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

by Scott Cook

  “How far are they?” Pak asked, walking very close to me. His voice was a sepulchral whisper just barely audible even over the comm units with their hyper-sensitive bone-conducting microphones.

  “About half a mile I think,” I said, consulting my iPhone. “Your car still hasn’t moved.”

  “Do you think it’s an ambush?”

  I shrugged, “I can’t see how. They have no idea we’re coming. No suspicion that we would be.”

  “Then why has nobody come out? I mean… if they just wanted to stash my car…”

  “Doc, I don’t know,” I replied, somewhat irritably. “That’s why we’re out here. To find out. My guess is that Stick’s boss, this Gaspar fellow, is going to try for you again. So at least this way, things are set up.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that…”

  “I wouldn’t imagine so… now hush… do you hear that?”

  The rutted trail rounded a bend of pines, oaks and palmettos into another open area. Even without the aid of the night vision monocular I wore, I could see that this area was a wide-open stretch of waist-high grass that went for perhaps a hundred and fifty yards before meeting a dark dome-shaped cypress hammock. With the monocular, I could see the road and its straight path leading directly to the next grove of trees. Where it went from there I couldn’t tell.

  However, I thought I heard the ghostly sound of human voices. Multiple voices, coming from the vicinity of the hammock ahead. I also caught the faint whiff of burning wood.

  “Smells like a campfire,” Pak commented.

  “Yeah… interesting. I don’t see anybody between us and that cypress hammock,” I commented and then made up my mind. “Let’s double time it, Doc.”

  Pak and I jogged across the open ground. I had to simply hope that the men we were about to face hadn’t had the forethought to post a sniper in the cypress trees. I hadn’t spotted anything in my monocular but that was hardly proof positive.

  There was little alternative, though. Although it was the dry season and the rutted dirt road was dry, it wouldn’t be dry everywhere out in the grasses. We couldn’t take the time or the risk of crawling through them slowly and coming on a snake or gator nest at night.

  We made it across the intervening ground and stopped at the edge of the hammock. The road turned to the left, seeming to circle around the thousand foot or so wide stand of trees and brush.

  The smell of a campfire was stronger here, as were the voices. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, yet I could distinguish three or even four voices. They must be on the other side of the trees.

  “Sounds like a group of guys,” Pak observed.

  “Yeah… at least one is B.B.,” I agreed. “Probably Stick and Diesel, too. I’m hoping that maybe their boss is out here, too. I’m getting tired of this shit and I want a prisoner.”

  “And then what?”

  “I do whatever it takes to get them to talk,” I said. “Because I have to think that if there’s a man out there who’s in charge of these gang bangers, then he knows the big cheese… if he isn’t the big cheese himself.”

  “Is that likely?”

  “Probably not,” I said. “This… this… whatever it is. I think case is too small a word for it… anyway, this scenario is far too large and far reaching for the main villain to be hanging out in the swamp at night roasting weenies with some gang bangers.”

  Pak chuckled, “How big is it, really?”

  “Senator Maxwell Thorne and Congresswoman Marsha Davies have both hired me and my partner, respectively,” I explained. “There have been grave robbings and that little jar you pilfered was planted up in Davenport. It’s got something to do with a land-grab scheme in the Ten G’s. Right now, though, I don’t know who my true enemy is. However, there’s a prominent man from Collier County named Richard Eagle Feather who seems to be at the center of it. He’s a Calusa and may also sit on the boards of the Seminole and Miccosukee Nation councils.”

  “But the Ten G’s are federally protected, aren’t they?” Pak asked. “I know that it’s nearly impossible to do any work there without a lot of permitting and stuff. Too bad, because we suspect there are a lot of Calusa sites and artifacts to be found down there.”

  I chuffed, “To be stolen and sold for profit, do you mean, Pak?”

  He turned and faced me with a sour expression, “Look… I admit it was shitty stealing that jar. You don’t make much money in this field, detective. Not even with a Ph.D. I make about as much as a schoolteacher and I had to spend eight years in college to get there. I do love my work, and that’s why I do it… I just wanted a little something extra. A little pocket change to be able to enjoy my off hours a bit. Is that so wrong? Believe me, Mr. Jarvis, a guy who makes less than fifty grand a year doesn’t get to go on a lot of dates with women that look like your friends, y’know? But that doesn’t make me a hardened criminal. It was a one-time thing.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He rolled his eyes, “Hey, even if I did it again… can you blame me? I’ve dedicated my life to Calusa research… so is it so terrible to want to get a little something for myself? To sell an occasional artifact to a collector? Somebody who pays well and appreciates a rare historical item?”

  I sighed, “Doc… I’ll be honest, I’m not a fan of thieves. But neither am I going to sit here on a high horse and look down my nose. I’ve done some questionable things myself. I guess I can understand things from your point of view. The problem is that your simple act of getting paid for one small artifact out of so many has pried open the lid of a very large can of worms. On top of that, I’ve already risked my life to protect yours and I may need your help. So please don’t cry woe is me too hard. Tonight may not be the last time we work together. I expect your cooperation as payment. Does that sound fair?”

  He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, “I suppose so. But if you’re looking for a fellow soldier or something… I’m not much use.”

  I clapped him on the shoulder, “You never know, Doc. If it comes to it, I’ll use you as a staked goat.”

  “Great…” He grumbled.

  “Take it easy,” I said. “I didn’t do all this just to let you get captured. Come on, follow me, ten paces behind. From now on, we use the earwigs and our designations, okay?”

  “Roger,” he said and smirked.

  I began following the road around the stand of trees at a brisk walk. The road was mostly dirt with the occasional patch of gravel from where someone had tried to prevent erosion. When I saw these spots, I would walk in one of the ruts or near the edge of the road so as to limit any noise I was making. Pak seemed to understand what I was doing and followed me exactly.

  As the road wound around the eastern side of the hammock and turned toward the southwest, it passed between the big cypress hammock and a smaller clump of pines. Through this sort of gate, I could finally see our quarry. I stopped and crouched along the edge of the road, using some palmetto branches as cover.

  The road went west for fifty more yards before seeming to turn southerly again and out onto another large open area of saw grass. In a clearing on the south side of the hammock, three vehicles were parked in a loose formation. One was Pak’s CRV. There was what looked like a luxury SUV, but not quite as large. It was black, or I thought so based on how dark it was and might have been a Cadillac crossover of some kind. The third vehicle was a quad cab full-sized pickup truck… the same truck that had been used to haul Rick Eagle Feather away on Thursday night.

  Between the cars and my position burned a small campfire around which stood four men. I recognized all of them and smiled.

  “Excellent…” I muttered, mimicking Mr. Burns from The Simpsons.

  “What?” Pak whispered in my earwig.

  “Recognize any of those men?” I asked.

  A pause, “Dunno… Not the white guy. The three blacks all look the same, even with the moonlight. They make good criminals at night, huh?”

  That surprised me a little.
He hadn’t used an ethnic slur, but he had used the word “blacks” like it was.

  “Seriously, Doc?” I asked. “You not a fan of black folks? They all look the same, is that what you said?”

  He scoffed, “Isn’t that what they say about Asians?”

  I sighed, “In this day and age and from a guy your age… kind of sad.”

  He scoffed again, “They tried to kill me, for Christ’s sake! And I’m so sorry if my views don’t’ jive with yours, reverend! But maybe if your dad ran a convenience store in L.A. and had to deal with what my dad did… you might feel differently.”

  I sighed. This was no time for a debate or lecture on cultural tolerance, “I don’t like these guys, Doc. They’re pieces of shit in my book… but that’s because their gangsters and hurt people and steal and do who knows what else… it’s not because of their skin color. Okay… the three black guys include Stick, I think the other one is B.B. I don’t know the third, but I’d bet dollars to navy beans it’s Diesel.”

  There was a pause while Pak was probably biting back his pique. He finally asked about the fourth man.

  “You don’t know him at all?”

  “No.”

  “That’s the lead man who kidnapped Rick Eagle Feather,” I said. “I want him.”

  “There are four of them, Batman. What’s your plan here?”

  And I’m accused of being a smarty pants…

  “Not sure yet, Two,” I said, hoping he’d get the point. I doubted they were tuning into any radio freqs, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. “I could simply shoot them… but that seems inappropriate. How about you walk out there and distract them?”

  “Do you think you’re funny…? One.”

  “I’ve been known to get a chuckle or two in my day… Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. I’m going to… oh, fudge, who am I kidding? Direct approach. Stay cool, Two.”

  “What does— “

  I stood, shouldered my weapon and fired two three-round bursts into the grill and tires of the pickup. I then fired two more bursts into the Caddy. The angle was such that from my position, I could just send my rounds into the fronts of the vehicles without hitting the men by the fire. They didn’t know this, however, and began to shout and swear and otherwise react like most folks do when at the wrong end of an automatic weapon’s discharge.

  “Stand where you are!” I shouted, sending another burst over their heads. Almost half my magazine gone. “Put your hands on your heads and stay absolutely still!”

  In a display of surprising cool-headedness, the three gangsters did just that. They turned toward me and placed their hands squarely on top of their heads. Their friend, or probably leader, chose instead to reach for something on his belt. The burst I sent into the dirt just in front of his shoes changed his mind for him, however.

  I moved forward, striding toward the men with long fast steps. I reached up and swung the monocular onto my forehead so I could see them with two standard eyes. There was plenty of moonlight and the light from the campfire illuminated them further.

  I stopped a dozen feet away and waited.

  “Jarvis,” The white man grumbled.

  “That’s the crazy mothuihfuckuh dragged me underwater tonight!” Stick exclaimed unnecessarily.

  “Good evening, gents,” I said. “Sorry about your rides. Little trigger happy. This damned thing’s got a light pull… keep that in mind.”

  “That an AR15?” The man I hadn’t met yet, Diesel I guessed, asked. He pronounced it fiddeen.

  “Nope,” I said. “M4. Superior weapon. The AR15 is just an M16 knockoff. And the M16, at least the original model, isn’t that great in my opinion. This military-issue carbine still has great range and is way better as a tactical assault weapon.”“What now, Jarvis?” the stranger asked.

  “Now you’re going to tell me who you are, who you work for and where I can find Mr. Rick Eagle Feather,” I said politely.

  He laughed, “Think so? And what if I don’t?”

  “Then I’m going to torture you until your throat is bloody raw from screaming,” I said.

  The man responded with a scornful laugh. Diesel and B.B. laughed along with him. I noticed that Stick wasn’t laughing. He gazed at me steadily and bit his lower lip. I could see that his shaved head was gleaming in the moonlight. I’d evidently put the fear of god into him.

  “Think I’m joking?” I asked. “Tell them, Stick.”

  “Yo, this fuckin’ crackuh is crazy, man,” Stick offered. “He ain’t lyin’.”

  The white man scoffed, “Just because you got dragged underwater doesn’t’ mean anything, Stick. Jarvis is a good guy. Good guys don’t kill people in cold blood. They don’t torture them. He gave you a scare and that’s it. A little water never hurt anybody.”

  I said nothing for a long moment. I couldn’t be sure if it was working on their side, but to me it felt like the tension was steadily growing thicker. I waited another beat or two.

  “You three men,” I finally commanded. “I want you to turn around and face away from me. Three feet apart. Keep your hands on your heads and kneel with your ankles crossed. You, whitey, come here.”

  “Hey, fuck—“ the leader began. I fired another burst, aiming just to the left of his head. The rounds probably missed by nearly a foot, but he seemed to get the message.

  “The next time you don’t follow my orders,” I said harshly. “I start placing 5.56-millimeter rounds into you. Now move!”

  The three bangers got the hint. They spun around and dropped to their knees, doing just as I asked. The leader came over, a dark look of hate on his face. If a look could kill I’d need serious first aid.

  “Turn around,” I said tightly.

  He did so. I let my M4 hang loose in its tactical sling. I reached into my back pocket and brought out a heavy-duty zip tie. I grabbed his hands and pulled them behind his back and applied the plastic restraint. I then shoved him forward and had him kneel on the ground as well, but in front of the other men and closer to the fire.

  I then quickly restrained each gangster’s hands and their crossed ankles. I rose, dusted off my jeans and moved so that all four men could see me.

  “Okay, Doc, come on out,” I said.

  “Jesus Christ… you sure?” His disbelieving voice hissed into my left ear.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Whatcha gonna do wit us?” B.B. asked, sounding half defiant and half frightened.

  “That’s the beauty of it, B.B.,” I stated. “You turd gropers picked an excellent spot for this. A good half mile from the highway… nighttime… nobody can hear your screams of terror or agony. Well… no person can. But you see, boys, there’s a lot more out here than people. Lots of nasty things creeping around in the Everglades at night. Gators… panthers… snakes. Big fuckers, too. You heard about all the pythons they keep finding out here? Big bastards, too. Bodies as thick as a man’s waist… twenty feet long and big enough to swallow a gator… or a man. Kind of a bad place to be hog tied, huh?”

  Pak appeared in the clearing with my Colt 1911 in his hand. When he walked into the firelight, his face was impassive as he looked over the four men. I also took note of the fact that while the gangsters appeared surprised by the archeologist’s sudden appearance, the white guy didn’t.

  “Doc, meet the man who I believe you spoke to on the phone tonight,” I said, indicating the leader.

  Pak said nothing.

  “He has information that we need,” I explained further. “He’s also the man responsible for sending these fine lads over to your house to kill you. Isn’t that right, Mister?”

  The man chuckled softly, “Jarvis, you think you’re so smart. You have no idea how far behind you really are. You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

  “Perhaps not,” I said. “But then… neither do you seem to have any idea with whom you’re fucking. What’s your name?”

  “Eat shit.”

  “Oh, splendid!” I gushed. “You’d prefer to do
things the fun way. Excellent. I assume since you guys are having yourselves a campout that you’ve got plenty of water… Can you go and search the truck and the other SUV, Doc? Let me know if they’ve got some bottles of water or anything.”

  “Pak, you can still make some money,” The white man said in his distinct southern accent, which seemed to grow thicker with stress. “Just because Jarvis says Stick and his men were coming to kill you don’t make it so. As a matter of fact, they were supposed to be your protection… from this asshole. Ain’t that right, Stick?”

  “Hell yeah, Doc,” Stick agreed. “We never even got the chance to talk before you guys took off n’shit.”

  Pak looked to me expectantly.

  “Really?” I asked him, truly surprised that he’d buy that line of bullshit. “Why would you need protection from me, Doc? You know… the good guy?”

  “Pak, use that gun!” The leader said. “Shoot this bastard and I’ll give you double what we promised and cut you in on the deal. Truth be told, we could use a Calusa expert on this project. Always needed you, Doc. This first job was just a test. You stick with us, and you’re looking at more money than you could earn in a lifetime at that research center.”

  Pak’s face hardened and he pointed the pistol he held directly at my chest, “Sorry, Jarvis… but you guessed wrong.”

  “Ghad! Did I?”

  Pak smirked, “I knew all along what Tanner here had in mind. Isn’t that right, Mr. Donniker?”

  “Uh-huh.” I intoned and then did a double take and couldn’t help but snicker. “Tanner? Are you shittin’ me?”

  Tanner Donniker, apparently that was the white man’s name, at first looked a bit pinched at having his name mentioned. I couldn’t really blame him for that, on any level. The look quickly vanished and was replaced by a wicked grin as he got to his feet, “Correct, Doc. We didn’t come out here for him, Jarvis… we came out here and got set up to lure you out here. You’re a thorn in our side, and it’s time somebody did a little pruning!”