Sins of the Fatherland (Scott Jarvis Investigations Book 6)

by Scott Cook

  Wayne and I treated her to innocent expressions. She flipped us off.

  “Okay then, it’s the three amigos grilling steaks at the old Jarvis ranch,” I said.

  “Aww…” Sharon said and patted Morgan who was lying next to her, “What about the fourth amigo here? You hurt his feelings.”

  I smiled, “Oh, he’s more like the patron. Or el jefe. He said it was okay I had my little friends over.”

  I pulled into my garage at a little after four and let Morgan out into the yard. I’d stopped by the store and picked up some fixins’ for dinner and laid them out on the counter.

  Wayne and Sharon would be over shortly, so I got everything started.

  It was actually simple. I pre-heated the oven to four hundred and twenty-five. Then I washed four large baking potatoes. These were seasoned with salt and pepper and wrapped up tightly in foil still wet.

  Then I laid out six thick filet mignon steaks I had the butcher at Publix cut special for me. These were seasoned with salt, pepper, garlic powder and my own special steak house blend and left on the counter to warm up to room temperature. You never wanted to throw cold steaks on the grill.

  I then put spinach, radicchio, parsley and romaine into a salad bowl. I chopped up an orange bell pepper, half of a red onion, a couple of radishes and then sliced up part of a block of Cabot cheddar. I liked the seriously extra super razor sharp variety. Cheddar so sharp it often sliced your tongue.

  Finally I added some cut up slices of pepperoni and covered the salad and put it in the fridge. We were all set except for dessert and drinks.

  I activated my stereo and once it connected to my phone, started playing my special Spotify sailing playlist, which I modestly call “Aquatopia: The official Scott Jarvis playlist.” Immediately, Howard Livingston and Mile Marker 24 started playing a song entitled Meet Me in the Keys.

  I liked the song. It was kind of slow and sweet. It featured Howard and his wife, who played the violin, and Howard’s story about how they met and moved to the Keys. I suddenly felt a pang of loss, though. It reminded me of what I once had and now had to do without.

  I actually had to laugh, as the very next song that played was Kenny Chesney singing Way Down Here. A great tune but basically a sad song about him going to the islands and being bummed out because his woman was gone.

  That’s what you get for shuffling songs.

  It was at that point that Wayne and Sharon burst through my inner garage door with shopping bags.

  “What’s up, honky?” Wayne called.

  “We’re not interrupting anything, are we?” Sharon added.

  I walked in from the back porch and shook my head, “Wow. You two are really something.”

  Sharon stopped and listened to the song. She raised an eyebrow at me, “Geez… what gives?”

  “It’s a great song,” I said, “Just part of the list. Can’t very well remove it just because I screwed up my relationship… again.”

  Sharon frowned and went over to the stereo and hit the skip button. Jimmy Buffett started singing Bamma Breeze, “Phew… and don’t say shit like that, Scott. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Wayne came over and squeezed my shoulder. It was harder for us dudes to show empathy in public, but his gesture was appreciated, “Yeah, man. It’s just one of those things. It’s like she said, Lisa had to go and find herself without your rather large shadow contaminating the data.”

  I sighed, “Yeah, I know. I still wonder if… well, whatever. What’s done is done. What’d you guys bring?”

  Sharon grinned and gave me a hug, “Ingredients. For you.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Wayne chimed in, “For you to make us stuff…”

  “Right,” I said, “In addition to the filet, the salad and the taters, I’m also doing what? Making dessert and drinky-poos?”

  “We brought the dessert,” Wayne said, pointing at a Key lime pie on the counter.

  “And the appetizer,” Sharon said, pulling tequila, Grande Marnier and several juices from a bag, “It’s just… y’know… your margaritas are awesome…”

  “And you want me to make some for you,” I said, folding my arms and glaring at them.

  They both shuffled their feet looking a lot like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. I laughed and went to the fridge, “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve already got a batch ready.”

  “So pour us one, already, Benson,” Wayne said, “and tell us the deal with this new case.”

  “Really, man?” I asked as I went into the kitchen, “I’m Benson? First off, of the two of us, who looks more like Robert Guillaum? And second off… Benson? Are you like sixty?”

  “Says the guy who knows the name of the actor who played Benson,” Wayne shot back, “But okay… Niles then.”

  “Frasier’s brother?” Sharon put in with a wicked grin.

  “Nah, not Niles Crane,” Wayne said with a huff, “Niles the butler from The Nanny.”

  “The Nanny!” Sharon and I exclaimed in unison. I laughed, “Man, I just don’t know who you are anymore.”

  I poured three gritas and we went out onto the porch. The afternoon was warm, the temperature just over seventy. Although I could tell that it was going to drop into the upper fifties shortly after the sun went down, which in February was sadly well before six o’clock.

  “So why six steaks?” Sharon asked as we settled onto my cushioned wicker rockers, “how hungry are you guys?”

  “I invited Audrey Lambert,” I said, “There are things we need to discuss. And I think it’s fair that she meet you, Wayne, since I’m about to spill the beans. I might need you guys on this case.”

  Wayne groaned, “Oh, hell… does this mean another crazy nighttime storm sail?”

  I chuckled, “I hope not… then again, maybe.”

  Sharon scowled, “I don’t like that bitch.”

  “She’s not as bad as she seemed yesterday,” I admitted, “she kind of loosened up last night. She admitted she came on a bit strong. I think if you two lionesses can keep your claws retracted it’ll be okay.”

  Sharon huffed, “Fine, but if she lips off to me again…”

  Wayne made a low mewling sound.

  “Fuck you, Wayne,” Sharon said with a grin.

  “So what’s the deal?” Wayne asked, “Is she another FBI chick?”

  I snorted, “No… CIA.”

  “Oh, Christ… here we go…” Sharon moaned.

  “it’s serious,” I said, sipping my drink, “It involves biological warfare, the Navy and the Nazi’s.”

  Both of them looked at me incredulously. I smiled and began to relate what I’d learned that morning from Henry Lambert.

  “Good God…” Wayne breathed, “It’s like something out of a spy novel.”

  “I think it’s all too real,” I said gravely.

  “Are you sure the old man just isn’t delusional?” Sharon asked, “Inventing some crazy story from his youth?”

  I scoffed, “I thought of that, believe me. But when you talk to him… and there’s something else.”

  “What?” Wayne asked.

  The sound of the doorbell interrupted. I went inside and let Audrey in. She held up a bottle of wine, “thanks for having me. I brought a nice Cab I thought we could serve with the steaks.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the wine and putting it on the counter in the kitchen. I poured her a margarita, “For now, try this.”

  I led her out onto the porch and introduced Wayne. Audrey and Sharon eyed each other warily but managed a polite hello.

  “Okay,” I said, settling on the bench of my picnic table so Audrey could take my rocker, “Audrey, I’ve told Sharon and Wayne here about our case. And before you ask, yes, I think that’s wise. They may be and often are of great help. They’re trustworthy as well.”

  Audrey nodded, “Okay.”

  “There’s something else,” I reiterated from earlier, “After I got to my office after meeting your gran
dfather, a big time local private investigator came to see me.”

  “Foster?” Wayne asked.

  I nodded, “But he wasn’t alone. Jack Brody was with him.”

  “What the fuck…” Sharon muttered.

  “Exactly,” I said, “And they want to hire me to help them find the Dogfish.”

  Audrey’s eyebrows went up. Sharon leaned forward, “But there is no Dogfish!”

  “They don’t know that…” I stated and then frowned, “Then again, I’m not sure of that, Audrey. I have a suspicion that Brody knows the truth.”

  Audrey sighed, “I don’t blame you. I’ve suspected that ever since granddad called me.”

  I could tell Sharon was loving this. It was the very model of a conspiracy theory. She rubbed her hands together, “I’d agree. There’s no way that this guy and his Arab backers are looking for some Nazi gold. That story’s so thin you could slip it under the door. He knows.”

  “Well, this is a pickle,” Audrey said, sipping her drink finally. Her eyes got wide, “Woo! There’s tequila in this. Trying to get me drunk, Scott?”

  “Not just you,” I said with a grin, “We’re all gonna stumble down to Margaritaville tonight.”

  “When’s dinner?” Wayne asked, “And who do I gotta boff around here to get a refill?”

  I shook my head and chuckled, “Sorry, Audrey. My friends have few boundaries. We razz each other a lot, but the truth is that Sharon and Wayne are bright, capable and absolutely trustworthy. I trust them with my life.”

  I was surprised to see she was actually smiling, “Good. I get enough of stiff necks at work. I wouldn’t mind letting my hair down for once.”

  “Then let the games begin!” Sharon said, holding up her cup and rattling the ice cubes suggestively.

  Chapter 10

  We didn’t actually get drunk. The four of us had a few margaritas, but we paced ourselves and the food helped. It was a very pleasant evening and I could tell that Audrey Lambert must’ve needed it.

  The stress and tension I’d sensed in her the day before seemed to be a distant memory as she talked about her life and her experiences with NCIS. She and Sharon seemed to warm up to each other as well.

  My two cop friends left a little after nine. I closed the patio doors and turned the heat on, as the temperature had indeed dropped into the upper fifties. Certainly not bone-chilling cold, but enough that after a while, especially if you had a few drinks, it got under your skin and made you uncomfortable.

  So we were lounging in my living room. I in one of my two matching leather recliners and Audrey on the couch against the back wall. She wore an attractive dress that evening, with a somewhat conservative neckline that only hinted at the cleavage it covered. She’d kicked off her shoes and had her impossibly long legs stretched out. I could see them from the knee down and they were smooth and muscular.

  Morgan dozed in front of the entertainment center where the soothing sounds of Latin sensation Omara Portuondo sang to us. Her velvety Cuban voice crooned from the past. What they used to call a torcher, she was in her eighties now and still singing last I heard.

  “Who is this?” Audrey asked, sipping her wine.

  I told her.

  “She’s got a beautiful voice,” Audrey said almost dreamily.

  “Great sailing music,” I replied, “Can I get you anything else?”

  She smiled and shook her head no, “Thanks. I really needed an evening like this.”

  “Rough week at Langley?” I teased.

  She scoffed, “You could say that. Ever since granddad got ahold of me last week, it’s been tense. I’ve had to do research on the sly. I don’t want to sound any alarm bells until I know for sure, you know?”

  I didn’t know but said, “I suppose… although honestly, as important as this is, I still think it should be official. If what your grandfather says is true, then nobody can get their hands on that German boat.”

  She sighed and sipped, “That’s just it, Scott… I’m not entirely sure what he says is true.”

  I sipped my margarita now. Seemed the supportive thing to do, “Oh?”

  “I’m not saying he’s making it up,” Audrey said, “But there sure are some things that are odd.”

  “Like how come nobody knows about the sinking of the Bull Shark?” I asked, “Especially when you consider that only a month or so later, the ill-fated flight 19 out of Lauderdale made big news. So big it sparked the whole Bermuda Triangle myth.”

  Flight 19 was a group of five torpedo bombers that left Fort Lauderdale right around Thanksgiving of 1945. Their flight plan was to fly out over the Bahamas, go north for an hour or so and then head back. However, something went wrong and the planes got lost. Radio messages from the flight leader sounded confused and he thought he was over the Florida Keys. He was instructed to fly north until he saw lights but the flight was never heard from again.

  What enhanced the mystery was that later that night, a search plane was sent out from Jacksonville and observers on a ship saw the plane explode, killing the twelve crewmembers. This bizarre tragedy began decades of rumors and conspiracies about the area of ocean from Miami to Puerto Rico to Bermuda. Everything from magnetic anomalies to aliens.

  “Exactly,” Audrey said, “There’s no record of the Bull Shark anywhere. At least not anymore.”

  I frowned at that, “There must be something. I mean, a Balao-class submarine with eighty men aboard on what was probably a training mission doesn’t just vanish without somebody taking notice. On top of that, one of her sailors makes it back alive and there’s no story?”

  “Well, I did find something,” Audrey said, “I went and visited the vault. It’s a huge records storage facility in Washington.”

  I nodded, “Yeah, I’ve seen it on JAG.”

  She grinned, “Right. Millions of pages of paper records and computerized data stored there from as far back as the Revolutionary War. And there was a report filed on the Bull Shark.”

  I leaned forward, “That’s a relief. It means the ship exists, at least.”

  Audrey drained her cup and held it out, “Top me off?”

  I took both of our empty glasses into the kitchen to re-fill them, “Keep going.”

  “It was short and to the point,” Audrey said, “Vessel left King’s Bay in Georgia on the third of October. She was to cruise down the coast and into the Gulf, circumnavigate the Gulf and return to King’s Bay no later than the third of November.”

  “And?” I asked as I poured her wine.

  “And nothing,” Audrey said, “No further information follows. No incident report, no report of a search and rescue mission, no nothing. It’s like the ship just vanished and nobody even batted an eye.”

  I came back and handed her the glass, “Audrey… that’s impossible. Those men had families. Somebody somewhere asked a question or two.”

  She sighed, “I know. And probably they were told the ship just vanished. Mechanical failure or something and it foundered.”

  I settled back into my chair and sighed, “I don’t buy it. Obviously, somebody knows something, because Brody is looking for that ship. I can’t believe he really thinks that the Dogfish is out there loaded with gold.”

  “That’s just it, though,” Audrey said, “I did find out a lot of information on that ship. Everything you’d expect to find on a submarine going down in peacetime. Crew roster, distress call transcripts and even the after action reports of the Coast Guard search.”

  “I thought you said that ship didn’t exist?” I asked in confusion.

  “It doesn’t!” Audrey insisted, “That’s what’s so weird.”

  “Audrey…” I said, “You need to talk to some people in Washington.”

  She frowned, “I already have. My director. He’s making some very, very discreet inquiries. But he thinks that me going about this alone and keeping tabs on Brody is the best thing, for the very reasons I told you last night. At least for now.”

  I rubbed my chin, “So th
e real boat goes down and nobody says boo. The fake boat is reported foundering and everybody is up in arms. And of course… nothing is ever found. Can I assume that the crew of the Dogfish just so happens to be the same crew as the Bull Shark?”

  She smiled, “Right.”

  “So the government invents a ship to cover up for the real ship,” I said thoughtfully, “That satisfies the curiosity of the public and the families. Then the whole business is classified and after seventy-five years, there’s nobody left who knows anything or gives a damn.”

  “Right,” She said, “Except granddad who was the only person rescued. Weird for sure.”

  “Yeah, and why?” I asked, “Why invent a pretend ship instead of just looking for the real ship… unless… unless the Navy knows or knew about the U-2626…”

  “That’s possible,” Audrey said, “Probable in fact.”

  “And they’re perfectly happy with the boat lying on the bottom in six thousand feet,” I said, “Except that according to Hank, it’s not.”

  Audrey shrugged, “But how does Brody know?”

  I spread my hands wide, “Who knows? Maybe he doesn’t… but my gut says he does.”

  “Why?” She asked.

  “I can’t quite say,” I said, “It’s a gut feeling, is all. But his coming to see me right away… and his idea of keeping things under wraps… I don’t know, it just activated an alarm.”

  “So what do you plan to do?”

  “Good question. He expects an answer in the morning. Maybe I should agree. Let’s me get close.”

  “Or distracts you from really finding the subs,”

  I pondered that for a moment and sipped my drink. The tequila was starting to go to my head now. It ought to, after four of my margaritas. I could see that Audrey was in the same shape. Her face was flushed, which looked good on her.

  “What?” She asked.

  “Are you a little bit drunkers?” I asked with a lopsided grin.

  “Takes one to know one,” She pointed out.

  “Well, then you clearly should not drive,” I said, “You’re welcome to stay here.”

  She eyed me over the rim of her wine glass. Her eyes were a very vivid yet pale shade of blue and they seemed to sparkle in the light from the kitchen, “Oh? How gallant of you. Is the bed comfortable?”