Chapter 18

We stuck around for two more days but it was increasingly evident that Simonov had slipped through the dragnet and was probably already back in the Ukraine.

I made sure to get the contact information for the various teams involved. There might come a time when I need the support again and they would know I was good for the charges too. Luis was glad to hear that things had turned out well and reported that he hadn’t seen even the smallest sign that there was danger down there in the keys. He was going to turn down the heat and only keep a few on, just in case.

The rest of the summer was less stressful. I traveled with Jake for two more weeks before going home again, still feeling that itch between my shoulder blades. It was good to be home though, sleeping with the beautiful Cam in my own bed again was a real pleasure.

I still had a month left of summer, so we got the E² stocked up and decided to sail around the Gulf, stopping where we would, playing and enjoying the free time. Cam would have to take a couple of short trips into San Antonio for the Charity, but we could pull in and dock for a couple of days to do that.

We launched on July second, cruising up the gulf side of the state and anchoring off of Tampa on the fourth to watch the fireworks. The spot we chose had several hundred boats of all sizes, most anchored individually but there were several rafts forming as well. Lot of folks had chosen to watch the fireworks from offshore, some even firing their own right off the back of their boats!

This was the life! I was up on the flybridge and I was stretched out with Cam on the benches. We both had a drink, I had a beer and she had a glass of wine, and we had snacks too.

Dean was down on the main deck with Kathy, a divorcee he had been dating back home. He was technically still on light duty so I told him to invite someone. She could stay for a few days, a few weeks, whatever worked. If she wanted to cut the visit short or had a set time, we would put her on a plane home at the nearest airport.

Deb, on the other hand, refused to even consider it. She was more than happy to move to Key West and had even managed to get an invite to a local bar that was known for the higher than usual lesbian concentration, as she laughingly put it. She insisted that it would wait until we got back from our boat trip. For now, she was enjoying the trip and staying alert. She was the one on duty and took her job seriously.

The fireworks were fun and the sounds of the other boats around us, the parties and the good cheer just added to the experience. None of us got drunk but we were feeling no pain as we crashed for the night, locking everything up tight since the perimeter sensors could only dial it down to five yards and the other boaters were almost certain to stumble in that close as they left. Still, we set it and went to bed, hoping for few wakeup calls.

Surprisingly, it worked! I had set the alarm so it rang in the master cabin and only got one wake up. A pontoon party boat had slipped its anchor and was drifting too close for comfort. Scattered about the deck, most laying on flotation mattresses, were a half-dozen partiers who were passed out.

I watched for a moment, hoping one would wake up. When that didn’t work, I bit the bullet and grabbed a big plastic tumbler from the kitchen, topped it off with water and doused the closest of them, a mere five or six feet away by this time.

“Hey! What the fuck, man? Why ... whoa! We are close, huh? Yeah, sorry, dude. Let me get the motor started.” the guy grumbled, quickly realizing what had happened. He got the motor going and, with the help of my mast-mounted spotlight, made his way to a buoy where he could tie up. With a wave in my direction, he shut down again and collapsed on his mattress. I turned off the light, sure he was already asleep, and went back to bed myself!

In the morning, I was up first and letting Cam sleep in. Dean and Kathy were still snuggled up, I assumed, since their cabin door was closed and Deb was snoring on a padded bench in the main salon. I bypassed her on my way to the main bridge and took a look at my screens.

There were only a dozen boats left around me, but another hundred or so floating around within ten miles. I didn’t even bother with the long-range radar, not this close to land. The weather radar showed clear skies, so did the weather reports on the weather channels.

While everyone was still sleeping, I took a walk around the boat, checking the rigging since we haven’t used the sails yet. While I was checking everything from the winches to the davits with the awesome Christ Craft, I started thinking. About the only thing I had to do this month, besides get some sun and have some fun, was to test out how fast this boat was, now that I had dropped nine tons!

Panama City was about two hundred and seventy-five miles away. The E²‘s top speed, with a good wind, had been about twenty - twenty-two knots before the discovery of the gold. Considering the engines were both making more than twice the horsepower over stock, this boat should fly if you added wings.

The trip would have taken, under ideal conditions, about nine hours or so as the E² sat before. I had no idea how fast I could make it with the new setup and that was going to be a fun test.

I was sipping coffee on the flybridge, watching the sun come up over Tampa and enjoying the quiet morning and the sounds of the waves, when Cam came out dressed only in a flimsy, and quite transparent, nightie. She crawled up in my lap and snuggled up, her cheek on my chest and pulling my arms around her.

“You okay, baby?” I whispered into her hair.

She nodded, curling up even smaller. “I love you and I love being on the boat with you. It is like when we first met. I felt safe for the first time in my life.” she said quietly, letting out a big sigh.

Deb came out, her eyebrow raising and, when she saw me watching her, she blushed a bit and actually giggled. She took a seat next to me, her own drink in hand, and let out a sigh of her own.

“Never been on a boat bigger than a rowboat. This is really nice. Hell, the boat is a damn yacht, but just being out here now? Fantastic.”

“It really is. Though I forgot how damned many stairs there are on this rust bucket.” Dean said, stumping up on to the bridge with his cane. Kathy followed, the cute little blonde had a big smile on her face and was carrying two cups. She took a good look at Cam’s damn near naked butt and winked at me. Dean pretended he didn’t see anything wrong, but I caught him turning to take a second look.

Kathy was wearing a bikini that barely covered more than what Cam was wearing while Deb was wearing a one-piece with shorts over the bottom. Both of them seemed in a great mood and Deb immediately began asking if Kathy had any experience on boats. Neither seemed upset or uncomfortable with how Cam was dressed and Dean certainly wasn’t, but he was pretty unflappable, so why was I uncomfortable with it?

Doing what I do best, I simply avoided the issue. I finished my coffee and, carefully, carried Cam back downstairs to our cabin to get dressed.

While Cam showered, I threw on some clean shorts and a tank top and went up to give the boat another once over before I began preparations to leave. When that was complete, I opened the vents to let out any fuel vapor that had gathered over night and started the big engines, letting them warm up before reeling in the anchors.

Slowly, barely more than idling, I moved us further into the gulf and away from the other anchored party boats. By the time we were clear of obstructions and ready to open it up, there wasn’t enough wind to matter this morning so it was going to be all motor.

On the intercom, I punched up ship-wide and asked, “Everyone take a moment to secure any loose items. We are going on a speed run to test how much difference nine tons makes to these monster engines! Unless you tell me otherwise, I will assume that I can open her up in ten minutes. Feel free to join me up here if you like. Oh, ... Captain out!” I finished, laughing at the absurdity of declaring myself captain on a pleasure boat.

Cam evidently thought it was funny too. She came up to the flybridge with a plate full of fried egg sandwiches and a carafe of juice for our breakfast, giggling and throwing me a salute as soon as she had a hand free.

“Any other orders, Oh captain, my captain?”

“Kiss your captain, wench!” I demanded, and that was, of course, when Deb and Kathy appeared.

“If you are manhandling the crew, who is driving this wreck?” Deb asked, scowling at me.

“Not I, said the littlest bear!” Kathy answered with a laugh, swinging her hip to bump Deb as she walked past. She peered over the side and was waving to Dean, I suppose, since he was the only one not up here.

“Is he not coming up for the test?”

“Nope. He was muttering something about the Titanic not having enough lifeboats and how he was going to be first. Not sure what that was about, but he is sitting on the deck of that cool wood boat hanging from the back.” Kathy said, turning her head to grin at me before looking below again.

I looked down as well and she was right. He had gotten a folding chair and placed it on the flat area of the bow, ahead of the pilot house on my beautifully restored, 1957 Chris Craft Sea Skiff.

“If that chair scratches the deck, you will be sanding it on your hands and knees, you coward! Where are your floatie wings?” I called down, making funny faces at the man below.

He did it again. Okay, I know he was wounded just two weeks ago, but so was I. You don’t see me flipping people off! The man has no sense of decorum.

“Okay then. I am going to start us moving. The seas are nice and flat, there is virtually no wind and we should be able to get a good test. Here is what I need from everyone.” I said, making sure they knew I was being serious now.

“The engines on this boat are twice the size it came with, and it makes about three times the power. On top of that, this boat had almost nine tons of dead weight in the hull that we got rid of and the boat is sitting more than two feet higher in the water, even with full tanks and auxiliary tanks! I expect a hell of a lot faster ride, but I will need your eyes and ears.”

“I will be watching our travel path and all the gauges and instruments. What I need from each of you is to listen and watch for anything odd. Weird noises, a vibration in the deck, the smell of something burning or any odd smell at all, like fuel or gas. This is a yacht, not a speed boat, but she can handle quite a bit. We’re going to try and find out how much.”

Cam looked excited, grinning at me. She knew how much I had been looking forward to this and she trusted me. Deb looked dubious, but she had no lack of guts, so she nodded and started looking around. Kathy looked unsure but took her cue from the other ladies.

I shifted the transmissions into gear and eased the throttle forward, calling out percentages and speed as I slowly sped up.

Ten percent, fifteen percent, twenty-five percent! I held it there for a few minutes to make sure the engines were warm and everything looked good. The speed was showing as nineteen knots at twenty-five percent! That was faster than seventy-five percent power before!

Faster now, fifty percent power, sixty, seventy and hold ... The speed was climbing fast, lagging behind the power output as the motors overcame the drag of the water against the hull and pushed the heavy mass faster. When the speed leveled off again, we were doing forty-two knots at seventy percent power! Forty-two!

I left it there for ten minutes, waiting and watching, even leaving the helm long enough to lean out, try to hear any creaks or cracks from the hulls. The Chief had told me they were super strong, but I still had to check, right?

I leaned over the rear of the flybridge and Dean was not in his chair. Turning back to the controls, I flipped one screen to cameras and scrolled through. Dean was at the main bridge, watching the gauges with fascination.

I keyed the intercom. “Dean, keep an eye on it, will you? The course is set for Panama Beach, all conditions nominal. I am going below to check below decks, especially the bilges, make sure everything is okay. After a half hour at seventy, I want to try an emergency pull up to eighty-five for ten minutes, then we’ll back off and figure out best cruising speed to fuel usage numbers.”

“No problem, Jack. This ... this is fucking flying, buddy. Unreal!”

Down on the lowest decks, even opening the hatch to the bilge, it was loud but everything looked great. No weird vibrations or noises, no smells or smoke. I was totally stoked!

Back up on the flybridge, I told Dean to hold on to his Speedo as I raised the power, slowly, to eighty-five percent. I watched the speed indicator creep up and ... hold at forty-six knots. I might be able to squeeze a few more out of the big girl, but it wasn’t worth stressing the engines or her hull over. She was already more than a hundred percent faster than her pre-gold best, even with a heavy wind at her back last time!

I backed her off to seventy-five percent and checked the fuel calculations. She was doing forty-three and a half pretty steadily, and the fuel usage was showing on the indicator as 146GPH. I slowed the motors to seventy percent again, this time paying attention to the fuel flow gauges, and we slowed quickly to forty-two again and the fuel was indicating 135GPH, so that was eleven gallons per hour difference for five percent!

I played with speeds and power percentages, but really, it didn’t drop a whole lot below 130 until I was below thirty knots. I would have to make it a point to talk to the Chief, see if I could understand that a little better. Seemed counter intuitive somehow.

Still, my best fuel consumption with a good cruising speed seemed to be right at forty knots and sixty-seven percent power where the fuel rate of 132GPH. At that rate, I could run the boat for thirty-eight hours straight. I could drop down to thirty knots and increase my motor range by twenty-five hours or add almost seventy hours at twenty knots and extending the cruising range to more than two thousand miles!

I had thought that what I was carrying was sufficient but, without wind power, my range was much lower than I had thought. Ah well, better to make those mistakes and find out now, while I was learning, than to make bad assumptions and find out later when I was in trouble!

I wondered about adding a larger primary fuel bladder. Maybe I could cut down on the size of the fresh water bladder since there was a huge desalinization system, not to mention the king-sized water purification setup for drinking and cooking. Another thousand gallons of diesel would be two and a half tons but I had lost just over nine tons for the gold. A thousand gallons would give me another seven and a half hours at cruising speed.

Anyway, something to think about later. For right now, I was enjoying the wind in my face! It would take us about six hours at this speed to reach our destination. I had an idea in the back of my mind to visit my island. I had the coordinates but when I had looked it up before, the path was not a clear one.

I would have to go north west of Panama City to Destin, cross the break between Henderson Beach and Okaloosa Island, and head in to the Choctawhatchee Bay. Once in the bay, it was back east again for about ten miles until I reached what the map called Point Wellington. My island was a small, undeveloped one-hundred and twenty-acre bit of land at one end of the bay.

There was another route from Panama City, from Saint Andrew Bay into Grand Lagoon and West Bay, then through West Bay River that ran right to my island. I wasn’t sure how passable it was and if I needed any clearance ahead of time. It would be worth checking on though, and I could continue our trip out the other way without having to backtrack!

In any case, we would be docking at the Bay Point Marina for the night. We could take the Rucki out into town and have dinner ashore. There were five of us and four scooters, so Cam could ride with me or not, whichever flipped her skirt tonight. She loved the little bikes as much as I did but sometimes, especially if she wanted a drink, she would snuggle up behind me.

The Ruckus scooters, Rucki as Dean still insisted calling them, were multiplying like rabbits. I had four onboard the E
², two onboard the Emancipation Key and two more at the house in Key West! Dean had decided that these were cool too and had been on a modifying kick. The ones on the boats were mostly stock with a few goodies like bigger fuel tanks and off-road tires / suspension. The ones at the house were souped-up, lowered, body work done, more lights, fancy paint and stereo ... he was out of control.

He said it gave him something to do while I was at school. Our bikes were almost done, the two we were rebuilding. The tins were out to paint and then it was just down to final assembly. I was really looking forward to that but, while we were building, the Ruckus was a fun alternative for around the Keys.

Dean had claimed to have heard a rumor that Honda was not going to be exporting these to the US anymore based on lackluster sales numbers. People wanted cheaper liquor cycles. Dean, being the prepper at heart that he is, bought four replacement engines and so many spare parts that we could probably build all four into new scooters! Thank goodness for a large garage.

The day passed quickly, Dean and I taking four-hour shifts and we got to Panama City Beach a good hour before sundown. We slowed to a crawl for the entry into Saint Andrews Bay and took the first left, cruising up Lower Grand Lagoon to the Marina.

First things first, I made sure the good folks at the Marina would flush the gray water, fill the fuel and give the main deck a good wash. It should be pretty salt free, the weather being so calm today, but preventative maintenance is never a bad thing.

The ladies all got showered and Dean and I agreed, after much haggling, to wear trousers and light sports coats. I didn’t tell Cam this, but I would have worn one anyway, because I wanted to carry. Better she thinks she won an argument, it makes her happy.

Unloading the Rucki only took ten minutes, thanks to an ingenious crane system that Dean installed. It could be worked with one person, but two made it faster. We had three scooters on the dock in a snap, Cam deciding that she wanted to ride with me and Kathy with Dean. Deb teased us a bit, but actually seemed to like the little bikes.

Out of the marina and across the lower bay bridge, we headed for J. Michaels, a restaurant recommended by the Marina. It had the best rating in the area, though the Marina was quick to tell us that their own restaurant, currently closed for remodeling, would be the place to eat the next time we visited.

Dinner was awesome. We were out of the islands and into an area that felt more southern. Hell, if you listened to people south of Tampa, north Florida, especially the panhandle and Jacksonville, was really south Georgia. It was a truism that the further north you got in Florida, the further south you really were.

I had some breaded and deep-fried catfish, collard greens, hush puppies that were absolutely out of this world, some fantastic coleslaw and sweet tea by the gallon. Yes sir, I was in heaven! I made sure to get a couple dozen hushpuppies to go as well, the breakfast of kings!

We rode around a bit after dinner, but the mosquitos seemed to get worse the further we moved inland, so we called it a night and rode back to the Marina. They were skeptical of fueling our little scooters but filled a five-gallon can from the boat with no problems so, whatever!

We winched the Rucki back on board and stowed them in the outriggers. Dean had outdone himself there as well. Now there were perfectly sized compartments that cradled each Ruckus. No more propping them up and using a dozen cargo ties. Now you simply slid each one in place and the custom compartment cradled it perfectly. They even had heat-resistant paneling around all the parts that could be hot after a ride!

While Dean and I loaded the bikes, the ladies had gone inside. Once we were done, we exchanged a manly high-five and headed up the ladder, going to the first deck bar in the salon there. It was where we preferred to hang out, being smaller and cozier than the main deck salon.

At the top of the ladder, something caught my eye and I stopped, kneeling down like I was tying the lace on my deck shoe. Dean, behind me, knew better. I would never stop and block a ladder unless it was an emergency, it just wasn’t safe to block someone on a ladder when at sea.

I was fumbling with the laces as I scanned the big glass windows and sliding doors leading inside. Nothing. No ladies, no lights, not even ... that was it! No lights from the bridge displays. We were hooked to shore power so the displays should have been on the local television channels. It was automatic unless we shut them down. Someone had done just that.

“No lights, no movement, no TV.” I whispered back to Dean, hoping he understood. I couldn’t fiddle with my lace forever, so I stood back up, palming my G36 from my belt as I did so. I moved like I was going to continue up to the flybridge while Dean came up and headed for the salon door.

“Don’t move an inch.” The growling command came from above me! I looked up, kicking myself mentally for not even thinking about someone on the flybridge. Dean was at the salon door and it didn’t look as though he had heard. Above me, a face peered over the rail and a handgun, a long suppressor on the end of the barrel, was pointing in my direction. Not at me though, which was odd.

Dean went inside and I was alone out here with at least one, armed intruder. I was so fucked. An irreverent, and probably ill-advised thought popped into my mind. Was this what Darth Vader felt when Obi Wan claimed the high ground? I couldn’t help but grin at the idea.

“What are you smiling about?” came the growled question. “Get your ass back on the deck and back up. One wrong move, I will shoot you in the fucking head.”

I did as I was told, dropping down off of the one step I had climbed and backing up until my back was to the rail around the first deck. Just below where I was standing, and just a few feet away, was the deck of the Escape Clause, my little Chris Craft. I could easily drop over the rail and the Escape would give me cover or, I could drop over to the deck of the Escape so I had a shot at this guy.

I just needed a chance!

That chance came in the form of a gunshot, but I didn’t go over the rail after all. The way I had been standing on the bottom step of the ladder to the flybridge, and the way the light was coming from the marina, meant my right hand, with the Glock, had been in shadow and the guy in front of me had never noticed.

When a gunshot lit up the salon for a fraction of a second, my assailant turned his eyes to see what had happened. I had been concentrating on him, not my surroundings, so when he turned his head, I just shot him where he stood.

My training with Dean had impressed on me the need to be able to fire accurately, at short distances, from what he called the close retention position. The idea was to fire a round or three into a close assailant while putting distance between you and him (or them). As you put distance between you, you’re raising your pistol and firing as you do so, until you can line the sights up and put truly accurate fire on target. This method of close defense insured the bad guy was not grabbing your gun hand or arm when close.

I already had my Glock in my right hand. I was a tiny bit better left handed, but within a point or two in my competitions with Dean. I brought the barrel horizontal to the floor, centered on his body mass, and pulled the trigger.

I couldn’t back up, with my butt against the rail, but I could continue the motion and bring the pistol up. I fired again as my pistol reached my chest but didn’t need to fire a third time as I brought the pistol up to take a sight picture. The second round had entered through his neck and out through the back of his head.

Instead, my gun still up, I swiveled and looked for another target in the salon.

“Hold fire, Jack! All clear!” Came Dean’s voice.

Dean had entered the salon, his hand on his weapon beneath his coat, and had only taken one step when a man stepped out from behind the bar and told him to freeze. Dean did so, his eyes tracking the shadowy movement in the dark room, barely visible in what little light made it past the wall to his left.

The shape came closer, two or three steps until Dean could make him out more clearly. When the guy opened his mouth to speak, raising his gun, and Deb shot him in the temple, spraying bone and gray matter all over the wall near the internal ladder down to the main deck.

She, Cam and Kathy had been chatting and had been caught by surprise. The gunman shoved them all inside and over to a couch, promising that he would kill all of them if they made a sound. He had hidden behind the bar, his gun on the ladies, at least until Dean walked in. When he left the cover of the bar to approach Dean, Deb had all the time in the world to get her own gun out and get some revenge.

It took only ten minutes from top to bottom for us to be sure there were no more men on board.

Kathy surprised all of us. Cam had faced much worse than two gunmen, Dean was the grizzled old veteran, and I had seen enough that this was nothing special, but we didn’t know about Kathy.

When we turned the lights on and all turned to look at her, she rolled her eyes. “You guys still want a drink?” she asked, moving behind the bar and pouring herself some gin in a tall glass. I guess our staring at her was a bit too obvious.

“What? Dean, you know what I do for a living, and I spent eight years in the Army, two tours overseas.” she seemed to be scolding Dean and I will be damned if it wasn’t working. He actually looked guilty!

Ignoring him, she turned to the rest of us. “I am an ER Nurse. Did two tours in field hospitals in Iraq and Afghanistan. This shit ain’t new to me.” She took a sip of her drink, daring us to say anything.

Cam gave her a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and then stole her drink with a laugh.

“Do we pull out tonight, dump them at sea or do we wait around to see if anyone reported gunshots?” Deb asked, holstering her weapon. That action got Dean and I moving, doing the same thing. I made sure to reload first though, I only had seven rounds to play with and had fired twice!

I wanted to pull out, dump them, but if someone had heard and called the cops, what kind of excuse could I give?

“Dean, use your badge? This was an attack on a federal officer, see if you can get the marshals to take the report, the crime scene.” I thought out loud. I could almost see the wheels turning in Dean’s head as he slowly nodded.

“Let me make a call.”

While Dean was doing that, Deb was doing something that puzzled me at first. She had grabbed a pair of rubber gloves from the first aid kit and had two glasses from the bar. She was getting fingerprints! Brilliant!

While she did that, I got my own gloves from the kit and went through their pockets, piling everything to the side to go through when I was done. I even channeled my inner TV movie junkie and did things like checking the seams of their clothes, the heels of their shoes, looking for necklaces and rings, all the usual spy story things that solved the cases.

Yeah, nothing. One did have car keys with a paper tag that said “Hertz” on it. I told Deb that I was going up to the main parking lot to check for the car, see what it had in it, but she insisted I wait for Dean.

“He can stay here and protect Cam in case there is another one around. You are not going anywhere alone. I may not be sure of taking you hand to hand, but I can shoot you in the calf and slow you down.” she said, almost daring me to argue with her.

Nope. Not me. Not arguing with a woman who is armed. Well, not when she is right, anyway.

Dean came out of my office and told me that a helicopter from Jacksonville was coming, so was a helicopter from Pensacola since Jacksonville had loaned their cleanup slash crime scene team to Miami for a big bust there yesterday. He didn’t like the idea of us going out to find the car, but if there was anything to find, it was better to find it now before everyone else got here and muddied the scene.

The car was easy enough to find. At this time of the night, the day sailors and tourists had all gone home. The few cars left were for boats that were out and people who worked for the company. The alarm clicker on the key told us which car we wanted.

The car was a dark blue Dodge 300, the big sedan that looked like an upscale Charger. The inside was clean, just the rental agreement in the glovebox. I snagged that and popped the trunk.

Inside the trunk was a long case like a guitar travel case, a garment bag and a body. A portly man, vaguely Hispanic, though he was awfully gray looking and I couldn’t be sure. There was some dried blood pooled in his left ear, and his eyes, still open, were filled with blood. There had been a few drips from his nose and a little from his mouth, but he was overall in pretty good shape. I mean, except for being dead and all.