Out of Bounds Read online

The sleek, 38’ fiberglass cigarette racing boat, equipped with 750 horsepower Twin Chiefs engine, glided smoothly across the calm seas and warm, tropical Atlantic waters. The night was overcast and a storm was due tomorrow, but waves were less than two feet. There was no moon and a thin layer of clouds blanketed the stars. The boat was virtually invisible from prying eyes and orbiting satellites. It was a perfect evening.

  Juan was nervous. This would be his last trip. For eight months, he had made this trip without any problems. It was time to quit and go back to being a fisherman and guide. The money helped support his wife and seven small children, but he did not like these people. He clutched the cross of Jesus which he always wore under his shirt, and said a silent prayer.

  “How much longer?” his passenger calmly asked. The boat carried $40M of heroin stored below deck; $40M was wholesale price. The shipment would be cut and sell for five times that amount on the street to a hungry public, whose demand for heroin was insatiable. The man knew this shipment would not make it to the street, but it would make him a rich man.

  “Those lights on your right are Key West. We are in the Gulf and should be at the drop point in 20 minutes.” Assuming ten minutes to unload the cargo, and two hours to get back, he would be home with his beloved Maria by dawn.

  The plan was always the same. The heroin was packed in watertight canvas bags and attached to buoys that would float just under the water surface. They left the small fishing village around 10:00 PM and made the 80-mile trip in a couple hours, depending upon the weather. Once underway, the man received a phone call giving them the drop point. Juan locked the coordinates into his state-of-the-art Loran navigational system. Rain, fog, whatever; he would find the drop point.

  “Okay, Juan. I’m going to start bringing up the bags. Let me know when we are close. Make sure you check your radar for traffic. We don’t want any visitors.”

  They carried eight bags this trip, each bag weighing only twenty pounds, making them easy to handle and reducing their loss if a bag was lost. No bags had ever been lost. The man checked each bag to make sure the buoys were securely fastened. He double-checked to verify that the transmitters were working and calibrated to the right frequency. Everything looked good. The pick-up boat should have no problem locating the heroin.

  The boat was slowing. “We are almost there, senor; two minutes or less. There are no other boats in the area.” The radar did not detect the scuba diver swimming lazily toward the drop point at a depth of 10 feet.

  In seven minutes, the eight bags were overBoard and submerged just beneath the surface, held together by weighted buoys and tethered by a 250 pound anchor. The man checked the transmitters once more. “Okay Juan, good job. Let’s go home.”

  But Juan would never make it home or see his Maria again.

  The honeymoon was over. The golf course begins to show its teeth. The 2nd hole is tough; a 430-yard dogleg right to a well-bunkered green. Protected “wetlands” line the right side of the fairway; an automatic one-stroke penalty. Local rules prohibited golfers from entering “wetlands” even if they can see their ball. Two deep fairway bunkers, approximately 230 yards from the tee, protect the corner of the dogleg.

  There are three options off the tee. Long hitters can drive the bunker leaving a short iron to the green if successful. This was not an option for Bradford. Shorter hitters, and the more conservative longer hitters, can either lay up short of the bunkers or hit a power fade around the dogleg.

  A perfect lay-up still leaves almost 210 yards to the green. Bradford pulled driver and decided to be aggressive. The hole set up well for him. His natural ball flight is left to right which fit the contour of this fairway.

  Buzz had “honors” as a result of his birdie on one. He was a long hitter and could carry the bunkers with a perfect drive, although the penalty for missing was severe. Today a slight wind was in their face, only about five MPH, but still a factor. Buzz’ natural draw would not serve him well on this hole. He would need to start his ball over the “wetlands” and let his draw bring it back to the fairway. His overspin would only help if he flew the bunkers. He was undecided.

  As Bradford waited for Buzz to make his decision, he wondered whether Ken had been successful in Zurich. They needed the money by Monday or… he didn’t want to think about it but knew it would be bad. “How did I ever get into this position? Greed and stupidity were part of it. I should never have accepted Mario’s offer; but it sounded so good at the time.”

  It started that evening almost three years ago when Dave and Mary went to the club for dinner to celebrate their six month anniversary, it had been six months since Mary drilled him with the overhead and traces of the Penn 2 logo still remained on his forehead.

  The evening had been perfect. They sat at the bar for a before-dinner cocktail. Mary almost always drinks wine, usually chardonnay. Dave usually started with bourbon before switching to wine with dinner. But tonight was special. They started with Grey Goose vodka martinis, straight up with a twist and an extra olive. Mary liked the olives best, and the idea that she was sipping a martini. It seemed special.

  Mary looked especially beautiful that night. Her auburn hair was shoulder length with a slight flip. Black was her color. The small diamond stud earrings glistened when she turned. Mary had recently celebrated her 30th birthday, but age had done no damage to her slim figure; in fact, most of her friends believed she was even more beautiful now.

  The club had a small combo on weekends; a piano and bass saxophone playing soft dance music. No one was dancing but the music created a nice atmosphere. Dave and Mary finished their martinis and were seated. They switched to their normal drinks;

  “Kendall-Jackson Reserve Chardonnay for the lady, and Wild Turkey with a splash of water for me,” Bradford told the waitress. The Turkey was vintage, 101 proof, and he made a note to pace himself.

  Dinner was excellent; a tender, medium-rare filet mignon for me, and baked salmon on a plank for Mary. The chef had previously worked at Le Bordeaux, one of Tampa’s finest restaurants, and had a special knack for presentation. The plates were painted with spices and herbs. Salads were garnished with twisted carrot slices and cut tomatoes. Asparagus spears covered with a special cheese sauce, framed the entrees. The chef offered all the little touches that elevated the dinner to fine dining.

  The couple talked about the little things couples talk about when they are still learning about each other and finding their relationship. They were not yet in love, but neither was ruling out the possibility. Mostly they were glad to be together.

  They opted for coffee after dinner and skipped dessert. The meal had been too good. It was 10:00 PM and the restaurant was starting to empty. The couple sat back and listened to the music. Several groups had made their way to the bar and a few couples were dancing. That’s when they met Buzz.

  He was at a table of eight on the other side of the dining room. Dave had probably had been aware of them earlier, but hadn’t really noticed them until now. Two or three faces looked familiar. The group was having fun and getting louder.

  Buzz came over and introduced himself. Apparently one fellow recognized Dave from the men’s club and one of the women had noticed Mary on the tennis courts.

  “Care to join us for a nightcap?” Buzz invited.

  “Sure, why not,” Dave responded after checking with Mary.

 

  Crack! Buzz had selected his driver and was going to try and fly the bunker. A risky shot, but certainly doable. It looked perfect in the air, but seemed to stall as the wind gusted. The ball hit an invisible wall and lost momentum. It missed clearing the bunker by inches as it caught the lip and fell back into the deep sand. Loud profanity emanated from the tee box. Buzz would have a 200-yard shot out of a bunker rather than a short iron into the green. Who says golf is fair?

  Since Buzz was in trouble Bradford reconsidered his decision to use driver. A three-wood would be safer and would insure a score of no worse
than bogey. Buzz would have trouble making four. Bradford knew the odds, but felt confident and went with driver.

  He chose a conservative line away from the bunkers. A straight drive would leave a longer, but manageable 2nd shot into the green. A pull or hook would leave 220 yards and a likely bogey. Not to worry. He caught this one on the screws with a slight fade, exactly how he had visualized the shot in his setup routine. It landed 20 yards short and to the left of the bunker and rolled well inside the 200-yard marker. “A 250-yard drive, into the wind; I can’t hit it any better than that.”

  Buzz had a tough decision. He was deep in the bunker and six feet below the lip, about 190 yards to the front of the green. There was trouble all along the fairway on the right. He would need a 4 or 5-iron to reach the green, but the low trajectory of a long iron might not clear the top of the bunker.

  Dave’s drive put pressure on him because it looked like Dave would par the hole. If Dave had lain up off the tee Buzz probably would have played safe and hit a 7 or 8-iron to make sure he got out. He could then par the hole by getting up and down from 100 yards. This might still be his best play.

  Buzz gambled and tried to reach the green with a 4-iron; a low risk shot that you would only attempt in match play. He almost pulled it off. The 4-iron barely grazed the top of the bunker and veered off into the wetlands, about 150 yards from the green. He would be hitting his fourth shot after he dropped.

  Bradford was 173 yards to a back-right pin, tucked in behind a deep sand trap. He wanted no part of the trap and aimed his 5-iron for the left side of the green. The ball ended up a little closer to the pin than intended, leaving a 15-foot birdie putt. Buzz would have to hole his 4th shot to tie. He wasted no time and sailed his 8-iron into the bunker and conceded the hole. For practice, Dave went ahead and putted for birdie. Of course it was good. The match was all-square after two holes. “Ken would have been proud.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Par 4 – 360 Yards

  The Beginning