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

by Scott Cook

“Go and covet your hammock, Mister Gonzalez, there, I’m fine.”

  Lisa vanished down the companion and Keisha took her place looking a little less groggy. She held one of the suitcases in her hands.

  “Good morning,” I said, handing her a folded piece of paper. “Here’s your assignment, should you choose to accept it.”

  She grinned, “I still wish I was coming with you guys.”

  “I know,” I said, giving her a hug. “But you can be my backup plan. You may very well save all of our asses. I’ve written everything down on that paper that you’ll need. Please follow the instructions carefully… and thanks.”

  Keisha stepped over the lifelines onto the dock and I handed her the suitcase. She set it down and went to the cleat where the stern line was hitched.

  “You gonna cast me off?” I asked.

  She nodded and raised a thumb.

  “Cool… can you switch off the breaker at the pedestal,” I asked. She went over and hit it. I then released the female end of the thirty-amp power chord from the boat’s power port and handed it to her. “Just coil this up near the pedestal. I’ll need it when we come back this afternoon. Once this is over, I promise we’ll have ourselves a little fun while we’re down here.”

  She grinned again, “I’m gonna hold you to that, boy. Ready for me to cast off?”

  “Yeah, thanks… okay, cast off the stern… now the bow… and finally the spring,” I said and waved.

  Rather than put her in reverse, I hand-walked the boat backward out of the slip. The Maverick floated alongside as I did and actually helped keep the larger sailboat moving in a straight line. Once in the fairway, I shoved the Maverick astern and put Slip’N’Out in forward and idled away from the dock and out into the main channel, revving the throttle up to about twenty-two hundred RPM. The tide was just beginning to rise, so between that and the pull of the skiff, I only got a little over four and a half knots as I headed out of the pass.

  Once in the Gulf proper, the boat met the steady swells easily riding up and over the two and occasionally three-foot crests. I pointed her roughly northwest, set the autopilot, slowed to minimum and began to raise the main.

  I fell off and headed a little south of west just to clear the shallows near the beaches and hauled out the jib. With the wind a point free, more or less a close reach, I throttled back up to twenty-two hundred and we were doing just over six knots. Although the Maverick was considerably larger than any normal tender a boat Slip’N’Out’s size would tow, it wasn’t a terrible drag once up to speed.

  I went below and poured myself another cup of coffee from the still warm pot. Wayne was somehow still asleep up in the v-berth in spite of the rise and fall of the bow and the fifteen-degree heel. Lisa was curled up under the blankets with just a tuft of brown hair poofing out onto the pillow. Either she’d awakened and positioned herself or had done so in her sleep. She was lying on her left side against the portside bulkhead and curled into a little S. I chuckled and went back on deck.

  By now false dawn was showing in the east and as I turned us onto a southeasterly course, the sky off my port bow began to glow and brighten from a blue-black to indigo to a cobalt. The light revealed a partly cloudy day to come. With rain coming later, though, I thought that might mean a cold front and some chilly weather this evening. With any luck, we’d be back in port by then and either I’d have the heater going in the cabin or we’d be celebrating at Ricks.

  The Maverick was towing nicely behind us. Although the skiff was taking at least a knot off our speed, we were still doing six and a half knots while motor-sailing on a broad reach. In a little while, I’d have Wayne or Lisa go into the skiff and cut her loose and they would follow me in under their own power. The poling boat wasn’t specifically made for offshore work, but she was handling the seas without a problem.

  As the sun cast its first rays through the clouds and turned the dark blue waters a lighter blue-green, Lisa and Wayne came up on deck with mugs of coffee in their hands. I suddenly missed having the dogs with us. Morgan and Rocky loved boating. I’d elected to leave them at Rick’s, though. Keisha would check on them and make her calls from there.

  “Beautiful day, Skip,” Wayne said. “How’s the weather looking? Seas seemed to have picked up since yesterday.”

  “Fifteen knots, two to three,” I said. “Maybe three to four later, but we’ll be in-shore by then. So which one of you wants to handle the Maverick? Cutting her loose might get us an extra knot.”

  “I’ll do it,” Wayne said. “Been wantin’ to check her out anyway.”

  I slowed the engine and hauled the main to the centerline, de-powering it temporarily. Although we were still moving at over three knots just from the impetus of the jib, it was enough that I could haul on the skiff’s painter and draw her alongside close enough for Wayne to hop onto the casting deck. Lisa handed him my sea bag, which I’d re-packed with our weapons and some other goodies. Then Wayne started the outboard and cast off the painter from his forward cleat. I’d rigged a towing bridle that connected to both my stern cleats, thereby keeping the skiff centered astern of the sailboat and distributing the towing force evenly to either side of the boat.

  With that done, I brought in the bridle, unhooked and untied it and stowed the rope in the cockpit locker. With the main set and the engine back to speed, we continued on at seven point two knots.

  It really was a gorgeous day. The sun warmed up the air to nearly seventy and the sea state steadily decreased as we drew close to shore again. By the time the mangrove wilderness of the Ten G’s came into view, we barely had one-footers off the stern. At about a mile from shore, I slowed us down and Lisa and I took down the sails. We then motored in at a sedate four knots with her on the bow watching out for uncharted shoals, rocks or other submerged obstacles that might present a problem.

  We made it in without any trouble. The channel that led past the first couple of outer islands was nearly seven feet deep thanks to it being high tide or close to it. However, the winding waterway quickly narrowed and before we’d gone half a mile in, Lisa came back to the cockpit and frowned.

  “I don’t know if we can go much further,” she reported. “Looks pretty shallow. Lot of grass and a few sandy spots, but I don’t’ know…”

  “Yeah…” I agreed. “I think this’ll do. We’ll drop the hook here and we can always recon in the skiff. Take the wheel?”

  Together, Lisa and I found a good sandy patch in six feet of water and I dropped the big forty-five-pound Danforth. I let out about thirty feet of scope, tied it off and had Lisa back down on the hook just to be certain. Almost immediately, the rode came taught and the boat swung to the breeze, now half of what it had been at sea, and pointed her nose north by northwest.

  Lisa killed the engine and immediately the absence of the gurgle and clatter of the small diesel allowed the sounds of raw nature to fill our world. Mullet jumped, pelicans occasionally dove in after a fish and cicadas sang their song from the untold thousands of mangrove branches around us.

  Wayne pulled alongside, “Nice spot. Bet we could do some serious back-country fishing in here.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice?” Lisa asked. “Y’know… going out in a boat for fun once in a while?”

  “Pssh!” I scoffed as I handed up some supplies from the cabin. “Sounds duller’n dog shit.”

  Lisa and I passed down a cooler with water and some food in it to Wayne. Then I closed up the cabin and locked it, for all the good that would really do, and pocketed the key. We climbed down into the boat and I opened the duffel.

  “I think we should be armed from this point forward,” I said, passing out pistols and magazines. “Earwigs, your favorite pistols with extra mags and each of us gets a long gun. I’ll take the AK, Lisa the M4 and you can have your pick, Wayne. The Winchester or the Mossberg.”

  “The shotgun,” Wayne said. “Think that could be handy in a pinch.”

  I passed out the weapons along with additional ammo. We
got set, slung our guns and I took the helm. I punched in the coordinates I’d memorized from the bar of gold and began to steer for the far side of the cove we’d anchored in. It branched off into two separate paths and I wasn’t sure which one to take. The paths broke away from the anchorage about a hundred yards from the boat and I put the boat in neutral and gave each one a considering look.

  “It’s possible it doesn’t matter which way we go,” I said. “Everything in here switches back on itself… we’re just gonna have to feel our way through. Any thoughts?”

  Wayne chuffed, “Flip a coin?”

  “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo?” Lisa asked with a giggle. “Or we could… what’s that sound?”

  I turned the engine off. At first, all I heard was the natural sounds of a Florida estuary. Then I did hear it. A buzzing that was rapidly growing louder and closer.

  “An outboard motor,” I said. “Hmm… defensive positions. Ready your weapons. Activate comms. I’m one, Lisa two, Wayne three.”

  They acknowledged and we did a quick comm check. I couldn’t yet see the boat, but I could clearly hear it now. It was coming down the channel the same way we came in. Then it rounded a curve. A low-freeboard, square bowed skiff. It looked a lot like the one I’d seen the night before at Rick’s cabin.

  “That’s the one that Deac and Troy used to grab Sharon and me,” Lisa confirmed through the earwig.

  “Who’s that on board?” Wayne asked, squinting over his shotgun barrel.

  I shouldered my rifle and looked through the scope, “Looks like Nolen… and there’s Sharon with him! And two other dudes… both dressed in BDU’s or some knockoff version. One’s at the wheel… one’s holding something… looks like an M16 or AR-15… there’s something attached to the barrel though… I wonder— “

  There was a flash from the weapon and something streaked up and away. In the next instant, the cockpit of Slip’N’Out erupted in a brilliant white flash and orange incandescent flame. Chunks of burning debris leapt into the air and what was left of the Bimini top was burning. The mainsail in its cover caught and vanished in a puff of red and black. As smoke rose from the mutilated after section of my boat, the rumble of the explosion reached our ears, along with a second rumble as a larger ball of burnt orange flame expanded outward in a roiling bloom of heat and fire. The diesel in the tank had caught and had spread and was now burning. The smell of melting fiberglass, flaming carpet and ignited fuel reached our nostrils.

  I watched in horror and disbelief as the stern began to dip and the boat took on a heel to port. Within seconds, she was on her beam ends, half submerged in the shallow water. What was left above the surface burned out of control. In a matter of seconds, my home away from home had gone from a living vessel with almost forty years of experience under her keel to a burning wreck that could never be salvaged.

  “Oh my god…” Lisa breathed.

  “Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?” Wayne shouted in anguish.

  “M203 40mm rifle-mounted grenade launcher,” I said flatly, unable to tear my eyes away from what was left of my boat. “Mother fuckers… Take aim, Lisa. Standby Wayne.”

  The other boat settled down to an idle on the other side of the burning sloop. They were three hundred yards away. Not too far for me to hit somebody with my AK-47 or for the M4. Yet far enough that I wouldn’t risk it just in case. George Nolen appeared to be waving his arms in the air. He held up one hand with all his fingers spread and then the other and bobbed them up and down.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Wayne asked, now angry and itching to fire the Mossberg. He couldn’t hit anything from that distance, of course, and he knew it. Yet the urge was there and I shared it all the way to the marrow of my bones.

  “I think channel fifty-five,” I said, activating the Maverick’s VHF.

  Static burst from the speaker before I adjusted the squelch and reset the digital tuner to the right channel. Sure enough, the bastard’s voice came through.

  “…Slip’N’Out… Slip’N’Out… oh, sorry, I guess she can’t answer anymore. This is George Nolen. Are you receiving this, Jarvis?”

  “I really hate that man’s voice,” Lisa growled.

  I picked up the mic and squeezed it so hard I heard a light crack, “What do you want, you son of a bitch!?”

  “Sorry about your boat, Scott,” the man said almost gleefully. “My friend wanted to test his new toy. Pity. But hey, what’s done is done, right? Now I think it’s time you held up your end of our little bargain…seeing as how you’ve got nothing else to do… and lead me to Rick.”

  It took an effort to unclench my jaw, “Nolen… Nolen… I’ve got two assault rifles zeroed at two-hundred yards… how about if I just kill everyone on your boat? How’d that work out for ya’, ya’ fuckin’ no good, lyin’ scum-suckin’ bastid’?”

  A laugh erupted from the speaker, “And risk hitting my loving daughter? Nonsense. Not to mention… well… I’ve rigged a little insurance policy.”

  “The fuck does that mean?” I snapped, my Rhode Island fully exposed now.

  “Here, I’ll let Sharon explain,” The man’s smug voice replied.

  There was a pause and then Sharon’s remarkably calm voice filtered over the radio, “Scott… he’s rigged one of those grenades to me. It’s got a remote detonator attached. He says any monkey business and… well, you get the picture.”

  I let out a string of filthy oaths before saying: “Who are those two guys?”

  She scoffed, “Couple of gun-happy wannabee soldiers… they’ve got some gear, though, as you saw. I’m…I’m sorry about all of this… and about your girl.”

  I closed my eyes and drew in a calming breath, “It’s okay, Sharon. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

  “And she’ll stay that way only so long as you cooperate,” Nolen came back on. “So, let’s not delay any longer. Lay on, McDuff.”

  I set the mic back on its mount and gripped the wheel hard, “I am gonna kill that fucker…”

  42

  The search for Rick’s island hideout took several hours. It was a slow process of nosing through narrow channels that wound like snakes through uncounted mangrove islets, hardwood hammocks and even some large dry land. At least once, I thought I saw some indication of human occupation. I certainly smelled a fire burning as we passed to the leeward of some unseen campsite or wilderness homestead.

  The entire time, both Lisa and Wayne had our two assault rifles at the ready. Nolen’s boat never came closer than a few hundred yards at first. However, as we penetrated deeper into the jungle, as it were, he grew bolder. At one point, he was no more than fifty yards astern of me. He had to, or he might lose us.

  No doubt he was confident in the fact that we wouldn’t take a shot at him because of Sharon. Unfortunately, he was right. There were three men in that boat, and any one of them could’ve held the detonator. Odds were that the charge was only strong enough to kill or maimed Sharon, so while she sat in the bow… in the line of fire no less… the three men all stood behind the console. Even if Wayne and Lisa managed to take out two with a single shot, the third man could still push the button.

  On top of that, I knew that Nolen had tracked us thanks to the GPS device he’d placed aboard the Maverick. I’d counted on that, so there was no reason to try and evade him. This couldn’t and wouldn’t end until he and Rick Eagle Feather were reunited. I was convinced of that.

  At just after eleven a.m. We came out of a narrow passage between two submerged mangrove islets into a sort of cove that might have been a half mile across. At its center was what appeared to be a true island. Like all the land in the Ten Thousand Islands, this one was completely belted by mangrove trees. However, we could see terrestrial trees beyond. A few palms, one big gnarled old banyan, some gumbo limbo and quite a few slash pines. From what I could see, the interior of the island appeared to rise toward its center. The whole area of it might have been half a dozen acres or more. I began to circle it slowly, id
ling through the two feet of water off the shoreline.

  It wasn’t until I reached the other side that I saw the lone kayak that had been pulled up onto a sandy beach. The beach opened onto a small pine needle carpeted clearing in a grove of pines. Other than the kayak, there was no indication of human activity. The bright yellow ocean two-seater might have been there for an hour or a month, there was no way to tell.

  “You think this is it?” Lisa asked, her voice low as if to blend in with the tranquility of the scene.

  I checked the plotter, “According to the GPS, we’re on the coordinates I entered… or close enough for jazz anyway. I’ve got to think this is the place.”

  “So now what?” Wayne asked. “We pull up to shore and take a hike with our friends back there?”

  I shrugged and aimed for the beach. I used the electric tilt to raise the prop as far out of the water as I could without exposing the intake and throttled up. The Maverick moved forward and her bow slid gently into the shallows, coming to rest just at the water’s edge. I quickly pulled the anchor from the locker forward and stepped ashore to bury it in the sand ten feet away. There was probably little chance of the boat floating free, but I went back and lowered one of the hydraulic poles just to be sure.

  Soon thereafter, Nolen’s skiff hove into view. He came to a stop a hundred feet off the stern of the Maverick and seemed to be studying us for a long moment. Wayne once again had the shotgun and I my AK-47. The three of us stood on the beach gazing back at the other boat. Our weapons were ready but not directly aimed. I was relieved to see the same on their side.

  “No matter what,” I said coldly. “If they get cute, we take out the prick with the M203 first.”

  “Roger that,” Lisa said.

  “A pleasure,” Wayne chimed in.

  “Is this the location, Jarvis?” Nolen called out finally.

  “No, we just stopped for a picnic,” My reply dripping with enough disdain to soak my boots.

  Nolen laughed, “You seem like you’re in a foul mood… I hope it was nothing I did or said.”