Out of Bounds
A large amphibious plane lumbered slowly north towards Naples, Florida before turning east into the Everglades. The Seastar’s top cruising speed was 266 MPH but today it was bucking a slight headwind and was carrying two people and 2,300 pounds of heroin. With an extra fuel tank, it had a maximum range of 600 miles; more than enough to drop deliver its cargo and return to the small airstrip in the Caribbean.
The flight controller in Miami noticed the change of course and notified his supervisor. “I’m tracking a Seastar that filed a flight plan for Naples, but just changed course and is heading east. Should I call Naples and ask them to follow up?”
“Don’t worry about it, Chad. It’s not unusual for the pilots of these seaplanes to change their mind and just drop in on any old lake that draws their attention. It’s not like they need an airport to land.”
The Seastar Amphibian was noted for its ability to land on a dime and the pilot had been warned that the landing area was tight. They cruised at about 300 feet until they finally spotted the smoke flares that they were looking for. A flyover confirmed the landing would be tricky, but not impossible.
The pilot came back around to turn upwind and landed the aircraft smoothly. Four men were waiting in a Tornado Airboat. Twenty minutes later the cargo was offloaded and the seaplane was back in the air heading to Naples. The Naples controller gave him clearance and reminded him to lower his wheels. The pilot was not offended. He knew the statistics. Most amphibian plane accidents were the result of pilots forgetting to lower their landing gear for dry landings.
The Tornado Air Boat had a 350 Cubic Inch Chevrolet engine. The 325 HP engine could reach a maximum speed of 60 MPH as it skimmed over the top of the water. Its shallow draft, maneuverability and large cargo area made it ideal for this operation.
It was only a 35-minute ride to the private dock where Sam and Ron waited with two, 20-ton semis already loaded with Florida navel oranges. Each truck had a concealed storage area that was quickly filled with the cargo from the seaplane. By 8:30 AM the trucks were on Alligator Alley heading west to Naples.
Sam called the cell phone number they had been given and reported their position to an answering machine. “Everything is going like clockwork,” Sam reported as I-75 turned north towards Tampa where the cargo was to be delivered. “We should be in Tampa by noon. I’ll call back in a couple hours to get the final location.”
Sam hung up the phone and called Ron on the 2-way radio. “Let me know if you have any trouble, Ron, but I’m not planning to stop unless there is an emergency. We have a full tank and from the size of those crates, we are toting a lot of juice.” Ron acknowledged and they each settled in for the three hour ride to Tampa.
Ron had not given any thought about the elderly couple at the gas station where they had stopped earlier. Ron was making sure both trucks had a full tank of gas before they met the seaplane while Sam visited the rest room. The man asked directions to the Keys and was so grateful for his help. Ron didn’t notice the woman attach the small electrical device to the frame of Ron’s truck.
While Dave and Buzz were preparing for golf, Steve Wilson and three other DEA agents followed the two trucks at a safe distance. The homing device was sending a clear signal.
As Bradford walked to the 1st tee he reflected on how much had changed in just seven days. It seemed like a year ago. Last week he only had to worry about remembering the lessons Ken had taught him about handling pressure, and hitting his drive into the fairway. Seven days later Ken was dead and buried, and he was on his own.
The grounds supervisor advised the players that the course was in great shape and the pin positions were set-up tough. Tees were back, greens were cut tight and the flags would be hard to get at. The back tees would give Buzz an advantage, but fast greens and difficult pin placements would reward good course management and patience. They would have to wait to see whom this favored.
Bradford was 1-up and had honors as a result of his birdie on the 18th hole last Saturday. There were large fairway bunkers on either side of the fairway about 240 yards. Dave’s 3-wood drifted a little right but stopped about 15 yards short of the bunker. Buzz’ drive split the bunkers perfectly and rolled almost to the 100-yard marker. The match was on.
Mary, Judy and Ginny were part of the small crowd of spectators that were going to follow the competition. A few rode carts, but most walked. Fred had a business meeting in the morning and would join the group as soon as he could get away. Bradford appreciated their support.
Bradford knew most of the 30 spectators. Most were club members. Some were for Dave; some for Buzz and a few others that just wanted to enjoy the competition. There were a couple men that he didn’t know. Dave was glad that Chris and another DEA agent were keeping an eye on him.
Dave’s drive had rolled into the short rough, 148 yards from the front pin placement. The green sloped front to back, making it difficult to stop a ball that landed on the putting surface, particularly coming out of the rough. Bradford decided to punch a low 7-iron and run it onto the green. It was better to be short of the hole than try to chip downhill from behind the green.
He made good contact, but didn’t get the roll he wanted. The ball hit 20 feet short into the bank, and rolled only a few feet leaving it 15 feet short of the green. It was a guessing game and he had lost. They must have watered the aprons in front of the greens this morning.
Buzz was in perfect position at the 100-yard marker, leaving him only 90 yards to the pin. He wouldn’t have any problem stopping the ball near the hole with a sand wedge or 60 degree pitching wedge. Buzz was taking a lot of time and Dave figured he was between clubs. Buzz had seen Dave’s ball stop quickly and knew that he needed to carry his ball to the green. He chose sand wedge and made great contact, but carried 20 feet past the pin and did not spin back; a tough break.
Buzz’ reaction was interesting. A week ago he would have complained about bad luck or being between clubs. Today he just put his club back in the bag and walked to the green. Buzz had come to play.
Dave’s chip wasn’t easy. He had too many options. The pin was only eight feet from the front of the green. Phil would probably use a 60-degree wedge, open up the face of the club, and carry the ball to the putting surface. That shot took courage and nerves of steel. Dave thought about putting the ball through the rough but decided that 15 feet of rough was too difficult to judge the speed. This wasn’t a British open where the fairways are almost as fast as some greens. He decided to use 7-iron and chip the ball into the front bank and bounce it onto the green. The shot required both skill and a little luck, and he got both. He made good contact, too good. It might have rolled seven to eight feet past the hole, but hit the flag and dropped in for a lucky birdie. Dave shouted and so did Mary and most of the others watching.
Buzz didn’t say a word, but just started lining up his putt. It was downhill and almost straight. He started it just off the right edge with good speed. His putt looked like it had missed right but the ball turned at the final instant as it lost speed, and dove into the cup. He had read the grain perfectly. Buzz picked his ball from the hole and headed to the 2nd tee. No blood.
Chapter 2
Par 4 – 430 Yards
Chris’ Story