Atlantis

Chapter 20

“Permission to come aboard?” Matt asked Brother Bill, who waited aboard a sleek Wellcraft Sportsman fishing boat. The craft, a roomy twenty-footer with the most powerful engine one could get with that model, looked brand new. He hoped Bill would give him some time at the wheel.

Bill pursed his lips and his forehead crinkled. “I thought you were an Army man.”

“I am, or was. Why?”

“The way you talk. That, and you’re looking at my boat like you want to marry her.” His face split into a gap-toothed grin.

“Can you blame me? She’s a fine craft.”

“That she is. Can’t properly call her mine, though. The men’s club bought her for our fishing trips and the like.” He scratched his belly and his unfocused gaze ran from bow to stern. He seemed to remember himself, jerked back to full wakefulness, and invited the two men on board.

“Does she have a name?” Matt asked.

“We call her Domino.”

“Somebody must love pizza,” Joel said.

Bill grinned. “It was a compromise. Some of us wanted to call her Dominion, you know, for the dominion of the Lord, but others thought that wasn’t a fitting name for anything short of an aircraft carrier.”

A chill ran down Matt’s spine. It wasn’t confirmation of the connection between the church and the shadow organization, but it was close.

“I’ll say this much,” Joel began as Bill steered Domino toward deep water, “so far, this seems like my kind of men’s group. Most church groups are nothing but coffee and conversation. No offense.”

Bill waved the apology away with one beefy hand. “I’ve been in my share of those.”

To the west, the last rays of the setting sun colored the sky a blood red that faded to purple overhead and indigo to the east. Matt breathed the cool salt air and thought this would be a perfect night to wet a line and relax under the stars. If only they weren’t on duty.

When the scattered lights on shore were but a memory, Bill cut the engine and let Domino drift. “Time to fish.” He rubbed his hands together. “Should be a good night for it. Clear skies and calm water.” Three fishing rods sat in holders at the stern, and he picked one up, freed the hook, and cast the line into the water.

“Don’t you need bait?” Joel asked.

Bill paused. “That would look better, wouldn’t it?” He opened a cooler, shifted the cans of beer aside, and pulled out a container of frozen jumbo shrimp. “You two want to bait your hooks, or do you need daddy to do it for you?”

Matt forced a laugh, and he and Joel each picked up a rod, baited the hook, and cast it into the water.

“That’ll do for appearances in case the Coast Guard shows up.” Bill returned the bait to the cooler and handed each of them a beer. “Drink slow, fellows. We need to stay sharp.”

“What are we fishing for?” Matt asked.

“I’ll give you two guesses.” Bill took out a key, unlocked a large locker, and raised the lid. Inside lay three Colt AR-15 semi-automatic rifles.

“Sharks?” Joel guessed.

“Nope. Something much nastier. At least, some of them are.”

Matt felt another chill as Bill passed him a rifle. It felt like dead weight in his hands as he contemplated the implications.

“Now, you fellows know anything about marine radar?” He tapped a screen next to the wheel.

Matt nodded.

“Good. We’re going to cruise nice and slow-like. You keep an eye on the radar, especially for small targets. And I do mean targets.”

Joel glanced at the radar. “I expected something that would find schools of fish.”

“That’s what this does,” Bill said. “Only, the fish we want swim on the surface.” With that cryptic comment, he returned to the wheel and took the craft into deeper water.

“Tell me about your time in the Army,” Bill said after they’d cruised for an hour without catching a single fish or spotting a single boat.

“Not much to tell. I fought in Desert Storm, came home, got no help from the government when I got back. Been trying to make it ever since.”

“Government,” Bill spat. “At least you got a chance to put them Islamics in their places.”

Matt shrugged.

“How about you, Joel?”

“No military service for me. I don’t follow directions too well. I’ve mostly worked for private security firms. We’re really hoping our new business venture will pan out. I mean, who doesn’t like to shoot?”

“Too many people in Key West.” Bill grimaced and shifted in his seat. “If you do open a shooting range, though, I can promise you’ll get plenty of business from the men’s group.”

“I’ve noticed we don’t fit in with many of the locals,” Joel said. “But the men’s group seems different. You all seem to be the out-of-doors type, like us.”

“You two do much climbing? Caving?” Bill asked.

“Hell, yes,” Matt said truthfully. “Been doing it since I was a kid.”

“We’ve got a retreat coming up that the two of you just might like. Nothing’s firm, yet. We just got word from the home church a few hours ago. If you’re interested, I’ll talk to Franks, put in a good word for you.”

Just then, a blip appeared on the radar. Bill noticed it at the same time as Matt.

“We just might have a fish.”

He zeroed in on the blip on their radar and, minutes later, they came upon three dark-skinned men floating on an inner tube raft. They paddled with old planks, but stopped when they spotted Domino. The two groups of men gazed at one another in silence until Matt spoke up.

“What’s the plan? Turn them in to the Coast Guard?”

“Hell, no. You know what happens when we do that? They get processed and then turned over to their families in Miami or wherever. They never get sent back where they came from.”

“And they stay here either living off the government dole or stealing jobs from Americans.” Joel had managed to remain in character, while Matt fought to keep his dinner down. He’d killed men in his day, but never a cold-blooded execution.

“I’ll give you the first shot.” Bill said it as if he were bestowing upon Matt a great honor.

Matt thought fast. If he hesitated, he, at best, lost any chance of having his ticket punched to the men’s group’s inner circle. Worst case, he might rouse suspicion, thus putting the mission, and perhaps himself and Joel, into danger. But he couldn’t kill the men on the raft, who had noticed the rifles and were frantically, and uselessly, struggling to paddle their raft away.

“Take us a bit farther away. I like a challenge, and this isn’t it.”

Bill considered this. “How far?”

“Fifty yards is good considering the limited light. Daylight, I’d make it farther.” He made a show of examining his rifle while Bill took them farther away from the terrified refugees. He’d only delayed the inevitable for a few moments. He looked at Joel, who appeared completely at ease. “You aren’t going to try to talk me into giving you the first shot?”

“Not at this distance. You’re the marksman in the family.”

Matt shrugged. “It’s your call.” He didn’t dare emphasize the last word, lest Bill notice, but he raised his eyebrows as he spoke.

Joel winked. Message received.

“This far enough?” Bill asked, cutting Domino’s engine.

“It’ll do.” Heart racing, stomach churning, Matt took aim. He had to make this shot perfect. Gently, he squeezed the trigger and felt the rifle buck against his shoulder. The shot boomed like thunder in the quiet night, the muzzle flash like lightning, and the men on the raft cried out in fear.

“You missed.” Bill sounded disappointed.

“Look again. I hit what I was aiming at.””

Bill leaned across the rail and squinted. “You were trying to hit the inner tube? What for?”

“Just watch.” Matt took aim again, taking as much time as he dared, and fired again. Another inner tube exploded. By the time he’d taken out three of the inner tubes, both Bill and the refugees understood his plan. The men were now desperately trying to paddle their raft away.

Bill, for his part, laughed and cheered Matt on. “Listen to them squeal!”

The sounds, both the laughter and the cries, sickened Matt. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, letting the pain distract him. A few more shots and the refugees would be in the water, either to drown or be finished off by Bill or Matt.

Another shot, and now the men clung to the few inner tubes that remained inflated. Matt understood enough Spanish to understand they were now begging for their lives.

“That’s what you get!” Bill shouted. “This ain’t your country!”

Matt considered turning the rifle on Bill, knowing that doing so would ruin everything, but he would not kill these helpless men.

“Someone’s coming!” Joel barked, tapping on the radar screen. Sure enough, a boat was approaching. Joel’s call had gotten through.

“Damn! Cold be the Coast Guard.” Bill took the wheel and turned Domino toward shore. “Sorry you didn’t get to finish the job,” he said to Matt. “But it was a good time.”

“How’d you do it?” Matt whispered.

“Texted Tam and Corey. One of them must have pulled the right strings.”

“Good work.” Matt replaced his rifle in the locker, grabbed another beer, and took a seat. He took a drink and tried to relax, but couldn’t. They’d avoided the close call with the refugees, but what might they encounter on the so-called retreat? Right then, he keenly felt Maddock’s absence. Matt hadn’t realized just how much he relied on his friend’s leadership and calming presence. Now he was on his own. He supposed he’d better be prepared for anything.