That Way Lies Madness: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 8)

by Scott Cook

  She scoffed, “With all due respect, no fuckin’ way, sir.”

  I shrugged, ‘Okay… and stop calling me sir.”

  “It’s your op, sir,” She said and winked at me. “You’re the AIC.”

  “AIC?” Wayne asked.

  I chuckled, “Can mean several things… but I think in this case, the Sergeant means asshole in charge.”

  Wayne laughed, “Nail on the head, Jackie… nail on the head.”

  “You’re on report, private,” I grumped. “Well then, if I’m in charge then let’s mount up and get this goat fuck under way. Are we tied into your system, Colonel?”

  “You’re set,” He said. “I’m going to get airborne as soon as we’re refueled. We can interface with the AWACS and possibly provide additional support. Good luck. We’ll be monitoring comms.”

  Wayne, Amanda and Sam got into the backseat. Well, Sam was sort of poured in. She was coming around from whatever knock out stuff Amanda had given her, but she was still pretty out of it. I got in the passenger seat and noticed a Sig Sauer P226 resting in one of the cup holders on the console. I glanced at Stevvins.

  “What?’ She asked as she sped out of the airport and toward the Tamiami trail.

  “Where’s mine?” I asked.

  “Rifles in the back, sir,” She said.

  “Yeah, I mean my sidearm,” I clarified.

  She pointed at the glove compartment. I opened it and pulled out a Colt 1911 .45. Very much like my own favorite gun. I glanced over at Stevvins, “How’d you guess?”

  She chuckled, “I know all about you, sir.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She shrugged, “I’m kind of a fan. Books and I’ve just about memorized your jacket. Pretty impressive stuff… for a civvy.”

  “You gonna bust my balls, Sergeant?” I asked.

  “Already started, sir.”

  Wayne was laughing. I turned halfway around in my seat, “Hey, chuckles, why don’t you go through the gear back there and get us set up. Where are the coms, Jackie?”

  She opened the console and I saw several small boxes. When I opened them, I saw that they contained the small ear mounted comm units with the slim bone conducting mic that was very similar to what I’d used not long ago in Central America. Colloquially known as earwigs, these devices were powerful, lightweight and almost undetectable accept from very close.

  I passed them out to Wayne, Amanda and the Sergeant. I slipped mine on, “Comm check.”

  Everyone chimed in. Then I was surprised to hear Grayson’s voice.

  “Grayson here. I’m Eagle, the AWACS is Hawk. How would you like to be designated?”

  “Just one through four,” I said. “Me, Jackie, Wayne and Amanda in that order.”

  “Good. I’ll coordinate from here. Hawk is picking up distant low profile contact. Moving over Florida Bay at extremely low altitude. Designate as Buzzard.”

  “That our boy’s ride?” I asked.

  “Indeterminate,” Grayson replied. “Still about two hundred nautical out. Once Eagle is in the air, we’re going to try and circle around high and drop in on their six. Will keep you apprised, One.”

  “Here we go…” I muttered to myself.

  Chapter 28

  Scott’s and Lisa’s story, part 1

  The Florida Everglades is not a single ecosystem. At least not in the strictest sense. It isn’t one gigantic swamp, nor just a vast saw grass prairie nor is it simply a collection of wetlands, lakes and rivers. The Everglades, often simply referred to as “The Glades” is, in fact, all of this and more.

  Before major development began in Florida in the pre-World War Two twentieth century, the Glades was in fact a huge river that ran south from Lake Okeechobee through a variety of habitats. A ridge that runs along the inner boundaries of what is now Palm Beach, Broward and Dade Counties deflects this river and eventually it flows out into Florida Bay, which joins the Gulf of Mexico. This gigantic river system, over a hundred miles across, ran, and still runs, very slowly, something along the lines of a half a mile per day. This very slow movement through the various sub-ecologies created a massive environment for all manner of lifeforms of all kinds.

  The Everglades also filtered billions of gallons of water, allowing for a clean fresh water runoff through the Ten Thousand Islands. These islands, most of which are simply a mix of red, white and black Mangrove clusters, further filtered the runoff so that this clean and nutrient rich water flowed into Florida Bay, nourishing the Bay and the subsequent reefs of the Florida Keys.

  Unfortunately, as people began to move into Florida and the cities on the east coast began to grow, the Army Corps of Engineers devised a plan to partially drain the Everglades to make room for development in the afore mentioned Palm Beach, Broward and Dade Counties. Further, this plan, which involved a complex series of dikes, sluiceways and canals, drained the upper portions of the Glades to make way for towns below Lake Okeechobee. As one might expect, this tampering has had a devastating effect on the complex and delicate biosphere of southern Florida.

  Although water still does flow from the Kissimmee River and down into the Everglades and out into Florida Bay, it’s greatly diminished. Additionally, thanks to massive sugar plantations and farming below the lake, a great deal of phosphate and pesticide runoff has polluted many portions of the wetlands. The Everglades of today although vast, is only a shadow of what it once was.

  That being said however, the Glades still covers hundreds of thousands of acres and encompasses a huge variety of landscapes and ecosystems. There is of course the seemingly endless plains of sawgrass that stretch as far as the eye can see. Through this ocean of grass, water still flows. In many places, especially in winter, there is a great deal of dry land. In others, the water runs only a few inches to a foot deep through the grass. Through this, however, there are sloughs, which are shallow waterways one to four feet deep. These often develop into true rivers, like the Harney and the Shark. There are permanent lakes as well, having been dug out by eons of water flow or that were created when a sinkhole into the aquifer opened up. On top of that, there are what are called gator holes.

  Alligators, as permanent residents of the Everglades, have adapted superbly to their environment. They will dig large pits so that when the dry season comes, they still have water. This has the added benefit of providing a sustainable system for other creatures, some of which are food for the ancient reptiles.

  Beyond the swampy aspects of the Everglades are the large variety of trees and plants and the environments they create. There are pine lands, which are islands of Florida Slash Pines surrounded by saw palmetto, royal palms and other plants. There are Cypress stands and hammocks, which grow to resemble domes due to the complex way in which the gnarly Cypress trees grow around each other. There are hardwood hammocks as well. Live oak, mahogany, gumbo limbo and even lignum vitae trees grow on these raised islands as well.

  And of course, there are the invasive species. Plants and animals that aren’t native to Florida but have adapted nonetheless. The Australian pine, the creeping fern, iguanas and Burmese pythons are just a few examples of lifeforms that are competing with native life to carve out their place in the primordial landscape.

  Then, of course, there is Man. Has there ever been a more invasive species anywhere? A creature that has learned to adapt the environment to itself rather than the other way around. A creature who’s overdeveloped brain has allowed it to shape the Earth to its will, regardless of the consequences… and all because some irrepressible ape felt like taking a stroll a few million years before.

  Several examples of this beast were even now making their way deeper into the southwestern portion of the Everglades, known as the Big Cypress National Preserve. Bill Garelli drove the steroidal pickup truck down County Road 751 past Everglades City and deep into one of the rawest natural environments on earth. A place where survival was a key player. Where life of all kinds, from tiny to huge, fought with unrestrained ferocity to thrive across a lu
sh but savage landscape.

  “Where the hell are we?” Cynthia asked.

  “This is what they call the real Florida,” Bill said casually, as if he were conducting a sightseeing tour. “The Everglades. And not the National Park section or the tourist airboat or hiking trails parts either… we’re out in the true wilderness now. Isn’t it exciting?”

  “What are you planning, Bill?” Lisa asked, feeling both annoyed and worried.

  “You’ll know all you need to know when the time comes,” Bill said. “So just relax and enjoy it.”

  “Can’t see shit,” Cynthia grumped.

  “It’s better during the day, I grant ya’,” Bill continued casually, “but it’s also August and hotter than Vulcan’s fuckin’ Forge.”

  They drove on in silence for over half an hour. The road slowly dwindling from a nearly two lane wide gravel track to little more than a rutted trail. The truck wound through a small pine forest, past several hammocks of Cypress and other trees and finally came into an open area that seemed to run along a stand of pines and through which ran an open river-like stretch of water, gleaming silvery in the moonlight.

  Bill stopped the truck and shut down the engine in a somewhat clear area near the river. He reached into the storage pocket on the driver’s side door and pulled out a small hand-held radio, which he switched on.

  “Songbird… Songbird… this is Jungle Fever… I’m at rendezvous point… repeat, got my boarding pass, over,” Bill said into the radio.

  There was a burst of static and then a man with a heavy Texas drawl said: “Jungle Fever, this is Songbird. Over the Ten G’s now… bout fifteen out from you. How’s the LZ look?”

  Cynthia and Lisa exchanged glances but said nothing.

  “Clear,” Bill said. “Looks deep and wide, Songbird. What do you need?”

  A chuckle, “Just my fee, son, just my fee. Got NVG’s on board, so landing is a cinch. Done this many a time. Signal fire wouldn’t do no harm, though. Let’s keep the channel clear. See you in a few.”

  “Well, there ya’ go,” Bill said cheerfully, clipping the radio to his waistband and pulling a roll of duct tape from under the seat. “Sorry, ladies, but I can’t have you runnin’ off.”

  Bill proceeded to tape their wrists together. He didn’t bother with their feet, as he explained that they’d need to be able to walk.

  “Not far though,“ He explained. “I’d strongly advise against thinking you can just run off in the darkness. This is no place to be on your own without a weapon. Lot of nasty things hunting out there tonight.”

  Cynthia tried to blow him off. Bill only laughed and shushed her. With the doors open and the engine silent, the sounds of the Everglades at night pressed in on them.

  There were insects, night birds and bullfrogs. Occasionally, far off in the night, a Florida panther would roar. Then, more frequently by far, and not nearly so far away, they could all hear the deep rumbling croak of the Glades’ most infamous resident. Alligators by the score were vocalizing all around them. Some miles away, and others might be just around the next corner, or even across the hundred feet or so of the river.

  “You’re right, Cynthia,” Bill mocked. “I’m full of shit. Why don’t you take a nice nature hike? Maybe you’d like to join her, Lisa?”

  Lisa glared at him, “What, in my socks? Why the hell did you make me toss my sneakers?”

  Bill chuckled, “Because she’s wearing sandals. Not good for this wilderness. Your sneaks would be better. Also… I’m just a paranoid guy. Maybe you were hiding something under your feet. Never hurts to be cautious.”

  Bill chuckled some more as he went to the bed of the truck and opened the tailgate. He climbed up, threw several things down and carried something halfway between the truck and the river, or deep slough. After a moment, he’d arranged the items into a pyramidal shape and lit it. Within minutes, a small fire was crackling.

  “Did you girls bring the marshmallows?” he called out.

  “I hate him,” Cynthia cranked.

  “He was right,” Lisa whispered to the other woman. “I did have something under my foot. I had a small GPS tracker in my left shoe.”

  Cynthia’s eyes lit up for a moment, “So somebody is tracking us? Or… or was…”

  Lisa nodded, “Yeah. We only lost the shoes less than an hour ago. My hope is that Scott and a team of government agents are on their way. This fire might help them find us.”

  Cynthia sighed, “It sounds like a plane is coming in ten minutes or less, though… do you think your people can get here by then?”

  Lisa scowled and looked out into the night, where Bill was standing by the fire and looking to the south.

  “I don’t know…”

  “One, One, Eagle,” Grayson’s voice suddenly spoke into the team’s ears. “Intercepted transmission from Buzzard. He’s inbound and turning northerly… estimate ten minutes until landing. It’s only a guess, but I’d say you’re only ten miles from touchdown point.”

  Scott clenched his fists. They’d come across Lisa’s shoes a half hour before. The white Nikes had been sitting along the soft shoulder. Having nothing else to go on, the team decided to keep going in the direction their quarry had been following before the GPS tracker was dumped.

  They were on County Road 751. However, the going was slow. Ten miles meant perhaps more than twenty minutes at the speed they were going. That could be plenty of time for a plane to land, pic up Bill and leave him plenty of time to do something unpleasant with his hostages. Provided he didn’t take them along.

  If he was smart, that’s exactly what he’d do. Once that plane was back in the air with hostages aboard, there would be little his team or anyone could do. The plane certainly couldn’t be shot down. Once over international waters… or worse yet, over the sovereign airspace of a non-aligned country, they’d be lost. Cuba as well as several Central American nations were a definite possibility.

  Whatever type of aircraft was coming in would have a limited range, no doubt. However, that could be overcome in a variety of ways. No matter what, though, Cuba was less than two hundred miles from their current position. Even a modest airspeed would cover that distance in less than two hours.

  “Understood, Eagle,” Scott said glumly. “Any I.D. on Buzzard?”

  “Negative,” Grayson replied. “No transponder signal, of course… and don’t have visual yet, so not certain. Our system is detecting a passive radar signal. They could have a radar onboard that bird or at least a detector. We’ve got to exercise caution. We’re still going to settle on his six, just might have to stay a bit further back.”

  “Okay, Eagle… we’ll see if we can up the time table,” Scott replied. “Inform us when you’ve got eyes on the target.”

  “I’m already doing thirty,” Stevvins said. “Much faster and we might bottom out or bust an axel or something.”

  “Have to risk it, Sarg,” Scott said tersely. “We can’t let that bird take off.”

  The Marine grimaced and depressed the accelerator further, bumping the Rover’s speed up to just over forty.

  “Wish we could use thermal imaging,” Scott said. “Maybe see signatures from a distance… I don’t want to just drive up on them. That could put the hostages in danger. Not to mention expose us to fire. I’d also like to get you in a good position to snipe, Jackie.”

  “I’ve got thermal scopes in back,” She said. “It’s a matter of elevation. The higher up, the sooner we spot something.”

  “Want me to Teen Wolf it?” Wayne asked with a grin.

  Scott turned back to him, “Out here? At night? Doing forty and bouncing around like a jogger’s nutsack? You wouldn’t last two minutes up there.”

  Jackie guffawed at my crude analogy. Amanda shook her head but she did chuckle.

  “Got any rope?” Wayne asked Jackie.

  “Of course, detective, I’m a Goddamned Marine.”

  “There ya’ go,” Wayne said, “I can get on the roof and tie a line to the
rack and around my waist. Help me stabilize.”

  Even as he said that, the Land Rover hit a pothole, lurched to the left and then bounced up as it came out of the rut and over a log or something across the road. Everyone was thrown sideways and had a couple of inches of air under their butts.

  “Hey, fuckin’ have at it, Tarzan!” Jackie quipped as she fought to get the careening vehicle under control.

  “Just a suggestion,” Wayne said with a grin. “You don’t have to get poopy pants over it.”

  Everyone laughed except for Samantha Garelli, who by now was fully awake. She glared around at her companions.

  “This isn’t a joke!” She said. “What are you planning to do with me… and with Bill?”

  “What do you think we should do, Sam?” Scott asked.

  “It’s not fair!” She shouted vehemently. “You don’t know, Scott… you don’t know what we’ve been through!”

  Jarvis was now convinced that Samantha was mentally unstable. Possibly so mentally traumatized that it could take years to repair the damage, if that was even possible. He knew that arguing with her was most likely a pointless endeavor, yet he still felt he had to try.

  “Does that make it right, Sam?” He asked her a little more gently. “I know what happened… I know about the drug deal and about your abduction… and what they did. But that doesn’t make what Bill’s done okay. He’s hurt people, killed people and now has hostages. That doesn’t and can’t make up for what happened.”

  “What do you know,” She said in a pique. To Scott her words sounded like that of a child. Deeply rooted in pain and absolutely certain that she was right. “You weren’t there to help us… you didn’t protect me… you were supposed to protect me…”

  There was no way Scott Jarvis was responsible for what had happened. No way he could’ve known. The Garellis had kept the news from him and from just about everyone. Perhaps he could’ve tried harder. During that three months he accepted Bill’s explanations of Sam’s absences from their conversations without truly wondering about it.