What Lies Beneath: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 10)

by Scott Cook

  “To you and not me?”

  “That’s right, muffin. The private investigation firm of Gonzalez and her man meat are in high demand,” Lisa giggled as she set the phone to speaker and played the voicemail.

  “Good morning, Ms. Gonzalez and Mr. Jarvis— “

  “See” Lisa whispered.

  “—I’ve heard a lot of good things about your firm, Mr. Jarvis. That includes the addition of Ms. Gonzalez. The two of you have made quite a name for yourselves of late. I find myself in need of a private investigator and I think that a female perspective might work in my favor. My name is Marsha Davies and I’m currently the representative for Florida’s nineteenth congressional district. A democrat, if that’s at all pertinent. Would you please call me back at your earliest convenience? Thank you.”

  “Wow, look at you,” I exclaimed, patting her butt again. “You might be working for a Congresswoman… Congressperson…? Anyway, a big wheel. If I’m not mistaken, district nineteen is based in Naples and covers southwest Florida… hmm…”

  “You suspect something, Holmes?”

  “Indeed, Watsonita… perhaps my suspicious mind is simply being tweaked by the coincidental nature of that area of the state repeatedly cropping up,” I Holmesed. “Yet the juxtaposition of time and events leads me to believe that the game, whatever it might be, is afoot.”

  “Wish we knew what the game was,” Lisa grumbled.

  “My gut says we’re going to find out,” I said. “Why don’t you give Mrs. or Miss. Davies a call back while I cleanse my two-thousand parts.”

  “Better pay special attention to this one,” She said, giving my special area a quick squeeze. “It’s recently been subjected to a variety of bodily fluids.”

  “Gross.”

  Book Two

  Uncovering the hidden layers

  17

  Eastern coast of Florida – 0400 Zulu

  Patrick Space Force Base: 28°14 N, 80°36 W

  The night was cold, crisp and clear. A mild seven knot breeze blew off the land and out over the placid sea, flattening the gentle swell that rolled lazily toward the beach into little more than a ripple. Thousands of stars cast their pale illumination upon the world and were outshined by a nearly full moon. The waxing satellite appeared bloated and bursting with silvery light, that gave the land and seascape beyond a pleasant but tactically unfortunate ghostly glow.

  Yet conditions were what conditions were. The op must go forward. I’d quickly learned, almost from day one, that when the mission was time sensitive that a SEAL improvised, adapted and overcame. This wasn’t just a good idea, for a SEAL, it was a way of life.

  Although I was technically attached to ICE, the International Counter-criminal Enforcement Agency, I was also a U.S. Navy O4, or Lieutenant Commander. My official designator was 113X, a special warfare officer… or SEAL. Although I hadn’t gone through the official SEAL training program at Coronado, California, my police training, personal training and experience gave me a leg up. Of course, I had to visit Patrick every two or three weeks for three days of some of the most rigorous and intensive training to sort of catch me up. By that time in late January, I’d qualified as a pilot, performed training in insertion techniques including parachute operations, helo-casting, submarine deployment and more. I’ve also received training in underwater combat and demolition, hand to hand combat, general counter-insurgency and intelligence gathering among other useful and interesting skills. We also worked with the Coast Guard on small vessel boarding procedures. Although intense and grueling, I found the training a lot of fun and very informative.

  As our custom-built Zodiac MPSWC, multi-purpose special warfare craft skittered southward across the small waves at more than forty knots, I was grateful for two things. First, that the moon was nearly to its zenith and that our jet-black boat wouldn’t be backlit and easily visible from any observers on the beach. It was likely that there would be quite a few, either in or near the houses along the dune or by people enjoying a late-night stroll on the strand.

  Second, I was glad of the lightweight and fast-drying combat wetsuit I wore. The air over the sixty-degree water was even colder, at just under fifty-five. My exposed face and hands were already stiffening from the wind chill. That would change once I and the team donned our full-face masks and insulated gloves, but for the moment, the brisk ride south was desensitizing us to the upcoming plunge.

  The Zodiac was a fantastic piece of gear and I wanted one for myself. Twenty-five feet long and almost ten feet in beam, the rigid inflatable boat was very stable even in heavy seas and its twin two hundred horsepower Yamaha four stroke outboards could push her up to a speed of just over sixty knots. The boat’s external inflatable hull was a combination of heavy rubber air chambers covered by a lightweight but strong Kevlar weave that could deflect a 5.56 round at nearly point-blank range. Even if punctured, the sponsons were broken down into ten independent air chambers that would still keep the boat afloat and functional even if four were punctured and lost pressure. Additionally, an inflatable chamber beneath the hull provided further buoyancy and a V-shape for better performance and stability. The rigid interior of the boat was itself a lightweight ceramic composite with buoyant foam injected so that should all the air chambers fail, the boat would still stay afloat.

  In short, damned hard to sink.

  The vessel had a hard mount on its small foredeck where a SAW, a squad assault weapon, could be mounted. Further, there was dry storage under the bench seats along both sides for weapons, gear and supplies. Diving gear was stored in shallow compartments under the composite deck as was a compressor, fresh water and fuel. Enough food and water to sustain a five-member team for up to a week at sea should the need arise.

  Finally, the center console and T-top were solid composite and painted with radar-reflecting coating. The communication, satellite, radar and sonar gear were the best the military could offer. With a range of three hundred miles at a cruising speed of thirty knots, the boat was, quite honestly, one bad-ass mofo.

  And it only cost six-hundred and forty-thousand I was told.“Gear checks complete?” The team leader, Commander Bryan Turner asked as he glanced at the glowing chart plotter and GPS display over Coast Guard Petty Officer First Class James Dillan’s shoulder.

  “Scuba tanks check,” Chief Tony Hightower, U.S. Navy reported.

  “Com gear nominal,” Gunnery Sergeant Jackie Stevvins, Marine Corps added.

  “Pistols clear, Tasers charged and hypos full, sir,” I reported.

  Turner met my eyes and grinned. He and I hadn’t started out on the best footing. Two alpha lions in a pen would be more accurate to how we butted heads early on. Although we weren’t quite in tickly bestie territory yet, I’d come to respect him and he me, and our professional relationship was better than it had been just a few months before. Our mutual animosity, mostly borne from Turner’s need to compete with me and assert his higher rank… and my admittedly strong dislike of authority, had mellowed and we were at least cordial now.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Special gear is all there, too. We should be good to go. We’ll be at the insertion point in one-hundred and eighty-seconds. Let’s get rigged. One, two, three and four.”Turner pointed to his chest, then me, then Hightower and then Jackie. The Marine chuffed.

  “What?” Turner asked bemusedly.

  “Why am I always the last number?” Jackie protested.

  “Cuz you’re a girl,” Hightower teased in his deep voice. His white teeth, brilliant against his dark skin and the night sky flashed.

  Jackie punched him in one of his thigh-thick arms, “Didn’t stop me from saving your chocolate ass at that Ghana brothel last year.”

  Hightower scoffed, “Saved me from a good time, you mean. That girl loved me.”

  “Yeah, that’s why she had a dagger in her stocking and a pistol under the pillow,” Jackie teased further. “But don’t let that deflate your ego, Tony… sure whores and strippers work for money… but you’r
e special.”

  “You’re special,” Hightower jibed and continued to smile. “She led us where we needed to go, so it was all worth it.”

  “Jesus Christ…” Turner cranked, yet a smile was playing on his lips as well. “Whenever you two children are done, I’d like to get geared up and get this goat fuck underway.”

  “Hundred and ten-seconds,” Dillan said after a chuckle.

  We helped one another wriggle into our BC’s and tanks. We chose to use standard Scuba gear in case it was found when we hit the beach. Generally, SEAL teams preferred rebreathers for their longevity, lack of expelled bubbles and stealth. However, standard scuba gear was more common and thus less suspicious. At that time of night, with the moon high, bubble trails weren’t really going to be an issue.

  In addition to the dive gear, we settled an enclosed hood over our heads that offered a full-face plate. The second stage hooked into this and allowed for free conversation over a short-range acoustic link.

  We strapped our individual waterproof gear bags to our hips, cinched down on the weight belts and lined up along the portside sponson.

  “Positions,” Turner ordered over the comm link.

  The four of us lay prone on the big tube in order of our numeric designation. Turner was in the lead and I lay with his ankles under my armpits and my hands gripping his weight belt. Hightower was behind me in the same position and latched on to me the same way. Jackie hooked on and we made one continuous sixteen-foot-long creature.

  “If my father sees this, Commander… we’ll have to get married,” I said.

  Jackie and Hightower snickered and Turner sighed but I heard him chuckle.

  “On my mark!” Dillan’s voice echoed over the bone conducting earbud earwigs and from outside the masks. “Slowing to twenty knots now, depth is three-seven feet… standby… drop, drop, drop!”

  As one, we rolled to our left, falling off the rounded top of the pontoon and into the cold water. I gripped Turner’s belt tightly as I felt his lower legs clamp around my chest and Hightower’s grip on my own belt tighten. We plunged into the water with a surprisingly small splash and continued forward for a few seconds, our kinetic energy rapidly bleeding off as we slowed.

  When we were still, we released each other and began to slowly sink toward the bottom. The darkness just below the surface was complete and I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face let alone my teammates. However, our gear had several special features that gave us a much-needed edge. First, we all wore an infrared beacon attached to the first stage of our dive gear. Invisible to the naked eye, this would’ve been useless except for the night-vision function of the face masks. They also held an LED infrared lamp that faced forward. Inside the mask, the invisible light became visible and I could see everyone’s beacon as well as each team member when in the cone of my light. Additionally, a digital readout near the top of the mask showed a compass course and depth indicator.

  “Report status,” Turner ordered.

  Everyone checked in as nominal.

  “Once we hit bottom, form line abreast in order of designation,” Turner said. “Clasp hands and we’ll proceed ashore together. How’s the night vision?”

  “Good,” Jackie reported. “But like a regular dive light. I can only see what the light shows. Vis is about twenty feet.”

  “That’ll get worse as we get near shore,” I stated.

  “Roger that,” Hightower agreed.

  “Exactly, that’s why we hold hands,” Turner said. “Once we can stand and poke our heads up, we’ll reconnoiter and determine next moves… well, once Two and I can stand, that is… Three and Four, you’ll have to take our word for it.”

  That received chuckles and a few comments that could be considered insubordinate or even mutinous under the right conditions. Soon thereafter, our flippers touched down on sandy bottom and we formed up.

  The swim to the beach was only a half mile, so we took it slow and steady. The ocean around us was silent… that is to say, free of man-made sounds. The ocean is not a silent world beneath the waves. On the contrary, the constant crackling of crustacean tails and pinchers, the crunch of fish flittering and other sounds gives the hydrosphere a continuous rice crispy crunch.

  We were also alert to the presence of any other potential denizens of the deep. Although unlikely, an encounter with a small reef shark, especially as we crossed over the rocky reef halfway to our destination was possible. These small nocturnal sharks weren’t any real danger and generally avoided strangely-shaped and noisy divers like the plague. However, a larger predator could be cruising as well. Crossing paths with a bull shark, great hammerhead or tiger large enough that her curiosity overcame her predatory wariness could happen, although the odds were fairly small.

  In that event, however, we were each equipped with a Shark Shocker on our chests. A small electrical jolt could be sent out into the nearby water at the touch of a button. While it also gave the wearer and uncomfortable sizzle, it scrambled the shark’s ampullae of Lorenzini, their electrical sensors, enough that it generally dissuaded any further curiosity.

  “Duh dump… duh… dump…” Jackie intoned.

  “Anybody ever tell you that you’re hilarious?” Hightower inquired.

  “All the time, Three,” Jackie snickered.

  “They’re liars, Four,” Turner quipped.

  Jackie giggled again, obviously relishing her wit.

  “We’re past the reef now,” Turner said softly, almost as if trying not to be overheard. “Twelve feet of water. We should be in standing depth in a minute or two.”

  We were. The bottom came up suddenly, from twelve to about five feet within thirty yards. We all stopped, and Turner and I stood with our fins flat on the sand. Our weight belts were over-rigged to ensure negative buoyancy to help us stay on the bottom in spite of the air-filled dry bags we carried.

  Our heads broke the surface and we gazed at the line of beach and structure beyond. Now that we were in natural light again, the world in the face masks lit up in a greenish simulation of daytime.

  “Negative contact ashore,” I reported.

  “Concur,” Turner said. “Recognize the target house?”

  I turned my head slightly and looked at the small cluster of beach houses. Most were very modest in size, ranging from bungalows to compact single-family structures. One of these, almost the last one to the north, was dark, like most of the others.

  “Roger, that one. Matches our visual intel,” I reported. “Looks like quite a few people are still up tonight.”

  “It’s not even midnight yet on a Friday night,” Jackie commented from under the surface. “Probably a few parties going on. Anybody on the beach watching the submarine races?”

  Hightower snickered and Turner shook his head, “You wish, Four. That sort of thing is kind of frowned on at the base. Too many people and families.”

  Jackie scoffed.

  “Nobody in our immediate area, at least,” I said. “Though I’d bet dollars to navy beans we go north or south a half mile…”

  “Are you lonely, Four?” Hightower asked.

  “I’m the only X-chrome on an op with three good-looking dong delivery systems,” Jackie informed us. “I’m only human.”

  “Dong delivery system?” Turner asked as he scanned the beach.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much what you boys are good for,” Jackie rejoined. “That and changing spark plugs, taking out the trash… uhm… that’s about it.”

  “Can we get serious?” I asked. “I got shit to do.”

  Turner turned and looked at me with a raised eyebrow, “I doubt we can… and you’re the last one I’d expect to say that.”

  “I can be serious, Commander,” I said. “When necessary. Although… I’m only partially serious about getting serious. We should move out, though. Coast is clear and we need to execute stage two.”

  “Agreed… Three and Four, grab our weight belts, slip off your flippers and let’s move. When we get to the be
ach, Two on point, then me, then Four. Three, you follow and obscure the tracks.”

  A chorus of aye-ayes filtered in over the comms. Turner and I removed our fins and began to moon walk into the shallows, towing our teammates until they’re heads were above the surface. We closed the valves on the air tanks, slid the masks up and used normal vision. We waited a few seconds to become accustomed to the moon and starlight and then I began to stride straight for the house that we knew to be empty. I took shorter steps, though, as Jackie would have to be able to step into the prints easily while carrying her dive gear.

  I made it to the dune and to a set of wooden steps that led to the house’s backyard and I stopped. Turner was right behind me and we both looked back. Jackie was halfway to us, about twenty yards away. She was watching as Hightower walked backwards in the deep footprints and used his swim fins to obliterate them.

  Turner and I opened our waterproof bags and removed our pistols and hypo spray knockout pens.

  “Our contact says this house is supposed to be closed up for the winter,” Turner whispered, still over the earwigs. “The window into the living room is supposed to be open.”

  “Let’s hope our contact is correct… and actually on our side,” I replied. “Let’s drop our dive gear in the pool and scope the sitch while Three and Four catch up.”

  “Concur,” Turner replied as we went up the steps and into the small patchy grass of the backyard. The small house had a concrete patio with a small kidney-shaped pool in the center. Turner and I wriggled out of our BCV’s and carefully lowered the rigs into the shallow end. We dropped our fins and weight belts in as well. The face masks and the wet suits we’d store inside.

  The back of the house had a large set of double-hung windows on one side, a sliding glass door and then another double-hung set of windows on to the right. Our intel indicated that the rear of the house was the living room and then the master bedroom, with two smaller bedrooms facing the driveway and street and the kitchen and dining room behind the living room. All the windows were covered inside by plantation shutters. The slider had two heavy curtains concealing what lie within.