Authors: Steven Becker
Wood's Harbor (27 page)
“Wait,” Alicia put a hand on his shoulder, “let me do this. I can get more information than you can. If you guys go in there looking like this, no one’s going to talk to you.”
Mac nodded and relaxed his hold on the door handle. “You’re right.” He sat back in the seat with the air-conditioner blowing on his face and waited for Alicia to return.
Less than a minute later, she ran from the building. He opened his window and was ready to get out when she ran past him, opened the back door and got in. “That’s him!”
Mac followed her pointed finger to the small twin-engine plane pulling onto the runway. The Cessna was still on the taxiway, about to make its turn at the eastern end of the runway.
“Take the car and try to cut him off,” he yelled at Trufante, who slid behind the wheel as he got out. A water truck was parked twenty feet away, its engine running the pump to fill its tank from the hydrant next to it. Mac raced to the truck, skidding to a stop just long enough to disconnect the hose, then ran to the driver’s door and jumped in. He jammed the truck into gear, and dragging the hose behind him, headed to the far end of the runway.
He could hear the pilot increase the RPMs of the engines and watched the plane shimmy back and forth as he braked, building power for take-off. Mac cut the wheel, turning hard to make the sharp turn from the frontage road to the runway. Two-thirds down the tarmac, he stopped the truck, jumped out and ran for the hose. The plane was moving down the runway, picking up speed as it approached. Mac closed the valve at the end of the hose and went for the control panel on the truck. He turned the pump on full, hoping there was enough water in the tank to stop the plane. The hose bucked as it pressurized and he ran towards the end, dodging the line as it swung towards him. Filled with water, it stopped moving and he grabbed the nozzle and opened the valve. High pressure water blew from the nozzle. He clamped the hose between his legs and aimed towards the grass.
He waited, spraying the half-dead grass, not showing his intentions until it was too late for the pilot to turn. Finally, when the plane was fifty feet from him, he turned the full pressure of the water on it. The plane swerved and skidded sideways as the pilot lost visibility and fought to control the craft on the slick runway. One of the engines cut out, probably from the water, and the plane spun on the tarmac, coasting to a stop on the grass.
Mac closed the nozzle, set the hose down and ran for the passenger door. The pilot already had his door open and was half way out of the plane, but he was of no concern.
He reached the plane and climbed the strut. Before he could reach the door, Davies opened the hatch, slamming the thin metal into him in an effort to dislodge him from the plane, but the door was too light to do any damage. Mac took the opportunity to slide down the strut and lean over backwards, grabbing Davies in a grip between his legs. With anger built from a week of hell, he squeezed and pulled the man from the plane, flipped him, releasing the grip with his legs at the apex, watching as Davies body slammed into the hot tarmac.
He walked past the growing crowd of people surrounding the body, barely casting a glance at Davies and walked to the car.
THIRTY FOUR
Mac felt uneasy and a little scared that the Sheriff had posted a guard, but he walked through the door of the hospital ready to face whatever lay in his way. His resolve took him past the admittance counter and to the elevator. As he waited, he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to be confronted, but the up arrow lit and the doors opened. He moved to the side and then entered after a nurse wheeled out a man in a wheelchair. One more obstacle stood in his way and he breathed out. No one was waiting for him outside the elevator, in the hall or at Mel’s door. He entered her room and paused. White coats were clustered around the bed. His hopes fell.
A nurse brushed past him with a tray and he was about to ask what was going on, but thought better of it. The group worked frantically around the body on the bed. Mac stood glued to the window, watching, until suddenly they stopped. His stomach dropped, feeling powerless to do anything. Two doctors left the group and exited the room. There was something about their demeanor that he didn’t understand. He looked back in the room, his eyes drawn to the signal on the heart monitor. Instead of the flatline he expected, it bounced up and down.
“How is she?” he asked the doctor, who he recognized from the ethics committee.
“She’s out of the coma and reacting to treatment,” he said and turned to go, but paused. “Thanks to you. That DC lawyer and his phony doctor almost had us pull the plug.”
“Can I see her?”
“Go on in. I don’t think she is coherent enough to recognize you, but she’s strong. It might take a little time, but I expect she will recover.”
Mac thanked him, tentatively walked into the room and went towards the bed. The nurses were fussing over her IV bag and sensors, but they moved aside to let him approach. He went to the side of the bed, feeling out of place and not knowing what to do. Her hand lay beside her body and he picked it up and looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, but the breathing tube was gone. A spark went through him as he felt pressure on his hand. He looked down and her fingers were moving, trying to grasp his. He gently squeezed back and thought he saw a smile cross her face.
He stayed with her until a nurse tapped his shoulder, indicating it was time to leave. He squeezed her hand one more time before moving out of the way and left the room, feeling unnatural, like he was walking on a cloud, the adrenaline of the last week draining with every step.
He walked out of the hospital, wondering what was next when an ambulance pulled up and shut off the lights and siren. He re-entered reality when the back door popped open, the EMTs jumped down and slid the stretcher out, expertly opening the carriage and dropping the wheels. Two men ran out of the hospital and helped the medics wheel the stretcher in. Mac looked down at the body and saw Bradley Davies, eyes open, looking back at him. Mac didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.
The ambulance driver closed the doors and pulled to the side, leaving a space for the sheriff’s car that had just pulled in to park. Mac kept walking but heard the sheriff call for him to stop. At some point he had to face him.
“You got lucky this time, Travis. That young-un really is CIA.”
Mac stood there facing him, waiting for him to finish.
“I got my eye on you: best watch your step.”
***
Mac parked his new, beat up pickup, in front of the dive shop and went towards the source of the music. It had been an up-and-down few weeks bouncing back and forth between Miami, where it seemed like he had spent a lifetime. First a suspect, and later a witness testifying to Norm’s escapades, then back to Marathon to be with Mel as she recovered. Alicia had been instrumental in getting him back on his feet, after first bailing herself out of trouble. His boat, where he now lived, had been returned and sat at his dock. He hated staring at the wreck of the house, but fortunately it was covered by insurance and would soon be rebuilt.
“Yo, Mac!” TJ called from the bridge. “Check out the front end.”
Mac waved to him and Alicia, who emerged from behind TJ, and walked to the bow where he inspected the repair. A freshly painted jagged red line traced the repair, like a badge of honor. He gave TJ a thumbs up and walked back to the stern, tossed his gear bag over the gunwale and hopped on board, where he was met with a bear hug from Trufante.
“How’s Mel?” the Cajun asked.
“Doing good. They expect to release her any time.” Mac took the offered beer.
Mac, Alicia and TJ went up the ladder to the bridge while Trufante tossed the lines to the dock. The boat inched away from the pilings and turned towards the canal and open water.
“No life jacket?” Mac asked.
“I thought you said I was boat-worthy now.” She laughed. “TJ’s teaching me how to dive too.”
They stood together on the bridge as the boat came up on plane and headed to the reef. Twenty minutes later, TJ pulled back on the throttles and yelled at Trufante to throw a buoy. He skillfully circled the marker, checking the depth finder to verify the contour of the bottom was right, and pulled forward into the current before calling to Trufante to throw the anchor. The boat settled back as he paid out line and stopped right by the buoy.
Mac had spent countless hours underwater, but most of it was work. He had done little recreational diving over the years and he experienced the thrill of the crystal clear water and colorful fish as if for the first time. He had no purpose other than to enjoy the dive. TJ was several feet away, running Alicia through the safety procedures required for certification. She had her mask entirely off and he watched her put it back in place, tilt her head back and clear the water. He could see the smile in her eyes when she finished the routine and TJ nodded and led them over the reef. They were diving one of TJ’s secret spots right on the edge of Pennekamp State Park, an underwater reserve off Key Largo. Mac was amazed at the numbers and size of the fish, especially the snapper and grouper, who somehow knew they were protected here. He floated over the coral formations, admiring them as he followed TJ and Alicia. It had seemed short, but TJ signaled for them to surface. He checked his new watch and noticed it had been almost forty minutes.
Back on board, they sat back and let the sun dry the water from their bodies.
Trufante broke the silence. “Y’all got some kind of private club going on down there. Come on up and bring me a beer.”
They gathered around the helm. “So I heard Davies is out of the hospital and back in jail,” Mac said, relaying the information one of the nurses had shared with him. “Don’t expect it’ll be one of those country club places this time. But somehow that guy always lands on his feet. Don’t think we’ve heard the last of him.”
“Son of a bitch has more lives than me,” Trufante said.
Mac checked his watch. “It’s been an hour. Ready to get wet?”
I want to extend a special thanks to my fellow Florida Keys author Wayne Stinnett for the use of his characters and places. Wayne and I released our first books weeks apart and unknowingly made our main characters neighbors. It only made sense, since they lived in the same place around the same time that they would know each other. It has been a lot of fun working Jesse, Rusty and the Anchor into the book.
Check out Mac and Wood in Wayne’s latest novel:
Fallen Honor
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While tarpon fishing in the backcountry of the Florida Keys, Mac Travis discovers a plot to drill for oil in the pristine waters.
After his life is threatened he teams up with his long time friend and mentor, Wood, to uncover a plot that leads to the top echelons of power in Washington DC. An action packed short story featuring underwater and boating scenes
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