Phantoms Don’t Kill - chapter 3
I thanked Scott, finished sipping my scotch (no ice), told him my alias (Art) in case anyone asked and returned home. Time to slip off the grid for a bit and go fishing.
I put on a light gray long sleeve shirt so the ocean sun wouldn’t cook my Irish skin. A pair of comfortable lightweight pants, and a wide brim Tilley sailing hat finished off the outfit. I slipped my Airweight Chief’s Special into a belly band and headed for my pickup truck. I had just four hours of daylight left when I jumped in my truck and headed for Marathon Key.
Marathon Key had two things I needed. A mall with a theater and restaurant, and boat rental. After an hour drive, I parked at the mall, slipped my phone into the glove box, and set off on foot. Removing the GPS from your vehicle quickly raised red flags. So when necessary to use it for transportation, phantoms parked in places where the vehicle remaining parked for four or five hours would not be unusual. The restaurant and theater provided that cover.
I smell of salt air brought a smile to my face. I love the smell. After a short fifteen minute walk I came to a narrow road which took me to Tex’s Bait and Boat. A place where I could rent a small outboard skiff and fishing equipment. The man didn’t have good grid coverage in these out of the way places, and the small skiffs were one of the few motorized vehicles that did not carry GPS.
Tex was in a small room behind the counter. He came out as I entered and asked what he could do for me.
“I need a boat for the night, and a fishing rod and tackle for small water.”
“The boat is $75 for the day, but that includes a one full tank of gas. There are two six gallon tanks on board. I need a $200 deposit for it. The rod and tackle will be an additional $10, no additional deposit.” Tex recited the lines like he had done it hundreds of times and become completely bored by them.
I pulled cash from my pocket, paid the $285, and took the key to the padlock to unlock the boat. The boat was pretty much what you’d expect from a rental place. An aluminum boat that had more dents than you can imagine, paint that was fading and peeling, but solid and seaworthy. I checked the gas tanks and both were full. The 15 horsepower Evinrude fired up on the second pull and I was off. A little over two hours of daylight left, and about a half hour to my destination off of Pine Key.
The Key’s were a cooler than the mainland, and out on the water the ocean breeze was refreshing. I smelled the salt, soaked in the view, and headed to my destination. I’d memorized it, so as to leave no possible paper trail.
As I neared the location, the water became very shallow. There were few boats moving about in this shallow water, and I was able to ease about without drawing much attention. I pulled into the small bay where the GPS said the boat was located and there it was. A 44 foot go fast with lime green stripes sitting at anchor in the small bay. I coasted a respectful distance from the boat, and dropped anchor as if I was only interested in fishing. I threw a lure in the water and kicked back, looking as if I was ignoring the “Drifter”. In fact, I was listening for any signs of life.
After half an hour, I had detected no sound from the boat at all. I fired up the motor and eased over by the stern. “Hey, can I buy a bottle of water from you? I’ve run out.” Though I was braced for all kinds of reactions, I must admit the double barrel shotgun still caught me by surprise.
“I’m supposed to believe you just happened to wander into this of all inlets ’cause the fishing is good?” Said the blonde in a faded pink sweatshirt pointing the gun at my head. “You’re no fisherman, who are you and what do you want?”
She struck me as more scared than angry. Not quite the vibe I’d expect from someone that had just ripped off a boat. Not what I’d expect from someone who was part of a big time enterprise. Then I noticed her hair came to the collar. I took shot. “Pauline was worried about you.”
Her face changed in reaction to my comment. She clearly had not expected that comment. “Is she OK?” the blond asked.
“As far as I know. She was just worried about you.” I searched for another comment that would ease the tension. “Are you really twins?” I asked.
“Yeah. So you really spoke to my sister?”
I nodded. “She sought me out.”
“Why you?” she said as she raised the shotgun slightly.
“If I understand things correctly, we’re in the same line of work.” I said.
“Gimme your cell phone.” she said.
I smiled and shook my head. “Like I said, we’re in the same line of work.” No phantom would be in that situation with a cell phone. “That’s why I’m in this skiff. What are you doing aboard that beacon.”
She glanced out toward the opening of the bay and slowly lowered the gun. “I’ve been moving every day. I didn’t figure anyone would be able to find the GPS ID. How did you find it?”
“The manufacturers website isn’t as secure as it might be. So who are you hiding from? If I found you, then they might too.”
“Crap. I don’t know what to do. I’m running low on water and I’m out of food.” She said a bit shakily.
“Look. Jump in. Let’s get some space between us and this boat. You can fill me in, and we’ll work out a plan.” I motioned for her to step onto the swim platform and step aboard the skiff. She was still carrying the shotgun as she stepped aboard, setting it down low in the boat. She took a seat at the bow, I started the motor and headed toward the opening of the bay.
“Do you have a handgun on you?” I asked her. She shook her head no. “I have one. It’ll be hard to lay low with this, I guided the boat through a marshy area of the bay and tossed the shotgun over the side. It disappeared in the plant matter and silt. She nodded, understanding the move and realizing that she was not committed. Either I was her ally, or she was screwed.
The sun was just above the horizon as I eased out of the bay and headed for the shore of a nearby island. I was keeping the speed down, trying my best not to draw attention. We were about fifteen minutes out of the bay when I heard a boat in the distance coming fast. The pitch of the engines told me the throttles were hammered. The pitch of the engines rose and fell as the boat floated on what waves there were. The sound kept getting closer. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I saw another small inlet with brush tall enough to hide us. I turned the boat into the tiny inlet and killed the motor. About a minute went by, just long enough for our wake to dissipate, when the boat went by us. At least 40 feet long, with a radar tower on the back, traveling fast and kicking up spray. I eased a lure over the side to look like we were supposed to be there, and motioned for Kate to kick back and relax. We looked like your typical couple, the guy an avid fisherman and the girl riding along to catch some rays or at least some fresh salt air. Well, that was my hope anyway. Even in a faded pink sweatshirt she was stunning, not exactly the typical girlfriend hanging out while her boyfriend fished.
The throttles of the go fast boat dropped and the note of the engine dropped to a low burble barely audible in the distance.
But we heard the explosion. We instinctively looked at each other, as if we needed confirmation of what we just heard. We then heard the engines wind up again on the go fast, and listened as it returned the way that it came. I pulled in my lure and stowed the fishing rod. Once the sound of the go fast had faded, we eased out of the inlet. Looking back where “Drifter” had lay at anchor we say think black smoke rising. No need to verify the cause. What we had to do now was get as far away as possible as fast as possible. I switched on the boat’s running lights and headed for Marathon Key. Luckily we were three or four miles away from the smoke before the choppers flew overhead.
- the MuseTags: phantom
