Sins of the Fatherland (Scott Jarvis Investigations Book 6)

by Scott Cook

  I laughed with very little humor, “Are you saying that Israeli intelligence is operating over here and willing to indiscriminately kill just to stop Hank Lambert from finding the Dogfish?”

  “And us, I’ve no doubt,” Al-Rajid said.

  “And let’s cut the shit,” Brody said with a sigh, “We know as well as you do that there is no goddamned Dogfish. We’re looking for what Lambert hired you to help him find… the U-2626 and the Bull Shark.”

  “And the deadly biological cargo the German submarine carries,” Al-Rajid finished.

  There was no use in denying it. If these two men even knew the names of the two real boats, then my suspicions that they were on their trail were confirmed. I wasn’t all that surprised.

  “Then why look for the ships at all?” I asked, “why not let Lambert find them? Because I know why he wants to find them.”

  “Of course,” Al-Rajid said, “To prevent us from getting there first and to locate the wrecks so that his granddaughter and the CIA can then secure the deadly cargo. So they can keep it a secret and keep it from being used.”

  “Admirable goals, wouldn’t you agree?” I asked as I locked eyes with Brody, “Because he also suspects, Mr. Al-Rajid that if Jack here finds the ships, then said cargo will fall into the hands of an extremist Islamic regime… thanks to you.”

  Al-Rajid snorted with derision, “of course! Because I’m Arab, and all Arabs are militant Moslems who wish to commit acts of terror.”

  I shrugged, “that’s his concern. And since we all know the sensitive and potentially politically destabilizing nature of this cargo… not to mention the threat to millions of Floridians and Florida’s entire ecosystem… to say nothing of using the germs someplace else… then I ask you, Jibreel, why do you want to find the U-boat at all?”

  “We have our reasons,” Al-Rajid said cagily.

  “Not the least of which,” Brody said, “Is to prove that both ships exist. Also, the remarkable artifacts they carry would represent a tremendous financial gain, especially when we expose to the world that both ships’ very existence was covered up.”

  A silence fell. A silence in which I was expected to ponder their words and then come to believe them, I suppose. While I had to admit their version was not impossible, I wasn’t ready to throw my arms around these two men and become besties just yet.

  “Tell me something,” Al-Rajid said with a wry grin, “What was your plan this afternoon when you barged into Greg Foster’s office?”

  “I was going to find out where Brody was,” I said simply, “And then come and beat him into a bloody pulp.”

  Brody scoffed, “Good thing you didn’t get that far.”

  I eyed him through half-closed lids, “I’m here now, Jack.”

  Al-Rajid held up a hand and laughed, “You gentlemen… amusing. However, a fist fight will solve nothing, so let us move forward like adults.”

  Brody harrumphed and crossed his muscled arms over his chest. I was not intimidated. I instead turned my cool gaze on Al-Rajid, “why have you brought me here? Am I a prisoner now?”

  “On the contrary,” Al-Rajid said, holding out a hand toward me, “I want what Jack suggested yesterday. I’d like you to help us. At the very least, I’d like to invite you to dine with us this evening, since you’re here already. Then stay the night. We’ll show you around our operation. Show you that we’re not in fact an ISIS cell or an arm of Al-Qaeda bent on destroying the Great Satan.”

  “And that salvaging military wrecks isn’t as bad as the Navy would like everyone to believe,” Brody put in, “It really is of tremendous historical benefit, Jarvis. From what I know of you, I’d think it would interest you.”

  “Oh, it does,” I admitted, “But I can see both sides. Disturbing the graves of the men who fought for us is distasteful to many.”

  Brody shrugged, “You can’t make an omelet…”

  “Will you accept my invitation?” Al-Rajid asked.

  “And if I don’t?”

  The Arab only smiled enigmatically, “I think you will. Like your fictitious predecessor, Sherlock Holmes, you adore a mystery. Your curiosity knows no bounds and you want to learn more about us.”

  “And Imani,” Brody said with a smirk.

  Al-Rajid laughed, “And who could blame him?”

  “All right,” I said, “You’re correct, at least in the assumption that I love a mystery. One question, though… where the Christ are we?”

  Chapter 17

  It turned out that I was aboard the Robert Ballard. The boat, well ship really, was named in honor of the famous oceanographic explorer and truly lived up to his name.

  The vessel was one hundred and fifty feet long and consisted of three decks. From the outside, according to several photographic blow ups I saw while aboard, the ship somewhat resembled Jacque Cousteau’s famous vessel Calypso. Of course, the similarities were in the general lines of the ship. Brody’s vessel was something of a cross between a research ship and a luxury yacht, with no expense being spared.

  High tech was the order of the day, and this started with the ship’s propulsion system. The vessel, about thirty feet wide, only drew four feet of water thanks to her dual ASIPOD drives. These propulsion systems were independent pump jets that could spin three-hundred and sixty degrees thus allowing Ballard to move in any direction. Brody said that she cruised at fifteen knots and could do over thirty in a pinch with a fairly good degree of fuel efficiency at lower speeds.

  This also meant that much less of the lower deck was occupied by engines. Only the middle section was comprised of engines and support equipment. The stern of the first deck featured four plush staterooms and storage. Forward of the engineering space was an enclosed ocean-access docking bay.

  In this bay, a small submersible was housed and could be accessed and deployed without the need for cranes and divers. Special doors on the ship’s bottom would open and allow the research sub to exit and enter the ship much more easily and safely.

  The main deck, which was open at the stern and did feature a crane, some other gear and a transom that lowered to provide a four-hundred square foot diving platform was certainly research-oriented. Forward of this was the ship’s two labs, galley and mess, main saloon and owner’s suite. On the bow there was lounge seating and sun pads to enjoy beautiful days at sea.

  The upper deck featured the bridge, sky lounge and an open after lounge deck. Here, a twenty foot Zodiac ribbed inflatable was stored and could be lowered to the sea with the use of the hoisting crane below.

  The ship featured all the latest in navigation, radar and sonar equipment, of course. Much of which was military grade and had been purchased on the black market from a variety of global sources. The ship’s crew was berthed in two compartments between the engine rooms and featured eight bunks. The ship’s nominal captain enjoyed a small private stateroom just aft of the bridge.

  “Most impressive,” I said as Brody and Al-Rajid led me into the large navigation bridge. It looked like the bridge of a spaceship rather than a yacht.

  “Pilot and co-pilot’s seats,” Brody said, indicating the leather captain’s chairs in front of the console, “Full set of nav and sensor gear at each. An engineer’s station here and some extra seating for passengers.”

  Behind the leather sofa at the starboard rear of the bridge was a ladder way that met a hatch above. I looked at it questioningly.

  “That leads to an observation tower,” Al-Rajid said, “Sixty feet above the waterline. That’s where our comm and radar gear is mounted as well.”

  Through the huge row of angled viewports ahead, I could see most of Marina Jack, the Sarasota marina at which the vessel was docked, taking up the largest of the wet slips. From this vantage point, I could easily see downtown Sarasota and the lights of the marina and the city glittering on the intracoastal waters two stories below.

  “I guess the salvage business is more profitable than I thought,” I said with a low whistle.

  Brody smi
led, “It pays. Of course, Jibreel’s financial backing helps. Helped us to design and build this baby. Almost eighty million when you add in the mini-sub. The Rodney Fox.”

  I grinned in spite of myself.

  Rodney Fox is an Australian shark expert and filmographer. He became world famous when he survived a vicious great white shark attack while spear fishing on the Great Barrier Reef in 1963. He’s spent his whole life since promoting sharks and the conservation of the great white. Fox consulted on just about every shark project since the 60’s, including documentaries and films, not the least of which was Jaws.

  Fox loved sharks and was the inventor of the first anti-shark cage. He and his son still introduce people to the world of sharks with their shark diving business in Australia. A perfect namesake for a deep sea research vessel I thought.

  “We’re well equipped to find the submarines,” Al-Rajid said, “Far better than Lambert, I’m sure. Doesn’t it make sense that we combine our resources?”

  I shrugged, “To be honest, Jibreel… I don’t really know what you need me for. It seems as if you’ve got it all covered.”

  “Not quite,” Brody replied, “I was telling the truth the other day. Other than myself, Jibreel, Imani and our captain… we aren’t running with any crew on this mission.”

  “Absolute secrecy,” Al-Rajid added, “I’m sure you’re aware of how difficult it is to keep a secret. And on something like this… we can’t afford to be incautious.”

  “So we can use a seasoned sailor,” Brody said, “and as I said, a guy with a good head and a steady spine. And there’s one thing we don’t’ have, not really.”

  I thought I knew the answer to that, “You don’t know where to look.”

  “Precisely,” Al-Rajid admitted, “Oh, we can scour the ocean floor with cameras and sonar… but that could take months. I suspect that Mr. Lambert has enough information to provide us with a starting point. And that you might be the only one who can discern that.”

  “He must know the lat long of where they met the German boat,” Brody said, “And a seasoned sailor listening carefully might be able to plot it out.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said thoughtfully, “And you think that’s me.”

  “You’re the only one he’ll talk to who understands,” Brody said, “If we can get you on board… hell, maybe him too… we’ve got a good chance of actually finding these boats. And then we can start recovery.”

  “But… only four of you?” I asked incredulously, “To run this ship and expedition?”

  Al-Rajid nodded, “Jack can pilot our submersible as well as the ship. Our captain can act as both engineer and pilot. Imani, as you have already seen, is our oceanographic specialist and has some medical training.”

  “Seems very complicated for four people,” I said.

  “The damned ship can just about run herself,” Came a man’s voice from the hatchway.

  I turned to see a barrel-chested man in his mid-forties stride onto the bridge. The man wore a captain’s hat perched rakishly atop red hair that matched his red beard. The man’s beard and hair was shot through sparingly with gray. He had hard emerald green eyes. Hard but not unfriendly, especially when they caught sight of me.

  The captain quickly schooled his face and made no indication that he’d recognized me. He did though, as did I.

  “Jarvis,” Brody said, “Meet Joe McClay, our skipper.”

  I shook McClay’s hand, noting that he didn’t seem to have any trouble at all with the arm. Our eyes met for a second and in that exchange, I think we both agreed to keep our association a secret for now.

  McClay had been the captain of the Ms. Gina, Anthony Ravetti’s yacht. The yacht I’d been aboard several times during my first major case as a private detective. It was the yacht he’d used for his clandestine open sea meetings with members of the Castro regime. For more details, consult choices.

  “Pleasure,” I said, pumping the offered hand, “Quite a ship.”

  “She’s a beaut,” McClay agreed.

  “Well,” Al-Rajid said airily, “We need to have a bit of a meeting. Why don’t you wander around the boat a bit, Scott? Get better acquainted. We’ll join you at dinner in an hour or so.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll jump ship?” I asked wryly.

  Al-Rajid laughed and clapped me on the shoulder as if we were the best of friends, “You’re free to do so at your leisure. You’re not a prisoner here!”

  I smiled genially, playing along, “Glad to hear it. Oh… if you don’t have a crew… who’s in charge of the galley?”

  “Usually we have a chef, but for now we take turns,” Brody said, “Although admittedly Imani and Joe here are our only two gourmets. I’m afraid Jibreel’s and my culinary skills begin at the barbeque and end at pancakes.”

  “Besides,” Al-Rajid said, “There’s some fine dining right here at this marina. We’ll order in tonight. See you in a bit, Scott. Enjoy.”

  Al-Rajid and Brody headed aft. For several seconds after they’d gone, McClay and I stared at each other. He opened his mouth to speak and I shook my head. I pointed out of the viewports at the bar on the docks not far away and held up three fingers and then all ten. I was trying to indicate a half hour and hoped he got it.

  The captain nodded very slightly and went over to the helm.

  I headed aft and down the spiral staircase to the main deck and went aft again. I entered what was obviously a marine biology lab and found Imani standing before a wall of specimen tanks with an iPad in her hands.

  The lab had a work table at the center. One of those black epoxy topped tables with sink and built in gas feeds you found in every high school and college. On the wall near the door were two small desks with laptops.

  Situated along every wall were tanks ranging from only a few gallons to a huge one along the forward bulkhead with what seemed like an entire ecosystem in it. The rows of tanks were only broken by the two large windows on the outer bulkhead.

  “Impressive,” I said as the lovely woman looked up from her work.

  She smiled thinly, “The lab or the technician?”

  I chuckled, “Both. Modesty is so rare these days. I’m glad to see you don’t have much.”

  She smiled broadly then, “Life is too short. I’m fabulous and I know it. So what brings you to my humble workspace?”

  “Don’t you mean one of your humble workspaces?” I asked with a chuckle, sauntering around the lab table to stand near her, “Isn’t there an oceanographic lab across the corridor?”

  She nodded, “Indeed. I was trying on a little humility.”

  “How’d it go?” I asked.

  She chuckled, “I prefer haughty arrogance. How are you feeling?”

  I shrugged, “Whatever you gave me seems to be helping. It barely feels as if I was blasted by fifty-thousand volts. I don’t recommend that, by the way.”

  She scoffed and made another note on her tablet, “I agree. I’ve been Tasered before myself. A very unpleasant experience.”

  I thought that was odd. Why would a scientist have been shocked? Instead of prying, though, I decided to stay on firmer ground for the moment. Since I was here, I’d do some investigating, after all.

  “What are you working on?” I asked, indicating the small tank.

  “Do you see what’s in this tank?” She asked.

  The tank was perhaps three feet across and high and a little less back to front. At the bottom was a typical sandy base. At the center of the base was what looked like a large oyster all by itself.

  “An oyster,” I said.

  She nodded, “As you may or may not know, oysters are one of nature’s water cleansing organisms. An average oyster can filter and clean ten gallons of seawater every single hour.”

  I nodded, “Yes. I’ve read something about oyster replenishment efforts in and around Tampa Bay. An eco-friendly cleanup effort of some kind.”

  She nodded again, “That’s right. This little fellow here is a new breed. Genetically engi
neered to grow between twenty-five and fifty percent larger on average.”

  “So he can clean that much more water in the same time frame?” I asked.

  “For a start,” she said, “I’m working in conjunction with Mote Marine, right here in Sarasota. Because of this vessel’s uniqueness, we can do field research almost anywhere, even in shallow parts of the Bay. Not only does this fellow grow slightly larger, but we’ve managed to improve the filtering capabilities by as much as twenty percent as well.”

  “Interesting,” I said and meant it, “So one of these oysters could filter fifteen or eighteen gallons in the same time as their silly natural counterparts.”

  She laughed, “Precisely. I’ve been running tank tests on this specimen for weeks. What we really need to determine, however, is how this sub-species will interact with non-altered oysters in the same environment. That’s the next stage.”

  “I see Brody has his hand in more than just salvage,” I commented.

  She nodded, “yes. These experiments are of particular interest in the UAE. A lot of marine construction over there and pollution from the Persian Gulf. Florida is a fantastic place to do research because of the variety of ecosystems and environmental conditions, not to mention the enormous size and diversity of the marine biomass.”

  She took a few more notes and set the tablet down on the work table, “I was sorry to hear about your dog. That was a cruel thing to do.”

  “Yeah…” I said softly, feeling heat rising behind my eyes. I swallowed hard, “It sure was.”

  She reached out and touched my face but said nothing. Her golden eyes bore into mine and I could see that there was something there. I just couldn’t tell what.

  I drew in a breath and took her cool soft hand in mine and kissed it lightly, “thanks… are you extra busy right now?”

  Her eyes sparkled, “Not especially, at least not for a little while. I’ll be arranging dinner this evening. Why? What did you have in mind?”

  Her voice had taken on a tender and inviting quality. I smiled, “I was going to have a drink. If that wouldn’t interfere with your meds. That patio restaurant looks cool. Would you like to join me? I realize that you may not drink alcohol, but…”