Operation: Everglades

INTRODUCTION

Capitalizing on the worst-kept secret of today’s American policy makers, the drugs for cash pipeline between the U.S. and South America provides a proven structure for implementing the escape of a murderous Islamic terrorist from his imprisonment in the vulnerable and politically sensitive U.S. Naval base prison at Guantanamo, Cuba. The prisoner’s brother has sworn to Allah that he will infiltrate the island of Cuba, taking advantage of the destitute condition of its population, and armed with truckloads of arms, ammunition and explosives, smuggled in through the Florida Everglades, invade the Guantanamo prison and facilitate the escape of his homicidal sibling. Unwittingly, the unemployed but resourceful young Miami lawyer, Jake McCall, after his airboat adventure goes badly wrong, survives a near hurricane on an isolated island in Lake Okeechobee and is catapulted into the midst of this plot after an unexplainable murder occurs while McCall is asleep within feet of the victim. Logically, only Jake could have committed the murder, but didn’t. In attempting to prove his innocence, he almost loses his own life and encounters the world’s most elite professional killers who become unforeseen allies and will thereafter control his destiny and ultimately, his battle for freedom, both for himself and his country.

1

My fantasy of living in the Florida Keys is over, Jake McCall muttered to himself as he glanced in the rear view mirror at what there was of Sugarloaf Key. When he had pulled away from the little clapboard cottage which had been his home for the past year, he reminisced, Well, at least I got it out of my system, I think. Regardless, reality has been creeping up on me for the past few months and with very little in cold cash left to my name, the time has come, as the locals would say, to fish or cut bait' ".

He had soon turned right on U.S. 1 and headed north, taking one last look at the old bat tower, built back in 1929 to house some breed of exotic imported bats which were supposed to make nightly meals of malaria-bearing mosquitoes. He drove past the infamous bat tower almost daily and invariably chuckled to himself about the hare-brained scheme which had endowed poor little Sugarloaf with what had now been designated as a national historic landmark of some sort, notwithstanding the total absence of the bats for which it had been intended. So the story goes, lots of time and expense had been devoted to building the structure during the land boom in Florida, to assure prospects from the north about how the mosquito problem plaguing the Florida Keys was being solved. Unfortunately, the bats were unaware of their obligation to the newcomers since, after leaving the first night to gorge themselves on mosquitoes, the bats were never seen again. When Jake had first heard the bat story years prior he had assumed it was just a local tale, never having foreseen the tower would turn out to be both real and his neighbor for the past year.

Then there had been the infestation of Sugarloaf by drug smugglers during the seventies and eighties, taking advantage of the small and isolated airstrip on the Key as a convenient place to unload contraband from South America and the Bahamas. Only the Keys lifestyle could have both tolerated and perpetuated such shenanigans, shrugging them off in favor of the bigger picture favoring fun, frolic and tolerance, most often simply characterizing the smugglers as cool dudes, frequently elevating them to folk hero status.

Jake would surely miss the fun part. Passing mile marker 17, he looked out over the bay and turned up the volume of his radio. Like an encore for Jake's departure, Jimmy Buffet and Alan Jackson began singing It’s Five O'clock Somewhere, which had become sort of the national anthem of the Florida Keys. The song also fostered the legendary Buffet's following of self-styled Parrothead groupies, further perplexing to Jake since Buffet lives in a huge oceanfront mansion in Palm Beach, hundreds of miles from Key West. Jake knew he would miss this live and let live philosophy of the Keys as he necessarily would be returning to a world where his camo shorts and flip flops would violate every known dress code. It was the world to which economics now compelled him to return and for which he had fortunately prepared himself when he obtained his law degree from the University of Florida some years prior. He had learned to love the Keys and all they stood for and even though he had grown up in the state, a trip to the Keys was still like visiting a foreign country. His sabbatical from the law practice had been designed to give him an opportunity to get his head back together. He smiled inwardly as he pondered whether the Keys had been the best choice of venues for someone trying to get their head straight.

But, what the hell. It was another spectacular day in the Florida Keys and his constant companion, known around Sugarloaf simply as Hoover the dog, was riding shotgun in the passenger seat with his head out the window and his ears flapping in the wind. At the end of his reverie Jake concluded, Running out of money was probably a good thing, else I'd stayed down here, renewed the lease and fished my life away. Not exactly a fate worse than death, but I do need to get my act back together.

Jake also had to recognize the element of creeping cynicism which a lack of responsibility had promoted. He knew this had helped in his decision to leave the Keys and get back to his own little homestead northwest of Lake Okeechobee and closer to the family ranch between there and Indiantown. On the other hand, Jake had to accept the fact of his financial status, if broke could by any stretch be characterized as status. Whatever the label, it was compelling his return to rent free housing and a paying job. Soon! When he had stopped in Big Pine Key to fill up his old but reliable gas guzzler he had counted out the remainder of his liquid assets on the hood of the Jeep Grand Wagoneer. Searching all the pockets of his badly worn shorts he was able to extract a grand total of two hundred seven dollars and some change. In his rhetorical way of thinking, Jake quizzed himself,

Am I actually broke in the classic sense of ‘broke’ broke? Or does a full tank of gas and two hundred bucks insulate me from broke status and perhaps accord me the same standing in South Beach or on Wall Street I'd have in the Keys. Probably not!

2

Considering Jake's needs and lifestyle during the years since graduating from law school, money, or the lack thereof, had only lately become a problem. During his thirty-seven years, he had always worked, even as a kid growing up on the family ranch north of Indiantown. His great-grandfather had started the ranch and gotten into the cattle business just as the Civil War was ending. As a youngster he had been dispatched from Virginia to Florida in 1861 to assist with cattle drives from south Florida, up the spine of the state to Georgia, to provide beef for Confederate soldiers. Jake's grandfather had passed on his father’s many great stories about how the cattle drives took weeks and were plagued by weight loss, a fractious Seminole tribe and Federal soldiers who invaded Florida as far south as Fort Myers and Lake Okeechobee. His great-grandfather had been assigned to the cattle guard battalion which accompanied these drives and witnessed the cattle business flourish during and after the Civil War. He soon recognized how raising cattle in the vast and lush grasslands of the state was a natural and profitable by-product. After the war ended the cattle industry continued to prosper since the animals could now be shipped north to New England or exported from the port of Tampa Bay south to Cuba.

While in undergraduate school at Florida, Jake had met Sammy Cypress, a young Miccosukee Indian from the reservation south of Immokalee. Not only did they become SAE fraternity brothers, but also developed a lasting friendship which was perhaps grounded in what they discovered had been a lifelong friendship between their two great-grandfathers. When Jake and Sammy first met, Jake told Sammy of hearing stories about an old man named Cypress from the Moore Haven area, wondering if there could be any family relationship. Sammy smiled and excitedly explained,

The old man was my great-grandfather and I'm his namesake. His name was also Sam Cypress and all the stories describe him as not only wise but tough as a cypress tree, thus the Indian name. He was a legend to us kids. We were told stories of how he became friends with a man from Virginia and the two would always manage to sidetrack enough cattle from the herds being driven north to feed the Indian families. Even though everyone else was fighting like cats and dogs these two men took care of each other and after the turn of the century became business partners.

And so the two young men discovered the loyalty between their great-grandfathers which lasted into the early 1900's and overcame the many adversities which had polarized lesser men. They also shared the wisdom leading to their mutual success, generating family values which decades later placed Jake and Sammy in the same fraternity at the same university.

Jake and Sammy continued to exchange family stories as their friendship grew and they frequently commuted together between Gainesville and south Florida at vacation times or during hunting season. When Jake had originally told his grandfather about Sammy and the incredible coincidence of their relationship, his grandfather was delighted and dragged out for Jake several old scrapbooks and journals of ranch business Jake didn't know existed. Jake spread the documents on the dining room table and sat for hours devouring them. There were frequent references to Sammy's great-grandfather, most often referenced simply as SC or Sam. He called Sammy that night,

Sammy, you won't believe the stuff I've been digging through for the last three hours. There’s a ton of old photographs, newspaper articles and ranch journals my granddad had stashed away. He and my great-grandaddy saved all this stuff and guess what? Your great-granddaddy’s name is all over the place. You've got to see this stuff. It tells about how our great-grandfathers worked together for Jacob Summerlin who was supposed to be the biggest cattleman in Florida at the time. They were just kids. Same age as we are now when they were driving cattle in 1861 from around Moore Haven and the Caloosahatchee River up to soldiers camped just south of the Georgia line. Sounds like your grandpa was their guide since he was the only one who knew how to sneak past the Union guards stationed up and down the west coast. Neat stuff.

And that's how it started. Jake and Sammy had grown closer during college and the years after graduation. Jake had gone on to law school and Sammy got a master's degree in education. Since Sammy was Miccosukee, he returned to the Everglades reservation and taught math and English to Indian kids. After school he worked part time at the Miccosukee hotel and casino.

As Jake drove north from the Keys he decided to detour by the casino and visit his friend. He called on his cell phone and Sammy immediately answered,

Jake, what a surprise. Are you in the Keys?

Yes, but I'm headed your way. Are you at the casino?

Sammy replied, No, I'm just finishing up at school but I'll be at the casino by the time you get there. I'll wait and eat something with you since I know you're not stopping to see me. It's the damn buffet you're coming to visit. But that's o.k. When you hear the latest about gator season and the python invasion you'll be glad you stopped.

Jake told Sammy he was right about the buffet part, But I'll force myself to stay long enough to hear about the gators and snakes. By the way, I need to make some money. As you know, I chose not to work in the Keys and am now pretty well tapped out. I didn't renew my lease and I'm moving back to Okeechobee. But in the meantime I've got to do something.

Sammy responded, I've got something which could be a temporary fix. It may or may not materialize but if it does it'll be within the next few days. Anyhow, let me wrap up here and I'll see you at the casino in a little while. Be careful in that beast you're driving. I don't worry much about you. I just worry about somebody who may get hit with your tank.

Sammy hung up and Jake felt better after hearing Sammy might have a quick job for him. He had no idea what Sammy had in mind but as long as it was legal and would help pay some bills he was interested.

As he drove along, Jake thought back on his abbreviated legal career. After working his way through law school he had interviewed with several law firms scattered all over the state and even the panhandle. He had good grades, a decent extracurricular background and had been captain of the wrestling team, for whatever dubious value it was worth. His last geographical choices for a job had been Miami and the panhandle but when he received two job offers one was in Pensacola and the other in Miami. The latter offer came from a small but successful firm of young guys whose personalities made Jake feel comfortable and the challenge of trying cases in Dade county, the big league for trial lawyers, appealed to Jake's competitive nature. Even though his father and grandfather wanted him to take over the ranch, they encouraged him to accept the Miami offer since it would put him only a little over an hour's drive away. As Jake drove he mentally reviewed the career path whereby he had landed a dream job, done well as a fledgling trial lawyer and ultimately been assigned huge joint responsibilities in a class action case to be tried by the firm's two senior partners. As the case progressed class certification was repeatedly sought by the appropriate motions prepared and argued by Jake before the presiding judge. Since class certification was requested, resisted and denied on three occasions, neither Jake nor his firm felt any moral or ethical obligation to people who had possible claims but were unknown when a settlement offer was made. The offer was large, acceptable to their clients and approved by the judge in a written order. But due to the politics of the case, the parties involved and the amount of the settlement the Miami Herald made a story out of it, taking aim primarily at the presiding judge and then at all the lawyers representing both sides. As the celebrity of the case grew, complaints were inevitably filed with The Florida Bar against all the lawyers and the judge. After local Miami politics and The Florida Bar finished justifying their existence, lead counsel on both sides of the case had been reprimanded. Even though the judge escaped formal censureship the Herald took editorial aim at him and when he ran for re-election two years later the Herald struck again. The judge was defeated. As a junior player on the plaintiff's legal team, Jake escaped any direct criticism but his sensibilities were wounded to the extent he was unable to continue trusting the integrity of the system, legal or political.

Seeking the wisdom of his father and grandfather, he had driven to the ranch over a year earlier and explained his philosophical dilemma. They counseled him to trust his heart and he did. He returned to Miami, met with his law partners and explained to them as best he could his decision to take a sabbatical from the practice for at least a year in order to get his head straight. Although they said they did, he doubted they truly understood, particularly since he didn't. Fortunately his portion of the fee from the class case and liquidation of his firm capital account enabled him to buy the twenty acres and cracker house near Okeechobee, plus his Jeep and an older airboat which he had taken with him to the Keys and completely restored, including a rebuild of the World War II vintage Lycoming aircraft engine originally manufactured in 1946. Jake had the foresight to pay cash for these things and having now spent the remainder on his Keys fantasy he was relieved to at least be debt free. Then there was Hoover the dog. The dog sitting on the Jeep's passenger seat watching the landscape pass was a red merle colored Australian Shepherd which had returned to Miami with Jake following a two week trial in Ocala over three years prior. One of Jake's witnesses in the case had been a trim brunette who owned a small farm west of Ocala and subscribed to the Marion County obsession with horses. After divorcing her airline pilot husband she had moved from Atlanta to Ocala and devoted her settlement to raising Quarter horses. For reasons which only horse and dog people can understand, Julie Fisher had traded a weanling filly for a litter of eight week old puppies while at a horse show in Perry, Georgia. During Jake's pretrial interview with this young lady he not only learned how much her testimony would help but also heard the horse and dog story. More importantly, he vowed not to leave Ocala after the trial without inviting Julie to dinner, which he had done. Both Jake’s trial and the dinner date concluded successfully and while being given a tour of Julie Fisher’s barn he was attacked by the then 12-week old puppy who somehow decided never to leave Jake’s side. When Julie laughingly gave the puppy to Jake the night before he left for Miami several days later, they were all three curled up in bed when a Hoover vacuum cleaner commercial came on TV. The puppy barked at the vacuum cleaner noise and immediately became Hoover the dog, who returned with Jake to Dade County the following day. Shortly thereafter Jake decided to abandon his law