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

by Scott Cook

  I saw Trina glance down at what looked like a cheap watch on her wrist. The look and movement was fleeting, but it was enough to make my warning bell go from a soft tinkle to a full-on Klaxon.

  I brought my M4 to bear, “What’s going on, bitch? What’re you waiting for?”

  Trina pretended innocence and it was about as believable as her telling me she’d been voted Miss Congeniality in high school… if she’d even finished high school, “Nothin’. What’s up your ass?”

  “I’ll put a five-five-six round up your ass if you don’t start saying something I’m interested in hearing,” I Jarvised.

  Trina only smiled and actually let her weapon slip from her hands and clatter to the deck. She held her hands out with her palms up and smiled at me, “Hey, I’m not even armed anymore, Barbie doll. You gonna shoot me now? Shoot an unarmed woman?”

  Something was definitely up. I didn’t know what it was yet, but I knew some serious shit was coming. I began to swivel my head back and forth, looking over the water for anything and trying to listen as hard as I could. That was kind of silly. You either heard something or you didn’t. You couldn’t listen any harder than you could see any harder. Yet I tried to focus on the sounds around me. My tummy was twitching and I felt anxious and keyed up. It was like somebody was slowly pulling a big rubber band back. You just knew it was gonna snap but not exactly when.

  “Let’s go,” I told Trina, deciding I’d better act before it was too late. “Out of the boat. We’re gonna join the men.”

  She’d given up their only advantage. Well…their only other advantage. No matter what, Sharon still had a bomb taped to her.

  Trina just laughed and shook her head, “Nope. That ain’t what’s gonna happen, bitch. You’re gonna drop that gun.”

  That’s when I caught a glint of metal flashing in the sun behind her. From behind the mangroves to our starboard, out in the deeper water, I watched as a large pontoon boat idling silently into view. On the deck, half a dozen men dressed in the same camouflage as Jim and Trina began to raise rifles in our direction. They’d brought backup and we were totally fucked.

  “Scott!” I shrieked as loud as I could. “Ambush!”

  Then I vaulted backward over the side, throwing myself off the port quarter and into the deepest water I could reach. Although the nose of the eighteen-foot skiff was on the beach, the water just under the raised engine was at least three feet deep and got a little deeper very quickly as you left the shoreline. A deep channel, deep for this back country anyway, ran fairly close around the island.

  As I dove backward, I heard the sound of several rifles erupt like a pack of firecrackers. Just before I hit the water on my back, I heard Trina yelp in pain. She might’ve been hit by friendly fire, but the cold water closed over my head before I could know for sure.

  I was a pretty good swimmer and free diver. I couldn’t hold my breath nearly as long as Scott, but my best was just over a minute and a half. The problem was that I wasn’t going to be able to swim smoothly and slowly to conserve oxygen. I had to get away as far and as fast as I could. Even as I crawled along the bottom, kicking at a slight angle to keep my torso against the semi-solid sand, I heard the weird pewp, pewp, pewp, pewp of rounds striking the water not far away. It was a strange high-pitched sound that you could only hear from under the surface. They were taking pot shots to try and get me under water. Their angles were bad, though. From the hundred yards or so away they’d been when I’d sighted them, the bullets entered the water at a shallow angle and wouldn’t penetrate to my depth. That would rapidly change, though.

  I swam-crawled blindly through the tannin darkened waters. I had to hope I was moving away from the boats. If I could go the right way and do so long enough, I could get around the curve of the shore and either fire back or go through the mangroves into the interior. The problem was that I was already feeling the burning in my lungs and the overwhelming need to breathe. It had been twenty-five or thirty-seconds and I was already out of air.

  I had to risk it. I knelt on the bottom and slowly raised my head out of the water. I found that I’d gone a little further away from shore than I thought and had to stand up completely just to take a breath. I’d gone maybe a hundred feet. In that time, the pontoon had nearly closed the distance and there were men’s shouts and weapons fire. Although not aimed at me at the moment.

  I took three big breaths and held the third. Orienting myself with the part of the shore I wanted to reach, I dove under and swam like mad, kicking and pushing off the bottom for speed. Even only a couple of feet down, the tea-colored water was so dark that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I hadn’t heard any bullets hit the water in a while, but that didn’t keep my heart from pounding in my chest and fear-induced adrenaline from coursing through my veins. In a frustratingly short time, I needed to breathe again and came to the surface, trying to slowly raise only enough of my head above water to breathe. I was almost there. The pontoon was now pulling up next to the Carolina Skiff and they still had a direct line of sight to me but just barely. Like twenty feet more and the mangroves would block me from them.

  I wanted to take a shot. I was like fifty yards away from the boats now. An easy shot, especially with all those men still on the pontoon’s deck. But I remembered something Scott had told me about firing rifles after being underwater. You certainly could, but you first had to shake the water out of the barrel. That would mean that I’d have to stand up, take a few seconds to clear the M4 and then shoot. An eternity in which somebody could catch sight of me and take me out. I had to get in a better position before clearing my weapon.

  I continued to move around the mangroves that were overhanging the water. It was only a foot deep now and I was crawling on my belly. The act reminded me of an alligator and I began to wonder what else might be swimming out here with me. We were in mostly fresh water now. That could mean gators, water moccasins, freshwater crocodiles and maybe even the elusive but ever-growing population of Burmese pythons that had begun to take hold in the Glades and these very islands. I suddenly wanted to get the hell out of the water and fast.

  With the trees now shielding me from sight, I stood up and held the barrel of the M4 down, letting water drain out. I gave it a few hard shakes just to be sure and then began to inch my way back around the mangroves toward the boats. The whole time I was doing this, I was cursing myself for being so foolish.

  Through the leaves of the trees, I could see the stern of the pontoon. I could only see one man in that part of the boat, but he’d have to do. I shouldered the M4 and took careful aim. Setting the carbine to burst mode, I centered my sights as best I could and gently squeezed the trigger. There was a cry of alarm, of pain and then the man dropped out of sight.

  I turned and ran, as best I could in knee-deep water, away from where I fired from and around the corner, following the mangroves and stumbling over roots and other things in the water. Behind me, somebody burned through an entire magazine on full auto and I distinctly heard the passage of rounds through the trees where I’d just been. Fire fight rule number two hundred and fourteen… never fire from the same place twice!

  More swearing, more gunfire and more chaos from behind me. There were plenty of AR-15’s going off, but I thought I also heard the sound of a larger rifle firing single shots. They came from further inland. Somebody had a hunting rifle and I hoped it was Rick Eagle Feather and not more of Nolen’s gang.

  Nobody seemed to be following me through the water. That was a relief but also not a surprise. Only a damned fool would run after somebody with an automatic weapon who’d just taken out one of their own crew. After a minute or two, I came to a break in the mangroves. It was sort of odd looking, as if the slight shoreline had been deliberately formed. Trees mostly blocked it, but I could see a few stones that seemed to lead away from the water in a line. Also, the land didn’t rise as it had by the boats. This area seemed flat, at least for a while, before it met the side of a slightly rising hill c
overed in vines and weeds and some man-tall leafy trees or other. To the left a big old banyan tree spread its many trunks and branches at least sixty-feet across. Might be a good place to take cover, if I could make it.

  The firing had ceased now. Somebody was calling for George Nolen and somebody else was calling for Scott and Wayne to surrender. Yet I couldn’t see anyone. I had to chance it. I clutched my weapon tightly and bolted across the sort of even ground, once stumbling over a vine that I nearly went end over end, but I managed to carry through without falling. I made it to one of the banyan’s big feeder roots, a vertical shaft that was wider than I was, and ducked behind it, peeking around the other side to try and see something.

  I was higher up now and had a partial view of the clearing. To the right, four men were standing side by side, about five feet apart and aiming weapons at a group of people fifty feet away. That group included Nolen and Sharon and Scott. Jim lay on the ground on his back, looking dead. Another man, a big man half a head taller than either Scott or Wayne, leaned out from behind a tree a little further away and held a rifle. Wayne was nowhere to be seen but I suspected he was covered as well.

  “This isn’t gonna work, Rick!” Nolen was calling out. He held Sharon up against his chest, as he’d done before.

  Not sure what that was supposed to do. If he detonated the bomb, it’d get him too. However, it was keeping the big man in the cowboy hat from shooting him, I guessed. Scott stood eight feet away. Even from my vantage point a hundred feet away, I could tell by his body language that he was tense and ready to spring into action at the first chance.

  Could I give him that chance?

  “Hold your fire, Miss Gonzalez,” A deep and slightly southern voice called out. It sounded like it was coming from the big man with the rifle.

  How the hell had he seen me?

  I saw George tense and look around wildly. Where was I? Was I aiming for him? Could his men shoot me before I opened fire?

  “This isn’t gonna work, Nolen!” Scott implored angrily. “It’s all for nothing! For god’s sake, put an end to it before anybody else gets hurt. Let your daughter go, for the love of whatever evil spirits you believe in.”

  “Lisa! Can you hear me? You come out here right now!” Nolen called out.

  “No,” The big man, it had to be Rick Eagle Feather snapped. “Stay where you are, Lisa. Don’t fire until I give the word! And I will, George… unless you stop this insanity.”

  “I want that treasure, Rick!” Nolen cried. He sounded wrong. Almost… manic maybe. Was it all getting to him finally? The murders, the lies and holding his own flesh and blood hostage?

  “There is no treasure!” Rick rumbled.

  “I don’t believe you, Rick,” Nolen said in a tone that was half self-amused and half crazy. “I’m walking out of here with a hundred million in gold, one way or another. I don’t give a shit what you say. Either you come across or this ends with a lot of blood.”

  I wondered why either Rick or Scott just didn’t agree to let him have the treasure, whether it existed or not. Just tell him they’d take him to it but only if he let Sharon go.

  I realized that would get us nowhere, though. Nolen wouldn’t let her go in any case. Even if Rick was lying and there really was a cache of gold, he couldn’t give it to Nolen. The man would simply kill everyone anyway. Probably all of us and probably his “friends” too. Less to share out in that case. The only option was to remove his leverage. The problem was that I couldn’t see how in the hell to do that.

  Then I heard a strange sound. At first it was very faint and I couldn’t really distinguish it from the background. But after a few minutes, over the sounds of insects and birds and larger lifeforms off in the distance, something rhythmic and artificial began to grow in volume and intensity. Everyone must have heard it too, because heads began to swivel and there were questions and curses from the four guys in Army surplus BDUs.

  Suddenly, from off to my right, which was more or less east, the sound dramatically increased and there was no mistaking the rapid thumping of a helicopter cutting through the air. From over the trees, I saw what looked like an Army chopper, the kind you always see in Vietnam movies. A Huey I think they’re called. This one had a big machine gun sticking out of its starboard cargo door and as the helicopter quickly drew close, almost touching the water, I heard a voice shout my name.

  “Now, Lisa!”

  I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. However, the only good target I had were the four dudes, so I leaned out, took aim and began firing three round bursts at them. I aimed over their heads, though. I’d rather not mow down anybody if I didn’t have to. Over the crackle of my weapon, the big machine gun on the helicopter began to bark, spitting flame and kicking up dust and leaves between the four men and the other group. Instantly, the four men darted away from one another. Two ran and dove for cover behind some pine trees and the two in the middle fell face first into the pine needles with their hands holding the tops of their heads. Not quite sure what they thought that would do.

  “Attention! Attention!” A strong man’s voice called out from the chopper’s PA system. “This is Commander Bryan Turner of the International Counter-criminal Enforcement Agency! Everyone disarm immediately and place your hands on top of your heads. You are under arrest!”

  “No!” Nolen shouted to no one in particular. “No! No! NO! Tell them to back off, Jarvis! Tell them or so help me— “

  Several things were happening at the same time. The big helicopter was landing on the flat ground to my right. Sharon had apparently decided she’d had enough of this shit and that she’d take her chances. As I watched, she seemed to pivot inn her father’s arms and drove her right elbow into his midriff. She then turned and kicked out at the same spot.

  Either she missed or the hit wasn’t so good, because Nolen only lurched back a half step. Before he could move, though, Scott was on him, landing a blockbuster punch into the man’s jaw that snapped his head to the right and sent him flying off his feet. Without even slowing, Scott pivoted, grabbed Sharon and yanked her sweatshirt up over her breasts. He reached behind her back and yanked, drawing a holler of pain from Sharon. Continuing with his turn, Scott pitched something up and away halfway between me and the edge of the pines. In the next instant, there was a muffled explosion and a puff of dirt and rock from fifty feet to my left. The son of a bitch had pressed the button!

  It was too little too late, however. Three people wearing BDUs leapt from the open side door of the chopper with small rifles or large pistols in their hands… later I’d learn they were Heckler and Koch tactical sub-machine guns… they ran over to the group and covered everyone as Wayne and Rick emerged from cover.

  The leader of the new group was Bryan Turner, who I’d met in Miami a few months back. Marine Gunnery Sargent Jackie Stevvins was there as was a medium height black man with a barrel chest and huge arms. Anthony Hightower. Behind them, James Dillan, another member of the team I’d met, manned the machine gun in the Huey’s doorway.

  “Come on out, G.I. Jane,” Sharon called to me. “It’s safe now, ya’ big puss.”

  Scott was shaking Turner’s hand, “Timely, Commander. Timely.”

  “Yeah, just in time to save your lousy butt,” Hightower said with a grin.

  “I think it’s a rather nice butt,” Jackie added wickedly.

  “Yeah, not bad,” Keisha shouted as she jumped down from the Huey and ran into Wayne’s arms.

  “What the Christ?” Scott asked.

  Turner shrugged, “She insisted on coming. That’s one persistent lady. Wouldn’t give us the lat long unless I let her ride along.”

  “Damned right!” Wayne confirmed.

  “Commander, may I introduce Richard Eagle Feather,” Scott said, indicating the big man who, now that I could see him clearly, was obviously Native American. “It’s because of him that we were able to set this up today. And because of him that we now have proof of Senator Thorne’s as well as Congresswoman
Marsha Davies complicity in a rather… sordid affair.”

  “I can’t wait to hear the details,” Turner said. “Now… exactly what do we do about all of this?”

  “This man,” Rick pointed a finger at Nolen who was sitting on the ground holding a hand to his aching if not broken jaw. “Is suspected to have murdered my sister and Lieutenant Nolen’s mother, Susanna Harney back in 2001. He’s also the man that abducted me and is an accessory to several murders as well as the attempted murder of Sharon… his daughter and an Orlando cop. He’s also directly connected to the politician’s young Scott just mentioned.”

  “Jesus…” Hightower muttered.

  “Typical,” Jackie quipped. “If Commander Jarvis here is involved in anything, it’s sticky, twisted and crazy complex.”

  “Looking for that promotion to PFC are ya’, Gunny?” Scott teased.

  “That’s a demotion, sir,” Jackie replied with a grin.

  “Exactly,” Scott retorted. He then turned to me and took me in his arms and kissed me. “You okay, soldier girl? You’re all wet.”

  “Peachy as a peach tree with a bunch of peaches in it,” I said and held him tight.

  “So other than hauling all these assholes in,” Turner said to Scott. “What’s your recommendation for the disposition of the politicians? Haul them in on a conspiracy indictment?”

  Scott smiled broadly, “We can discuss that with the Colonel… however… I think we might be able to use this to our advantage, sir.”

  Turner eyed Scott for a long time and then stuck out his hand, “Call me Bryan.”

  “Aww…” Sharon teased. “You guys gonna kiss?”

  Turner cocked an eyebrow at her, “Is everyone you know a giant smart ass, Scott?”

  Scott shrugged, “Yeah, pretty much. But at least they aren’t boring.”