A Fortune in Blood: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 7)

by Scott Cook

  Juan only shrugged, “Nah, senor Jarvis won’t get any trouble from me. Not since he had me smuggle in those cigars last month.”

  Juan’s English had improved quite a bit since I first met him. He still had a Cuban accent but no longer pronounced his J’s as Y’s and vice versa. He also didn’t call me senor Jarvis anymore unless he was pulling my leg.

  “That’s not illegal anymore, pal,” I told him.

  “O!” Juan feigned ignorance, “then I guess I’ll have to take you downtown, gringo.”

  I sighed wearily and began to tear into my porkcicles, “It’s amazing how many people think they’re comedians.”

  “yes…” Sharon intoned.

  “Amazing…” Wayne rejoined.

  I narrowed my eyes and glared around at them, “It’ll be the grating for the lot a’ya’!”

  Chapter 3

  When we arrived at Marcus’ grandparents’ home in Lake Nona just before sunset, we were greeted by a houseful. This was to be the first of Marcus’ tenth birthday parties. There were friends from his school as well as friends of Leonard and Samantha, the doctor and attorney parents of Jimmy Peters, Marcus’ father.

  Wayne, Sheila, Sharon, Juan and I were invited, of course. The trip to Busch Gardens only being the start of the lad’s celebration. It’s not every day a kid turned ten, after all.

  The party was great. Plenty of great foods from some local restaurants, an open bar and the laughter of a dozen kids living it up in the huge pool. It must be nice to have a June birthday in Florida.

  The next morning I drove downtown so as to present myself in my office at something of a respectable hour. I was between cases at the moment, yet it seemed like as of late, I hardly had a day or two in between. I was always surprised at the number of people who simply walked in, as if I were on a busy high trafficked area.

  Although I had no official case to work on, I did have a few things to do. I’d recently completed a draft on a new book, which I was calling Sins of the Fatherland. It dealt with a very convoluted case I’d been on back in February. A lot had happened and not every question had an answer… but it might make a very interesting read. Especially because I’d blended in an old man’s recollection of a submarine action that had taken place just after the end of World War 2.

  It was a little painful to relive, and yet it was also somewhat cathartic. Telling the story allowed me to exorcise some of the demons that still hovered around my soul.

  So I’d do some editing, do a little online promotion for my other books and wait patiently for a new case to saunter in.

  When I opened my outer office door, which I never locked, I wasn’t very surprised to find a man sitting on my sofa thumbing through one of my slightly outdated magazines. That is, until I recognized him.

  The man was in his early fifties and had a broad shouldered and lean athlete’s body. His handsome Italian face split into a grin when he looked up and saw my face.

  “Gregorio… you’re here.” I stated brilliantly.

  Gregorio Santino stood and shook my hand. He was about six feet tall and seemed much younger than he was. He possessed a relaxed and casual manner and his deep baritone was smooth and charming. Santino just so happened to be the head of one of New York’s five mafia families. He and I had met the previous year and had already shared more than one adventure together.

  Whenever he showed up, I was now convinced that something interesting was about to occur.

  “Good to see you, my friend,” Santino said. “How are you? I’m sorry we haven’t talked much since… since the day you found that U-boat.”

  “The last we really spoke about it,” I said, waving him into my inner thinking saloon, “Was in regards to one of the hitmen that Audrey Lambert hired. Yashim, who turned out to be from Nicaragua.”

  I settled into the swivenator and… yes… I swiveled. Santino took one of the new client chairs across from me and sipped from a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  “We’ve still been looking into that.”

  “We?” I asked. “As in you and Charles Conklin?”

  “Yes… along with Joe McClay, Jack Brody and Jibreel Al-Rajid,” he said.

  I felt a bit confused then, “What…? You’re working with them?”

  He smiled thinly, “In a superficial way. It seems that after that incident, and the information that we uncovered… several international agencies want to learn more. MI6, the Mossad… obviously… and our own government.”

  “So what, you’re part of some kind of special team now or something?” I asked, feeling more than a little curious.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Santino replied. “It’s more that through my network, I can acquire information that law enforcement agencies, or international ones, can’t. However, it seems that Brody has been doing quite a lot of work in Florida for the past few months. Between the marine biology studies as well as wreck diving. I’m here on other business as well, and thought I’d come and see you and keep you informed.”

  My curiosity suddenly took a right turn and a little knot formed in my gut. The idea that the scenario I’d been wrapped up in four months earlier might not be put to bed was unsettling.

  Santino seemed to sense my unease, “You’re distressed by this?”

  “That situation… was a difficult one,” I admitted. “And honestly, it didn’t get wrapped up in a nice neat package. We still don’t know exactly why Audrey did what she did. Why she wanted those canisters of germs, why she brought explosives onto the Robert Ballard… although I suppose that was just an insurance policy. We do know there is some kind of connection to Nicaragua and St. Louis, Missouri… and I’m still not entirely sure why Hank Lambert hired me in the first place.”

  “Sometimes that’s how it goes,” Santino commiserated. “It’s not like a TV show where everything is tied up with a pretty bow at the end. Sometimes we don’t get all the answers… or at least not right away.”

  I leaned back and sighed, “Don’t I know it. So did you just come by to tell me that, or is there another reason for this visit?”

  Santino smirked, “I can’t just come and visit a friend?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I wish you would more often. And bring that lovely wife of yours, too. I haven’t seen her since Fort Lauderdale.”

  “I do need to do that,” He mused and then got serious. “All this jibber jabber is for a purpose, Scott. I’ve been asked to approach you about working with us… well, working with McClay as it were. They thought that you might feel strange after what happened.”

  I shrugged, “No… I rather enjoyed most of that trip on the salvage ship. I found that I liked Brody. He didn’t turn out to be the arrogant prick he first seemed the day I met him. When we got to the wreck, he was thoughtful, introspective and seemed much moved by it all. That impressed me. But that aside, what do they want with me?”

  “They need a man who can run down the thread between Audrey, St. Louis and Nicaragua,” Santino said. “From what I understand, the situation may not be entirely resolved.”

  I scowled, “From what I’ve heard from Mike Rivers, the Navy has been out there and has dealt with the U-boat and the germs.”

  “That’s my understanding as well,” Santino replied. “Apparently it was discovered that the streptococcus canisters had broken during the battle and sinking. The germs were either vacated or had died out by the time the Navy divers got to them.”

  “My God…” I breathed and rubbed my hands across my face. “Then… then it was all for nothing… Hank, Audrey and Ariel… for nothing!”

  “Yes and no,” Santino replied softly. “I’m sorry, Scott… but nobody could’ve known that at the time. However, your experiences aside, there is something still behind it all, and that’s what the parties involved are curious about. As am I.”

  “Why you?” I asked. “Does it really matter now?”

  He sighed, “I’ve got business in Costa Rica. A new venture that I hope will bring considerable and leg
itimate success. Something Bruno Santino would approve of.”

  Santino’s grandfather had been adamantly opposed to the mafia. In spite of that, his son and his grandson had gotten deeply involved. However, Santino had a great deal of love and respect for his grandfather. It was this love and this now dead man who had instilled a considerable amount of honor and integrity into a man who was now the head of a large and powerful organized crime family.

  “Costa Rica?” I asked. “That’s where I’m headed on Saturday. Clay got to me first, I’m afraid. Sorry I can’t be of any help, or at least not now.”

  Santino’s eyebrows rose, “Clay? Central America?”

  I explained about the Delaneys and their house sitting stint for the next couple of months, “He also said that an old friend of his also has business in the area and wants to meet me. Might have a little something for us… or me… to check into while I’m there.”

  My friend leaned in and rested his forearms on the desk, “Indeed? What company? Who is the friend… if I’m not being too intrusive?”

  I grinned, “Not sure. I think Clay said his name was Miles… Miles Palmer.”

  “Of EcoLife?”

  When I didn’t react with any kind of recognition, Santino frowned, seemed like he was going to say something and then seemed to change his mind. He sipped his coffee and finally spoke again.

  “EcoLife is one of the biggest players in 21st century green technology,” he explained. “They started out with greenhouses and water filtration systems for farms right around the turn of the century. Now, they’re a hundred million dollar multi-national with subsidiaries in two dozen countries. Miles Palmer is the founder.”

  I nodded, “I’ve heard bits and pieces. They claim they’re working on a completely self-contained environment, right? Power, water, food and business all supported through green energy and as tiny a carbon footprint as possible.”

  “Right… and they’re based… based in St. Louis, Missouri.”

  My eyebrows went up now, “Are you saying that this is no coincidence?”

  Santino shrugged, “Right now, I don’t know. Joe and his people don’t know… but as you probably know, Costa Rica borders Nicaragua to the south and Palmer’s pet project, La Cuidad de Tierra Verde, Or the City of Green Land… usually just referred to as Green City, is being built near Lake Arenal in northern Costa Rica.”

  “Are you saying this Palmer guy…” I began hesitantly. I didn’t want to think ill of a friend of Clay’s.

  “No,” Santino said, holding up a hand. “I’m not saying anything… it’s just that there are a lot of threads that seem to weave together. I was hoping you could help out… and maybe you can. Perhaps you can keep your eyes and ears open when you’re down there.”

  I spread my hands, “Always.”

  “Maybe we’ll even see each other down there,” Santino said. “Jack has a lead on an interesting wreck off the Costa Rican or Nicaraguan coast that he’s going to check out. I’m going with him for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which is that I’m curious to dive with him too. Yet it’ll keep me close to Costa Rica and maybe… but I don’t want to burden you with anything more than you need.”

  “The crooked and winding paths my life takes…” I mused.

  My friend laughed, “Keeps it interesting. So how about some lunch?”

  It was close to four in the afternoon before I returned to my office. Santino and I had gone over to Point Orlando and eaten at a wonderfully authentic and wonderfully tasty Cuban restaurant called El Cuba Libre. Wayne and Sharon had been free, so they’d joined us and we’d had a great time.

  Once again, I was surprised to see that my outer office was occupied upon my return. Guess I was getting popular.

  This time, the man who sat browsing my magazine selection was a stranger. He was a well-built and well-dressed black man who looked to be in his mid-fifties. Although he had a youthful appearance, the close-cropped salt and pepper hair betrayed him.

  When he stood to greet me, I noticed that his black suit was neatly pressed and his expensive-looking dress shoes polished to a blinding sheen. He stood an inch or two under six feet.

  “Mr. Jarvis,” he said and smiled disarmingly, “glad to see you.”

  He held out a fist and I bumped it with mine. That was still the norm since the beer virus exploded onto the world’s stage.

  “I hope I haven’t left you waiting too long, Mr.…”

  “Grayson,” he said in a voice that held a note of authority beneath its friendliness. “Colonel Warner Grayson. And no, I’ve only been here about fifteen minutes.”

  “Nice to meet you, Colonel,” I said, waving a hand at my inner office door. “Would you like to step into my back office for a chat?”

  He grinned and bent to pick up a leather attaché case that was nearly as shiny as his shoes. I led him into my inner office and I took the conn.

  “And before you say it,” Grayson said as he settled into one of my client chairs, “I know I don’t look like a Colonel.”

  I grinned, “You don’t dress like a Colonel, Mr. Grayson, but you seem fit, you keep your hair in a high and tight and you carry yourself like a military man. Army? Marines? Air Force?”

  He smiled thinly, “Good observation. I’m a Marine and partially retired.”

  “Partially?” I asked, my curiosity kicking in.

  “I’ve moved out of active duty… in a way… and into something else,” he noted, opening the briefcase. “I head a new task force specializing in international criminal activity.”

  “Like Interpol?”

  He shook his head and withdrew what looked like a thin bound report from his case, “Not exactly… our concern is primarily with the United States and the security of our nation. Yet we’re authorized to operate both within our borders and outside as well.”

  I leaned back in my chair and nodded. I suddenly felt wary. My previous dealings with government agencies, specifically the alphabet variety, were rocky at best. This guy just screamed spook and I kept my guard up.

  He met my eyes, “I’m not FBI, CIA or even DHS. You might say my task force is a blend of all of them and more. An independent intelligence gathering, investigation and most importantly, enforcement unit. Not unlike NCIS you might say, although not attached to any particular military branch, either. Although most of my people are service men and women.”

  “Uh-huh,” I offered.

  “Do you know what an SRB is, Mr. Jarvis?”

  “I believe so… a service record book? Military and government employees have them. Sort of their written record, correct?”

  He nodded, “Exactly. A detailed play by play of a person’s career, you might say.”

  I nodded.

  “You may be surprised to learn that you have an official jacket as well,” Grayson pointed out, laying the letter-sized and coil-bound book on my blotter. “It is interesting reading, to say the least. I’ve known guys who served thirty years in the Corps whose jacket isn’t half this full.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, “Why would I even have a jacket, Colonel? I’m neither in the military nor a government agent.”

  Grayson chuckled, “Maybe not, but you’ve certainly had some interesting experiences. Taking down Anthony Ravetti and his Cuban connection, for one. Exposing Deputy Assistant Director William Griggs for another. And let’s not forget discovering a sunken German U-boat containing twenty canisters of deadly streptococcus. That’s to say nothing of your activities within the borders as well.”

  “I’m a private investigator,” I stated. “I go where my work takes me. So what?”

  “So…” Grayson said, leaning back in the chair. “You’re the kind of man I’d like on my team. A well-trained, seasoned investigator and all-around bad mother fucker, if you’ll pardon the expression. A man with the brains to solve the unsolvable and the grit to resolve the unresolvable.”

  I frowned. I wasn’t sure if he was flattering me or being sincere, “Colonel, tha
t’s very similar to the speech Audrey Lambert gave me. And she turned out not to be a CIA agent. She turned out to be the bad guy, although I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’m still not sure why her grandfather asked to hire me… although I think I know the answer to that.”

  “He wanted to make sure he found that boat,” Grayson said it with authority, as if he was certain of the answer. “I think Hank Lambert, or in truth Ernst Schumer, wanted to make sure that nobody would be able to get their hands on that cargo.”

  I was no longer surprised that anybody knew Hank’s true identity. I’d already suspected that the government had a record of it somewhere. However, the after action report I’d had to file with the Coast Guard laid all that out.

  “Yes… yet why would his granddaughter go along with it?” I wondered aloud.

  Grayson shrugged, “For the same reason you had everybody involved on that ship. To keep your enemies close. I think she had the same idea. Let you birddog for her. Anyway, that’s one reason I’d like to get you onboard. That situation is… still unresolved.”

  “So I hear,” I said.

  “From Gregorio Santino?”

  I folded my hands on my desk blotter and studied the man for a long moment, “I’ve heard that some people are interested in chasing down the Nicaraguan connection.”

  He smiled thinly, “Yes… Brody’s team, which includes an MI6 operative. And a Mafia Don.”

  “And not me,” I finished. “I’ve done my bit and want no more to do with it. Besides, I’m going out of town this weekend.”

  “To visit Clay Delaney and his family in Costa Rica,” Grayson stated.

  I didn’t like how much this stranger knew about my comings and goings. I scowled, “Colonel… you’re intruding on my privacy. I think you’d be better off focusing your energies and efforts elsewhere. I don’t appreciate having the government’s nose stuck so far up my ass.”

  Grayson laughed, “There’s that grit. It’s my job, son. You’re not only a man who gets things done, you’re also a man to whom trouble seems drawn.”