Hunted in the Keys Read online

  Scott turned, walked back to the airboat and grabbed his backpack. “I’m sorry to cut the trip short, guys.”

  “All good, bro,” Jack said, “It was a good time. I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

  “Me too,” he replied.

  “Call us if you need help with anything,” I said. Then, glancing at the bald guy in the suit, I added, “Be careful.”

  He smiled, patted us both on the back, then moved swiftly for the helicopter. He and baldy met up with the other suit at the base of the stairs and the three of them climbed up and disappeared into the main section of the helicopter. Seconds later, the stairs rose up behind them and the blades roared back to life, thrusting the helicopter up into the air. Within a minute it was heading north, disappearing into the horizon.

  I looked over at Jack and he just laughed. “What the hell was that about?” he said.

  “Who knows. Looked pretty important.”

  Jack thought it over a moment as I shoved off the airboat, my boots sinking into the muddy water.

  “Well, I say we should head over to the Flamingo Marina for lunch,” he said. “Could be some nutcase has finally decided to drop a bomb. I’d hate to face the end of the world on an empty stomach.”

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  I took over the controls and maneuvered the airboat across Coot Bay and into Flamingo Canal, a long, narrow stretch of water that reaches all the way to the Flamingo Marina and the Everglades National Park Headquarters at the very bottom of Florida’s mainland. Though it was tempting to push her to her limits and see what she had speed wise, I knew that Manatees swam in those waters. The last thing I wanted was to hit one of the large, peaceful creatures, so I kept to about twenty knots and kept a watchful eye on the water ahead of us. Often referred to as sea cows, manatees have been an endangered species for ten years mainly due to accidents involving unobservant and reckless boaters.

  After navigating roughly three miles through the channel, I saw the two docks extending out along the boat ramp and the green metal roof of the Flamingo Marina’s main building. Slowing down, I navigated the airboat towards the docks and spotted an alligator sprawled out near the shore, its rough, jagged body baking in the afternoon sun. Near the middle of the water, I saw two Manatees swimming blissfully along the shore, bobbing their large, circular bodies up and down.

  I pulled the airboat up alongside a small, cypress planked dock then killed the engine as Jack tied us off. Moving down the dock towards the shore, we headed for the office which was a white building that housed the main office as well as a small restaurant. After checking in with the owner of the airboat, a man who’d Jack had known since he was young, we headed down a concrete path towards where the Baia was moored on one of the docks on the ocean side of the compound. Climbing aboard, we hosed down our muddy boots then changed into casual attire and headed over to the ranger station a few hundred feet away.

  The ranger station and visitor center were two rather large cement buildings, painted bright pink just like a flamingo. There used to be a restaurant there as well, but hurricanes Katrina and Wilma had done serious damage to part of the building just a few years ago in 2005. The decision had been made to never repair the restaurant and it still looked torn to hell to that day. Fortunately, the ranger station portion had been repaired.

  Jack and I walked up the stairs and entered through a pair of glass doors. A small bell rang as we walked inside and a friendly woman in her fifties greeted us behind a small desk.

  “What can I do for you gentleman?” She said. “You two looking for information on the area?”

  As I walked up to the counter I saw that it was mostly bare aside from a computer monitor and a donation jar with the black Wounded Warrior emblem printed on it. Glancing at her nameplate, I realized it was the same woman I’d talked to on the phone the day before when I’d reserved the moorage for the Baia.

  “Martha, it’s good to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand. “My name is Logan Dodge, and this is Jack Rubio.”

  As the three of us shook hands she said, “Ah, yes. The owner of the forty-eight Baia. It sure is a beautiful boat.”

  “Thanks. Look, we just got back from hunting pythons in the northern marshes of Whitewater. Is there any way you could get a warden on the line and have him head over this way? We just need to have them weighed and turned in.”

  “We’ve been in contact with Mitch Ross,” Jack said, mentioning the name of the head warden in the Everglades. “He knows that we’re here and should be expecting a call.”

  “I’m afraid Mitch is up north for a few days,” she said. “A family emergency brought him out of the state just this morning. But we have someone here filling in for him.” She reached for a radio lying on the desk in front of her. “Just give me a second and I’ll let him know to head over.”

  After calling the guy on her radio, she said he was on his way over and shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. We thanked her and used the time to walk back to the docks and haul the snakes from our airboat onto the shore using a large metal cart. Once there, we straightened them out on a patch of grass beside the ranger station and covered them with a large tarp. Being summertime, the place wasn’t very busy, but the few people walking around the grounds stared in awe at the massive snakes. Once the pythons were off, we grabbed the rest of our gear, loaded it onto the Baia and sprayed down the airboat with a nearby hose to clean off all of the snake blood.

  About ten minutes after talking to Martha a white, Park Ranger SUV with tinted windows and a green stripe down the side pulled into the driveway. A guy who looked like he was in his early twenties stepped out and walked over to us. He was wearing the typical Park Ranger outfit including khaki shorts and one of those round, goofy looking but functional hats.

  “I’m guessing you two are Mr. Rubio and Mr. Dodge?” the young man said, holding his hand out to us. He was a tall, skinny kid with short brown hair and a tanned baby face. “My name is Ryan Cody. I’m filling in for Mitch for a few days.”

  I looked him over briefly then said, “Good to meet you, Ryan. But go ahead and just call us Jack and Logan. Coast Guard, right?”

  He smiled and said, “Yea. How’d you know that?”

  “You’re hair’s too short to be a civilian and you look too well rested to be in the Navy,” I said with a laugh.

  Fortunately, he didn’t get offended and joined in with my laughter. “I’m guessing you’re Navy then.”

  “I was,” I replied. “Been a civvy for almost six years now.”

  “No kidding. And now you’re hunting pythons? What did you do in the Navy?”

  “I was Special Forces.”

  His eyes grew wide, “Wow, like a Navy SEAL?”

  “Yea, look we’ve got the pythons over here under this tarp.”

  “Right,” Ryan said as Jack and I led him over. “Mitch gave me the rundown on what I’m supposed to do.” Grabbing the end of the tarp, I lifted it up and wished I’d taken a video of his reaction.

  “Holy shit!” he said, his jaw dropping towards the ground. “You got these this morning?”

  “About thirty miles northeast of here,” Jack said. “Got a honey hole for the buggers at the top of Whitewater Bay.”

  Ryan looked over each snake and when he got to the big one I’d caught, he froze and shook his head. “This is unreal.” He stepped off the grass then ran over to the back of the station and into an old wooden shed. A moment later he appeared carrying a large object that I instantly realized was a fish scale. One of those big ones typically used to weigh marlin and tuna.

  Ryan used a tape measure on the biggest one and found that it was seventeen feet, two inches long. Coiling up its massive body, we lashed it to the scale and froze in awe as the old metal needle froze at two hundred and thirteen pounds. As Jack had predicted, it was the largest python ever captured in the Everglades. Uncoiling its body, Jack and I gathered beside it as Martha took a few pictures.

  “This wil
l be great for spreading awareness here,” she said. “Not a lot of Floridians know how bad the infestation is.”

  We measured and weighed the rest of the pythons, as was the protocol for hired hunters in the Everglades. When we were done, Ryan offered us seven hundred dollars for the morning’s work.

  “We can’t accept that,” I said, waving him off as he reached for a notebook to get our information to send us a check in the mail. “We do this for sport and to help protect the natural habitat here. Nothing more.”

  Ryan shrugged. “Are you guys sure? It’s a lot of money.”

  I thought it over for a moment and said, “How about this, you use the money to fill up that Baia moored over there and then throw whatever’s leftover in that donation jar on the counter.”

  Smiling, Ryan said, “You got it. And thanks for your generosity.”

  A moment later, as we gathered the snakes into plastic bags then hauled them into the back of Ryan’s SUV, Martha turned to Ryan and said, “You don’t recognize them, do you?”

  “Well, you do look a little familiar,” he said, looking at Jack and me. “I think I’ve seen your faces somewhere.”

  Jack and I looked at each other, confused as hell.

  “I don’t think we’ve ever met before, man,” Jack said.

  Martha grabbed a magazine that was rolled into her back pocket and handed it to Ryan. Looking at the cover, his eyes darted to us then back to the cover and then grew real wide as the light bulb switched on in his head. “Oh, you’re the guys that found the Aztec treasure! Well hot damn, let me at least buy you guys lunch over at the Flamingo. It’s the least I could do. Horace is cooking up something fierce, as usual.”

  I stepped towards Ryan, looked at the cover of the Florida Sun magazine, then snatched it from his hands instinctively. It was a picture of Jack, Sam, myself and Nazari on the balcony of Salty Pete’s standing in front of a golden statue of Montezuma. Jack leaned over my shoulder then gave out a long sigh.

  “Well,” Jack said, gathering his thoughts, “I guess it was only a matter of time before the story leaked out.”

  The caption under our photograph read: Local Heroes Discover Aztec Treasure! Opening the magazine to the story page, I saw more pictures which included a few of Neptune’s Table and the salvage vessel we’d used to haul the treasure up. Under the article’s title, I saw that it had been written by Harper Ridley, a journalist for the Keynoter out of Key West. We’d done our best to keep the whole story under wraps, utilizing Nazari’s wealth and power to help us, but apparently Harper had found a way to get it out.

  I smiled and shook my head. I liked Harper and always had. She’d been writing stories in the Keys since I was young, and I knew that she hadn’t meant to cause any trouble. But regardless of her intention, all I could think about was the massive target which had just been put on our backs. The fact of the matter was that Black Venom, the drug cartel we’d fought with over the Aztec treasure, was a massive organization. There was no doubt in my mind they would try to retaliate for what had happened. It was just a matter of when and how. Even with all of the recent government crackdowns in Mexico, there was still a good chance that they would try and pull something off against us.

  “Are you guys alright?” Ryan said. “I think it’s a pretty good picture if you ask me.”

  I grinned then glanced over at the Flamingo, trying to take my mind off the story. We’d been able to smell the food since we pulled into the bay and took Ryan up on his offer for lunch. It being too hot and humid for the patio, we ate inside and enjoyed some of the best food I’ve ever had. Horace even had a unique special, barbequed alligator. I’d never liked the taste of gator much when I was young, but Ryan insisted and combined with the Swamp Sauce he’d cooked it in, it actually tasted really good.

  When we finished we walked back over to the Baia and prepared to shove off. Ryan got one of the dock hands to fill up my gas tank, though it was already well over half full, then helped me untie the mooring lines and said, “Say, Logan, you think you could teach me a thing or two? I’m a survival technician and part of helicopter rescue squad, just on temporary duty here before I head back to my permanent station in Key West. I’m supposed to go to self-defense school in a few months and I’d like to show up prepared if I can.”

  “Sure. Small world. I’ve got a house there and I keep my boat moored at the Conch Marina. Just stop by sometime and I’m sure you’ll catch me. I’m at slip twenty-four.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  I jumped aboard the Baia then turned back to Ryan. “Ryan, you mind if I have that magazine?”

  “Sure, dude,” he replied, pulling it from his pocket and handing it to me over the transom. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Hopefully, I’ll see you again soon.”

  I smiled and nodded as I rolled up the magazine and slipped it into my cargo shorts pocket. Stepping into the cockpit I started up the Baia’s massive twin six hundred horsepower engines and eased her away from the old dock. Within a few minutes I had her out in the open water of the Gulf, heading South.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  We cruised at a leisurely thirty knots for the first hour or so, not in any sort of hurry as we sipped on a few Paradise Sunset beers and enjoyed the warm tropical wind and sunshine. It was a special brew that had been a favorite of both of our fathers before they’d passed away. They were brewed right in Key West at Keys Disease Brewery and although the small establishment had retired that particular brew years earlier, a little green had convinced them to bring it back. As I took a few swigs of the ice-cold liquid, I nodded and thought that it was hands down the smoothest brew I’d ever had.

  As we drank and continued South along the upper keys, Jack and I took turns reading the article about the Aztec treasure.

  “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing, bro,” Jack said after reading the last paragraph. He was leaning back on the white, half-moon cushioned seat with the small table beside me. “I mean, it’s not like Marco didn’t know who we were. I’m sure he’d already relayed information to the rest of the group back in Mexico. Maybe they’ve just given up on their work here.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. But I knew that big organizations like Black Venom liked to hold a grudge. Deep down, I knew that one day they’d try and exact their revenge on us, one way or another.

  “Heard anything from Scott?”

  I grabbed my smartphone from my backpack on the deck beside me but saw that I’d just received one message since I’d last checked it and it was from Sam.

  “I’ll give him a call later,” I said. The truth was I was just as curious as Jack was about what could be happening. I knew that being a senator and all, Scott had to deal with a lot of important issues. But having a helicopter pick him up in the middle of the Everglades? I couldn’t imagine them doing that unless something serious had happened.

  The message from Sam, a marine biology professor at Florida State who’d been a huge help in our finding of the Aztec treasure, was short and sweet, just seeing how I was doing. We’d been dating for the past four months and though she occasionally visited her home, she spent most of her time in Key West with me. I replied that everything was great and told her I’d be home in a couple of hours. I couldn’t help but smile as I typed the message. It was just the effect she had on me, I guess.

  After killing my first beer, I grabbed another from the large Yeti cooler behind my seat. Snatching another for Jack as well, I handed it to him and we popped the tops then clinked the necks together and smiled as we sat back in our cushioned chairs and looked out over the beautiful blue horizon ahead of us.

  “You know,” Jack said while tilting his body forward and setting his bare feet on the cooler. “I’ve been thinking that this boat of yours really needs a name, bro.”

  I laughed and thought it over for a moment. The truth was he was right. Back when I’d purchased the Baia from the previous owner, a retired surgeon who’d sold it to sail the world with
his wife, he’d painted over the old name and I’d yet to do anything except leave the hull blank. The fact was I hadn’t really given it much thought and the few ideas that had managed to wiggle their way into my mind I’d quickly discarded as either too unoriginal or too ridiculous.

  After a few moments, I shrugged and said, “Any ideas?”

  Looking out over the water, his lips contorted into a smile and he said, “Well, I was just thinking about that day we were being chased by Black Venom over by Neptune’s Table. How you weaved in and out of gunfire and made it through Sierra Reef at over forty knots.” Taking another sip of beer, he smiled and added, “What do you think about Dodging Bullets?”

  I thought it over for a moment, running it over in my head and imagining it stenciled onto the dark silver hull. “Dodging Bullets,” I said, liking the way that it sounded. “I like it.” Then I chuckled and added, “But you’re forgetting that a few of those rounds struck the aft end of the hull. It cost me a small fortune to get them fixed.”

  He nodded, “Well, I didn’t say you should name it Dodging all Bullets, did I?” Then joined in with my laughter and leaned back into the chair. “I’ll call Gus and have him get a painter over to the marina as soon as possible.”

  I held my beer up in the breezy air and said, “To Dodging Bullets.” Then Jack and I clinked our beers together and took a few long pulls.

  It was just after 1400 when we reached the lower keys and it was a warm, clear day out on the water. Relishing in the fresh sea air, I pushed down on the throttles and quickly brought the boat up to forty-five knots, maintaining that speed until we rounded Fleming Key and entered Man of War Harbor. Easing on the throttles, I motored us slowly past the Key West Yacht Club and into Conch Marina, passing by rows of assorted speedboats and sailboats. Summertime is the slow season in the Keys, so a lot of the slips were empty. This is due to the intense heat of the tropical summer, which routinely raises the mercury above the ninety-degree mark. And it’s also due to hurricanes, starting with Tropical Storm Cristobal, which made landfall in Wilmington, NC, and Hurricane Dolly which killed one person in the panhandle at the end of July. Fortunately, the only effect each had on the Keys was stronger winds than usual, making time out on the water difficult for a few days.