could reach the deck of the larger ship by climbing on the T-top. He was about to make his move when he heard the cabin door open and saw the shadow of a man on the deck.
Climbing onto the neighbor’s dock to get a better look, he moved behind the cover of a large mangrove branch. From here he could see Ironhead walk back to the dock and cross to the path. He lost sight of him there, but the opening and closing of a car door told him where he was. A minute later, he emerged again, carrying several bags. He handed them off to Wallace, who waited on deck and returned to the car for another load.
The cabin was quiet now, and Mac wanted a better look. Quietly, he slid back onto the boat and climbed the stainless tubing supporting the T-top. He slid onto the fiberglass cover, carefully avoiding the GPS and VHF antennae. Mac reached out for the railing of the larger boat, missing by only a few inches. Using one of the mangrove branches, he pulled the small boat closer, gaining the height he needed, then released the branch, ducking when it snapped back. The boats started to separate again, the strain of their lines pulling them back to their original positions. Mac didn’t waste any time. He rose and vaulted the rail, then flattened himself on the deck, waiting. He looked around at the foredeck. The only forward-facing windows of the wheelhouse were dark, making him confident he had not been observed. Slowly he rose to his knees and crawled around the structure until he could see into the large rectangular cabin windows.
He was about to move closer for a better look when he froze. The cabin door opened, and he heard activity on deck. Slowly, he moved past the dark windows and saw three men standing with their backs to him on the starboard side. There was a large bundle between them, and Mac expected the worst.
“Bring the boom over,” Hawk ordered in a low voice. “Quietly.”
That’s odd , Mac thought. Why would they need a boom to dump the body?
“Gear up, Mike,” he said.
Ironhead pulled a scuba tank, buoyancy compensator, and regulator from a locker by the transom and expertly set up the gear. He slid into the straps of the vest and waited while Wallace sprayed the mask with defogger, rinsed it, and handed it to him. His experience showed again when he silently moved to the transom and rolled into the water with a small enough splash that it would have given an Olympic diver a top score.
He heard a motor whir and looked toward the boom, where Hawk was at the controls lowering the cable. Wallace wrapped the heavy wire around the package, snapping the hook around the standing line. Mac crept a step closer, almost to no-man’s-land, to get a better look when he saw a glint of silver just before Wallace sealed the bags with duct tape. Curious now, he watched as the boom lifted the package from the deck. Hawk manipulated the controls, moving the arm past the gunwale to extend over the water and then lowering the package into the canal.
They had done this before, Mac thought. They were too organized and quiet for this to be the first time, and he wondered what else was down there. The narrow canals were somewhat of an illusion. As wide as a street, they were deeper than one would expect. Years ago, before it was made illegal, the contractors had dynamited them and excavated huge trenches, using the rubble as fill for the houses now sitting adjacent to the water.
Over the years, Mac had dove in many of the canals to construct and repair the bridges connecting the small islands. He knew there could be fifteen or twenty feet below the waterline — plenty of depth for a well-concealed cache.
An unfamiliar noise came from inside the cabin, bringing his attention back to more important matters—the woman. He moved back behind the structure, watching as Hawk and Wallace repeated the process three more times. The boom was back in place, and Ironhead was aboard, stripping and storing the gear. A few minutes later, the men
Climbing onto the neighbor’s dock to get a better look, he moved behind the cover of a large mangrove branch. From here he could see Ironhead walk back to the dock and cross to the path. He lost sight of him there, but the opening and closing of a car door told him where he was. A minute later, he emerged again, carrying several bags. He handed them off to Wallace, who waited on deck and returned to the car for another load.
The cabin was quiet now, and Mac wanted a better look. Quietly, he slid back onto the boat and climbed the stainless tubing supporting the T-top. He slid onto the fiberglass cover, carefully avoiding the GPS and VHF antennae. Mac reached out for the railing of the larger boat, missing by only a few inches. Using one of the mangrove branches, he pulled the small boat closer, gaining the height he needed, then released the branch, ducking when it snapped back. The boats started to separate again, the strain of their lines pulling them back to their original positions. Mac didn’t waste any time. He rose and vaulted the rail, then flattened himself on the deck, waiting. He looked around at the foredeck. The only forward-facing windows of the wheelhouse were dark, making him confident he had not been observed. Slowly he rose to his knees and crawled around the structure until he could see into the large rectangular cabin windows.
He was about to move closer for a better look when he froze. The cabin door opened, and he heard activity on deck. Slowly, he moved past the dark windows and saw three men standing with their backs to him on the starboard side. There was a large bundle between them, and Mac expected the worst.
“Bring the boom over,” Hawk ordered in a low voice. “Quietly.”
That’s odd , Mac thought. Why would they need a boom to dump the body?
“Gear up, Mike,” he said.
Ironhead pulled a scuba tank, buoyancy compensator, and regulator from a locker by the transom and expertly set up the gear. He slid into the straps of the vest and waited while Wallace sprayed the mask with defogger, rinsed it, and handed it to him. His experience showed again when he silently moved to the transom and rolled into the water with a small enough splash that it would have given an Olympic diver a top score.
He heard a motor whir and looked toward the boom, where Hawk was at the controls lowering the cable. Wallace wrapped the heavy wire around the package, snapping the hook around the standing line. Mac crept a step closer, almost to no-man’s-land, to get a better look when he saw a glint of silver just before Wallace sealed the bags with duct tape. Curious now, he watched as the boom lifted the package from the deck. Hawk manipulated the controls, moving the arm past the gunwale to extend over the water and then lowering the package into the canal.
They had done this before, Mac thought. They were too organized and quiet for this to be the first time, and he wondered what else was down there. The narrow canals were somewhat of an illusion. As wide as a street, they were deeper than one would expect. Years ago, before it was made illegal, the contractors had dynamited them and excavated huge trenches, using the rubble as fill for the houses now sitting adjacent to the water.
Over the years, Mac had dove in many of the canals to construct and repair the bridges connecting the small islands. He knew there could be fifteen or twenty feet below the waterline — plenty of depth for a well-concealed cache.
An unfamiliar noise came from inside the cabin, bringing his attention back to more important matters—the woman. He moved back behind the structure, watching as Hawk and Wallace repeated the process three more times. The boom was back in place, and Ironhead was aboard, stripping and storing the gear. A few minutes later, the men
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