Wood's Reef (29 page)

Jules saw her prey, hunched over like an animal, eyes glaring in the headlights. She hit him square on with the search light and increased speed toward him, yelling out the window for the deputies to pursue. Trapped on the peninsula of the boat ramp, Doans was back in cuffs in minutes. Actually double cuffed, the bracelets from his last detainment still around his wrists. 

“You’ve caused enough trouble for one day,” Jules said as she pulled Doans head down onto her rising knee. Doan's fell forward, blood streaming from his nose. She grabbed his collar, lifted him to his feet, and launched an undercut to his gut. Back on the ground, searching for air, Doans pointed toward the brush and motioned for the sheriff to come within hearing range.

“I’ll give you the terrorists. Just stop.”

“Over there? One or two? They armed?” Jules rattled off the questions while using hand motions to direct the two deputies to the mangroves. 

“Just one. The others got the truck, went after some food. He’s got a gun.”

Jules removed her gun and smacked Doans on the back of the head. “Stay here while we take care of this.” 

Doans fell to the ground. 

***

Ibrahim saw that Doans had given him up, and started to run. He got off two wild shots. The deputies zeroed in on their source and gave chase. Searching for a way out, he ran toward the entrance of the Marathon Yacht Club, a squat, single-story building next to the boat ramp, busy on a Saturday night. He went for the door, kicked the host out of the way, and started for the dining room. 

The sheriff’s men entered behind him, guns drawn and gaining ground. Ibrahim went for a woman at one of the waterside tables, grabbing her by the neck and lifting her to her feet. The deputies slowed, lowering their weapons to protect the hostage.

Then a deafening shot came from behind them and Ibrahim dropped to the ground. The lady, realizing she was unharmed, ran crying for her husband. Jules holstered her gun. 

“I’ve had enough of this crap. Get him out of here.”

The deputies ran over to where Ibrahim's body had hit the ground, and looked back at the sheriff in surprise. The body was gone.

“Over there! He crawled down there and went into the water. Bleeding pretty bad,” one of the diners yelled.

The deputies ran over to the rail and searched the water. There was some blood in the water, but with the tide moving in quickly, it pooled by the rocks. The terrorist was nowhere in sight.

Chapter 54

The water was glassy as they entered Knight’s Channel. Mac kept the flashing red buoy on the right, lining the boat up to clear the green marker on the left as they entered the channel. Then he passed the wheel to Trufante and went below to check on Mel. Worry crossed his face as he looked down at her, resting like a sleeping baby. His gaze focused on her; high school days long gone, and not the radical he thought she’d become, he let his new-found feelings loose in his mind. She was still unconscious, but didn't appear to be in pain. He adjusted her slightly, trying to make her more comfortable, and noticed her cell phone sticking out of her hip pocket. 

He removed the phone and set it on the counter next to the bunk. A text message flashed and disappeared, and he hit the power button. The screen lit, fuzzy through the salt coated case. There was no contact attached to the message, just a phone number with a message:
Ms. Woodson please contact me. Bill Gordon, USN urgent.
Mac hit the respond button and chose the call back option. The phone went straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message.

He took the phone with him onto the deck. “What do you make of this?” Mac handed the Navy man the phone.

“Don’t know. Your buddy,” he motioned to Trufante, “was talking about some Navy guys that came to that island in a helicopter. Could be that was him.”

“I called the number, but it went to voicemail. If he’s on a chopper, he probably can’t hear it. Any other way to get through?”

“Yeah, I can make a call. I know a guy at the base in Key West can probably patch us through to the helicopter. Hope he’s on duty. 

Mac handed him the phone. 

***

Gordon’s blurred image came on the screen in the White House situation room. The camera vibrated from the helicopter and the audio was garbled from the rotor noise. The handful of people assembled, including the President, now fully briefed, listened intently.

“Gordon, give us a status report please,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs asked.

Gordon ran down the chain of events as he knew them. He informed them that the bomb hanging from the helicopter was harmless, the core and primer removed. He explained how they had checked the site where he thought the other bomb was, and that they’d only found wreckage. They were currently on a course back to Naval Air Station Key West.

The connection went silent for a few minutes, while the men in DC consulted each other. Then the Chairman broke the radio silence. “We have a report through the sheriff in Marathon, via Homeland Security, that there might be two terrorists loose in Marathon. They are searching for one that was shot by local law enforcement. The other is believed to be driving a UHaul truck. They have apprehended one, but he doesn’t appear to be the leader. Looks like he’s an American selling out his country for a payday.

“Change course to Marathon and land at the 33rd Street boat ramp. They won’t know the bomb has been disarmed. We want to use it as bait to draw them out.”

“Yes, sir, changing course. Who do we coordinate with on the ground?”

“We’re setting up a secure line with the sheriff's office. Let her handle the ground, she seems pretty competent. The connection should be live in a few minutes.”

“Roger, what about the other bomb?”

“There’s a Coast Guard cutter headed out to the coordinates you gave us. We should have a report from them shortly.”

***

Mac heard the rotor before he saw it. Then the chopper became visible, its navigational lights blinking like strobes in a night club. He grabbed the binoculars from the helm and focused on the bird. There wasn’t enough light to see any markings, but it looked military. And it appeared to have something beneath it. Every time the white tail light blinked, it threw enough light to reflect off the surface. His eyes adjusted to the light and background, and he saw the clear shape of the bomb. 

He tapped Trufante on the shoulder and pointed skyward, to the helicopter that was now circling and descending. “Follow that.”

The channel was too narrow to make a turn, so Trufante slowed the port engine and disengaged the starboard. He compensated for the counterclockwise spin of the boat caused by the one engine and pulled back on the starboard throttle. The sound of metal on metal made him wince as the transmission fought to reverse. Once engaged, he pushed the port side control while pulling back on the starboard. The boat spun on its axis, churning water and turning 180 degrees. Still within the channel, he pushed the throttle on both engines forward and headed back out. 

The helicopter dropped from sight as the boat crossed under the Seven Mile Bridge. It was gone when they reached the other side. 

“Got to be the ramp,” Mac said. “That’s the only spot with enough room to land. They’re too close to be heading for the airport. The ramp is the only other spot I can think of.”

***

Ibrahim was in the water up to his neck, hidden in a mangrove patch, just offshore of the rocks. Flashlights combed the mangroves, focusing more on land than the water, but they were getting closer. He’d covered his face as well as his wound with mud. It may have disguised his face, but blood was still seeping from his side. He heard a helicopter getting closer and craned his neck to get a view of the sky, looking for the inevitable searchlight that would show his hiding spot. 

That’s when he saw the bomb and felt the breeze as the helicopter descended fifty feet from him. Mangroves swayed like a hurricane, revealing him, but no one was looking. The sheriff's men were now working to direct the pilot to the Navy trailer. They were all focused on bringing the bomb down safely, setting blocks to match its contours. Once settled they started to tie it down to the trailer’s bed. 

He was so focused on watching the bomb that he didn’t notice the nudge at his side. It wasn’t until something engulfed his waist that he awoke to his situation. The shark pulled him out of the mangroves and rolled him underwater, breaking his back. The last thought Ibrahim had before he lost consciousness was of Behzad.

Chapter 55

The boat rode easily, cutting through the glassy water. Wood was about to cross under the bridge when he saw the other vessel. The red light on the right side told him it was coming at him. He changed course to avoid it, moving over to the next span of the bridge. The boats entered the bridge simultaneously, and the following wake of the larger boat threw his smaller craft into the piling, throwing him to the deck. 

“Goddamn idiots!” he screamed.

He turned to look at the offending boat while trying to regain his footing. The wake from the larger boat slammed against his again. His side resumed bleeding and the wound hurt more than he would admit to himself. But he knew that boat. 

He crawled to the helm and spun the boat around, going under the adjacent span. The pain eased slightly as he got the boat running on plane again.

***

Trufante looked back at Wood’s boat, almost in their prop wash. He almost ran up on them as he slowed to obey the no-wake buoy marking the entrance to the boat ramp. Trufante, still at the helm, looked back as he set the port engine in neutral and reversed the starboard side, cutting the wheel to the left. 

“Wood’s back there,” he yelled. 

Mac was at the bow, line ready in his hand, waiting to jump onto the dock to tie the boat off. He ran to the back of the boat, waited for the smaller boat to coast to a stop, and threw the line in his hand to Wood, who caught it and tied it off to the bow cleat. Mac pulled the line tight, allowing the two boats to brush hulls. Fiberglass hit metal as he offered Wood a hand and helped him over the gunwale onto the deck. Backpack in hand, Wood winced in pain, almost falling over from the effort.

Mac noticed. “You need to lie down and let me have a look at that.”

“No time now, and my nurse is on that helicopter.” He pointed to the chopper on the ground, and looked at the bomb sitting on Mac’s deck. “Cover that thing up, not sure who’s right or wrong here. It looks like a three ring circus around here. The less of ‘em that know there’s two bombs, the better.” 

Trufante got to work covering the bomb and Wood turned to Gillum, tied up like a roped calf. He looked at him and turned back to Mac. “We’ll take care of him next. Where’s Mel?”

“Got hurt, she’s resting in the cabin.”

“Damn, hope she’s alright, but there’s nothing I can do now. I’ll get Sue to look in on her. I like that gal, surprised she’s interested in you.” He looked toward Trufante.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better. Ornery as a gator in a hurricane.”

Wood grabbed the backpack, crossed the deck, and struggled onto the dock. He crossed paths with Sue, who gave him a look of concern before continuing toward Mac’s boat. Gordon was sitting in the helicopter, quiet now with the engines powered down. He was on his cell phone when Wood approached. 

“We’ve got that fool Captain trussed up on Mac’s boat and enough evidence to stop that freakin’ Vice President. You got a plan?”

Gordon eyed him as he wrapped up his call. “That was DC, the President, actually. He gave us enough rope to hang the VP. He thinks Gillum’s bringing this bomb up to Homestead so he can look like a hero. We’re gonna turn the tables on him and try and flush out the terrorists.”

“Good, I’m in.”

“You’re most definitely out. You have the thanks of a grateful nation, but look at you. You’re in no condition to go anywhere but back to a hospital bed.” 

Wood stalked back to Mac’s boat, heavily favoring his good side. “Dump that piece of crap on the dock.” He pointed at Gillum. “Let’s get out of here before they figure out what’s what. The man said they were taking the bomb to a rally in Homestead. I got a mind to take this primer up there and stick it in Ward’s face. Then see what he says.”