Sins of the Fatherland (Scott Jarvis Investigations Book 6)

by Scott Cook

  It was hate. A dark and seething hatred.

  The boy had bought into Hitler’s bullshit, Reinhardt knew, as most of Germany had. Schumer’s anger about losing his brother and his mother’s deep depression. This only iced the Fuhrer’s cake… a cake he’d tried to serve to the world at monumental and unimaginable cost.

  How many men, women and children had been gassed? How many sent into ovens? How many worked to death in slave labor camps? How many soldiers on all sides had spilled their blood because of the machinations of one man’s diseased mind?

  It turned the captain’s stomach just to think about it. He was one of the German elite, those noble families and long serving military people who despised Hitler and everything he’d done. Yet if his country was determined to fight, then Reinhardt had at least had the option of the Kriegsmarine – to continue to serve on submarines. At least out here, on the wide open sea, he could fight honorably and even conservatively. He could dive his ship and close tons of water over his head and cut himself off from the horrors of what was happening in his beloved Deutschland.

  “And what do you think of our mission, Ernst?” Reinhardt asked quietly. He knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to hear it from the lad’s own mouth anyway.

  “It’s our one last chance to strike a blow for the Fatherland,” Schumer said vehemently. To Reinhardt, the boy sounded very much like he was swearing an oath, “To pay the Americans back for bringing us to our knees! For all the horrors they’ve committed on our soil.”

  Reinhardt studied the youth for a long moment, “Horrors, Ernst? You mean like murdering six million Jews? Like subjugating half of Europe at the end of a rifle? Like doing horrific medical experiments on friends and enemies alike? Do you mean those atrocities? Your Fuhrer brought this war on us all and he escaped only with his death, rather than what he truly deserved. We can only hope that hell is avenging the world for us.”

  Ernst stared open mouthed at Reinhardt. Here was this decorated captain. A hero of the Fatherland. The very picture of a good Nazi… castigating the party and the man who’d brought it to power.

  “Sir!” Ernst protested almost against his will.

  “Young man,” Reinhardt said, “The war is over, so I don’t have to pretend anymore. Certainly in the beginning, fifteen years ago or so, Hitler helped Germany to recover from The Great War. However, his views on racial purity and world domination have cost the world more than we can even realize now. Tens of millions are dead… His actions will resonate through time and he’ll no doubt be considered the worst human being who ever lived. You blame the Americans for your brother’s death and your mother’s heartache? Why don’t you blame the one truly responsible? The man who put Herman in front of an Allied soldier’s bullet in the first place.”

  Ernst just stood in shocked silence, a cup of coffee clutched in his right hand. Finally, he dared to say, “Kapitan… if you feel this way, then why are we on this mission?”

  Reinhardt locked eyes with the boy and not for the first time, Ernst felt the palpable force of this man’s personality. It was so strong that it almost drove his convictions completely away. He began to wonder if the Old Man was right.

  “Ernst,” Reinhardt said sadly, “Like you, I have my reasons for being here.”

  Schumer’s world seemed to be spinning. He’d suspected that Reinhardt wasn’t as gung ho as he might be, but this…

  “Bridge, zentral,” It was Yohan’s voice over the tinny speakers, “We’re detecting an aspect change on target.”

  Reinhardt picked up the phone, “Go ahead.”

  “Target has increased speed to ten knots,” The diving officer said, “And bearing appears nearly constant.”

  “Very well,” Reinhardt said, using the time-immemorial response of all ship’s commanding officers, “What do you mean almost constant?”

  “Heading appears to be…” Verschmidt seemed to be receiving information, “One hundred and sixty degrees. Not directly at us but close.”

  “So…” Reinhardt mused, “He knows we’re here after all. He’s moving to cut us off from the shore… Yohan, start engines and continue battery charge. At that speed and distance, we have several hours yet. Sound battle stations and prepare to dive the ship.”

  “Sound battle stations and ready for dive, aye!” Yohan repeated with evident excitement in his voice.

  “Well, Ernst,” Reinhardt said as he hung up the phone, “Perhaps you’ll get your chance for revenge sooner than we expected. We may have need of you in the torpedo room shortly. Get to your station.”

  Schumer dropped down the hatchway and slid down the short ladder into the control room. His heart was pounding in his chest now. This was the real thing. Not a training exercise or a cruise through international waters knowing that no enemy would dare fire upon them even if they were spotted.

  No, Ariovistus, a ship named for some ancient German King or other… one of the chief’s had mentioned something about him facing Julius Caesar… was potentially about to engage another submarine with but one outcome. Either the American or the German would prevail while the other would end life as a crumpled hulk at the bottom of the sea.

  Chapter 2

  “Isn’t it funny how sometimes the most amazing things start from the most mundane seeds?”

  I looked over at the speaker and cocked an eyebrow and treated him to a crooked smile, “Yeah, that’s exactly what my mother tells me all the time.”

  As he backed the last of the frame screws out with his electric driver, my friend Clay Delaney chuckled and said, “Actually, I was thinking about how my hiring you to work for me back when you were at UCF has parlayed into your meteoric success today.”

  I began to work the blade of my utility knife under the aluminum framing and shook my head. I’d known Clay for over ten years and he had indeed hired me back during my sophomore year at UCF. Clay was a contractor and when he put out an ad for an assistant, I’d jumped at the chance.

  I had some construction experience thanks to my dad’s business, so I came to the table with more than a big smile. Clay and I hit it off right away, both of us having similar senses of humor and sharp minds. We could talk business for hours or allow our childish natures to come out and laugh ourselves silly with the stupidest and most twisted shit ever.

  “So I owe it all to you?” I asked, “My becoming a detective with OPD, my private eye business and my writing career?”

  Clay scoffed, “who’s the first guy to give you a 5 on Amazon and Audible?”

  “Touché,” I admitted.

  “And who encouraged you to keep Lee as your primary narrator?” Clay needled.

  “You’re a font of wisdom and support,” I said, “too bad you can’t give me all I need these days.”

  Clay laughed uproariously, “Hey, I’m helping you fix this damned window, that’s as far as I’ll go. You’ll have to go out and earn your own blow jobs.”

  “How charming,” I commented.

  Clay stopped and eyed me for a long moment, “Sorry, man…”

  “It’s okay,” I shrugged, “Can’t stay at the pity party forever.”

  “Still,” he said with a frown, “I know you’re not totally over it yet.”

  I sighed. Clay was referring to the all-too-recent loss of a very special woman. My former girlfriend and secretary, Lisa Gonzalez, had earned her MBA in June of the previous year. Right around my birthday, in October, she’d accepted a job in St. Louis. I’d found out the hard way, with a dear Scott letter of all things. It had been more than four months now, but the wound still stung.

  We hadn’t broken up, at least not in the traditional sense. Lisa felt that she was being overshadowed by me and that she was so invested in us that she wasn’t totally sure who she was and what she should do with her life. So she’d gone off to find out and asked me not to pursue her.

  “Aside from missing her,” I admitted, “It makes me question myself, you know? I mean even when you try to do everything right, you
still fuck it all up. What’s up with that?”

  Clay sighed, “I don’t know man. Women, huh? Can’t live with em’… can’t uhm… y’know…”

  I chuckled, “Says the guy who’s been married to his hot wife for like twenty years.”

  “Well,” Clay said modestly, “You’re not me, Scotty-poo.”

  “And I thank the living Christ each night for it,” I jibed.

  After a few more minutes of cutting, we had the window frame loose. Clay took hold of his side, “Okay, you ready?”

  I nodded and we slid the window frame out of the six by five foot opening in my inner office’s outer wall. After a little over two plus years, the damned thing was finally open!

  Of course, it was now a thirty square foot hole, but Clay and I would soon fix that when we installed the new window. I’d gotten permission to do so from the building super a week earlier. It was costing me over five hundred bucks, but it was worth it. I’d finally have a nice openable window with a screen and everything.

  I could finally work like a human being, instead of an office-bound savage.

  “Let’s set it over on the far wall,” Clay suggested.

  “Okay, but watch my fern,” I chided as we swung the old frame around and over my desk.

  Yes, dear reader, your humble hero, Scott Jarvis, now has an office fern.

  And why not? I’d been shocked to discover as I’d done my taxes recently that I’d made nearly six figures in 2019. Pretty crazy for a down at heal private eye. A few extra bonuses had helped. That and I’d recently raised my rate slightly to accommodate the times.

  “Look at you,” Clay said, “new window and a fern. My little baby is really growing up.”

  “Anything to get you to stop asking me to suckle at your teat,” I poked.

  Clay laughed again. He had a boisterous and infectious laugh.

  “And anyway, why not do the window now?” I asked, “Let some of this cool February air in here. Let’s get that new frame mounted.”

  As we worked, the cool afternoon breeze blew in slightly chilly but refreshing sixty-degree air. On the breeze rode the scent and sound of traffic on I-4 and the distant and intermittent sounds of people and busses milling about at the downtown bus station two blocks away.

  “So how is it without Lisa?” Clay asked as we began to sink the screws.

  I groaned, “It’d be better if everybody would stop constantly asking me that. It sucks donkey nads. But it’s been four months, so… guess I’m moving on.”

  Clay gazed at me for a moment. He was a fit man in his early forties with close cropped hair and a handsome almost boyish face. It made him seem very trustworthy, which of course he was.

  For all his joking around and ribbing, Clay was the friend that would be there for you. He’d give you the shirt off his back… literally.

  “Okay,” He said, “I guess it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  It was nearly four on a sunny February afternoon. I’d recently completed a rather boring but profitable insurance investigation case and was ready for a new client, although not quite at that particular moment.

  That’s why when the outer office door opened to admit Sharon Nolen, I was a bit relieved. I really wanted to get this damned window installed quickly. Especially since it wouldn’t do to leave a gaping hole in the side of the building. The last thing I needed was for Spider man to come along and toss the joint, after all.

  “Well, look at this,” Sharon observed, “Two hot guys in shirt sleeves building’ stuff. I’m all moist just thinking about it.”

  Clay laughed and I shook my head. Sharon was a friend I’d made when I was on the job with OPD. She was blonde, beautiful and petite and in great contrast to this, she had a mouth that would put a Marine to shame.

  “Well, aren’t we lucky then,” Clay said, “Both of us got the hammer, baby.”

  Sharon came over and hugged Clay, “You still with Missy?”

  He sighed, “Yup. Been trying my damnedest to chase her off but she still puts up with my shit.”

  “Too bad then,” Sharon quipped.

  “There’s old Poppy Churro here,” Clay suggested, “He’s got tumbleweeds in his drawers nowadays.”

  “Nice man,” I said, “Real nice.”

  Sharon scoffed, “No, he pulled the old our friendship is too precious to fuck up with fucking, so I guess I’m fucked.”

  “Yeah, he pulled that sad line on me too,” Clay complained.

  “Good grief, woman!!” I declared, “That’s three F-bombs in one sentence. Don’t you feel any shame?”

  “First off, only an old woman counts,” Sharon chastised me, “and second off… no I don’t. Ever.”

  “And the entire Magic roster,” I said, “and the starting lineup for the Buccaneers…“

  “And Marine Corps central command at MacDill,” Clay cut in, “And the ninth fleet…“

  “And Marcent and the ninth fleet,” I continued, “thank you so very deeply.”

  She flipped us off.

  Sharon pulled a Landshark from my mini fridge out in the outer office, popped the top and took a sip. She leaned up against the doorframe and watched Clay and I as we got the upper pane of the window ready to hang.

  “So,” She inquired after a moment or two, “How are you doing, Scott?”

  “I’m dandy,” I replied, “How are you?”

  Sharon sighed heavily, “You know what I mean.”

  “For the love…” I grumped, “I’m doing the same as the last time you asked, dammit! She’s gone, it blows, and I feel lonely, sad and wonder what I could’ve done differently to keep her. Okay? Christ…”

  “It’s not healthy to hold it in,” Sharon said.

  “I’m not holding it in!” I said in exasperation, “I’m moving on with my damned life. I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same. Tell me that’s not the only reason you stopped by?”

  She sighed, “Fine… no, just figured I’d come and see how the work was going and ogle Clay for a bit.”

  “Naturally,” Clay said, “Okay, Scott, you hold it in position while I set these tabs and screws…”

  “I like to see something hung,” Sharon tossed off.

  “Well, then you’ve come to the right place!” Clay replied.

  “Children,” I said in a tone that expressed long suffering, “I’m surrounded by freakin’ sixth graders…”

  My outer office door opened yet again. Quite a day I was having. At least three visitors. Looked like I was about to enter the big time.

  Unlike the previous two visitors of the day, however, it was not yet another wise ass. Rather, an attractive, athletic woman in her late forties dressed in a professional burgundy skirt suit strolled in. She adjusted her small rimless cheaters and gazed around with a considering eye.

  “Alexandra!” I called out to her, “welcome, come on back. Pardon the mess.”

  Mrs. Alexandra Fairchild was the senior partner in a law firm a floor below mine in the Richardson building. She was sharp and tough and my attorney on those rare occasions when I needed one. She strolled in and gazed around with a smile.

  “You’re finally biting the bullet and getting that thing replaced, huh?” She inquired, “Oh… and you got a fern! It really dresses up your office.”

  “When you get to be as world renowned as I,” I said loftily, “You must bend to certain conventions. Among these is the procurement of a gorgeous fern. One can’t remain a troglodyte forever, can one?”

  “I can,” Sharon quipped.

  “Hi Sharon. Who’s this handsome young man? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  Clay smiled at her over his shoulder, “Clay Delaney. Nice to meet you, MS…. Mrs.…”

  “This is Alexandra Fairchild,” I introduced, “She’s my downstairs neighbor and attorney from time to time. She also tosses me a few cases now and then.”

  “Likewise,” Alexandra said, “so Scott… how are things?”

  “Uh-oh,” Sharon said dramati
cally.

  “What?” Alexandra asked.

  “I hope you’re not going to ask him about Lisa,” Sharon continued, “he gets all poopy pants when you do that.”

  “Poopy pants?” I asked with a raised eyebrow, “That’s pretty tame, for you, potty mouth.”

  “Well…” Sharon said, tilting her head in the lawyer’s direction.

  “You should come around more often, Alexandra,” I said, “You’re the only thing that’s ever had even a modicum of success at imparting a maturing effect on the lass… and I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

  Sharon shot me a look that I correctly interpreted as meaning that a string of filthy oaths would soon be hurtling my way… at least when the time was right.

  “Glad to hear it,” The attorney said with a smile, “But this isn’t a purely social visit. As much as I’m concerned about how you’re dealing with Lisa’s absence, I actually may have a project for you. Are you free?”

  “As it turns out,” I said, “I’m available. As for free… well, I’m charging four-hundred per day now.”

  Alexandra laughed, “Too low, Scott. You’re worth at least as much as Greg Foster. Believe me, I know firsthand.”

  “How can I help you, Alexandra?” I asked.

  “I have a guest who’d like to speak with you,” She replied, “Do you have a few minutes now?”

  I looked around at the clutter of my inner office. The old window and frame, the new lower panes waiting to be hung and strips of old caulking on the floor. I raised an eyebrow, “Well… it’s a bit chaotic in here. Could we do it tomorrow?”

  Before Alexandra could answer, a tall lithe blonde strolled in through the outer door. She was perhaps five foot ten even without her low heels, which put her at six feet at least. She wore a skirt suit not unlike Alexandra’s, except that hers was black with a peach colored blouse beneath. Her hair went just past her shoulders and framed a very pretty face with ice blue eyes. A set of medium sized breasts pushed at the tight blouse and jacket. She had a trim figure with a small waist, lean hips and long legs that looked muscular and athletic.