Chapter Two
We pulled alongside the Falcon the next morning just as the orange glow of the sun was kissing the waters of the Atlantic. There was a light breeze, and the salt air was refreshing and just a little cool. February mornings in central Florida tend to be on the cool side. Dave and Lawrence boarded the Falcon with their briefcases, and Doc followed. We put the bumpers in place and tied off the lines to raft the two vessels together. I boarded the Falcon; Joe and Dimitri stayed on the Lisa B. The meeting was set for 9 a.m. Smitty and Wild Bill were below deck, and Mac was with Gus and the rest of us. We sat at the table behind the wheelhouse, making small talk. You could feel the tension as I slowly scanned the faces of the men on deck. I looked at Dave, and he seemed relaxed and confident. That gave me pause, and I said, “You don’t seem worried.”
“I’m not,” he replied, “I’m prepared!”
The confidence in his voice had a positive effect on the overall atmosphere on deck. As I smiled, I replied, “Good to know,” and sat back in my chair and began to relax a little myself. Wild Bill had come from below and was in the wheelhouse. At 8:45 a.m., he stuck his head out and said, “Master Chief, I’ve got them on the radar. Two vessels headed our way.”
Gus stood up, took the Bushnells out of their case, and began scanning the horizon south and west of our position. In a minute, he said, “Got ’em—a Coast Guard vessel and a cruiser, probably 15 minutes out.” He handed me the binoculars.
“Damn,” I said, “They sent out the cutter.” The Shrike was a coastal patrol boat, an 87-foot Marine Protector class vessel based at Port Canaveral.
Gus chuckled and said, “Guess these boys mean business.”
“Guess so,” Doc replied as he looked off into the distance.
The other boat turned out to be a 50-foot Sea Ray. On board was a representative from the state, a lawyer, and four others that I guessed were back-up for the two suits. Ten minutes after we spotted them, we were hailed by the Coast Guard, identifying themselves and informing us we would be boarded. Wild Bill responded in the affirmative and said he would relay that information to the captain.
Gus looked at me and said, “Showtime,” and grinned.
The cutter heaved to about 75 yards away. The cruiser dropped anchor 20 yards out. They both put inflatables in the water, and soon four Guardsmen were headed our way, followed by four men from the cruiser. We had put out the boarding ladder and were standing by. The Guardsmen came on board, led by a Lieutenant Junior Grade and two others, all armed; Gus greeted them as the vessel captain. The reps from the state quickly followed them. Both inflatables and their operators had moved away from the Falcon and were standing off about 20 feet, engines idling. They had obviously come loaded for bear as they began throwing paperwork on the table, saying this was for violation of that law, and this was for a violation of some other. The coupe de gras was a cease-and-desist order for all operations at the site, along with a writ for seizure of property, our boat, gear, and anything we had recovered from the wreck site.
Dave had listened patiently as the state reps, almost frothing at the mouth in their fervor, presented their case. When they had finished, he began verbally dissecting everything they had presented.
My attention was drawn away from the discussion around the table by two black dots in the air moving toward us, easy to spot in the cloudless sky. As they got closer, I could see two more dots directly below what I had identified as two approaching helicopters. What the hell, I thought. My mouth dropped open when I realized that what was suspended below the choppers were two RHIB’s (rigid hull inflatable boats) hanging on a tether. The sound of their approach had now gotten the attention of everyone on deck as heads turned in their direction. On cue, the choppers slowly descended until the boats rested on the surface, and the connecting tethers were released by men who had been on board during the flight. In less than 30 seconds from hitting the water, the boats had released and were heading full-speed toward us. Their approach was impressive; there was no noise from engines, and their black color scheme matched that of the helicopters that had delivered them. There were no discernable markings on either boats or choppers. As they approached, they split up, and one moved between the Sea Ray and us while the other headed for our boarding ladder. The boats looked to be about 27 feet in length, and there were six men on board each of the boats. All were dressed in black fatigues with black tactical gear and armed. I recognized the guns mounted on the boats just forward of the helm; they were M-134, six-barrel mini-guns. These were assault boats with fully armed assault teams that had just been dropped into the party!
Everyone was staring as the boat pulled up next to the ladder and the man in charge said in a loud voice, “Captain, request permission to come aboard.”
Gus replied, “Permission granted.” As the man boarded, the subdued patch with a rank of Lieutenant Colonel became visible, and the Guardsmen stood to attention as the Lieutenant snapped a formal salute.
The colonel returned it and said, “As you were, Lieutenant,” and the Guardsmen went to parade rest. The colonel then turned to Gus, extended his hand, and said, “Captain Falconeti?”
“That’s right, Colonel,” Gus replied and accepted his handshake.
“And Dr. Burnett,” he said as he turned to me with another extended hand, which I accepted.
“Colonel James Worthington, gentlemen.” His deep basso voice carried a tone of command
