The wreckage still continues to wash up on the beach every now and again. It’s probably better they’re washing up on my beach to the south of Naples than in the middle of a largely populated area.
I couldn’t imagine what would happen if half of this shit washed up in Cape Coral, much less dead center of Miami Beach.
About a month ago, something terrible happened aboard the USS Malibu about fifty miles off the coast of Naples in a freak accident. The radio distress call was truly haunting, as my friend recalled to me. It had launched out of Fort Myers only about ten hours before the distress signal called out, and then the ship disappeared off any radar. Satellite view didn’t show anything either, leading some to believe that it had sunk. Supposedly, there were no survivors.
My friend, Danny, who worked over at the coast guard base in Fort Myers, told me he knew something much more sinister was at play here. He knew for a fact that something terrible had happened to that boat and that it was being covered up.
But the cover up was for our own good.
This barely caught any attention of the crazy internet conspiracy theorists, but it did catch the attention of me. I’d graduated with my Master’s in Journalism from Oglethorpe University maybe five years before this event, and I planned on gathering whatever I could on this mysterious event.
I talked to Danny about it, who led me to a man named James Duncan. James was supposed to board the ship but was pulled from it last-second. After the event, James started to go off the deep-end from stress and was put on leave.
When I arrived at James’s house in West Palm Beach, I was put off instantly. The house wasn’t necessarily a mess or anything like that, but it was what was crudely written on his door in what looked like Sharpie. It was his name, an address that clearly wasn’t his, and a phone number. I’d later call the number and find that it was a direct line to Homeland Security.
I did explore the address, but that comes later.