“We’re going,” she corrected me. “But in order to get the cops to let us sneak in there, we’re going to need help. Someone in a powerful political position.”
I smiled and nodded.
One of my closest and oldest friends, Scott Cooper, was currently finishing up his term as a senator representing the state of Florida. We’d served together in the SEALs, he as our division commander, and we’d had each other’s backs through dozens of dangerous scrapes ever since. If there was a man on Earth who could help us, it was him. I just hoped that we could get ahold of him. He’d recently formed a covert fighting force that he’d been planning for years. It kept him busy, and he was always traveling around the Caribbean lately.
I tried his phone, and he picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Dodge,” he said. “I was wondering when I was going to get this call.”
Being a sitting senator and up to date on current affairs, he’d obviously already been informed of the situation.
“Ange and I are going, Scottie,” I said. “We’ve dealt with this Lynch character before. But we won’t be able to get anywhere near that compound without you.”
My old friend didn’t hesitate. He’d always been sharp-witted and decisive.
“I was just putting together a few people to send over and help,” he said. “You guys got the Cessna in Key West?”
“Fueled and ready,” Ange said, listening in.
“Good. Meet my guys at Homestead General Aviation Airport at zero hundred hours. The police aren’t moving on anything anytime soon, and that Lynch guy seems hunkered down at the moment. Best to go in late at night, when all his men are tired and the initial excitement has worn off for them. My guys will take you to the farm. I’ll handle the feds when you arrive.”
“Thanks, Scottie. We’ll be there.”
“Just be careful, all right? You know as well as anyone what lunatics like this are capable of. You’ve handled worse before, but just be aware that this guy’s probably got more than a few tricks up his sleeve.”
We spent the rest of the evening mentally preparing and doing recon work, learning everything we could about the alligator farm. We looked at hundreds of pictures of the place from various online review and social media sites. We also studied every inch of the map via the farm’s old downloadable pamphlet and examined the site using Google Maps.
It wasn’t a perfect place for a group of criminals to wage a police standoff, but it was close. There was only one road in or out of the center of the hundred-acre property. Most of the site was covered in forest and littered with swampland.
We studied and examined and brainstormed possible infiltration plans until 2200, when Jack and Isaac arrived. We told them what was going on after letting them in, but we didn’t have to. They’d heard everything on the news. It was a big story.
“The second I heard what was happening, I told Isaac we were gonna stay over at the Dodges’ again,” Jack said. “You sure you don’t need my help?”
Despite being a charter captain by trade and a genuine beach bum, Jack was a good guy to have around when things went south. He was also one of the best boat captains in the islands. But for where we were going and what we were doing, Ange and I both knew that just the two of us should go.
“Just one more week until summer vacation,” Scarlett beamed. “Then you’ll have no excuse but to take me along on these adventures.”
Ange and I exchanged glances. Adventures? Raiding an abandoned alligator farm littered with fully armed and angry white supremacists? Our daughter had a strange definition of the word adventure.
Ange and I grabbed a duffle bag full of our tactical clothes and night vision optics, as well as two hard cases. One housed her adjustable Lapua sniper rifle, and the other my M4 assault rifle.
We said our goodbyes, and everyone wished us luck as we headed downstairs and loaded into the Tacoma. Five minutes later, I pulled us into Tarpon Cove Marina, where we’d kept our amphibious Cessna 182 Skylane for the past few years. Keeping it so close to our house allowed us to fly across the Caribbean or the continental United States at the drop of a hat.
I loaded everything aboard while Ange performed her preflight checks and called into local ATCs. Once we were all set and the cove was clear of boat traffic, I untied the lines from the port pontoon, then jumped aboard. She soon had us in the air, lifting smoothly off the water and banking into a northeasterly course.
As the black blotches of land with scattered patches of lights grew smaller beneath us, I turned my attention to the horizon and thought about Lynch. It’d been a nice break to get his position, and the last thing I wanted to do was to let it go to waste. We’d finish it that night.
FORTY-TWO
Just under an hour after lifting out of Florida Bay, Ange brought us down onto the tarmac at Homestead General Aviation Airport, located three miles west of the city.
She taxied us to the far end in a row of various other privately owned small aircraft. After coming to a stop, she shut off the engine and we grabbed our duffle from the back and changed into our tactical gear in the cockpit. Black pants, waterproof boots, long-sleeved black shirts. We kept the vests off for the time being. Grabbing our weapons and night optics, we hopped out.
The air was hotter and more humid than on our island home. It was dark, a patch of clouds having swept
