Mac travis adventures bo.., p.29
Mac Travis Adventures BoxSet, page 29
part #4 of Mac Travis Series
Marathon approached, and she returned to the present. They passed Key Colony Beach, and then the airport. After another mile, they turned left at the Kmart shopping center, and then right onto the first street. The road followed a golf course, where Wallace made a quick left after the clubhouse. A small bridge lay ahead with a group of boats working around it. They crossed and turned into the first driveway.
“Don’t try nothing, you hear,” Mike said to her, lifting his shirt and revealing the grip of a gun. He got out of the car, walked around to her door, and opened it, pulling her out. Together they walked through the carport underneath the house and followed the path to the dock. A large boat was sitting there with the engines running. It looked like a research ship and appeared out of place in the residential setting. Mike pushed her up the gangplank, where she found herself face-to-face with another man, obviously the boss from the way the two men acted. Though balding, he had not caved in and adopted the current style of shaving his head. His fashion taste was off as well for the T-shirt-and-board-short capital of the world; he wore a tailored button-down shirt, tucked into khaki pants, and looked like he should be on a cruise ship in Miami.
“Welcome, Ms. Phon. You will be our guest here. Act accordingly and you will be well treated. Otherwise, Mike here will instruct you.”
He turned and walked through the cabin door. Mike pushed her forward. Her Agency training had taught her to observe things that didn’t fit, and as she looked at the deck before entering the cabin, she made some quick deductions. This was clearly not a pleasure vessel; rather, from the rigging, the electronics tower, and the utilitarian deck, she determined it was a commercial ship of some kind. Inside, it took her a moment for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she found herself in the main cabin. A large chart table was against one wall, and across from it was a desk with a built-in settee and several deck chairs off to the side. Ahead was the wheelhouse, where Wallace stood, working the electronics.
“Get the lines,” Hawk called, moving forward to the wheelhouse and taking the wheel. Wallace and Mike ran fore and aft following his command, and she felt the boat move away from the dock.
TJ skillfully placed the forty-two-foot dive boat against the pilings and called to Trufante to get the lines. While he held the converted sportfisher in position, Trufante tossed the fenders over and tied the boat off. TJ cut the engines and climbed down from the helm. He brushed past the glowing group that, many of whom, including Pamela, had just experienced their first taste of the reef.
“Hey, man,” Trufante called, but TJ was already racing up the stairs.
With the captain gone, the passengers looked to Trufante for direction. Although not technically crew, he had assisted many of them with their equipment and offered some technique instruction. “Hey, y’all,” he called out. “Thanks for coming. Grab some brochures at the front desk and spread the word.” He paused for a second and gave them his full smile. “And don’t forget to take care of your crew.”
He signaled to Pamela to wait for a second and jumped onto the dock. One at a time, the passengers disembarked. He helped each one like they were his grandmother and shook their hands, taking the proffered bills, which he skillfully placed in his pocket.
Pamela was last. “I’ve got a tip for you, but it’ll have to wait for later.” She smiled and took his hand.
Now this was getting back to normal, he thought. “Glad you enjoyed it,” he said.
“Really, that was awesomeness. I’m going to check out the store.”
Smiling back at her, he patted her butt as she walked away. “I’m gonna run upstairs and see what’s up with TJ,” he said, starting for the stairs.
“Okay. I’ll do some shopping,” she said.
His long stride allowed him to take the treads two at a time. The front door was open, and he entered. “TJ?” he called out. There was no answer, and he moved inside. “TJ,” he called louder.
“Hey. In here.”
Tru walked through the double doors and entered the war room. He had heard about it, but never been inside. TJ sat at a desk with his head in his hands. “What’s up, dude?”
TJ looked up at him. “Alicia’s gone. I knew something was wrong when she didn’t answer her phone when we were coming in. I had one of the guys downstairs come up and knock on the door, but there was no answer. Her phone’s on the counter, and the car’s still here too. I got a bad vibe about this.”
“Shoot,” Trufante started.
TJ cut him off. “It’s not like her,” he said, holding her cell phone. “She’d never leave her phone.”
“What are you thinking?” he asked, looking around the room. On the side-by-side screens were the pictures of the tattoos. “I know that one,” he said, pointing to the image on the left screen.
“What of it?” TJ asked.
“That’s what Mac wanted her to look at.” He walked toward the screens for a better look.
“I can zoom that for you,” TJ said.
“Ain’t no need,” he said, staring at the tattoos. “That there’s from a dude named Diego. Don’t know what the other one is, but it looks kinda the same.”
“That doesn’t help find Alicia,” TJ said.
“I’ll call Mac. Maybe he knows something,” Trufante said, pulling the phone from his pocket and pressing several buttons. He held it to his ear, but after a minute, he pushed another button and slid it back into his pants. “Gone straight to voice mail.”
“That’s not good,” TJ said.
“Just the way he is. Thinks the boogeyman can find it if he keeps it on.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
TJ was getting anxious. “All roads lead down the old US-1 to Marathon. We had a run-in with some bad dudes last night. This has got to be connected.” Trufante rubbed the stubble on his chin, trying to connect the dots.
“Okay. Let’s get going,” TJ said. Trufante followed him out of the room, and TJ grabbed the car keys from the counter.
“Maybe we should take the boat. Won’t take but another half hour or so this time of day, and I’m guessing it’ll come in handy.”
TJ nodded and dropped the car keys. “Hold on,” Trufante said and went back to the war room. He went to the desk and grabbed the coin.
Mac had already pulled back on the throttles and was just about to round the piling marking the channel to the boat ramp when he saw the sheriff’s boat tied up to the dock. Without thinking, he dropped into neutral and pulled back slightly on the lever, giving enough reverse thrust to counteract his momentum. The boat was empty, but he saw the deputy that had brought the building inspector out talking to a couple about to drop their boat into the water.
Not wanting a confrontation, and expecting that they might be looking for him for a statement about the incident at Hawk’s last night, he pulled back further and cut the wheel to the left. There was no doubt that Hawk would have blamed the crash on him. The bow swung over, and he had open water in front of him. Slowly he pushed the throttle forward, and the boat started moving away. Risking a look back, his eyes met the deputy’s, and he knew he had made the right decision. Not wanting to look guilty, he turned east, following the coast. He rounded a point and chanced another look behind when he saw the bow of the sheriff’s boat pull out of the cut.
To his right was a narrow opening that led to the marina at Keys Fisheries. It was his best option. There was no way to outrun the more powerful boat, and doing so would likely land him in jail. Ducking into the marina was his safest bet. If the deputy saw him, so be it. If he didn’t, he had dodged a bullet.
He entered the marina, where he saw several open slips usually occupied by charter boats. He pulled into one, running forward to grab the line looped on the pile and tie it off before the boat coasted to a stop.
“Mac Travis. Come back to say thank you?” Celia put down her cell phone and moved toward him.
He had meant to thank her for creating a diversion the other night, but before he could say anything, her gaze moved from him to the cut, and he knew the deputy was there. “Yeah,” he muttered, wondering what to do.
“It’s your lucky day. Old Celia’ll help you out again. Got no love for that effin’ bastard. You know, me and him dated in high school,” she said.
Mac jumped onto the dock and looked at her. “I’m open to ideas.”
She shook an angry finger at the sheriff’s boat as if it would ward him off. “Hide behind the console on that boat and watch me.” She pointed to a large open fishing boat.
“I owe you,” Mac said and went for the deck of the adjacent boat. He ducked behind the gunwale and watched.
Celia stood with her hand on her hip, her body language daring the deputy to come any closer. He must have gotten her message and idled out into the center of the harbor, where he worked both throttles to keep the boat in place, obviously not wanting to get any closer.
“Where is he?” he shouted across the water.
“What’s a matter, babe?” She swung her other hip out. “I won’t bite.”
“I’m just trying to do my job here. We just want to talk to him, that’s all,” he said.
Mac almost believed him, but then he remembered Hawk’s friendship with the new sheriff. There was no love lost between Mac and the sheriff, and even if they did just want to talk, they would make him come in and give a statement.
“He ain’t here,” Celia called back.
“I seen him come in here, and that’s his boat,” the deputy pleaded.
“I don’t know nothin’ about that effin’ boat or anyone coming in on it,” she countered.
“You run this place. Nothing happens here that you don’t know about.”
“Well, Mr. Deputy. You calling me a liar?” A string of expletives followed.
Mac was almost laughing when the deputy spun the boat and moved away. He rose from the deck.
“I owe you for that,” he said.
“That was sport, my friend. But, come on, tell ol’ Celia what you’re up to,” she said.
“I gotta beg off. Got a friend in trouble,” Mac said.
“Wait here,” she said, walking away with a swagger that made her weight seem right.
She was back a minute later and handed him a single key attached to a piece of foam. “Maybe this’ll help. Ever run a quad before?” She pointed to the thirty-foot center-console that dwarfed his old boat. Four gleaming engines hung from the transom.
“I owe ya, girl,” he said. Taking the keys, he jumped onto the deck.
“Yes, you do, Mac Travis, yes, you do. Take care of my babies now.”
13
Mac turned the key and scanned the cluttered dashboard. The four engine controls alone took up a huge amount of real estate, stacked two over two on the left side of the wheel. The twin touchscreen chart plotters filled the space above, and a row of gauges was to the right side, with two rows of rocker switches below them. He’d figure out the controls once he was clear of the deputy. He wanted to be gone in case the man discovered his courage and came back.
He depressed the start buttons one at a time, and the engines roared to life. Mac tested the wheel and nodded to Celia, who tossed the lines. The boat jumped when he pulled back the throttles, but he gained control, realizing that with 1000 hp behind him, he would need to be careful. He cut the wheel and took a deep breath as the bow turned to face the open Gulf. Even with all his years of running boats, the power behind him was scary. Easing the throttles forward to get the feel for them, he felt the boat slide away from the dock.
He almost reversed when he saw the deputy sitting outside the harbor talking on his cell phone, but he turned his head to hide his face and waited to clear the last marker before pushing the throttles down hard. The boat was on plane before he knew it, and like a horse, he gave it its head to see what it could do. Amazed at the speed, he cruised to deeper water, not turning until he was well out of the deputy’s line of sight.
Cruising at over fifty knots, he checked the gauges and calculated the fuel consumption in his head. It showed plenty of fuel, but the engines were thirsty, their current consumption on the display reading almost thirty gallons an hour. He slowed to a modest twenty-five knots and looked ahead to the point of land that hid the Vaca Key cut. Following the shore, he stayed in the deep water between Rachel Key and Rachel Bank, rounded the point at Stirrup Key, and passed Russell Key, where he cut the wheel, leaving the green number thirteen marker on his starboard side. Slowing to fifteen knots, he stayed in the narrow channel between the markers, emerging a minute later on the Atlantic side. The small houses of Key Colony Beach were to port as he increased speed and entered the deeper channel between the mainland and the reef, where he turned toward the west. He cruised at thirty knots, the deep V of the bow easily tossing aside the two-foot waves, and started the electronics.
The unit on the left was configured for the radar; the one on the right showed the boat’s location and direction of travel superimposed over a nautical chart. He had thought about heading to Key Largo, but if Hawk had taken Alicia, she would be heading this way. On a whim, he turned on his cell phone, setting it on the bench next to him while it started up. He passed the private island just offshore of Sombrero Beach and took a wide turn to enter Sister Creek. On reaching the first green marker, he slowed and picked up the phone.
There weren’t many numbers stored in its memory, and the Ts came up quickly. He cut the rpms and picked up the phone.
Trufante answered immediately. “Mac. They got Alicia,” he yelled over the roar of the sportfisher’s engines.
“Can you go below so I can hear you?” Mac said, surprised by how quiet the four outboards behind him were.
“Can you hear me now?” Trufante asked.
“Yeah. I had a feeling Hawk was going to pull something like this. I’m heading into Sister Creek to see if he’s still there,” Mac said, turning the wheel into the canal.
“Me and TJ are heading that way. We’re just passing Islamorada. Should be there in an hour or so.”
“I’ll call you back in a few and figure out where to meet.” He thought for a minute, figuring that if Trufante was involved, anything could happen. It would be better to assign a rendezvous now, and there was only one place nearby where that would work. Although it would kill a small part of him to see the vacant lot where his house had been, he picked up the phone and hit redial. “Meet me at my old house,” he said and hung up.
Hawk wouldn’t know the boat, but he would spot him at the wheel. With that in mind, Mac stopped in a wider portion of the canal, its shape dictated by the natural mangrove shoreline. He climbed the stainless steel rungs and took control of the boat from above. There were no electronics up here, just the basic controls, allowing the driver a better view of the open water. For fishing, it was essential for extending the horizon to spot birds and debris floating in the water or to peer into the transparent water to see the reefs. For his purposes, it would shield him from any eyeballs at ground level.
He made the last turn and entered the dead-end canal, immediately cutting the engines. Still worried that he would be seen, he stayed against the right shoreline, cutting the line of sight from Hawk’s boat, but also taking him longer to realize that the trawler was gone.
“Plot a course to Key West,” Hawk ordered the guy they called Mike.
She tensed when he turned and came toward her.
“Easy there, sweetheart. I’ve got no interest in hurting you. Just want what’s in that brain of yours,” he said and sat in the chair across from her.
She continued staring out the large rectangular window, watching the water as they cruised west. Trying to estimate their speed and distance to Key West not only kept her mind off her predicament, but would also let her know how much time she had to work with. She doubted he was in a big enough hurry to redline the engines and guessed they were probably going close to fifteen knots. That would put them four to five hours out of Key West, depending on currents and wind. Plenty of time to delay him and find a solution.
“What do you want from me?” she asked meekly. The Agency training had taught her not to be aggressive in this kind of situation. Better to let her captor feel in control.
He shifted the thumb drive from hand to hand. “Just want to know what’s on this. You figure it out and I’ll cut you in.”
“Cut me in for what?” She was curious now. Not that she would take the deal, but she sensed that he knew more than she did and might provide some information to help her solve the mystery.
“Don’t play that game with me. I know you know,” he said.
The only thing she knew for certain was that there were images of tattoos, and her program had found some kind of match. But she had been abducted before she could cross-reference what she’d found and discover the meaning. “I’ll need some equipment to continue my research.”
“I’ve got a laptop here. Get me the location and I’ll make you a wealthy woman.” He pushed forward the computer that sat between them.
The offer didn’t appeal to her at all. If she’d wanted wealth, she would have stayed in Silicon Valley. “That toy? I can barely check my Facebook feed on that. I’ll need more power.”
“Please don’t make this more difficult. I did my own research and know what you are capable of.” He pushed the laptop the remaining inches to the edge of the table.
There was no harm, she thought. This could buy her some time. “I’ll need a lot of broadband.”
“Not a problem. Full Wi-Fi aboard,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it.” He got up and walked forward to the wheelhouse.
It was a gamble using the remote access portal, but she had a failsafe and quickly loaded a cloaking program from the Internet. After it finished loading, she assigned a hot key combination that when activated would destroy anything recorded on the drive in an instant. A data expert could retrieve it, but that would mean time, and she figured Hawk was running on a tight schedule. Once it was installed, she breathed a sigh of relief.
