Contraband

35

Max and Tommy began the long, slow process of following every road that led to the sea on both sides of U.S. 1, between Key West and Marathon, driving south to north. This was a result of two factors: one, the lack of any calls requiring their attention, and two, desperation. They had nothing else to go on.

They started at eight AM, and by noon, they had reached Marathon, where they had lunch at a roadside joint before starting south.

“Well,” Tommy said, taking a sip of his soda, “I’ve seen more of the Keys this morning than I’ve seen in years of living here.”

“Me, too,” Max replied. “Let’s get started south. We’ll be home in time for you to eat Rosie’s supper.”

“She’ll like that,” Tommy said.

Two hours later they turned onto a paved street that soon became a dirt road, which ended in an open area at the end of a point of land that could be used as a landing strip. It was sheltered from the road by stunted trees, so they came upon it suddenly.

“This looks likely,” Tommy said. “Keep going, but slowly.”

Max pulled out into the area. Once past the trees, she could see that it was longer than wide, maybe 1,500 feet. “I don’t think Dixie would have any problem with setting down on something like this,” she said.

“Yeah, but what about taking off in an airplane with floats? He’d have a lot of drag to deal with.”

Max turned left and drove to the end of the field. “Look,” she said, pointing at the sea lapping against the land. “He could taxi right into the water here, then take off on the floats.”

“Let’s look at the other end,” Tommy said.

Max made a U-turn, having just enough room, and drove toward the northern end of the strip. As they approached the shoreline, the trees to their right gave way to a grassy area — some of which had been pressed down, making tracks. A silver Honda was parked at the rear of the area, hard against the trees. They got out of their car and walked around. Nothing inside.

“He would park the airplane here, then drive his car out to it, crank it up, taxi into the water, and have the whole Gulf of Mexico to take off. The airplane wouldn’t draw more than a few inches of water, so even a reef might not be an obstacle. Same thing for landing. He taxis out of the water and into this nook, making it invisible from shore.”

“He could even make it invisible from the air, if he spread camouflage netting over it. He’d have to fuel it somewhere, though.”

“He could bring a lot of jerry cans with him and use that,” Max said.

“That’s a lot of work, and a lot of time,” Tommy replied. “But fuel trucks have wheels and pumps; one could drive out here, pump it full, and drive away.”

“Especially at night,” Max said.

“You up for a stakeout?” Tommy asked. “I mean, the airplane isn’t here, so maybe it’s on a mission as we speak.”

“Sure, why not?”

“Tell you what, you take the first shift. I’ll drive back to Key West, have some supper, and bring yours back.”

“Okay,” Max said, glancing at her watch. “It’s after four, now. I should think he’d want to land in daylight, so we shouldn’t have to wait too long.” She got out of the car and took an emergency blanket and an umbrella from the trunk, and Tommy got into the driver’s seat and left her there.

Max walked over to the parking area, spread her blanket, opened the umbrella to keep the sun at bay, then stretched out. It didn’t take long for her to doze off.

Max was dreaming away when her reverie was interrupted by a buzzing noise. She sat up and folded the umbrella. The noise was from the sea, and it was getting louder. She dragged the blanket under a nearby tree and checked her watch. Six-twenty.

Shielding her eyes from the setting sun with her hand, Max peered out to sea, and shortly, something flew out of the sun. She stepped back under the trees and knelt there. She didn’t want to be spotted from the air. The pitch of the noise decreased as he descended for a landing. Seconds later, the engine was cut to idle; a moment or two later, the power was increased. Taxiing.

The airplane, much like the one that crashed at Fort Jeff, coasted to a stop next to the niche where she was hidden, and the engine was cut. There were various other noises, then she looked out and saw the tail of the airplane coming toward her, pushed by Dix with a tow bar. Keeping the airplane between them, she grabbed the blanket and umbrella, ran to the parked Honda, and hid behind it. She watched as he stowed the bar, got a zippered case from inside, then closed the door and started toward the car.

Max pulled her Glock from its holster, checked that she had one in the chamber, and held it in readiness.

When Dix was a few yards from the car, she stood up and leveled the gun at him. “Good evening, Dixie,” she said.

Dix reacted as if he had stepped into a nest of rattlesnakes.

“Calm down,” she said. “It’s only me. Lie down on the ground and put your hands behind your back.”

“Max, what the fuck are you doing here?” Dix asked.

“The question is: What the fuck are you doing here, Dixie?” She cuffed him, then kicked the briefcase away from him.

“Flying,” Dixie replied. “I fly for a living, you know.”

“You stay right there,” she said. She holstered her weapon, walked over to the airplane, opened the pilot’s door, then stepped onto the footrest so she could see the whole interior. Nothing there. She checked the rear luggage compartment: empty. Then she walked back to Dix.

“What are you looking for, Max?”

“Your cargo,” she said.

“What cargo?”

“Oh, you would have off-loaded that at sea,” she said, picking up the briefcase and unzipping it.

“That’s an illegal search,” Dix said. “You have a warrant?”

There was nothing inside but a notepad, some pens, some sunglasses, and a couple of magazines. Then Tommy arrived and parked the car next to the airplane.

“Hey,” he yelled. “Who we got here? Couldn’t be Dix, could it? Caught him red-handed?”

“Red-handed at what?” Dix asked. “Flying?”

Max turned him over and helped him to his feet, while Tommy had a look inside the airplane. “Clean as a hound’s tooth,” he said, closing the door.

“As I was saying,” Dix said, “caught me red-handed at what?”

“I think we’ll have the airplane and your car impounded,” Max said.

“You’ve got no grounds. I’ll sue your ass off,” Dix said.

Tommy sighed. “He has a point,” he said. “You may as well unhook him.”

As Dix drove away, Max said, “Well, we can always stake out the airplane, until he uses it again.”

“And learn what?” Tommy asked. “That he takes off empty and lands empty?”

“Maybe we’d better rethink,” Max replied.