Wood's Reach (11 page)

***

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.”

Chapter Thirteen

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 throttle forward to get the feel for it, 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 throttle 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
T
s 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.

With the program running in the background, she opened a browser window and entered an address. A peer-to-peer site opened and she entered her password. A minute later, the screen showed her computer in Key Largo. This would enable her to do some research, and, on the off chance that TJ was there, she could communicate with him. It was cumbersome switching screens back and forth, but she navigated to the match the database had pulled up and pushed Mac’s drive into the USB port.

The image that her recognition program showed on the screen surprised her. It wasn’t another tattoo at all, but an old chart. Forgetting her circumstances, her analytical brain took over, and she became totally absorbed in the work. Switching windows and opening databases was cumbersome on the single screen, but she now knew that Mac had been right. There was some kind of a map embedded in the tattoos. Now she just needed to figure it out. The knowledge might be the bargaining chip that could save them.

***

Working the throttles for the outside engines, Mac spun the boat and reversed his course. He had no idea when Hawk’s boat had left, but with Celia’s children purring behind him, he could make up the miles fast. While he steered the canals leading back to the inlet from memory, he waited for the screen on the left to power up. The radar display soon became visible, showing concentric five-mile circles centered on the boat. It was jumbled this close to shore, with too many boats and houses nearby. Patiently he navigated the channel, holding his speed down until he was clear of the last marker. He knew a boat like this, especially one owned by Celia, would be a target for the half dozen law enforcement agencies that patrolled these waters.

Clear of the inlet, he pushed down the throttle. Despite himself, he smiled as the boat went up on plane and hit fifty-five knots. Within minutes he was past Sombrero Light, the red steel structure standing sentinel over the reef five miles from shore. He kept going for another few minutes and slowed. Working the controls on the screen, he adjusted the radar and studied the screen, starting with the marks east and west of his location. The Bahamas were to the south, and he doubted Hawk had reason to cross into international waters, especially with a hostage aboard, and Marathon was to the north. If he was there, the radar would be useless.