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

by Scott Cook

  The big engine roared to life just as Wayne threw open the passenger door and dove inside, “you leaving’ without me, brother?”

  “Wayne, what the fuck…?” Scott asked even as he put the truck in gear and stomped on the gas.

  “When I saw you run, I thought something might be up,” Wayne said. “I told you I’m with you all the way… we’re taking this fucker down, man! Plus, I figured you might need a hand with some bat-shit crazy plan!”

  “Maybe I do,” Scott said. “Get ready to take over! And I think plan is mighty generous…”

  He steered a course just ahead of the plane, which was already picking up speed and moving down the river. It was slowly accelerating, but Scott knew that would change quickly.

  “Take over?” Wayne asked in surprise. “Why?”

  “I’m gonna Teen Wolf it,” Scott declared, setting the cruise control. “Grab the wheel and get me right up to the wing.”

  Wayne’s brown eyes grew huge, “You’re fuckin’ shittin’ me!”

  Scott released the wheel and hauled himself out through the driver’s side window, followed by a string of oaths from his friend. He held onto the fog lights above the cab as he stepped onto the hood and crouched, gripping the roll bar for dear life. The truck was moving at about sixty now, jouncing over a terrain which was thankfully fairly smooth considering.

  He looked forward and saw that the edge of the starboard wing was only twenty feet away. He also saw that it was at eye level. Meaning that if he stood straight upright, the wing might be just above his waist. It would be a tricky thing for sure. He grimaced and drew the KA-bar he’d strapped to his thigh earlier.

  “What’s your plan, TJ Hooker?” Wayne shouted from behind Scott.

  “First, not to shit my pants… Second, I’m going aboard!” Scott shouted back, “flor it, she’s accelerating and moving into deeper water!”

  “Fuckin’ crazy cracker…” Scott heard Wayne’s soft mutter in his ear.

  “That’s racist,” Scott shouted.

  “Can ya’ fuckin’ blame me!” Wayne exclaimed. “See? See? This is exactly why brothuhs shouldn’t hang around white men…”

  Scott thought he heard Stevvins guffaw.

  “Why, I’m not asking’ you to jump from a moving truck onto a moving airplane!” Scott declared and laughed maniacally, the fear and adrenaleine making him giddy. “I’m the one bout to Michael Knight this bitch!”

  The truck’s big knobby tires were already a foot deep. Only because of the wingspan of the aircraft were they not already much deeper in the widening slough.

  “Scott, you’ll never make it!” Wayne shouted but he did manage to squeeze more speed from the racing, bouncing truck.

  “Don’t be a Debbie Downer, man!”

  They were gaining, but the gap was closing slower and slower. It would only be a matter of seconds before the plane’s speed outpaced the truck, especially with it plowing through deepening water and mud.

  The trailing edge of the wing was just over the roll bar when the two vehicle’s speeds matched up. Scott took a breath and stood, leaping up with all his might. He heard Wayne shout a horrified curse and he hit the aluminum, the edge of the wing touching his legs just above the knees.

  And then Scott started to slide off.

  He plunged the point of his combat knife through the skin of the wing and it dug in nearly to the hilt. With this anchor in place, Scott was able to haul himself bodily up and onto the sloping surface. He looked over his shoulder to see the truck slowly falling behind. Then he looked to his left and the forty-five feet of wing he had to cross to get to the fuselage looked like a mile.

  “Guess there’s no chance I’m savin’ these skivvies…” he muttered.

  The plane was moving. Lisa knew that if it took off, there was a better than average possibility she’d never see Scott or home again. At best, she might be kept as a hostage and used sexually or even sold into the white slave trade. At worst… then again maybe not… she’d be killed and her body dumped somewhere over the ocean.

  Neither of these scenarios was acceptable.

  Much of the interior of the after cabin was empty. There was the cramped flight deck forward, a storage area behind the pilot and a small bathroom behind the co-pilot. Then the thirty-five feet or so of the cargo area was empty except for three small folding seats on one side and three on the other. Lisa sat in the rearmost starboard seat with another woman, apparently Bill’s wife, ahead of her. Bill sat directly across from Sam. They were the only people on board except for the pilot. The co-pilot had been hit and fallen out of the still open cargo door as they’d been about to start moving. A spray of his blood cast a macabre streak on the metal decking near the door.

  As the plane began to accelerate, moving remarkably smoothly over the water, Lisa glanced out of the small oval window beside her. The primordial landscape, dimly lit by a waning moon began to slide past faster and faster. Her spirit seemed to sink with the moon as well. What could she do?

  She could probably dive out of the open door. The plane was only moving at forty or fifty miles per hour and accelerating slowly. She’d hit water after all. But then what?

  Just as she was about to do this very thing, movement caught her eye out of her window again. She turned her head and nearly shrieked in surprise and fear as the big monster truck hove into view… with Scott Jarvis crouching on its hood!

  “Oh my God…” she breathed, barely resisting the urge to clamp her now free hands over her mouth.

  As she watched, Scott stood on the hood and leapt up onto the end of the wing. Her heart seemed to skip a beat as he landed awkwardly, only partially lying on the metal and started to slide. Then his right hand reached out and he suddenly stopped moving, gathering himself and got into a crouching position.

  If Sam or Bill looked out of the window, it could mean trouble. She had to act now or never, and there was only one thing she could think to do.

  Lisa sprang from her seat and ran forward. Her initial objective was going to be to drop kick Bill in the head first… but time seemed to be very short. What if the plane took off? What would happen to Scott out on the wing?

  So instead, in a ballsy move that surprised even her, she bolted up the aisle and into the cockpit. She didn’t know shit about flying a plane, but she could recognize some of the controls. Chief among these were the two big throttle levers for the two turbo props. As she ran, Lisa dove forward and grabbed the throttles, dragging them backward all the way… even beyond all the way.

  “Hey what the fuck!” the pilot exclaimed in his heavy cowboy accent.

  The roar from aft died suddenly and to Lisa’s surprise, it sounded like the engines had conked out. The aircraft’s way dropped off rapidly, throwing everyone forward as if somebody had slammed on the brakes.

  “You crazy bitch!” The pilot hollered even as he reached up above his head for the ignition controls.

  Lisa had little time to gloat, as Bill grabbed her by the hair and yanked her backward. She didn’t fight, simply allowed Bill to get his other hand around her waist and haul her out of the cockpit.

  “You are a firebrand,” He said. “Brave move, but ultimately stupid.”

  He might be right. At best, Lisa bought Scott and whoever else was with him a couple of minutes. The pilot would have to restart the engines and get back up to takeoff speed, which in this bucket seemed to take a while. It was better than nothing.

  That’s when Bill made a mistake. He let go of Lisa’s hair and moved aside to push her back into her seat. His plan was to grab a roll of duct tape and secure her again, but the opening he’d left was all she was waiting for.

  Aside from kick boxing, which allowed a smaller fighter like a woman to use the strongest muscles in her body, her legs, Lisa had also been learning Judo from Scott. She liked Judo because it wasn’t just another form of Karate.

  Although Judo certainly taught offensive fighting, it also focused heavily on defensive combat. Judo allowe
d a fighter with less mass and muscle power to fight a larger and stronger opponent. One of the chief tenants of this fighting style was to use the opponent’s own strength and size against them. Therefore, Judo focused a lot on hold breaking, evasion and body throws.

  As Bill half-turned to reach into the rear portside seat for the duct tape he’d thrown there, Lisa threw a hard elbow into his midriff. At the same time, she followed through with her entire body, pushing with both feet and catapulting herself backward. As Bill let out an involuntary, “Umph!” Lisa twisted, got his right arm across her right shoulder and chest and then dropped her knee, pivoting and bending forward and flinging the heavier man over her back and head first into the bulkhead.

  Sam screamed and Bill shouted a curse. While her move was effective, it was hardly a show stopper. Bill rolled onto his knees, a grimace of pain on his face from the bonk on his noggin.

  “So, I guess it’s on, huh baby?” He asked with a sneer as he regained his footing.

  “Oh, it’s on all right!” Declared a strong man’s voice to Lisa’s right.

  Both she and Bill turned to see the formidable bulk of Scott Jarvis filling the cargo door.

  “This is crazy… this is crazy…” Scott kept muttering this mantra over and over as he made his way along the wing one KA-bar thrust at a time.

  With every plunge of the heavy steel blade into the aluminum skin of the wing, Scott wondered if he was puncturing the fuel tank. He wasn’t sure if the fuel was still carried in the wings, what with the engines mounted so far aft. Yet where else could it be?

  Then he wondered if the interaction of the two metals was creating a spark inside the tank. Was aviation fuel more or less volatile than regular gasoline? It probably didn’t matter. If a sufficient spark occurred inside the tank, it would probably be enough to ignite the AvGas and blow them all to hell and back.

  “This is fuckin’ crazy…” He amended his mantra.

  “What’s going on?” Scott heard Grayson’s disembodied voice in his left ear.

  “Fuckin’ Barnstorming Bart is wing walking on the float plane!” Wayne said nervously. “Jesus Christ, Scott… be careful…”

  This sentiment was echoed by everyone on the channel.

  “How ya’ doin’, brother?” Wayne asked with evident concern.

  “Kinda freakin’ out right now, man…” Scott said.

  He’d made it about halfway along the wing and had just plunged his knife into the metal again when the engines suddenly throttled back and sputtered out. He briefly wondered if somehow he’d cut the fuel line with that last plunge.

  He didn’t have much time to ponder this, however, as the sudden deceleration, enhanced by the hydrodynamic friction on the floats, nearly sent him spiraling forward off the wing. He managed to maintain his hold on the handle of the knife, though, and as the aircraft slowed to little more than a jog, he decided that this was his big break.

  Jarvis leapt to his feet, yanking the combat knife from the wing and ran the final twenty feet to the fuselage. Balancing precariously on the cylindrical hull, he once again plunged his blade into the metal skin of the plane just above the still open cargo door. Once again, the engines roared to life and the plane began to move forward even as Scott gritted his teeth, clutched the knife handle in both hands and swung himself out over nothing and dropped into the open cargo compartment.

  The sight that greeted him filled him with pleasure. Lisa had just tossed Bill over her shoulder and they were facing off as Bill got shakily to his feet.

  “Oh, it’s on all right!” Scott said and lunged for the man who’d once been his best friend.

  The two men grappled, crumbling to the deck in an unstudied and ill-considered heap. This was no longer a fight of skill but a dirty knock-down, drag-out street brawl. They punched and kicked and gouged, neither man seeming to be able to get an advantage on the other as they rolled back and forth on the diamond plated deck.

  Scott had height and size on Bill for certain, yet the smaller man had astonishing upper body strength for his size. Without good leverage, Scott couldn’t get himself in a good enough position to either hold Bill or deliver a knockout blow. For his part, Bill couldn’t quite get himself in a position where a dirty shot to Scott’s balls or throat would get him free. Although both men were strong, Scott was exceptionally strong, and Bill knew that sooner or later, if it came down to brute strength alone, Scott would prevail.

  Scott also knew that Bill was desperate and that he’d do anything to win. That meant any shot along the vulnerable body line. Human beings, as bilateral organisms, had their greatest weak spots along the line that bisected their two halves. The genitals, belly, solar plexus, throat and nose were a human being’s most sensitive areas. It didn’t take much punishment to these areas to put even a big strong man out of commission.

  At one point, the two men were nearly chest to chest. Bill’s hands on Scott’s throat and Scott’s on Bill’s. Jarvis was shocked by the pure, unfiltered hate and rage in the man’s eyes. Eyes that seemed to the detective to verge precariously on the cliff of sanity.

  Had he suffered as much as his wife from her ordeal? Had the guilt and pain broken his spirit and his mind nearly as badly as hers? It would certainly explain a lot.

  Bill’s thick hands were squeezing for all they were worth. Scott began to see flashes in his vision accompanied by distant dark splotches in his periphery. His own large hands were squeezing too, but he knew it wasn’t his best effort. Something in him just couldn’t bring himself to kill the man outright. Not like this.

  Then those crazy, murder-filled eyes went wide and the face before Jarvis went pale. Both men fell apart and Scott watched as Lisa stood over them, bringing her right foot back for another kick.

  Scott took the opening, grabbed Bill by the front of his shirt and started hammering furious punches into the man’s face. Piston like blows delivered enough punishment that they would’ve sent Bill into deep unconsciousness if not for the adrenaline-fueled rage coursing through his blood vessels.

  Bill uttered a guttural cry of rage and desperation, bringing his right foot up and planting it hard into Scott’s midriff. It wasn’t really a kick but more of a hard push. Although it felt to Scott like a modest punch, it wasn’t debilitating. Bill’s goal was simply to push them apart and come back in swinging.

  The effect was, however, far more dramatic. At the same instant as the two men fell apart, the aircraft bounced several times as her speed reached the takeoff limit. Bill and Scott both flopped onto their back, Scott fetching up against the starboard bulkhead and Bill lurching backward to where the cargo door would’ve stopped him as well… if it had been closed.

  Even as Scott watched, part of him horrified to see it, Bill Garelli slid backward and out of the open cargo door. For a seemingly impossible moment, the man pin wheeled his arms, clawing at the air rushing by for a purchase. Finding none, though, he continued out of the door and fell into the night.

  Scott leapt to his feet, Sam’s screams ringing in his ears. He stepped across to the doorway, feeling a two-part horror. First at seeing Bill fall from a moving airplane and then realizing that, while the plane was moving at over a hundred knots, it was only a few feet off the water when Bill had fallen. It was possible the man had survived the plunge and was now free!

  “Eagle!” Scott shouted over the wind that roared past the open doorway. “Shade just bailed out!”

  There was quite a bit of hullaballoo over the channel as everyone was shouting and talking at once. Scott turned to go forward, intent on forcing the pilot to land when he stopped short.

  Lisa and Sam were struggling. The contest was mostly over who would gain control over a pistol. Probably Bill’s that had been dropped when Lisa must have jumped him. The two women, who were fairly close in size, although Lisa definitely had the edge in strength and training, were half bent over the second seat on the starboard side.

  Sam was cursing and shrieking to wake the dead. Lisa was sp
itting her own curses, trying to force the barrel of the pistol that Sam clutched in both hands with white knuckled intensity, toward the overhead.

  Just as Scott reached them, Lisa managed to swing the pistol away from herself and from Scott. Sam managed to squeeze the trigger at the same time. Two things happened at once that froze Scott’s blood.

  First, the weapon roared out in the confined space along with another surprised scream from Sam. The next sound was the pained and shocked cry of the pilot, as a 9mm round entered through his back and lodged just behind one of his ribs.

  “Oh, ho-lee Geez!” Scott exclaimed as the heavy aircraft, only a few hundred feet above ground, began to yaw.

  Chapter 30

  I could feel the airplane slipping sideways through the air. I realized that the semi-conscious pilot must have his foot pressing down on the left rudder pedal.

  I stumbled forward, hoping against hope that he was still able to fly this thing. As I moved past Lisa, part of my mind cataloged the fact that she’d managed to wrestle the gun away from Sam and had cold cocked her into some level of submission.

  The plane began to roll slowly to port. I could see that the pilot had one hand on the yoke, but he seemed to be wavering.

  “Can you fly?” I shouted at him.

  He looked over at me stupidly, his eyes already glazing over with pain and his face growing pale from blood loss. I cursed and felt a stab of fear in my belly even as I reached over and unbuckled his harness and hauled him bodily out of the pilot’s seat.

  “My bird…” I muttered, my mind reeling at what was facign me.

  I dragged the pilot out of his seat and laid him none too gently on the deck.

  “Lisa!” I shouted back and jumped into the co-pilot’s chair.

  I’m not a pilot. However, in my reading, TV watching and conversations with those friends I knew who did fly, I had a very rudimentary understanding of how an airplane worked. I knew how Bernoulli’s principle of lift worked, of course. It was the same physics that allowed a sailboat to travel with the wind forward of the beam.