Wood's Reach (22 page)

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I saw somewhere that you could make deadly weapons from this kind of stuff,” he said.

“Gimme that.” She reached for the pad. Tearing off a few pages, she started making tubes, one long one and one short one that fit around the longer one. Taking the elastic tie from her hair, she attached it to a slit in the longer tube. With the shorter section between her fingers, she slid the long piece through and while holding it, pulled back the hair tie. The smaller tube shot through.

“Nice, where’d you learn that trick?” he asked.

“What do you think we did all day at the CIA? Sit around and stare at data?” She put the sling down and started making what looked like little bullets. When she finished, she pulled back the smaller tube enough to allow one of the projectiles to sit in the end of the larger tube and released the trigger. The bullet flew out and hit the wall across the room.

“You could take someone’s eye out with that,” Mac said.

“Exactly. I’ve got a few more tricks just like it.” She grabbed the chart and started making a spear that, when completed, was hard enough to do some damage.

He was skeptical, but they had no choice. “Before we make a break for it, we need a plan,” Mac said. Just as he said it, they heard a boat cruise by. “Hear that?”

“Yeah, it’s a boat.”

“That’s our best shot. We are sitting over some prime yellowtail bottom. Sooner or later a fishing boat is going to anchor near here. All we have to do is wait until we hear a boat circling and we bang on the door, just like Hawk said,” Mac said.

“So far, so good. What happens then? I shoot their eyes out with this?” Alicia held up the paper gun.

“Honestly, I would scrap that one and just make a couple of blow guns. But, yeah,” Mac said, moving closer to the exterior bulkhead so he could hear if the boat was near.

A few minutes later, Alicia had two blow tubes and a dozen projectiles. Mac looked at the sword. It looked a little flimsy. “What if we reinforced that with the pencil?”

Alicia took it from him and started to rework it. She handed it back and tugged at the choker around her neck. “What about this?”

Mac moved toward her and examined the device. He would need tools to remove the collar, but the inside was what he was interested in. If he could insulate her from the shock, it would render the unit harmless. Working one finger around the inside of the collar, he felt for the probes. There were two—one on either side of her neck located by the carotid arteries. “I think this’ll work,” he said, taking a sheet of paper and folding it over and over until he had a one-inch strip several folds thick. He took this and wrapped it perpendicular to the collar, circling it several times before tearing a slit in either end and sticking them together.

She moved her neck around, clearly more uncomfortable than she had been before. “Would it be bad if I told you I was scared?”

Mac looked at her. “You know how far you’ve come since we first met. Running around the everglades in high heels, clutching a life preserver.”

She laughed. They were ready now, and just as he thought it, they heard a boat.

***

“What do you mean, you put a chip in him?” TJ asked.

“It’s a GPS device. We use them to track the turtles we release. Come on.” She led them through a door and into the hospital area. Around the corner there was a workroom with several computer stations. She sat at one and started typing.

TJ watched over her shoulder. She pulled a tag out of her lab coat and entered the number into a box on the screen. A long minute later, a flashing dot appeared, showing the location of the tag.

“Just past Coffins Patch,” TJ said after she zoomed in.

“Does that help?” she asked.

“It’s a place to start,” he said and then thought for a second, wondering what Alicia would do with this information. “Is there any way to track it in the field?”

“There’s an app for that,” she said.

He looked up, realizing he had no phone. “That’s going to be a problem,” he said and explained what happened. They both stared at the screen, watching the blinking dot. “They must be anchored out there.” He peered at the screen. “Looks like a couple of hundred feet of water.”

“Tell you what. Keep your VHF on sixteen and I’ll check on it every so often and let you know if the position changes.” She took a pad and wrote down the coordinates of the chip.

TJ thanked her, then left the hospital and ran to the boat. He called out on the way to Pamela and Cheqea, who were leaning over one of the turtle tanks, to meet them aboard. Climbing the stairs to the bridge, he shoved a sleeping Trufante to the side and started the engine. He was about to ask Trufante to get the lines, but he was still half-asleep, so TJ called down to Pamela. She helped Cheqea aboard, untied the lines, tossed them on deck, and stepped over the gunwale. As soon as her feet hit the fiberglass, he pulled away from the dock.

“Wha’s up, my man?” Trufante mumbled.

“You get into the old chief’s weed?” TJ asked.

“Mmmm. Maybe,” he said, laying his head against the bolster.

TJ ignored him. For the first time in days, he had some tangible information that might lead to Alicia. Restraining himself from pushing the throttle down until he was clear of the breakwater, he moved into open water at a fast idle and, once clear, accelerated toward the bridge.

“Turtle Hospital, Turtle Hospital, do you read? This is
Alicia’s Dream
, over,” he called out on channel sixteen, repeating it several times before he got a response.

“Roger. Go to seventy-two,” came the response.

He switched channels and confirmed that the chip was still in place. Pulling the coordinates from his pocket, he engaged the autopilot, entered them into the chart plotter, then hit the GOTO button. The path showed a straight line over land, the most direct route, but he ignored it, knowing it would adjust once he cleared the bridge. Once on the ocean side, they would be there in twenty minutes.

***

“So are we going to stand here or go do something about it?” Mel asked.

“Effin’ right, girlfriend. Give me a second, and let me get the keys to that bad boy,” Celia said, walking toward a small shack on the corner of the dock.

“That’s yours?” Mel asked when she returned.

“Shit, yeah. You think these freakin’ fools can run a business? It’s bad enough they think they’re captains because they can put a piece of dead fish on a hook. No, no, no.” She shook her finger in the air. “They work for me.” She jumped aboard the boat, and a minute later, one at a time the five engines started. “Think you could get the lines?” she called to Mel.

Working a boat was in Mel’s blood, and she untied the boat, instinctively knowing what effect the tide and wind would have on it. With one line slipped over the outside pile to keep the wind from blowing the boat into its neighbor and the other lines free, she called to Celia that they were ready. The boat started moving backwards into the lagoon, and Mel sensed when it had enough momentum to overcome the wind and released one end of the line. They were clear now, and she pulled the line towards her, leaving it in a neat coil on the deck. She went back to the cockpit, where Celia was juggling the throttles, reversing the port engine and using the forward momentum of the starboard engine to turn the boat.

“Looks like your old man taught you a thing or two,” Celia yelled over the scream of the five 200-hp engines.

“Something like that,” Mel said. “Where we going?”

“Thought we’d check out that old place of your dad’s. Word is, that’s where Mac’s been hanging out,” she said, pushing the throttles to their stops.

Instantly the boat pulled out of the water and was up on plane, running fifty knots, cutting easily through the backwater chop. Mel leaned against the padded rocket launcher behind them, having to admit it was exhilarating riding on a boat again—especially one this fast. She watched the familiar landmarks go by, and before she knew it, they were in the channel leading to Wood’s island.

“Watch that rock there and take her straight in,” Mel warned her as they approached. Celia pulled up, and the memories flooded back the minute her feet hit the sandy bottom. Taking a line to the single pile, she tied off the boat and waded to shore. “You coming?” she called back to Celia.

“Just got a pedi yesterday, and I freakin’ hate sand. You check it out. I’ll be here,” she called back. She turned on the VHF and called out over the static, “Going to listen in on my idiots. Always talkin’ trash to each other, bragging about what they’re catching and lying about where they are.”

Mel walked down the path, not knowing what to expect. She called out Mac’s name several times as she approached the house, but there was no answer. Her emotions got the better of her when she saw the burned-out remains, and tears welled in her eyes, but at the same time, she felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach that she knew was resolve. Collecting herself, she turned to the shed and opened the door. Hoping to find some kind of clue, she looked around. She saw his phone and picked it up. Holding it, she felt something—it was as if she was connected to him.

On the off chance that there were any recent calls or texts, she powered it up and scrolled through the screens. Nothing looked useful, just Trufante’s number and someone named Alicia. She set it down and left, finding nothing else that might help.

Without looking back, she walked toward the small beach, waded out, and pulled the line off the pile. “Nothing,” she said to Celia once she was back aboard. “Unless you know someone named Alicia.”

She was silent for a second. “
Alicia’s Dream
?”

Mel looked blankly at her.

“I just heard a boat called
Alicia’s Dream
hail the Turtle Hospital,” she said.

Mel picked up the mike. “
Alicia’s Dream, Alicia’s Dream
, this is … ” She looked at Celia for the name of their boat.

“
Horsepower from Hell
,” she said.

“
Alicia’s Dream
, this is
Horsepower from Hell
—over.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Mac heard an engine and moved closer to the bulkhead, placing his ear against the cold steel. The vibrations of the generator transferred through the hull, causing too much disturbance to hear, so he backed away. From the rumble of the motors, he could tell the boat he had heard had slowed, and he waited patiently to see if they were going to anchor. He sensed that time was becoming critical. Hawk was becoming impatient and volatile. Add in Ironhead’s apparent addiction, and he was looking at a recipe for disaster. They needed to get out of here before something set off one or both of the men.

A few minutes later, he could still hear the engine, but it sounded like the boat was sitting in one place, probably anchoring. They needed to act fast, before the fishermen could drop the hook, if they were to use them in the escape. Whether they would be willing or not was another matter, but at least they would be off the boat and hopefully out of range of the shock controller.

“Ready?”

She nodded, and he moved to the hinge side of the door, clutching the pen sword in his right hand. Alicia stood in the middle of the room with the laptop in front of her, carefully held in front of her body to conceal the blowgun. Everything was staged to look as if she was ready to share some new information with Hawk.

Mac took a breath and banged on the door. The sound of the boat outside was still there, and he heard footsteps coming toward them. It was time. A loud click sounded and the mechanism locking the door moved. He looked one more time at Alicia and caught her eye, trying to reassure her. On their last escapade, she had grown admirably, working through several fears and phobias on their trip through the Everglades to Cuba, but this would be one-on-one.

The hinges creaked as the door opened. “This better be good,” Wallace said.

Mac frowned, slightly disappointed that it wasn’t Ironhead. He had hoped to get revenge, but that would have to wait. Wallace would be easier to overpower. He clutched the weapon and moved backwards behind the door as it opened.

“Well? What do you have?”

Mac peered around the door, watching her.

Alicia stood her ground. “I will show it to Hawk,” she said.

“Then it better be real good,” Wallace said, scanning the room, looking for the other occupant. “He’s a bit on edge.”

Before he recognized the ambush, Alicia dropped the laptop to her side with her left hand, and with her right, she raised the blow gun to her mouth, inhaled, and blew the preloaded projectile at Wallace. Mac didn’t wait to see if it hit. Springing from behind the door, he grabbed the man around the neck, placing his left hand over his mouth. He aimed for Wallace’s shoulder but, not trusting the homemade knife, he wound up, and in that second, Wallace squirmed. The sword point went through his eye. The man screamed, the sound of his agony increasing as it echoed off the steel walls. He dropped to the floor and Mac quickly checked him for a weapon.

“Go,” Mac called to Alicia, who appeared frozen in place, the blowgun still in her hand, staring at the blood spurting from the man’s face. “Now,” Mac ordered, cursing that the plan was going sideways already. He took her arm, pushing her out of the doorway and into the small companionway. He had not intended to kill the man, but in case he was still alive, he paused to lock the door.

Forcing himself to slow down, he climbed the short flight of stairs to the main deck. The original plan had been to take down whoever came to get them and take their weapon. Unfortunately, Wallace had been unarmed.

Mac heard activity above. Hawk and Ironhead must have heard the scream. Their cover blown, Mac had a choice between retreating or facing two armed men. Climbing to the top step, he decided that forward was better than backward.

The water was their only chance to escape. “We’re going over the side. Just put your head down and go.” He knew Alicia had become a proficient diver in the time since he had met her. Starting to breathe deeply, he purged the carbon dioxide from his lungs, preparing to submerge. Catching her eye, he encouraged her to follow the same breathing pattern.