Gold in the Keys Read online

  A young Jamaican boy ran through the shallows of the crashing waves, meeting me before I could reach the shoreline. His lean body jumped wildly when he laid eyes on the grouper I was now holding in my hand.

  “Mista Dodge! Mista Dodge!” the young boy exclaimed excitedly. “You have caught a great fish today. My papa will be pleased to cook it for you.”

  I held the grouper out, offering it to the boy. “Give my regards to your father, Jethro.”

  “I will.” He grabbed hold of the fish, carrying its massive body as best as his tiny frame could. “He’ll have it cooked in no time. Thank you, Mista Dodge.”

  “You know where I’ll be.” I patted him on the back, and he smiled at me before running the fish proudly towards the shore. A few other kids came out from the palm trees lining the beach to help him carry it to his father’s restaurant. One of them ran over to me, and I handed him the bag of lobster that hung over my shoulder.

  Moving up the beach a few hundred feet, I made my way down a stone path lined on both sides with palm trees and short green grass. I rinsed down my gear and took a quick shower using an outdoor spigot, then toweled off and walked barefoot to my favorite place on the island. Right where the green grass met the white sand, there was a hammock strapped between two palms, overlooking the turquoise water of Santa Martha Bay. I grabbed hold of the fabric, plopped down and let out a long, satisfied sigh as the warm breeze blew against my face.

  After a few minutes, one of the resort’s waiters approached me, returning soon after with two mojitos. I grabbed one of them from the small bamboo table beside the hammock and brought the cold glass to my mouth for a sip as I watched the waves crash over the shore. After three months of work in the hills of Colombia, this was just what I needed. Fresh Caribbean air, blue skies above crystal-clear ocean and a chilled drink in my hand. It would be nice to be away from the action for a while. To kick back and relax and catch up on some diving.

  I looked out over the water and watched as boats sailed in and out of Santa Martha Bay. Watched as they sailed out into the horizon and vanished into the endless blue, carried by the same breeze that played the palm leaves over my head. There’s something about the ocean and the crashing waves that always makes me think about things.

  The Colombia job had been a dangerous one, filled with unexpected attacks sparked by loose alliances. I’d known of the potential dangers before accepting, but it had paid well. Eight years in Naval Special Operations and another five as a gun for hire had given me a set of skills unique among the general population. Skills that governments and organizations were willing to pay substantially for.

  I’d never shied away from danger before, and I liked the freedom that being a private contractor offered. Truth was, I wouldn’t mind this life forever. But at thirty-one, I guessed it might be time to settle down soon. To get out of the mercenary game and get a normal job. I’d been tempted to before, but I always ended up missing what I do too much to leave it all behind. No matter what I do, I always find the action and I always end up in the water—just the way my life’s been since I was young.

  I first went scuba diving with my dad when I was seven. He was stationed in the Middle East and took me down to see a shipwreck in the Red Sea. I remember everything about that day. I was nervous at first; the BCD was constricting and the tank strapped onto my back was heavy, making it difficult to stand. But once I dropped back into the water, it all went away. My heart raced as I broke through the surface and took a hesitant breath. Breathing underwater for the first time is a life-changing experience, or at least it was for me. Being able to roam free in the world beneath the waves, admiring all the sea life and exploring the shipwreck without having to resurface for over an hour was the greatest thing I’d ever known at seven. Needless to say, I was hooked.

  I dove with my dad every chance I got. We explored sites all over the world together. Exotic places like Iceland, Greece, Australia, Indonesia and of course the Caribbean. I was PADI Open Water Certified at fifteen and certified as a Master Diver during my senior year of high school. Whatever I’ve done, wherever I’ve traveled to, I’ve always tried to get below the water and explore as much as I can.

  Curacao has great diving and a good nightlife but also has places like Pearl Beach, where I can have an entire waterfront almost completely to myself and still be close enough to town. I’d visited here often to see my dad after he’d retired and bought a condo here, and now that he’s gone, I stop by a few times a year to check on the place and enjoy the scenery. He told me in his will to sell it, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to bring myself to.

  “Finally back, huh?” a familiar voice said. Turning my head, I watched as Angelina approached my hammock. She was a sight to behold. At five ten and with brilliant blond hair and fiery blue eyes, Angelina Fox looked more like a supermodel than a mercenary. She’d come with me to Curacao to get away from the fighting and relax, if only for a little while. “If it was anyone else, I’d have sent a search party,” she continued in her faint Swedish accent.

  I gave her my best smile as she stood beside me, dark aviator sunglasses covering most of her face. Unlike every other time I’d seen her since we’d arrived three days earlier, she wasn’t dressed in a bikini or short shorts, but pants and a long shirt.

  “Ange—aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? What’s with the clothes? Heading back into the mix already?”

  She nodded. “Got a job offer I couldn’t pass up. You gonna be okay here without me?”

  “You know I won’t. But if you must go, I guess I’ll just have to enjoy this view alone. Where are you off to so soon?”

  “Cuba.”

  “Cuba? What kind of job is it?”

  “It’s a security gig.”

  “Personal?” I grinned. “You’re going back to babysitting, huh?”

  She threw her palms in the air. “I go where the money is. Highest bidder. You know that.”

  Angelina and I had first met when I’d left the Navy and started out as a gun for hire. We’d been hired for the same jobs multiple times since and had saved each other on more than one occasion. She’d been with the Brazilian Special Operations Command and was one of the deadliest snipers in the world. The kind of person you want watching your back in a nasty situation. She kept her body in incredible shape and, despite her innocent looks, she could and would kick your ass if given a reason. We’d tried dating before, but our lifestyles didn’t exactly allow it to work out well. Afterward, we became friends with occasional benefits and had been that way ever since.

  Grabbing hold of my second mojito, I held it up to her. “At least stay for a drink. I have fresh fish on the way. What’s one more night of fun gonna hurt?”

  She laughed, then shook her head. “I wish I could, Logan, but I have a flight to catch.” Leaning over my hammock, she ran her hand through my dark brown hair and pressed her soft red lips against my cheek.

  “Your Colt’s in the back of my rental,” I said as she stood. “Keys are on the counter.”

  “Already grabbed it while you were swimming.”

  I gave a soft laugh and shook my head. “Of course you did.”

  She smiled, then grabbed the other mojito and slammed it back, leaving only the ice cubes behind as she set the glass on the table beside my hammock. “Try and stay out of trouble.”

  “Trouble? I’ve got nothing but beaching on my mind for at least a month.”

  She chuckled. “Heard that before. I bet you don’t last a week.”

  I rolled my legs over, sitting my body up, and pushed up my sunglasses. “Good luck, Ange,” I said, looking into her blue eyes.

  “You too, Logan.” She grinned and walked away from the beach, back towards the resort.

  I slid my sunglasses back over my eyes and fell back into the hammock. A few minutes later, Jethro appeared with a refill on my drink and a plate full of some of the fish I’d caught, blackened to perfection over open flame. I ate the fresh fish while lounging in the ha
mmock and looking out over the blue horizon, savoring every bite and thinking the entire time that nothing beat fresh seafood. When I finished, I washed it all down with the mojito, then dropped my head back and closed my eyes. I took in a deep breath of the fresh air, then let it all out, my body relaxing as I swayed in the tropical breeze.

  Having fallen asleep, I woke up just as the sun was dropping below the horizon, fading from view in infinite variations of reds and yellows. Reaching towards the table beside me, I bumped my smartphone, which illuminated to life, revealing that I’d received a message. It was strange, because I’d synchronized my phone to my laptop, a habit I’d formed to better enjoy myself whenever I didn’t want to be disturbed. The only way I could receive a message directly to my phone would be if one of my contacts sent it, and I didn’t have very many contacts. I grabbed the phone and shielded my eyes from the sun so I could read it.

  Heard your job’s up and you’re off the grid. It’s been too long since we’ve caught up. I’ll be in Argentina for a few more days. There’s great diving here, as you know, and we could go to the Khyber for dinner. Hope to see you, old friend.

  The message caught me off guard for more than one reason. The first being that it was from Scott Cooper, someone I hadn’t seen or heard from in a while. Back in the Navy, he’d been the division officer for years before I showed up to the team. We’d butted heads at first, but our friendship had come about due to our common love of the ocean. We even took a few trips to the Bahamas and one to his home state of Florida, where we spent three days diving off Key West. But it had been over a year since I’d seen him.

  The other reason the message caught me off guard was its contents. I had to read it over a few times, but the message was clear. Years ago we’d been on an undercover mission in Kuwait. Knowing that our phones were tapped, we’d lied about our location, saying that we were hiding out over in a restaurant called Khyber. That was a long time ago, but seeing Scott’s message took me back there in an instant. I didn’t know what Scott was up to, but I did know that he sure as hell wasn’t in Argentina and that he was up to something bigger than just sightseeing. It was clear that wherever he really was and whatever he was doing, he felt his phone might’ve been compromised.

  I replied, letting him know that I would fly out as soon as I could and that I was looking forward to seeing him. A moment later, my phone vibrated to life.

  Flight to Buenos Aires at 0900. Saddle up.

  Saddle up was what we used to say in the SEALs while we gathered our gear for a mission. Scott must have expected some kind of trouble. I checked the clock on my phone and saw that it was just after seven in the evening. It looked like my relaxing tropical getaway would have to wait. I smiled as I thought about Ange and how she had been right about me not being able to last a week here. Though, in my defense, it wasn’t exactly my fault.

  Another hour passed, and I sat swaying in the Caribbean breeze, wondering what Scott might be up to. I’d thought that he no longer did this kind of thing. He’d been out of the Navy for a while, but instead of going into contracting, he’d put his degrees to work and started a career in politics. He’d risen fast and had been elected as a US senator representing Florida two years ago. I didn’t understand what kind of problem he could possibly have that he would need me for.

  When the sun completely disappeared, I debated spending the evening in the hammock. It was warm and incredibly comfortable, but I’d made that mistake before, and my body had felt the wrath of the bugs for days. Instead, I stumbled back towards my room just down the beach a few hundred feet and up a stone path. I opened the sliding glass door, then shut it behind me and collapsed onto the king-sized bed.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  I woke up naturally at zero six hundred, slipped into my shorts and took a run down the beach, watching the sunrise over the water. Being my last day on the island, I wanted to enjoy one last taste of it before having to leave. I made it the three miles to Rocky Point, then turned around and kicked into high gear for the run back to Pearl Beach. When I made it back, my lungs were screaming, my heart pounding, and a layer of sweat covered my body. I’d always loved the way my body felt after a nice, long run, especially in the morning. To cool off, I ran into the ocean and dove headfirst into the crashing waves.

  I toweled off, then grabbed a quick breakfast of toast, eggs and fresh pineapple as I headed back to the condo. I took a quick shower, got dressed, and packed up my things. I didn’t need much. Just a duffle I could throw over my shoulder. The rest of my things, including my guns, would stay there. If I needed weapons, I knew I could get them wherever it was I was going. The last thing I needed was to get arrested for bringing a firearm into a country illegally.

  I drove to Curacao International as fast as the Camaro I was driving could take me. I parked the car at the rental place and walked towards one of only three ticket counters in the airport. Grabbing my ID from my wallet, I handed it to the woman behind the desk. She smiled as she printed out my boarding pass and handed it to me.

  “Will you be checking your bag, sir?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She pointed to the security checkpoint. “Your flight has already begun boarding.”

  I thanked her and went through security. As I approached the gate, I looked at my watch and saw that it was eight fifty-two. The airline staff ushered me onto the terminal, closing the doors just a few minutes after I went through. Looking at my boarding pass, I saw that Scott had booked me first-class.

  The view from the window at takeoff was beautiful. The sky was clear, allowing me to see Bonaire before we reached five thousand feet. I settled in and enjoyed a screwdriver after takeoff, thinking that it was never too early in the day for orange juice. Before I put in my headphones to take a nap, I looked at my boarding pass again, this time looking at the destination for the first time. Mexico City. I guess the Khyber will just have to wait.

  The flight from Curacao to Mexico City took four hours, and after exiting the plane I went straight to the departure drop-off location, as it generally had far less traffic and I knew that that was where Scott would look for me. Yellow cabs lined one side of the road, intermixed with buses and shuttle vans. Mexico City International is a massive conglomerate of vehicles, people, and bright buildings intermixed with the sounds of car horns, police whistles and the distant taking off and landing of jumbo jets.

  I stood alongside the busy road, taking intermittent swigs from my water bottle as it was well over eighty degrees. A moment later, a four-door black Jeep Rubicon with off-road tires and a winch that was covered in mud drove up and idled next to the curb beside me. The driver’s door swung open, and Scott stepped out.

  It was difficult to imagine more badass crammed into one man than Scott Cooper. He could be doing anything. Like myself, he had the guts and combat ability to be hired by any contractor in the world. But unlike me, he had the intelligence to be a Rhodes Scholar and hold a major political office.

  He wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that he’d rolled up to his elbows. He smiled behind his dark-rimmed sunglasses, strode over and threw an arm over me.

  “Logan!” he said, pulling me in tight.

  He was just shorter than me at six foot one, and I figured I had about twenty pounds on him, but despite his new career behind a desk, I knew that he was still the same man he had always been. Scott Cooper, the man you didn’t want to compete against, whether it be in a gunfight or a chess match.

  “It’s good to see you, Scottie.”

  “You too,” he said, then loosened his hold. “I’m glad you could come. It’s been a long time.”

  “Over a year.”

  “That long?”

  “Back in Madrid,” I reminded him. “Time flies when you’re running a district.”

  He smiled. “Or fighting rebels in Colombia.”

  I shook my head. “Never a dull moment with that one. Got close to biting it a few times.”

  Scott opened the
back door of the Jeep and threw my duffle bag inside.

  “I doubt that,” he said. “Climb in and tell me all about it. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

  I opened the passenger door and hopped in. I noticed a rifle case wedged against the seat behind me and a pistol lodged into its holster resting on the center console. In the back, I saw two black bags half-covered by a Mexican-style blanket through the rearview mirror.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Sierra Gorda,” he said as he sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine. “It’s up in the mountains, a few hours north of here. I’ll tell you more about it once we get out of the city.”

  He drove the Jeep out of the airport and onto Mexico 57D, an eight-lane superhighway that connects Mexico City to the northern parts of Mexico and the United States. We spent the next hour catching up. He told me about life as a senator and how his wife and daughter were doing, and I told him about all the jobs I’d had since we’d last spoke. But our conversation soon turned to the old days in the Navy, like our conversations usually did. We talked about our missions and the soldiers we’d fought with. He was better at keeping tabs on them than I was, and I was glad to hear that most of them were doing pretty well.

  After a few hours, we exited the highway and took a back road. The landscape shifted quickly from buildings and houses to sporadic farmland and dense jungle. The old two-lane road soon gained elevation, weaving up into the mountains of Queretaro as we blared Grand Funk Railroad’s “We’re an American Band” through the speakers.

  After a few minutes, Scott turned down the volume and glanced over at me. “Do you remember that time in the Keys?”

  “Of course,” I said, knowing exactly which trip he was referring to. “Three days of raising hell in Key West. Diving and fishing all day and hitting the bars and clubs at night. We were living the dream.”