by Scott Cook
She frowned, “that is unsettling… but nothing to be ashamed of.”
I snapped off a text to Foster that read, Call off your spies. If I make them, there will be trouble.
“I’m not ashamed,” I said, “Just pissed off. I just texted the arrogant prick that if I find out who’s watching us, I’m going to react unfavorably. Speaking of which…”
I ducked into my bedroom closet and came back with my Winchester .308. Audrey’s eyes went wide as I stalked out the front door and raised the scope to my eye.
With the scope on full mag, I got a pretty good view of the cars parked down either section of Catbrier Bay Way. I didn’t see anyone in them, however. Not sure what I’d have done if I did. Certainly not shoot, of course.
“What’s that sound?” Audrey said as she came up behind me on my front walk.
I cocked my head and heard it, too. It was a low buzzing sound, like a bee… or several bees… but the longer I listened, the more consistent it became.
I looked up and Audrey looked up.
“Is that a drone?” She asked.
“Don’t point,” I said.
Sure enough, hovering a few hundred feet, or so I guessed, above my house was a small white plastic rectangle. I leaned back, threw up my rifle and sighted in. I guess the operator must have been a little slow on the uptake because it wasn’t until I had the little device in my crosshairs that the thing made any move to evade.
It was too late, though. I squeezed off a shot and the drone shattered into several pieces.
“Stand from under!” I shouted with a laugh. I grabbed Audrey’s arm and pulled her under the front entry overhang just as a dozen or so pieces of plastic and metal hit my roof and slid off onto the walk and the inside of the walkway path.
“Nice shot,” She observed.
I shrugged, “Laser sighted with night vision and thermal capability. That oughtta learn em’. Coffee?”
She laughed and we went inside.
“So what’s the plan?” Audrey asked as we sat at my kitchen table and drank our coffee.
“I guess find that boat,” I said, “I need to get some charts…”
“That should be easy enough. You can probably use iSailor or Navionics on your phone or something, right?”
“I’d like to really plot it out on a paper chart. And I wonder if I might try and get a chart from 1945…?”
She smiled, “I like a man who’s thorough.”
“I’ll need to speak with your grandfather again. Try and get more detailed info about the night they spotted the U-boat. How about your plans?”
“None, really. I can help you, if you need it, though.”
“What you can probably do best is gather all the intel you can on that night. Even if it’s misinformation. Not only might there be a clue in it, it may give me an idea of where Brody will look and what his plans might be. I’m a bit worried about him.”
She looked at me expectantly.
I sighed, “He’s far better equipped than we are, I’m guessing. I need to find that out, too…”
“Okay, I’ll start gathering the data,” Audrey said, headed for the bedroom, “We can get together later this evening and I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
I laughed and went to let Morgan in.
“So?”
I was driving my new Jeep toward downtown and my office. Sharon was on the Bluetooth busting my chops.
“So what, Detective?” I asked innocently.
“How did your guest make it back to her hotel last night? She had a bit to drink… surely you didn’t let her drive…”
“Of course not and don’t call me Shirley.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” Sharon chuckled, “So she stayed, eh? Did you guys make the beast with two backs? Y’know, the horizontal mambo… play a few rounds of hide the salami… did you deliver a package to Beaver Falls?”
“Jesus Christ…” I groaned, “Are you a twelve year old boy or what?”
“Pretty much, now spill it.”
“We… had a very pleasant evening,” I admitted, feeling my face redden.
“Good for you,” Sharon replied in a more serious tone, “I think that’s healthy, Scott. I know Lisa leaving broke your heart… but life goes on. I think this was an important step. No regrets, now, okay?”
“What makes you think I have any?”
She sighed, “Because I know you, Sir Galahad. I love Lisa, you know that… but her taking off is on her. You owe her nothing.”
“I know that.”
“Besides, I’m the only one who should have any regrets.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because you didn’t do it with me,”
At first I laughed but realized how serious her voice had gotten once again. I paused, “Uhm… what?”
She sighed, “Sometimes I think about you and me… about how it might be… don’t you?”
I wasn’t expecting this. I cleared my throat, “Well… we’ve talked about this before, you know. I love you, Sharon… your friendship means the world to me…”
She sighed, “I know, I know. So does yours to me. It’s just…”
I chuckled a little to hopefully break the tension, “We’d probably just screw things up… or I would.”
I said this last softly. Sharon didn’t say anything for a moment and then, “No you wouldn’t. But hey, we’ve put in too much time in the friend zone, right? So how goes the case?”
I told her about the phone call and me shooting down the drone. She laughed her ass off. I said we’d talk later and hung up as I neared my building.
When I got into the office and seated myself in the command chair, I sent a text to Mike Rivers. Mike is a friend of mine in the Coast Guard and he and his wife Amber live in Key West. You may remember Mike from Isle of Bones.
When he texted back that he was free, I gave him a call.
“Scotty the body!” Mike enthused.
“What’s up Oh cuatro!” I said with a smile.
“You tell me, brother,” Mike replied, “Is this a friendly chat or official business?”
I chuckled, “Both. Let’s start with the official stuff. Can you get me some charts of the Gulf?”
Mike paused as if confused, “you’ve already got them on the boat and in your chart plotter… or on your smart device. I’ve seen them.”
“Yeah, updated charts,” I explained, “But I need some archived ones. Something from say 1945.”
“Uhm… yeah, I think I can get those,” Mike said, still sounding confused, “You build a time machine or something?”
I laughed, “Nah, just want to cross check some deep water stuff. I’m sure the topography hasn’t changed much offshore in the last seventy-five years, but you never know.”
“I can check. How far off shore?”
“Let’s say…” I pondered for a moment, “A hundred miles north and south of Tampa Bay and maybe out about two hundred or so?”
“Hmmm… Okay, I’ll look. But I wonder if you’re going to find much. Don’t think we had really good charts that far out back then. The Navy might, though. Also, two hundred out you’re past the middle grounds. You might also want a bathymetry map. They’re better at describing deep water terrain.”
“Good point. Are there bathymetry maps from that era?”
“Not sure, but I’ll check. Even if the earliest ones are a bit newer, they should still serve. I don’t suppose you want to clue me in?”
I groaned, “I do… but not sure I can. Let’s just say… let’s say for now, over the phone, that I’m looking for a downed submarine.”
“The Dogfish?”
It was my turned to be surprised, “You know about that boat?”
Mike scoffed, “It’s one of those old sea stories that goes around. But Jack Brody, that famous wreck salvager guy, has been asking around. Heard he was talking to one of our boys up in Saint Pete. Guy knows a guy, that kind of thing. You’re looking for her too?”
This was getting bigger by the ho
ur, “I’m interested, that’s all.”
“I read you. I’ll look into that data and get back to you ASAP.”
We chatted for another half hour or so and I hung up.
I leaned back in the Swivotron and pondered. I felt lost at sea, in a very real sense. I’d only known about this case for less than two days and I felt that everybody involved was light years ahead of me. I needed to speak with the old man again.
I reached for my phone but decided against it. Foster knew too much too fast. Where I was, who I was meeting with and I had to assume it was him or Brody that had that spy drone over my house. I’d deal with that eventually, but for the moment, I stayed on track.
Maybe the walls in my office were listening. It wouldn’t be the first time. I stood up, grabbed my keys and headed for the door.
Chapter 13
A lean dark young man answered Henry Lambert’s door. He was maybe in his mid-twenties, wore black slacks, a white guayabera shirt and well-shined dress shoes. His black hair was slicked back and feathered.
“Buenos dias, senor,” The man said in a rich deep voice that belied his size. He was only about five foot five and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and thirty pounds.
I was a bit taken aback. I didn’t think people still employed what they used to call house boys. Let alone Mexican house boys. Although I suspected that this fellow was Cuban.
“Uhm… hola,” I said in an attempt to hide my surprise, “Is senor Lambert at home?”
“Si,” The man said amiably and stuck out his hand, “I am Juan Fuente, senor Hank’s assistant. And you are, senor?”
“Scott Jarvis,” I said.
“Ah, si!” Fuente said, “El detective. Senor Lambert is out on the lake, senor. Please come in and I’ll take you to him.”
I followed Fuente into the house, “I didn’t know Hank had an assistant.”
Fuente shrugged, “you might say I’m the house man, senor. Senor Hank is getting on in years and he needs a little help with things. I take care of the house, do some cooking, run errands tambien. He’s a good man and very kind. And he pays well.”
“I know,” I said with a grin, “I work for him, too.”
Fuente chuckled, “Si.”
Lambert was sitting exactly where I’d left him the day before. He was resting on a padded bench in the gazeebo and puffing on a cigar. He noticed us walking out toward him and waved.
“Glad to see you again, Scott!” the old man said cheerfully, “Gets a little dull around here times. What can I do ya’ for?”
I sat in the same spot I’d sat in yesterday, “Just a question or two.”
“Can I offer you anything?” he asked, “A little something to wet your whistle?”
I smiled, “No thanks. A bit early for me.”
Lambert waved a hand at the cigar box on the table, “Help yourself. Why don’t you take a load off, Juan and join us.”
“Gracias, senor,” Fuente said, “perhaps later. I’ve got a few things on my list to do.”
Lambert sighed, “Okay, Juan, suit yourself. Boy works harder than any man should. Well, Juan, I won’t keep you but you gotta promise to have a smoke with me this afternoon.”
Fuente smiled warmly at the old man, “Si, senor. This is a promise.”
“Good lad that Juan,” Lambert mused after the Cuban had strolled back toward the house, “Bright, cheerful and as honest and hard working as the day is long. So how can I help you today?”
I puffed on the excellent cigar, “Well, first I want to update you.”
“About Brody barging into your office and trying to prove he has a bigger pecker?” Lambert said with a chuckle, “No need. Audrey phoned me this morning. Can’t say as I’m surprised.”
I smiled, “he and his buddy, Greg Foster, asked me to work for them.”
“And you told them to go pound sand I heard,” Lambert remarked, “Too bad, in a way. We could use the inside scoop.”
I scoffed, “I can’t believe it was a real offer. Hell, even if I said yes, they’d just have jerked me around. I’m sure I can learn more by spying on them.”
Lambert laughed, “I’ll bet. So what can I tell you, son?”
“Well,” I began, leaning back and blowing the savory smoke through my nostrils, “No matter what else happens, we’ve got to find that boat first. You already told me some of the story, but I need some coordinates. Maybe you can share some more details?”
Lambert nodded, “You’re gonna try and plot the courses and locate where the boats went down. Might be a bit tricky.”
“I’d hope so,” I said, “I’ve got a buddy who’s a Coasty looking into it. He’s going to try and find some 1945 era charts and bathymetric maps so I can compare and run my plots with concurrent data.”
Lambert smiled, “you shoulda joined the Navy, son. You sound like a natural seaman. Bet you’re a hell of a sailor.”
I shrugged and grinned, “Maybe it makes no difference, but I want to be as close to the temporal reality as I can, if that makes any sense.”
“It does. Although if memory serves, there wasn’t much in the way of bathymetry back then. Hell, the best device we had on the boat was the batho-thermograph. Extremely primitive by today’s standards, but it helped us locate salt layers. As you might know, large changes in salinity distort sound wave propagation.”
“Haloclines. The water temperature changes bounce sonar back and give the sending vessel a false reading. They think their sound waves didn’t hit anything.”
“In the old days,” Lambert explained, “Before the deep diving nukes, we used these layers to hide from Jap and German destroyers after torpedo attacks. Helped us get out of the way of major depth charging… usually.”
I smiled, “I was afraid of that. Although if there are more recent detailed maps it should give me something to compare to. I don’t suppose you remember the latitude and longitude of when you first sighted the German sub?”
Lambert chuckled sardonically, “After seventy-five years? And me being a wet behind the ears seaman?”
I smiled sheepishly, “You said you were on the bridge with the captain when the XO reported the contact.”
Lambert laughed out loud now, “Son, I’m pulling your halyard. As long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. We were headed east when we got the sonar contact. The Jerrys were about twenty-five miles off, at extreme range. Let’s see… that put us at twenty-seven fifty north and eighty-five forty west.”
I did some rough calculations in my head, “that puts you about… two hundred miles out and a little north of Tampa Bay.”
He nodded, “Of course, we moved a bit, as I’ve told you.”
“Yeah, but it’s a place to start,” I said, “I want to start a plot based on the information you gave me that tracks your boat from that point until the end.”
He nodded significantly, “Good plan. Tell me, Scott, why’d you drive over? You could’ve just called for this.”
I frowned, “After yesterday’s visit from Brody and Foster and how much they know… I’m worried that my office walls may have ears.”
He nodded and smiled, “If you’re not careful, you’ll start to get as paranoid as a spook. Like my granddaughter.”
I grinned, “I’ve been accused of having a suspicious nature before.”
The old sailor leaned back and puffed on his cigar, “Beautiful day. Wish I could get out on the water… but I’m afraid these old bones just aren’t up for a vigorous row anymore.”
I thought this was an odd comment to make until I noticed that Lambert wasn’t looking directly at me but over my shoulder. I turned to see what he was looking at. A small wooden rowboat was skittering across the mirror finish of the lake, leaving a small ripple of a wake behind. Two men sat in the boat, one facing aft at the oars and the other in the stern sheets. They were about a hundred yards off and seemed to be headed for the gazeebo.
I don’t know why, but I suddenly got a twinge in my gut. I frowned, �
��Hank… do you know those guys? Do people usually boat on this lake?”
He shrugged, “Now and then. It’s a retention pond, and was dug when they built this neighborhood for the fill dirt. But once in a while folks come out in a rowboat or canoe.”
I reached around and touched the butt of my Colt 1911 .45 semi-automatic. I’d jammed it into the back of my waistband before I’d entered the house. I frowned again as I studied the boat, “They’re really making way… can you call Juan back out here, Hank?”
The old man scowled, “That suspicious nature kicking in again?”
“Yeah,” I said, “My gut is shouting a warning. Let’s walk back to the house, just to be on the safe side.”
Lambert groaned and stood up, “For cryin’ out loud… all right, just bear with me, I’m not as spry as I once was.”
I got up and offered him my arm. He waved me away and we started walking up the dock toward the back yard. He wasn’t fast, but his pace wasn’t that of a doddering oldster, either. However, as we moved away from the gazeebo, I could tell that the rowboat was closing much faster than we were walking.
I saw Juan hurrying out from the back side of the house. Lambert had texted him when I first mentioned it. The Cuban was strolling casually, with a pleasant smile on his face. I don’t know if he saw the expression on mine or what, but when we locked eyes, he started running.
Lambert and I were halfway between the gazeebo and the back yard when the peaceful late morning was shattered by the thundering crack of a rifle.
One of the stantion posts heads along the dock railing just in front of us exploded in a shower of splinters. Above, every bird within a mile seemed to take flight and squawk and chirp and screech their annoyance.
I grabbed Lambert and pulled us both to the ground, falling beneath him so as not to injure his aged body and then quickly rolling beside him to block him from the shooter, who must be the man in the stern sheets of the rowboat.
“Madre cabrones!” Juan barked as he dove to the decking beside me, “Who the hell are they?”
“I don’t know!” I shouted as another crack erupted and more of the railing near us disintegrated. It must have been a high caliber rifle, “Are you armed?”
