Wood's Reef (31 page)

“Never mind. That’s not what I meant. And look at him, he’s out cold.” They were silent for a minute, listening to the rhythm of Wood snoring. They both chuckled.

Mac tentatively reached for her hand, grateful when she didn’t pull back. “Yeah, maybe I am asking you out. Let’s just call it an open offer.”

“Under consideration,” she said, but did not release his hand. 

The traffic was nonexistent moving north. Southbound traffic was intermittent, with trucks pulling boat trailers and tractor trailers, both preferring to navigate the road at night. The lights of Florida City were visible in front of them now.

“I’m gonna pull into that motel over there and see if we can get a room. I don’t think I can sleep, but we can get cleaned up, check on Wood, and make a plan. 

***

Mel went into the convenience store connected to the gas station. She grabbed food, drinks, and pretty much wiped them out of first aid supplies. The clerk gave her a questioning glance as he took her credit card. She answered back with one of her own. He withdrew back to the security of the counter, swiped the card, and handed it back. 

It took both of them to get Wood to the room. He was laid out on the bed, naked from the waist up. Mel stripped the dressing from his side. It was saturated with blood and a greenish ooze. Not good. Wishing she had some antibiotics, she force-fed him three aspirin to work on the fever. The staples still held, and there didn’t appear to be any additional bruising around the wound as she bandaged him back up. 

She and Mac both took long showers, then sat at the small table, the convenience store buffet of jerky, nuts, and some energy bars spread out in front of them. She looked at the crack in the curtains, light starting to seep in. 

“The rally’s at Bayfront Park at 10. It’s a little after 6 now. We should get out of here and check it out. I’ve got a friend from the
Miami Herald
who will meet us there.”

“What about him?”

“I think we should leave him. He’ll be madder than mad, but he’s in no condition to do anything. I don’t want him to do something stupid and hurt himself. If I know him, he’ll try to get past the Secret Service and punch out the Vice President.”

In the end, they left a note and headed out the door, hoping he would sleep until they returned.

***

Behzad was fading in and out of consciousness as he tried to stay on his side of the yellow line. He’d pulled over twice to rest, but his head was pounding so hard that he couldn’t sleep. He approached Florida City as the sun was rising, and stopped at the first gas station he saw to ask directions. As he was about to get out of the truck, an old man crossed in front of him. 

“Hey, man. You know how to get to Bayfront Park?” Behzad asked.

“Yeah. I could use a lift there myself. Give me a ride and I’ll get you there.”

“Man, that’s cool. You got some aspirin in that backpack, you got a deal.”

“Matter of fact I do.” He went to the other side of the truck, threw the pack onto the seat, and pulled himself into the cab. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Behzad asked as the guy grimaced in pain. 

“Some son of a bitch ran me over with a boat.” He leaned over and opened the pack, removing the aspirin. He popped three himself and handed the bottle to Behzad. “Save me a couple, would you?”

Chapter 58

Bayfront Park was starting to fill when Mac pulled in. They parked and walked over to the picnic area. Close enough to the stage to see but away from the crowds. They could talk here without being overheard. They sat side by side waiting for the reporter friend Mel had agreed to meet. 

“What do we do now?” 

“I’m going to leave that up to Jose. He can break the story in tomorrow’s papers. By breakfast, everyone in the country will know about Ward. Let the masses vote him down. As bad as this looks, I’ve been researching and can’t find any law that he’s broken.”

“Shame he’ll get off and just retire.”

“Yeah it is, but that’s the law.”

Jose Reyes walked up and gave them a badly disguised once over. They were clean but both had torn and dirty clothes. He moved towards Mel and gave her a quick hug. She introduced him to Mac and they sat down at the picnic table. Mel recounted the story with Mac filling in details. The reporter took copious notes. The excitement on his face grew as they explained Ward’s involvement.

“This can all be confirmed?”

“Guy named Gordon from the Inspector General's office knows just about everything we’ve told you. I doubt he’ll speak on the record, but he can confirm the facts.”

“It’s political dynamite. Why me? You have the connections to get this out in your own name. Take all the credit.”

She looked at Mac. “I’ve been reconsidering some things lately. I think it’s better to remain anonymous here.”

“I can’t thank you enough. This could be a Pulitzer.”

“Don’t get too excited.” Mac looked towards the crowd gathering at the stage. “Stop that bastard before you start accepting any awards.”

***

The UHaul pulled into the crowded park. Behzad ran over two curbs trying to park the truck, but his resolve had not faltered. Sleep deprivation, the chemicals and the alcohol that had passed through his system in the past few days had affected his thought patterns. In his paranoid state all he could think of was Paradise. There couldn’t be hangovers or drug dealers ready to kill him in Paradise, he thought. He saw the bomb parked by a stage. Signs and banners were scattered through the park showing the smiling countenance of Joe Ward, a face he remembered as the Vice President. It didn’t add up in his confused state, but it didn’t have to. A Vice President, a crowd and a bomb. All he had to do was get close enough. 

The two men climbed out of the cab, each looking like they had survived a war, pain evident on both their faces, though for different reasons. The old man grabbed the backpack and headed toward the podium. The Navy trailer was parked next to it. Behzad could see the shape of a bomb visible underneath the flag carefully draped over it. He grabbed the gun from underneath the seat, placing it in his waistband. 

***

Joe Ward moved toward the stage as the band played patriotic tunes. He took his time shaking hands and finding the prettiest women to hug a little too tight. He’d never been one to kiss babies, so he avoided that entirely. Finally he made the platform and waved to the crowd and band to wind down.

He approached the podium to start his speech. The crowd remained in a frenzy. He smiled and waved, in no rush for this to be over. It felt like the first of many victory celebrations to come. He glanced at his campaign manager standing just offstage who was moving his hand across his throat, signaling him to stop. He held his hands up, palms forward for several minutes before the crowd quieted. 

The speech rolled easily off his tongue, recited many times before in the last few days. He smiled as he thought of the drama to come. As his prepared speech closed, he grabbed the microphone and headed off the stage toward the bomb, Secret Service frantically trying to cover his impromptu actions. He grabbed the briefcase from the side of the stairs, where he’d stashed it earlier, and headed toward the parked trailer. 

The crowd parted as he made his way toward the bomb. He climbed the bumper and stood next to the flag-draped shape. “I want to make sure we take the time today to commemorate all the veterans of this country, and especially celebrate the end of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Fifty years ago, I flew combat missions with bombs like this strapped to the belly of my plane, looking for Soviet subs to drop them on.” The crowd quieted as he pulled the flag off, revealing the dull sheen of fifty year old metal.

He set the briefcase down on the stage and opened it. Agents tried to form a perimeter around him and the trailer, but the crowd edged closer, trying to get a look at what he was doing. 

Ward held up the drill. “Now, fifty years later, I am going to decommission this bomb. We have moved past the need for nuclear weapons and I vow to do this to every one of them.”

The crowd was getting edgy, realizing that a nuclear bomb was in front of them. Ward removed the access panel, and looked blankly at it. There was nothing in the compartment. He tried to recover and think of a way to save the moment.

Wood appeared on the stage, holding a back pack over his head. He reached in and pulled out the primer. “Looking for this?” Secret Service agents scrambled to reach him, but he held the primer over his head. Not sure of his intentions or the danger posed by the primer they kept their distance. “Don’t trust this man. He covered up the fact that this bomb was dropped into the ocean fifty years ago. Fact is, he dropped it himself," he paused for effect, "and left it there, to be discovered by anyone who came along. He didn’t take it seriously then, and he wouldn’t take it seriously now. He’ll do it again, I guarantee it.”

***

Behzad saw his chance, now that the agents were all focused on the strange old man he’d picked up. He had followed him to the stage, not having a plan. Now he was standing beside him. Without thinking about it, he removed the gun and fired. 

At the concussion of the gunshot, the primer ignited, its force destroying everything within ten feet. The bomb disintegrated, it’s empty shell turning to shrapnel. People scrambled backwards, trampling on their neighbors trying to get out of the blast area. Ward, Wood and Behzad were all down. The agents left standing scrambled to cordon off the area and help any survivors.

***

Mac jumped onto the table when he saw the disturbance. They were on the perimeter of the crowd, no reason to be in the mix until they saw Wood hold the primer up. He hopped down and they raced toward the stage, fighting against the surge of people fleeing. They reached the Secret Service agents and were stopped there, though they could see the carnage. Mel buried her head in Mac’s shoulder. He put an arm around her, unable to look away.

Epilogue

Waves lapped against the hull of the boat as the divers came up. Mac threw the bag with its three lobster onto the platform and helped Mel onto the ladder. Tanks off and a cold beer in hand, they looked at the sun as it set over land, five miles away.

“You know, he went on his own terms,” Mac said.

“I know. It doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

Mac didn’t answer. He went to the bow and pulled the anchor. Back at the helm, he swung the boat toward the north. “Let’s drag a couple of baits and cruise around for a while. It’s time we talked this through.”

Mel swung the lure over the side and started to let out line. Satisfied the lure was riding right, she engaged the drag and set the clicker. She repeated the process with another rod, setting the bait further back this time. Rods in their holders, she grabbed two more beers and sat next to Mac at the helm.

“I’m going back to D.C. tomorrow,” she said.

He looked devastated. “I thought we had something here.”

“We do.” She took his arm. “But the only way this is ever going to be over is for me is to go back and tie up the loose ends. I don’t want to see Joe Ward as a martyr or hero. I need to get the truth out about him and Gillum. I feel like we’ve just started to unravel this.”

Mac nodded. “I understand. You know where I’m at when you’re ready.”

“That might be sooner than you think.”

As they embraced, the port side rod went off. A fish jumped in the distance. Mel ran to the rod and started the fight. A plane seemed to come at them, slowing and losing altitude. It appeared to stall then, and something dropped. It was soon out of sight, too far off to see what it was, and the fish close enough to gaff. Forgotten now, Mac’s gloved hand reached for the leader, his other hand gently setting the gaff below the fish. He quickly pulled up on the gaff and, in one movement, had the fish over the side and into the box. 

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