

Behzad repositioned the cutters and pushed the handles together, this time meeting resistance. He used the seat for leverage against one handle and pushed the other against it. The chain snapped.

“You need to find a gym, my friend.” Doans moved his arms around, relishing his freedom.

Ibrahim looked overhead, motioning them to silence as he rotated his hand, still looking up. “Helicopter. We must get out of here.”

“Hold on, I’ve got an idea.” Doans went forward and grabbed a dock line from the forward hatch, then turned the wheel until the engine straightened behind the boat. He tied the line to the steering wheel. He looked over his shoulder to make sure the motor would run the boat in a straight line. The other end of the line tightly tied on the leaning post, he signaled Behzad, who jumped off onto the dock as he started the engine. He pushed the boat off after calculating the angle the bow should face to compensate for the wind and current. This would at least give the boat a better chance at not hitting a bridge piling. He pushed down on the throttle and jumped off the stern as the boat took off. 

It missed the pier and headed off toward the waters offshore of Bahia Honda. 

“That’ll buy us some time.”

“How far back to Marathon?” Ibrahim could just make out the entrance to the Knights Key channel.

“About half the bridge — three miles or so.” He glanced at the deserted section of bridge. The old road had been decommissioned when the new span was put in. Open to foot and bike traffic now it dead ended at Pigeon Key. “We wait ‘til dark. There’s nobody on the bridge now. We’d be too visible. The sheriff puts up a chopper, they’d spot us for sure. Around sunset, there’ll be more of a crowd. Then we can walk without notice.”

He was scanning the area, looking for a hiding place, when he heard the sound of an outboard motor working slowly toward them. “Must be a tour coming back. We’ve got to get under cover.” 

A loose piece of trellis covering the foundation piers of a nearby building caught his eye. “Come on.”

Before ducking under the building, he watched the helicopter set a course for the abandoned boat. 

***

Gillum held the flare gun, hands shaking, still trying to catch his breath. His head pounded from striking the deck. It was the angle of his fall that had put him in the right position to see the bright orange case containing the gun. Remembering his munitions training, he knew a bullet would be worthless to blow the smaller boat, but the pyrotechnics of the flare might do the job. He pulled back the trigger, releasing the flare. It propelled toward the other boat, landing on the deck. The explosion he hoped for never happened, but a small fire started. He watched as the two occupants jumped into the water on the far side of the boat. Just as they cleared the deck, the fire took. The ensuing explosion caught them in midair, accelerating their trajectory toward the water. 

Wreckage scattered across the water covering an area as big as a football field. As he watched the debris fall, a burning piece landed on the fuel slick behind Mac’s boat and ignited it. The flame spread quickly toward the boat. Gillum watched it with feverish eyes. He scanned the water, looking for signs of life, as the fire crept onto the boat itself and moved toward the fuel leak. 

In the water, his diver broke the surface, took stock of the situation, and yelled for Gillum to grab a fire extinguisher. He dumped his tank, hopped the transom, and headed for the cabin. The sound of the fire extinguisher discharging woke Gillum from his trance. He watched as the diver suppressed the fire. The slick still burning in the water, the diver then emptied the canister on the surrounding flames, watching as they burned themselves out. 

Gillum was back in command of his faculties now, looking for the gun. He spotted it and went back to scanning the water. He wanted no survivors. The bomb recovery had now spun so far out of control and involved so many people it would be impossible to cover his tracks. At least an accident at sea might get rid of some of the players without an investigation.

Gillum noticed movement on the water and aimed. He fired two quick shots, but both missed, thrown wild by the waves’ impact on the boat.

“Let me give that a shot.” The sailor held out his hand for the gun.

Gillum resisted and fired two more wild shots. Defeated, he handed the gun to the sailor, barrel pointed toward him. 

“Whoa, sir, redirect that please.”

Gillum looked up, not catching on for a few seconds. Then he changed his grip, allowing the sailor to grab the gun.

The sailor braced himself against the side of the boat and synchronized his breath with the rhythm of the boat rising and falling with the seas. Gillum was just about to take the gun back when the boat lifted on a wave and he heard the gun fire. His gaze went to the figure out in the water and noticed it jerk suddenly.

Chapter 48

Bill Gordon stepped off the plane in Key West. He’d flown in from Jacksonville on orders to ‘deal with the situation.’ Rank did not often matter when representing the Inspector General’s office. The office held enough power over military personal that enlisted men, as well as officers, bent over backwards to curry favor. This held true especially for commanding officers, whose future was often directly affected by the Inspector General’s periodic reports. He expected the complete cooperation of Jim Gillum.

His cab arrived at the base gate, where he flashed his credentials with practiced ease and was admitted. Upon entering the administration building, he was immediately notified that Gillum was
out on field exercise
. He sensed something wrong — the first red flag. From everything he’d read in the file chronicling Gillum’s fifty years of service, work — especially field work — was not a common thread. Avoiding work and gaining promotion through seniority appeared to be his MO.