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Treasure of the Laguna Madre

Treasure of the Laguna Madre

 “Olaf! Olaf! You in there?”

The game warden, from the Texas Department of Parks and Wildlife, got out of his truck and knocked on the front door. No one answered so he tried to peer inside the ramshackle old fishing cabin.

“Big Jim,” Morrison walked around back. There he found old Olaf, sound asleep in his porch swing, swaying gently in the sea breeze coming in straight off the Laguna Madre.

“Olaf! Wake up! I have to talk to you.” Officer Morrison gently gave the sleeping man a shove.

Olaf opened his eyes and looked at Jim groggily.

“What do you mean, sneakin’ up on a man like that?”

“Sorry Olaf. I didn’t mean to scare you. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh. OK. Let me put on some coffee. Want some?”

“Sure.”

Old Olaf lived right on the shore of the Laguna Madre in Flour Bluff. From his window he had a good view of Padre Island which stretched along the eastern horizon. His place wasn’t much but it suited him just fine. He lived on the usually meager catch he would bring in from hours of fishing in his boat and the daily collection from his crab traps. He liked his laid back life. “My Treasure of the Laguna Madre,” he called it.

Once he had taken out fishing parties but his captain’s license had expired and it had been a long time since he had had a client.

The coffee was soon made and he poured two cups.

“You want anything with your coffee?”

“Yeah, cream and sugar. Thanks.”

They went out onto the deck and Jim sat in the old chair there and Olaf resumed his place in the swing.

“Now what is it you want to talk about Jim?” They had a long standing relationship. Olaf had sometimes tried to push the boundaries with his catch but he respected the purpose of the fishing limits and seasonal restrictions.

“Olaf, I have always tried to be fair with you. I wouldn’t steer you wrong. When you had to pull all of your gill nets a while back I gave you time to comply and you took care of it.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, I am looking into something now and I could use your help. You have been here on the Laguna as long as anyone I know. You know every inch of it from here to Mexico.  I just want you to keep your eyes open and let me know if you see or hear of anything suspicious.”

“Suspicious? What do you mean by suspicious?”

“Well, anything unusual. People that don’t belong here. Any activities that seem out of place. Maybe some flashy new pickup trucks or anything that doesn’t seem normal, things like that.”

“I ain’t no snitch now!”

“No, no. I don’t want you to snitch on anybody. Just let me know if you see something you think is funny.”

“So what are you doing? Is there something goin’ on here.”

“Well, I am sure you know that smuggling has long been going on throughout South Texas. Everything from people to guns to drugs to parrots and exotic birds for chrissakes. I am also sure you know that the Laguna Madre has been something of a super highway for smugglers. Now, I am not accusing you of anything, mind you, but I know you are aware of this.”

“Yeah, you ain’t tellin’ me nothin’ we both don’t know, but what is different?”

“Please keep this to yourself Olaf. The Gulf Cartel from Mexico is about to launch a new operation smuggling cocaine up the Laguna. They have some hot rod flat bottom tunnel drive boats that will allow them to move heavy loads very rapidly across the flats, thus avoiding most of the intracoastal canal.”

“Yeah, I know about them. I didn’t know who or what they were but I saw one recently. ′Bout scared the crap out of me. I was camping out at Bird Island one night on a dark night. I had a fire and I was cooking something when I heard a boat comin’ fast. It was comin’ up the Laguna and runnin’ with no lights. It busted by me so fast it was gone before I was sure I had even seen it! It was just a little ways off the beach. The water there was about two feet deep. That guy had that boat planin’ high over the shallow water. I remember thinkin’ ‘I hope he knows what he’s doin’ cause if he don’t he’s headed for trouble.’ He must have known what he was doin’ ‘cause he just kept on goin’ and was soon long gone.”

“When was this?”

“ ‛Bout a month ago.”

“That sure sounds like what I am looking for. We think they have several of these boats. Apparently they get their loads from shrimp boats down by Port Mansfield and South Padre. Some actually go out in the Gulf and download from mother ships but they can only do that in fairly calm conditions. Do you think you can help me?”

Olaf thought about a while. “I might be able to help. I don’t like the human smugglers and I don’t like the cocaine either. You know I smoke a little weed but I have no use for snortin’ or shootin’ drugs. Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Olaf. Here’s my card, with my private number. Here is a cell phone you can have. Call me on this.”

“Hell, you got to show me how to use that thing; I don’t have any of these new fangled gadgets.”

They spent the next hour with Jim showing Olaf how to use the basic cell phone. Finally Olaf had it down.

“Thanks Olaf, you’ll be hearing from me soon. Let me know if you see something.”

“OK Jim,” said Olaf as he waved goodbye.

Olaf sat a while in his swing. He liked to gently sway in the shade as he gazed out over the water. Most of the year the south-east wind poured in here. In the warmer months it helped cool things off.

 Sometimes  he would have a beer but usually he had a glass of whiskey. He had passed several years away doing this, most often accompanied by his old black Lab Petey laying by his feet. Recently they had acquired a new friend, Tom, a battered old cat that had found refuge with the pair.

He thought about what Jim had told him. It occurred to him that this could be dangerous.

Over the next couple of weeks he went about his business and everything was normal. That took an ominous turn one night when he was coming home from The Porch, the dive bar to beat all dive bars. He was walking, to save gas and to avoid the risk of a DWI.  As he passed Durwood Adams’ place he saw a shiny new F-150 parked out front. It had some fancy wheels, a camper shell and a cow-catcher front bumper. What really caught his attention was the license plates from Tamaulipas, Mexico and the small bronze letters fixed to the back window of the camper shell which read “MS-13.”

Olaf recognized that as the name of the notorious prison gang.

He kept on walking until he heard the door open and two men came out. He stopped, concealed behind a large Oleander bush. The night sky was clear and the moon was bright so he could see fairly well.

 “OK Mr. Adams, we will have some more for you after this next job. You are doing very well,” said a tall man, a Mexican, who wore a black Stetson, a black leather jacket and some very pointed cowboy boots. Olaf couldn’t get a good look at him. He stood still until the truck drove away and Durwood went back into his house.

When he got home he called Big Jim on the cell phone.

“Jim, I hate to call you so late but I might have something for you,” he spoke nervously.

“OK, let’s meet somewhere. You pick a place.”

“How about the Whataburger on S.P.I.D. just past Nile. I don’t want to be seen with you here in the Bluff, if you don’t mind.”

“Good idea,” said Jim. “When?”

“In twenty minutes.”

Jim was seated at a table when Olaf arrived. Jim was in civvies.

“What do you have?”

Olaf related what he had seen and overheard.

“Think it’s anything useful?”

“Oh, I sure do,” Said Jim.

Olaf gave a description of the truck and license plate number.

“MS-13. Mara Salvatrucha. That’s a bad bunch.

 “Don’t you think it odd that some bad guy would go around with that MS-13 thing on the back? It seems to me that’s just inviting unwanted attention.”

“You would think so,” said Jim. “These gangs and cartels have some pretty smart guys at the top but many of the soldiers are not so bright, and they like to show off, you know, play the gangster.”

“Tell me about Durwood. Is he the kind of guy who would work for these guys?”

“Oh yeah,” said Olaf. “He’s always been a low-life. I doubt there is much he wouldn’t do for some good money.”

“So why are you in on this? Does Parks and Wildlife usually do this kinda stuff?”

Jim laughed. “No. This is DEA, FBI, Customs and Border Patrol jurisdiction. In these days of budget cuts we have been roped in to help. DPS too, as well as local law enforcement. Also they want to keep this quiet until we have solid leads.”

“Huh, so I done good?”

“Oh yeah, you did good. Let me know if you get anything else and I will be in touch. Goodnight.”

The next two weeks passed with nothing unusual. Olaf did a lot of fishing and crabbing. His boat was an old Van Meer skiff, a type that once was dominant on the Laguna before the flood of sport fisherman broke over these waters.

The original Van Meer skiff was designed and built by a family who had long lived on the shores of the Laguna Madre. The family was notorious for being outlaw fishermen. They were constantly in trouble for gill netting, over catch and basically violating all laws relating to fishing, hunting and drinking on the water.

The boat was heavy, wooden and reinforced by fiberglass. It was 25 feet in length and was very beamy in the aft drawing to a point at the bow. The bottom was flat three quarters of the way to the bow where it had a pronounced kick in the nose. It had a tunnel drive capable of mounting three large outboards. It had two built in storage holds and some cross beam boards which were moveable and served as seats. These boats were very rugged and could move very fast over very shallow water. They were prized by the outlaw fisherman and old timer hunting guides.

Olaf was on his way in one evening, just cruising slow when he saw something interesting. As he approached the research facility maintained by the local university he noticed a low slung boat cruising up to the pier there. In the failing light of night fall he could make out a rather decrepit bay shrimper docked there already. He didn’t recognize that boat. He ducked into a small cove on the Padre Island side and shut her down.

With his binoculars he could see men quickly loading plastic wrapped bundles onto the shrimp boat.

“Damn convenient spot for the smugglers to use!” thought Olaf.

He figured this would be something Big Jim would want to know about. He tried his cell phone but couldn’t get a connection.

“I guess I need to get out in the clear and try to call him,” thought Olaf. He cranked up and pulled out of the cove. The men on the island must have heard him. Olaf saw them pause and point in his direction.

“I better get out of here quick!” He headed back into the Intracoastal Canal and opened it up. It wasn’t long before he could get through to Jim.

“Jim, this is Olaf! I think some bad guys might be after me.”

He told Jim what had just transpired.

“Keep a comin’ Olaf. We will be on our way as soon as possible.”

Olaf figured he had some head start. He figured those guys wouldn’t be coming until they completed their download of cargo. It wasn’t far from here to the JFK Causeway. He knew there was a DPS gunboat there and it was on its way now. He hoped it was, anyway! He had seen those gunboats, they were impressive. “Rick Perry’s new Texas Navy!” he laughed to himself.

As he reached Pita Island he could hear them getting closer. He didn’t know what to do now so he just kept on going.

“Jim! I’m comin’ up on Dead Man’s Hole. They’re catchin’ me!” Olaf shouted into his phone. “If anything happens to me give a Viking funeral OK?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you Olaf. We should be seeing you soon,” Jim replied.

Suddenly a burst of automatic rifle fire sprayed over Olaf’s boat. He wasn’t hit but he smelled gasoline. “They must have hit my tank.!”

Then, up ahead, he could see lights coming his way, fast. It was the DPS patrol boat.

“Maybe I’ll make it,” Olaf was worried. Then he felt searing pain in his leg and back. He had been hit. Blood poured out and he weakened fast.

“I’ve been hit!” He knew he was done for. He had heard when a man had been struck a mortal blow he would know it. A calmness and clarity of mind took hold. There was no panic, little pain as he felt himself slipping away.

“Jim! I’m done. They got me. I’m going to make sure they don’t get away.” Olaf throttled back and the smugglers quickly drew closer, guns blazing. Olaf now pulled out all the stops and he whirled the boat 180 degrees and opened to full throttle. He headed right for the bad guys. He could see them as he bore down until he smashed head on into them. There was a big explosion. Pieces of boat and people splashed down all around into the water. A fire quickly enveloped the scene and when Jim and his crew got there little was left.

Jim surveyed the awful scene and he took off his cap and placed it over his chest. “Olaf, you were a real hero and it looks like you got your Viking funeral after all.”