BY UNKNOWN MEANS by Doug Giacobbe

Author:Doug Giacobbe [Giacobbe, Doug]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Doug Giacobbe
Published: 2012-07-07T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Callaway awoke aboard the Orinoco Flow at about three in the afternoon. He had arrived at the dock at about 9:00 a.m., aching from head to toe from the bumpy ride home. A bit of whiskey helped sooth the pain and allowed him the sleep that he so needed. He showered and dressed, and began loading up for another run to Golgotha that evening.

He ran the Hewes over to the fuel dock, and filled up with fuel. Tonight Callaway would bring some other toys along to aid in his investigation. He carried a dive tank containing eighty cubic-feet of compressed air, along with an octopus regulator and buoyancy compensator to the Hewes. He put the three pieces of equipment together and secured the assembled dive equipment to left rear corner of the boat’s deck with a sliding strap and lock.

He would go fishing tonight, clad in a wetsuit instead of his usual cut-off shorts and t-shirt. He placed another weight belt, with extra weights attached, in the front deck storage compartment. He would need the additional pounds if the current was strong. All of this extra gear would make the Hewes heavy, and slow her down a bit. Callaway figured that if he was discovered by Drake’s men, he would just dump all the heavy stuff overboard, hit the nitrous “go” button, and scoot out of there, before he got shot.

Back on board, he decided to do one more thing while waiting for the darkness to come. He called Jorge Hidalgo. He had not spoken to his old partner since the bar confrontation. It would be a strange conversation, since Callaway could not tell Jorge that Carrie was a “good guy” or what she was doing on that unholy island.

Jorge answered the telephone after many rings, which told Callaway that he had either been working all night, or he had a new girlfriend.

“Hor-Hay!” Callaway screamed into the phone, pronouncing his friend’s name in exaggerated Spanish.

Jorge knew exactly who was on the other end, since Callaway was one of only a few gringos who addressed him that way.

“Mike, what are you doing, man?” he said in a very groggy voice. “You woke me up, you rich asshole.”

“It’s three in the afternoon, you lazy Julio, so wake up,” Callaway yelled. “Did you work last night, or did you get laid?”

“No, man, we were out chasing freighters all last night. We got a tip that some stuff was coming in. We took down two that were carrying coke, but the informant said there was a shit-load more that we must have missed.”

Callaway knew that this was not an unusual catch ratio, since the Port of Miami was the busiest cargo port in the country, with Port Everglades, just to the north in Fort Lauderdale, not far behind. The freighter traffic along the lower east coast of Florida was incredible.

Jorge sounded pretty down about this, but Callaway understood why. The dedicated men and woman of the Customs Service worked their asses off, for

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