Sins of the Fatherland (Scott Jarvis Investigations Book 6)

by Scott Cook

  “Hmm… Curioser and curioser.”

  “Probably Santino or Conklin drove it back for you,”

  “But it was there when Clay and I got into his truck… Oh, whatever. That’s good, then.”

  “Who do you think called Harry?” She asked, rising and going over to collect her purse from the coffee table.

  I scoffed, “Who the Christ knows? The CIA? MI6, the Mossad… friggin’ Starfleet intelligence for all I know. Doesn’t much matter now. I guess it’s time to go back to work.”

  “Not before you catch a few Z’s,” Sharon said, “You look like death warmed over.”

  I sighed, “Yeah… maybe I’ll stretch out on the couch here.”

  “You mean, here with a shattered window where an assassin just murdered a suspect right in front of our eyes?” She asked sardonically, “That your plan?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “If that guy… or girl maybe… was after me, they would’ve opened fire on all of us. That was a strategic hit.”

  Sharon shook her head, “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m going to post a uniform in your hall if you insist on staying here. Or you can come home with me and crash at my place for a bit.”

  “Or go home,” I suggested, “But I’d rather not take the time.”

  She shook her head no again, “all alone in that house? No sir.”

  I sighed, “Fine, mom. I’ll nap here on the sofa and you can post a guard. Have to call Clay and see if he can fix my door.”

  “Yeah, with bullet-proof glass next time,” she added.

  I went over and got comfortable on the couch, “Just for a few minutes, though…”

  Chapter 27

  Brilliant sunshine was streaming in through my new inner office windows when I awoke at least five hours later. I groaned and rolled to my feet, instantly feeling worse than I did at four in the morning. The fight and tumble down the concrete steps had turned into a whole body ache. I felt sluggish and the weariness seemed to have penetrated to the very marrow of my bones.

  “You all right, Mr. Jarvis?” A young woman’s voice said from the vicinity of my door.

  I rubbed the all-too-brief sleep from my eyes and blearily pondered the blue uniformed figure peering at me through my broken outer window. The face was pretty, in a plainish sort of way. An almost unruly mane of curly brown hair flowed down behind wide shoulders that seemed to be there to support a set of breasts that’d make a watermelon farmer blush.

  “Uhm… I’m alive,” I said, getting to my feet, “But it doesn’t seem all it’s cracked up to be.”

  She smiled and stepped inside, revealing a body that was far more slender and athletic than I’d have thought from her strong upper torso. She was well muscled but neither fat nor masculine.

  “The Lieutenant asked me to keep an eye on you,” She said as she extended her hand, “Officer Shayna Miles. Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise, officer,” I said, shaking the offered hand. It was strong and yet soft, “Nice to meet a cop that doesn’t want to run me in or take a swing at me.”

  “It’s early yet,” she said with a wide grin.

  “Clearly a friend of Sharon’s,” I grumped good-naturedly, “Well, thanks for standing watch, Shayna. But I suppose I’d better be off. Need a cup of coffee and a shower.”

  “I can follow you home if you’d like,” She offered.

  “I’m a big boy,” I said, “I can cut my own meat now and everything.”

  She chuckled, “I’m sort of a bodyguard… I’d hate to drop the ball.”

  I grinned, “If you told me I had a nice body—“

  “Would you hold it against me?” She finished with a laugh.

  “I appreciate the offer, Shayna,” I stated, “But I’m okay now. I’ve got a little work to do here on the lappy then I’m headed for home and points unknown. You can take off and get back to important work if you’d like.”

  “Okay,” She said, “If you’re sure?”

  I nodded and smiled, “Sure as a gun.”

  After the intriguingly shapely and strong-looking officer Miles had gone about her business, I checked my messages and email. I was surprised to find that Mike Rivers had sent me a few attachments. His message said he’d located period charts and a rather sparse bathymetry map.

  Suddenly I got very excited. I forwarded the files to a downtown print shop I knew. I had an acquaintance there that would print them on an oversized printer at poster size so that I could study them and do some plotting. I asked him to make three copies of each as well.

  After that, I locked the inner office and rode the elevator down to street level, walked across to where my Jeep was parked and headed for home. On the way, I stopped by my buddy’s print shop and picked up the charts.

  I pulled into my garage and stepped out, my colt in my hand. It almost felt odd, having been through so much in the past twenty-four hours and yet not having my trusty pistol with me. That wouldn’t happen again, though.

  I entered my house, deactivated the alarm, which was comforting, and went room by room and cleared it. That included looking in all the closets and under all the beds, too. I was thankful nobody was around to mock me for being paranoid, especially when I peeked behind the shower curtain in the guest bathroom.

  After satisfying myself that no secret agents, ghosts, hired killers, vampires or the errant Jehovah’s Witness were laying in ambush, I peeled off my dirty clothes and spent quite a long while in the shower. I washed, shaved and just let the almost scalding water soothe me for a time.

  As I was getting dressed, I noticed a message indicator on my phone and saw that it was Ariel.

  I called her back and was surprised that she answered. I’d been expecting to discover that some other shit show had begun while I was away.

  “Good morning, it’s Imani,” Came her pleasantly soft Middle Eastern accent. I also picked up on the subtle hint. She sounded pleasant enough.

  “Good morning, Miss Tariffa,” I replied, “I hope I find you well today? And our friends?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” She replied, “Everyone here is the same. We’re all wondering what happened to you this morning.”

  Was she being monitored? Either over the connection or was somebody physically close to her listening in?

  “As you know,” I said, “I got a lead last night on the people who attacked Henry Lambert.”

  “Yes,” She said, “Those men who waylaid us and forced us into that vehicle… he was a friend of yours?”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of this. It’d be hard for her to explain her absence of over an hour, if anyone had noticed. And the fact that she’d intentionally misstated the number of men in the car was a potential lead as well. I had to tread carefully.

  “Imani… he turned out to be a man I’ve worked with before,” I said, “I didn’t want to tell you before he dropped you back at the marina. But yes, he and I went after those men.”

  “And… and you’re all right?” She sounded genuinely concerned.

  “I’m fine,” I said, “A little bruised, nothing more. They shouldn’t be a problem anymore, however. On the other hand… well, it’s best that I see you all in person. Is Audrey Lambert there, by any chance?”

  “Yes,” she said smoothly, “We’re all here, Miss Lambert, Captain McClay, Jibreel and Jack. Would you like me to put you on speaker?”

  “Yes.”

  The sound quality changed. Al-Rajid spoke first, “Scott… glad to hear you’re all right. We were concerned this morning when Imani told us of your little adventure last night.”

  Was there something in his voice? A note of derision or amusement or both?

  “It’s been an interesting few days,” I said with a sigh, “Miss Lambert, you’ll be happy to know that the four men responsible for the attack on your grandfather are… no longer a threat.”

  There was a long pause. Finally, Audrey said: “You killed them? All four?”

  “No,” I said, “But I’d rather not discuss this over the
phone. They’re all dead but… well, anyway… I’ve got a little work to do here and then I’m driving over to see you all. I need to visit Mr. Lambert again, to pick up where we left off. I have an idea about what we’re seeking and some information that I need to share with him. I’ll report what I find out this afternoon, Miss Lambert.”

  I heard Jack Brody chuckle in the background, “Trouble in paradise, Jarvis?”

  Another pause fell. I could just see Audrey spearing Brody with daggers of rage. Either that had brought him up with a round turn or Al-Rajid may have. Either way, I was glad and in no mood for his adolescent behavior.

  I hung up and headed out once again, taking a quick moment to nuke my half empty Dunkin Donuts mug before leaving. As I stood in the kitchen door to the garage, I glanced back at my empty house. It seemed an order of magnitude more barren now that my four legged buddy wasn’t there to share it.

  A tsunami of sadness broke over the exposed shoals of my heart. I was surprised by the rapidity and strength of the emotion. My throat closed up and my eyes grew hot. It wasn’t that long ago that my life had been full. Full of love, that is. And my work had pushed it all away, just like that.

  One moment, I had a deeply satisfying relationship with a beautiful, smart and spunky woman and the next, she was gone… my sister was supposed to have moved to Florida but after our little adventure in Key West in June, she’d decided that maybe the time wasn’t right to get too close to her brother… her brother who seemed incapable of staying out of trouble and getting others in it with him.

  Could I blame her or my folks? Whether I liked it or not, sometimes I couldn’t keep my personal and professional lives separate.

  I’m sure my pooch would agree, if he was able. But somebody had tried to get to me and my innocent, over-friendly and guileless dog had paid the ultimate price.

  I clenched my eyes shut and took in a deep breath. There was nothing to be done about it now. I was what I was. I probably couldn’t change if I wanted to. All I could do was focus on the task before me and plow through any obstacle, physical or intellectual, until the puzzle pieces fell into place.

  Juan Fuente met me at Hank Lambert’s new door. He wore an easy smile which told me things had gone okay for them over the past day at least.

  “Hola, senor Jarvis,” He said, “El patron is expecting you. Come inside, por favor.”

  “Hiya, Juan,” I said, “Everything’s okay here?”

  “Si,” Fuente replied, “The policia have kept an eye on the house. Nothing has happened since yesterday. Your friend, he came and fixed the door, as you can see. He is… how do you say… a silly man.”

  I laughed, ”Pinche loco you mean.”

  Fuente laughed too, “No, not loco. He makes many jokes but a very nice man.”

  I smiled, “that’s true.”

  “What have you brought, senor?” He asked, pointing to the rolled up paper in my hand.”

  “Charts,” I said, “Where is Mr. Lambert?”

  Fuente grinned, “He is enjoying a cigar on the dock.”

  I chuckled, “Tough old bird that one.”

  The young Cuban led me onto the dock. Sure enough, Hank Lambert sat on his customary bench under the gazeebo with a freshly lit dock piling clenched between his dentures.

  “Well raise my scope,” Lambert said with a wave, “Wonderin’ if I’d see you again, sailor. Come and join me. Give you a chance to finish that smoke we started yesterday. Need anything?”

  I sat and took a cigar from the ornate box near the center of the big table and lit it, “This’ll do me, Master Chief.”

  “Whatcha got there?” the vigorous old man asked, “Looks like a chart or two.”

  “That it is,” I said. You just couldn’t stay in a bad mood around Lambert, “I had a buddy with the Coasties send me some period material of the Gulf in 1945. Says there’s a bathymetry map in here too. Haven’t looked at any of it. But I thought if we put our two heads together, I might plot a decent spot to start searching.”

  “Juan, bear a hand there,” Lambert said, waving at the smoking paraphernalia, “and can you lay up to the house and fetch some thumb tacks?”

  Juan gathered the loose items and set them neatly on another bench. He then trotted back toward the house.

  “Good lad that Juan,” Hank said, looking after the young man, “So what’re you thinking?”

  “Well,” I said, puffing on my stogie, “you gave me an account of everything you know up until the sinking of both ships… maybe we can go over the technical details so I can start a plot. But I’d like to hear more about afterward… when you said that other kid, what was his name?”

  “Schumer,” Lambert said wistfully, “Ernst Schumer. Christ, son… we could’ve been cousins. I guess maybe that’s why I let him aboard. I don’t know… I was just so sick of seeing death… and the prospect of being alone and not knowing when or if I’d be rescued… hell, truth is I was pleased as punch when he came into my raft. And the fact that he could speak damned near perfect English helped.”

  “Probably kept you from going bananas, huh?”

  “Sure did,” Hank replied, “Ernst and I had a whole day and night together before a squadron of Mustangs out of MacDill picked up my distress call and spotted us. There was a freighter out of Tampa a few hours away and they picked me up.”

  That jarred me, “You mean picked you both up?”

  The old sailor shook his head sadly, “No… Ernst and I talked for hours. We shared food, water… stories about our homes… he told me all about the German boat and how he wanted revenge. Then he said he’d come to realize how terrible the war had been. He was hoping that the Americans would let him stay and send for his mom…”

  “So what happened?” I asked as Fuente jogged back with a small plastic container in his hands.

  Lambert blew out his breath, “Middle of the night… near the end of the middle watch, as it turned out… I was crashed out. We’d agreed to stand watches and keep our eyes peeled and check the radio periodically. Must’ve been near four in the morning. I thought I was being woken up to take my watch… instead, I saw Schumer leaning over me with a knife in his hand…”

  I listened intently. Trying to imagine the scene that so ingrained itself into a young man’s mind that even seventy-five years later it still gave him pause. I waited.

  Lambert blew a slow stream of smoke through his nose and mouth, “When that first P-51 flew over… that raft only held one castaway. You tracking my course, son?”

  I nodded solemnly, “I get it, Master Chief. I get it.”

  “Anyway,” Lambert said after another contemplative puff, “I’m here and he ain’t. But I learned a lot from the kid before he went for me.”

  “I’m surprised,” I said, “From your story… I really wanted to believe him.”

  Lambert snorted, “Me too. Maybe he was sincere… at first. But the more detail he revealed, the more he might’ve gotten scared. I don’t know. He’d learned way too much for an eighteen year old kid to have learned. Maybe too much so that he needed to make sure nobody else ever knew. Who knows?”

  “Okay,” I said, opening the little container of push pins. I unrolled two of the charts and pinned them to the wooden table, “Here’s what I think we need to see. This left-hand chart here covers the general area where you said you first spotted the U-boat. This next one here is a bathymetry map of the lower middle grounds… as you can see, it’s pretty sparse. Not a whole lot to go on.”

  Lambert pulled a pair of bifocals out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on, “Old peepers aren’t what they used to be… okay, I’m with you so far, Commodore.”

  I grinned, “Now let’s see… When you first picked up the German U-boat, she was about twenty-five miles to the south. You were at latitude twenty-seven degrees, fifty-five minutes north by longitude eighty-five degrees, ten minutes west… about a hundred and eighty miles west of Tampa bay and a bit north…”

  I drew a circle with a poi
nt inside at that position. Then I used a set of parallel slide rulers to measure out the distance and placed an X where the U-boat had been picked up.

  “That’s what I remember,” Lambert said.

  “Ay dios mio…” Fuente breathed, “After seventy-five jears…”

  “Believe me, son,” Lambert said, patting the young man on the knee, “You go through some things in life and you’ll never forget them. Even when you’re ninety-three.”

  “So Turner orders the Bull Shark to turn southerly…” I continued, “Making ten knots on the surface. The German boat runs at about twenty degrees, so you end up rendezvousing here…”

  I pricked the chart again at the right point and drew an X with a circle around it. It went on like that for another twenty minutes or so, as Lambert recapped the actions of the submarines and the times involved. I had a line that ran clear off the eastern edge of the chart at the end of that time.

  I unpinned the first chart and replaced it with the next easterly one. This one matched closely with the bathymetric map next to it. I continued my line to the point where the Ariovistus bottomed. Then I matched this point up with the map.

  “Hmm…” I said, “There isn’t much bottom topography on this thing… but I think we’re on the right track…”

  After a few more minutes, I pulled the pins and rolled the charts up and slid a rubber band around them. I gathered my pen, pencil, drawing compass and slide rule, “Okay, Master Chief… I think I’ve got a starting point, anyway.”

  “Now what?” Lambert asked, stubbing out the tiny remnant of his cigar.

  “Now I go back to Sarasota and see the other side,” I said, “The next move is to head to sea and take a closer look.”

  “You need my boat?” Lambert asked.

  “What’ve you got?”

  “Fishing trawler out of Clearwater. Old friend of my son’s. Good boat, sixty footer with a derrick. He’s got dive gear and an underwater vacuum rig for the job if we need him.”

  I pondered that for a moment, “Honestly, Hank… I think that I should go to sea with Brody. You should see the setup he’s got. It’s a real salvage ship. All the comforts of home plus an onboard mini sub.”