Authors: Steven Becker
Mel saw Jules tense and slam her body against him. Her momentum was enough to knock him off the other man. Now he lay within striking distance, and Mel thought that if it worked once, why not again. She leaned back and with all the force she had left, head-butted him. He fell lifeless onto the driveway. She looked from him to the man on the ground, who smiled at her.
“Hell of a head you got there,” Trufante said.
She grunted through the tape over her mouth. He smiled, showing his grill, and peeled the tape off, then went to Jules and did the same.
“Never thought old Alan Trufante would be saving the sheriff,” he said.
“Don’t get all cocky. We’re not done. Now cut these ties.”
Trufante went to Jules and reached in his pocket for a small knife, which he opened to cut the ties.
“Drag his body out of sight,” Jules called to Trufante as she picked up the shotgun and released the rounds to see how many remained.
Trufante hauled the body into the bushes while Jules reloaded. They regrouped in the neighbor’s driveway, out of sight of the house and away from the motion sensor.
“There’s one more armed man in there. He’s got a sniper’s rifle with a scope,” Jules started to brief them.
“I’ve got to get back over there.” Trufante pointed to the seawall on the opposite side of the canal. “Mac’s waiting with the ballplayer.”
“That must be what the sniper is doing. They must have lured him here to take him out and get the player back,” Jules said. “Go on back there and tell him to wait until I flash the dock lights three times. Then it’ll be safe and he can come over. Until then, that sniper’s got eyes on him.”
Trufante took off and was lost in the shadows. “What now?” Mel asked.
“We’ve got surprise and a weapon now. That guy’s sitting up there focused on the canal, waiting for Mac to come in. If he hasn’t been down here yet, he has no idea what happened.”
Mel thought for a minute. “You want me to distract him and you can sneak up and take him out?”
Jules laughed. “Listen to you, Melanie Woodson. Your dad would be proud.” She looked at the house. “I can’t legally ask you to risk yourself like that, me being the sheriff and all.”
“No worries. Just tell me what to do.”
The plan was simple. Mel gave Jules a few minutes’ head start, then walked up to the front door like she lived there. She ignored the auction notice and tried the handle. The door was locked, but she reached down and lifted a shell on the stoop, took the key and opened the door, careful to make enough noise to be heard and distract the shooter from Jules, who should be in the master bedroom by now. She banged around downstairs until she heard footsteps above her.
“Mac.” She yelled, as if she expected him to be here. Nothing happened. The footsteps seemed to stop. Jules had told her that under no conditions was she to go upstairs, but nothing was happening.
She started to climb the steps, again calling Mac’s name. No sound came from above, and she slowed her ascent, worried the gunman might be waiting for her. She was almost paralyzed with fear as she reached the door at the top of the step, and fell backwards when the gun went off.
She caught herself on the rail and realized the shot was not at her.
“Clear,” she heard Jules yell, and climbed back up and opened the door. It didn’t move at first, but she pushed harder and saw the blood pooled on the floor.
Chapter 27
“Tie it off,” Mac yelled at Trufante as he stopped the boat at the seawall and jumped onto the dock. He didn’t look back as he raced to the house, took the back stairs two at a time, and pulled the door open. Not sure what to expect, he crept through the bedroom with the shotgun ready, then moved to the door and nudged it enough to see through the main room to where Mel and Jules were.
They stood by the door, hovering over a man lying in a pool of blood on the floor. Mel turned and rose as soon as he entered, and he ran to her. Holding her tightly, he let her warm tears drip down his neck as they embraced. Finally she pulled away, and he saw the distress on her face.
“We’ve got to do some damage control, and fast,” Jules said. “There’s three bodies here and several shots were fired. Commando was an amateur, but these CIA guys are pros and there’s always a good chance that a neighbor will call about the gunshots.” She went to the land line on the counter, lifted the receiver, and started to dial. “I’m going to call this in and say that I’m in pursuit and following them to the bait house. That’ll give me some backup to help Marvin and the girls and it ought to give you enough time to clean this mess up and get out of here. If you’re here when the police arrive, they’re sure to think you did it. And if I’m here and you’re not in handcuffs, my credibility is shot. It’s better if we’re all gone.”
“Where are they?” Mac asked, ready to take action. He looked around the kitchen and living room, his eyes stopping on the body at the top of the stairs. “What about the others?”
“One’s in my SUV downstairs. The other is in the bushes. We moved him out of sight,” Jules said.
“Tru’s out back. We’ll toss both bodies in the canal.” Mac started out of the room with Mel and Jules behind him.
“Wait,” Jules called, the receiver still in her hand. “You can’t be here, Mac. You’ve got to run. You’re lucky it’s my day off and the station doesn’t know where I am. I’ve gone as far off the reservation as I can without risking my job. I’m sorry.”
Mac knew she was right. With a court date looming and the water muddied further by the dead bodies at his house, he had no chance with the law. Time was the only thing that was going to clean this mess up.
“No worries. You’ve done more than I could have expected.” He went to her and gave a quick hug, then turned and left the room with Mel following behind him. Once down the stairs, he headed toward the boat, wondering how much fuel it had.
Mel followed. “I want to talk to the Cuban. He’s a victim here. We can’t abandon him,” she said and climbed onto the boat.
Jules called from the driveway before he could ask what she intended.
“Help me out here.”
He left Mel and Armando on the boat and went down the side of the house, with Trufante close behind. They went to the car and pulled the body out. He glanced at Mel and Armando, in an animated conversation on the dock, and hoped that Mel could help the guy figure out what to do. Then they hauled the dead man to the seawall, dumped him, and returned to the bushes, where Jules stood over the body.
“It’s that punk Commando,” Mac said.
“Yeah, I know. No loss there. I’ll see if I can buy you some time.” She went for her SUV, started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.
They hauled Commando along the same route as the other man. Before they were able to reach the water, a phone rang. They stopped and dropped the man, looking around for the source of the sound. It rang again and Mac looked at the dead body, then reached into a pocket and grabbed the phone. Mel and Armando must have heard it as well, and ran up to them.
With nothing to lose, Mac hit accept and then pressed the speaker button. They gathered around him. A voice called out in Spanish and they looked at each other, heads shaking and looks blank. Mel was about to speak, but Mac put a finger to her mouth as Armando stepped forward.
“
Bueno
,” he said.
The voice on the other end unleashed a tirade.
Mel grabbed the phone, disconnected the call and went to the settings screen. “Location services are on. If they’re CIA, they can track where we are.” She turned toward the water and threw the phone in. “We don’t have much time.”
“Get the boat ready. I’m going to grab some gear.” Mac went for the downstairs door. “Tru, check the gas. We’ve got to figure out where to go.”
Before anyone could answer, they heard a boat in the canal. Mac cursed and ran to the dock. The rental boat sat in the mouth of the canal, its bow wave just lifting it as it settled to an idle and started to approach.
“It’s them!” he yelled.
“What now?” Mel asked, fear evident in her voice.,
“I’ve got an idea.” Mac looked back and forth between the boat across the canal and Commando’s tattooed legs in the driveway. Any way this went, he was either dead or in jail.
His thought was interrupted by the sound of a whistle getting louder as if coming towards them and he looked up as something passed over their heads. Shock came over him as he followed the projectile and stood motionless as it smashed into the upstairs window.
The back half of the house erupted in flames as the missile exploded. Anger burned through him, but he forced himself to calm down enough to evaluate the situation. With the well-armed men sitting in the canal, just waiting for a chance to take them out, and the police sure to pull into the driveway at any minute, they were cornered. The plan to take the boat would be suicide with the CIA men sitting in the canal.
He looked around for a way out and saw the sailboat at his neighbor’s dock. “We’ve been needing to make a change for a while. Maybe this is our opportunity,” he said to Mel, who was staring at the house.
Mel followed his gaze to the boat. “As long as we help Armando, I’m game. Guess he’s not too impressed with what he’s seen of America. I tried to explain that he could request political asylum, but he wants no part of it.” she said.
Mac wasted no time now that they had a plan—if you could call stealing a sailboat and returning a refugee to Cuba a plan. He looked at the dock and the three outboards on the boat.
“You ready to redeem yourself?” he asked Trufante.
“What up?”
“Take the boat and blaze out of here. Keep going until you hit the Bahamas or whatever. Just draw them off us and give us some time to get out of here.”
“What am I supposed to do then?”
“You’ve got the numbers for my traps. Keep the boat. Why not? That’ll keep you in beers ‘till we get this sorted out.” Mac didn’t wait for an answer. He gave Trufante a quick nod and ran to the back door, avoiding the falling pieces from the burning deck.
“Grab the passports and whatever we can hock,” he yelled back to Mel, who was following him. He looked back at Trufante who was on his belly, working toward the dock and handed the shotgun to Armando, hoping he would know what to do.
He went to the house without waiting for an answer, entered the workshop downstairs, and started piling gear on the floor. A timber crashed by his head and he moved faster. If he could make one more dive and recover his cache, he could wire his neighbor money to pay for the boat and they could live large in the Caribbean until they figured things out. Maybe they’d be back soon … maybe not.
A motor started and two more followed in quick succession, and he knew Trufante was about to pull out. A shot fired and he heard the shotgun chamber another round and fire again. Armando must be covering Trufante’s escape. Then a burst from a machine gun fired and he heard an engine accelerate. They must have taken the bait and followed.
With a tank in one hand, a bag with his dive gear in the other and a pole spear wedged under his arm, he went back outside, giving a quick glance backwards. The fire was through the roof now and he knew it was the last time he would see his house. Mel was already at the dock next door, Armando by her side. Sirens were audible in the background now. Mac heaved the tank over the chasm separating the boat from the dock and dropped it onto the deck. He followed and waited for Armando to hand him the gear. At the helm he pushed the start button and, without waiting for the engine to warm, set it into reverse and pulled backwards from the seawall. He could hear the roar of the triple outboards in the distance and smiled. Trufante would do as he had asked.
“Ready?” He looked at Mel.
“Yeah,” she answered with a determined look.
Mac pushed the throttle to forward and turned the wheel hard to port. The boat followed his commands slowly, the engine not nearly as powerful as the outboard though it turned. As soon as the boat was positioned correctly, he headed toward the harbor. He couldn’t help but smile as he pushed the throttle forward and motored toward open water.
Chapter 28
Norm turned the wheel over to Jay and climbed the stainless steel structure supporting the T-top. The faster boat was nowhere in sight, and his only hope of finding them was to get a better vantage point. His shins crashed against the piping as he reached for the fiberglass roof, blindly looking for a handhold to haul himself up with. The boat hit another wave, the action accentuated by his height, and he reached for anything to keep him from falling.
His hand hit the base of an antenna and he hauled himself onto the roof. The top was unfinished and the rough surface scraped his skin as he crawled onto his belly, and then his knees. He dared not go to his feet without something to support him, but even on his knees his vantage point allowed him to see the water beyond the light. There was only a sailboat out past the tower. The boat they were chasing was no where in site. Another wave battered the small boat and he grabbed for the antenna mount and missed. Instead of the base, his hand grabbed the fiberglass whip, which splintered in his hands. The next wave put him back on his belly and he climbed down to the cockpit and stood next to Jay.
“I lost them. Pretty sure I saw a sailboat out past the light,” he said, pointing where he thought he had seen the mast tip. “Can’t see anything, and with these conditions we can’t outrun them. Maybe keep pace, but we won’t catch them. As soon as it’s dark, any course change and they would easily escape.”
He looked at Jay, his jaw clenched and eyes fixed on the light, and knew he had lost them. Time to cut his losses and start cleaning up this mess. His long-time accomplice was now the weakest link in the chain. Norm had been trained to put his emotions on hold when action needed to be taken, and went to the place in his mind where he could operate without thinking.