A large boat, too large for the small bay, floated at anchor just out of earshot from the mangrove-lined shore. It was a pleasure craft, two stories of posh inner cabin and a flat deck on the stern. An array of high-tech geared decorated the crow’s nest roof. Guards were posted fore and aft. They were dressed like any deckhands might be in expensive Italian suits with their handguns only partially hidden. In the crow’s nest, the captain received a ping. Something approached. He radioed down to the inner cabin.
“They’re just around the corner,” the speaker next to the leather couch squawked. Cage, world-renowned arms dealer, looked at his assistant and nodded.
She clicked the call button. “Got it. Thanks.”
“Let’s get this over with quickly,” Cage said.
“Gladly,” his assistant answered. “The swamp does not agree with my complexion.” She swatted yet another bug on her shoulder.
Below the boat, two manatees lazily grazed on nearby sea grass. There appeared to be nothing remarkable about them. The guard posted on the large boat’s stern had registered their existence but failed to get a quality photo on his camera phone. Eventually, he’d given up and forgotten about them.
Which had made planting the device easy. Even as the anchor had dropped earlier that morning, the manatee had slowly glided under its bulk. Hidden in the craft’s shadow, he’d slowly paddled toward its hull. Inverting himself, he’d deftly flicked his tail onto the landward side of the boat, just above the water line. An amplifier stuck directly to the hull, pointed at an electronic ear hidden in the mangroves on shore. Without hurry, the manatee had slipped back under the hull and dropped back to the sea floor. He’d settled besides his partner and went back to unremarkably grazing.
A small craft buzzed into the bay. The manatee looked up to see the shadow of a little motorboat, maybe ten feet long, angle toward the larger craft’s stern. Swallowing a final mouthful of grass, he signaled to his partner. Once again, with the crew distracted, he slowly beat his tail, driving his oblong body toward the ship’s underside.
A mile down the shoreline, a speaker fizzed to life in an expertly built hide wedged between two mangrove trees. Two federal agents crammed inside adjusted the volume on their headphones.
“Couldn’t agree more with Sofia,” the field agent said to his boss. “I’ve got Anna Karenina in brail on my left leg.” He scratched at the array of bug bites beneath his pant leg.
“Shh,” his boss admonished. She twisted a few knobs on the machine and cursed its ancient bones. The sound was good enough, but not spectacular. Just as they heard the cabin door slide open, she hit record on the tablet connected to the receiver with a jerry-rigged wire and a great deal of hope.
Inside the cabin, Cage and Sofia stood. An older man dressed exactly like a tourist in Florida would dress – khaki pants, a hideous stripped polo and wide-brimmed hat – stepped into the air-conditioned cabin.
“Lito. So glad you could make it out here,” Sofia said, shaking the man’s hand.
“Yeah. Any particular reason you picked the backside of hell for this meeting?” Lito asked.
“Security,” she answered. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”
“A bug zapper, some SPF 1000 and one of those fancy portals to the Riviera.”
“I don’t think portals are real quite yet. Bourbon, however, very much is.”
Lito chuckled and nodded for the drink. “They can train dolphins to spy on Russian subs, but I can’t get out of Florida without a passport and a disgusting shirt.”
“It’s a mad world, Lito,” Cage said. “Let’s say you and I capitalize on that.”
“Yeah.” Lito flipped through a notebook and took a moment to decipher his labyrinthine coded writing. “You’ve got 18 pieces for me, yes?”
“Yes, of two types. Six medium-range PD rifles and 12 enchanted tomahawks.”
“The PD rifles are the-”
“Yes, traditional poison dart rifles,” Cage answered. “Each holds eight rounds, range is accurate to within 3 inches up to 40 yards, within 8 inches from 60 yards. Each comes with 160 rounds.”
Lito whistled his approval. “Already armed darts, I imagine?”
Sofia stepped in, glad to show her expertise. “Of course. The darts are armed with a proprietary concoction perfected over centuries by the soldiers of my people. It’s a mix of venom from local cottonmouth, coral and eastern diamondback snakes.”
“Sounds unpleasant.”
“It really is.”
“Your people? Lito asked. “I thought you were Italian?”
Sofia nodded. “Only half. My mother was Seminole. She left the Seminole capital for school in the States and met my father while studying abroad.”
Lito nodded. He scratched off the line about the rifles in his notebook. “And the tomahawks?”
“None are younger than 60 years, the oldest is 82. As is required, all were enchanted within the first hour of forging the blade. The enchantments were verified and, where necessary, strengthened by my guy just last week.” Sofia spoke with the confidence of a true expert.
“I thought only court shamans could enchant?” Lito asked.
“In the same way only lawyers can know the law? Or only doctors can hand out medicine?”
“Point taken,” Lito said. “All the same enchantment?”
Sofia shook her head. “Eight are de-coag blades, two are hallucination and two are sleep blades.”
“And the effects will last as long as the specs we-”
“Lito,” Cage said in the friendliest tone of warning he could manage.
“I’m serious,” the goofily dressed buyer continued. “When I send these things where they’re going to go, the guys using them are going to ask me. I can’t go in with vague guesses.”
“That’s all there is.” Sofia shrugged. “Couple centuries at this, and we still operate on ranges. It’s an inexact science. Might be twenty seconds, might be two hours. For what it’s worth, the de-coags and hallucinations are historically more potent, and therefore last longer, than the sleepers.”
“And it’s an impact trigger?”
“For the hallucinations and sleepers, yes.” Sofia mimicked a motion of throwing a tomahawk. “It’s gotta hit a solid surface at the right speed. If people need training, we can provide that at a very reasonable rate.”
Lito grinned. “I bet.”
Cage leaned forward. “Everything is as you requested. We can be ready to deliver in a few days. You have your paper in order?”
Lito dug a hand into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a wad of bills and dropped them on the table.
“That’s the 5 grand meeting fee. The other 125 grand can be delivered upon receipt and inspection of the gear.”
Neither Cage nor Sofia leaned in to touch the money. They were old pros.
“Then we have an agreement.”
“The abandoned airstrip outside Ocala. 2am on Tuesday of next week.” Cage rattled off the deal info quickly, eager to bring the matter to a close. “We will bring ourselves and 3 people, you will bring yourself and three people. One of them will have access to the weapons to evaluate their authenticity before money is exchanged.”
“That puts me at a numbers disadvantage,” Lito pointed out.
“Is that worth losing the business?” Sofia asked sharply. Lito looked at her for a long time with a level, unblinking look that was equal parts unsettling and comical.
“Nah,” he said finally. “I can deal.”
The three of them stood and shook hands. An agreeable deal had been reached.
Thirty seconds later, the manatee watched from just beneath the wide hull’s underside as the little launch pulled away from the bigger boat. It rumbled off to the bay’s entrance.
With great care, the manatee broke the surface beside the large boat. He opened his mouth and gently scraped the amplifier from the side of the hull. With the smallest disturbance, he dropped back under the water. Little ripples radiated out from the spot beside the hull for just a moment. In no time at all, they were consumed by the steady roll of the bay’s natural movement. It was as if he was never there at all.
As he dropped back toward the floor of the bay, a deep roar erupted above him. The large ship soon weighed anchor. With a crescendo, it crept, then moved, they zoomed toward the bay’s mouth and, soon, out into the gulf beyond.
Back in the hide, the agents flicked the recorder off. They beamed at one another.
“Can I just say that I love manatees? I don’t care what anyone says, they are beautiful, majestic creatures,” the agent said, scratching again at his bite-covered leg.
“I’ll take the manatee over the mermaid any day,” his boss said in agreement.
An hour after Cage’s boat disappeared around the bay, signs were posted once again at the bay’s small entrance.
Protected Manatee Habitat
No motorboats, no jet skis
Punishable by fine of up to $50k and/or 3 years in prison
The signs would remain until the next time an undercover Sofia needed the bay. There was always a sucker looking to make a quick buck on the traditional weapons of the sovereign Seminole Nation. And there was always somewhere a deal could be struck. A safe place, she would say, far away from prying eyes and ears.
The Tall Tale Year 