by Scott Cook
“I thought you were gonna ram him,” Clay said.
“Now, that’d just be reckless,” I stated.
“It’s only cuz’ he’s as fast as we are that you didn’t, huh?”
I smiled sheepishly, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Take the wheel.”
Clay rolled his eyes but the smile he wore on his face told me he was loving this. He slipped in behind the wheel and I bent down to retrieve a heavy fishing rod stowed under the port gunwale in one of the built-in rod racks.
“Our buddy is back on his feet… well, butt,” Clay called over the roar of the outboard. “He’s got his rifle again!”
I could tell that the morning breeze was already beginning to have an effect. The formerly placid lake was getting up a mild chop now. It wasn’t very noticeable from our boat, which had been built for in-shore and near shore fishing. On the other hand, I could see that the gunman was having trouble aiming at us, even from so close.
“Taking evasive!” Clay said as he began to zig-zag our boat.
It was working, causing the other man to try and readjust his aim to compensate, yet the downside was that we were losing ground ever so slightly with each jink.
The rod I held was a robust seven footer with a big ass spinning reel on it. Attached to the lowest line guide was a rather substantial hook tied to a heavy monofilament leader topped with a one ounce lead weight.
“Christ!” I joked as I went forward and released the hook, “what the hell lives in this lake, anyway? Freakin’ Locke Ness?”
“What’re you gonna do now, Bond?” Clay shouted over the windshield.
“Aim for him,” I said. “A little to starboard, though. Let’s see if I can clap a stopper over his capers!”
Both boats were running not far from the western lake shore. We were maybe a hundred yards out, passing by homes, occasional undeveloped stands of trees and even a small cove or two. In some of these, I could see the floats of huge nets that closed the coves and bays off to the main body of the lake. Clay had also explained that a lot of farm raised fish were cultivated on the western side of Lake Arenal.
I began to wonder how deep this lake was and when we might suddenly discover some very skinny water. If we did, our forty-knot chase would soon rapidly decelerate to a zero-knot chase and your brave hero would find himself spinning ass over tea kettle into the drink.
I got up on the casting deck forward and casted my heavy rig toward the man at the other boat’s wheel.
“Hey! I don’t have a license for that species!” Clay joked.
“Don’t worry!” I hollered back. “This is just for sport. Catch and release only! Don’t think theys good eatin’.”
My hook and weight went wide to the left. I cursed, reeling rapidly and bringing the rig back. Again I whipped the rod from over my shoulder, a bit more to the right this time. I almost made it. I could hear the sound of the lead weight clonking off the outboard cowling.
The man with the rifle was taking careful aim now, scrunching down forward of his boat’s small steering console and resting his rifle on the corner of the console to steady himself.
“He’s drawing a bead on us!” Clay warned.
“Oh, no you don’t, cabron!” I shouted and cast again.
It couldn’t have been any sweeter if it was raining powdered sugar.
My lead weight actually struck the driver on the back of the head. He lurched sideways, jerking his wheel as well. This had the benefit of caroming the boat twenty degrees to port rather abruptly. This had the benefit of causing the rifleman to lurch to his left and leaning far out over the gunwale, flailing his arms for stability and dropping his weapon into the lake.
Clay roared with laughter from behind me. However, his amusement wasn’t over yet. After the weight had bounced off the man’s head, it had landed behind him in the well where the boat’s gas tanks must be stored. Because when I began to haul my line in, the big hook caught on something. As I jerked hard on the pole, my hook yanked the fuel feed hose from the engine before slipping free and falling into the water.
I’d just gotten the line aboard again when the other boat began to slow.
“He’s losing power!” I told Clay. “Slow down so that you’re barely planed off and blow by him!”
Clay was still laughing, having figured out what happened and what my plan was. He cackled with malevolent glee and slowed the boat down to less than twenty knots. Still fast enough to quickly overtake the other boat. Their engine had stalled and it was quickly settling to a crawl. Being slowed, our wake was that much larger due to the fact that more boat was settled and displacing more water as we went.
Clay and I turned to see the small light weight boat heel over to port, nearly lying on her beam ends. The small v-shaped aluminum boat didn’t capsize… our wake wasn’t big enough for that… but both of our would-be attackers spilled out and into the lake.
“Buenos dias, putas!” Clay hollered as he turned the wheel to starboard and headed away from shore.
“Well, that was exciting,” I said, putting the fishing rod away.
“Yessir,” Clay whooped. “We do more before breakfast than most people do before breakfast.”
“Good one.”
“I try.”
“So what’s for breakfast anyway?” I asked.
“Grilled Chupacabra.”
“Aww, man…” I whined. “I had that yesterday…”
Chapter 6
Well, Clay lied and we didn’t have grilled Chupacabra for breakfast. We tied his neighbor’s boat up, retrieved our coffee mugs and strolled back to his house where we refilled them and Clay finally got to tinkle.
“So do you think we should’ve done more about those two dingle berries in the skiff?” Clay shouted out to me from the bathroom.
“Like what?” I asked, raising my voice to reach him over the sound of tinkling. “Invite them for coffee?”
“I don’t know, you’re like some kind of investigationer, right? Maybe question them to find out why they were spying on us and shooting at us?”
“What… that’s abnormal around here?” I jibed. “I’m new, so…”
There was a flush, the sound of the water running and then Clay came out into the kitchen and started prepping breakfast, “Side splitting.”
“Call it a hunch,” I replied, “but something tells me that A, this morning and yesterday are related. And B: that this wasn’t an attack per se.”
He stopped his egg scrambling to lean over the counter and treat me to a bewildered and disbelieving expression, “I’d hardly call it a welcome wagon.”
I chuckled, “No… but come on… that guy damn near went through an entire thirty round mag and didn’t hit anything? Then those clowns yesterday… I don’t know, just seems odd.”
Clay frowned and went back to his cooking, “And you still think this has something to do with me?”
I sighed and shrugged, “I’d have to say so. I don’t see how it would involve me, at least not yet.”
He was silent for a time. The implications of what we were considering had dissolved the mood. He sighed, “If you’re right… then my family could be in danger, too.”
I didn’t want to agree, yet he had a point, “Maybe. Although, I don’t think you’re in danger, exactly… as I said, this wasn’t a hit. Yesterday wasn’t either. It was… something else.”
“Like what?”
“An attention getter? A distraction? Maybe a test?”
“For what, though?” He asked, sounding hopeful that I’d actually have an answer for him.
“No idea, brother,” I admitted, “but I don’t think it’s dangerous, at least not directly. Maybe your buddy the environmental engineer will give us a clue. In the meantime, though, I’d just say let’s not go out unarmed or unaware.”
“I agree,” he said as he scooped eggs and toast onto two plates.
“When do Missy and the kids come back?” I asked.
“This afternoon,” C
lay replied as we began to eat.
“And when does your friend arrive?”
“Should be here anytime.”
As if on cue, a black Land Rover pulled up in front of the house and two men got out. The driver was a short stocky man who looked to be a native. He had a crop of thick curly black hair and a beard to match. The other man was tall, lean and dressed in a casual golf shirt and slacks number that looked new.
“That’s Miles,” Clay said as he headed for the door. “I don’t know the squatty dude.”
I set my empty plate on the coffee table and walked out with Clay to meet our guests. The squatty dude looked to be of Indio origin, probably a Costa Rican native. He wore deck shoes, black slacks and a Guayabera shirt. He was built like a fire plug… short and thick. In contrast, Miles Palmer was a lean man of just over six feet. He had an athletic build with a square jawed handsome face topped with salt and pepper hair.
“Clay,” Miles said with a grin as he bumped fists with Clay, “long time no see. How the hell are you?”
“Still above the grass,” Clay said. “Although…”
Miles laughed and turned his attention to me, “And this must be the famous Scott Jarvis. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Clay has nothing but good things to say about you.”
Miles and I fist bumped and I grinned, “That’s nice to hear. Glad to meet you as well, Mr. Palmer.”
“Call me Miles,” Palmer said genially. “This is Umberto Rincon, my chief of security here in Costa Rica. He also works on the Green City project.”
“Hola,” Rincon said. “Pleased to meet you, senores.”
“Security?” Clay asked. “Any reason or just being careful, Miles?”
Palmer shrugged, “No real reason that I know… but one can’t be too careful.”
“Miles is mas importante… a very important man,” Rincon added. “It is better to be safe than sorry, no?”
“I can’t argue with that,” I said. Clay and I exchanged a look. I think he was wondering if we should tell Palmer about what’s been going on. I shook my head ever so slightly to indicate not yet.
“Come on in, gents,” Clay said. “Scott and I just finished a late breakfast. You guys want anything?”
Miles indicated that they didn’t and we went into the house. I was the last one in and cast a careful eye up and down the street before closing the gate. As I turned back to the house, I caught Rincon watching me. He tapped an index finger to his temple and grinned.
“Your friend, Senor Clay,” Rincon said, nodding toward me, “he is… military? Security?”
“A private detective,” Clay stated.
“Ah!” Rincon said with pleasure. “Like Agatha Christie’s Monsieur Poirot… or the Shaft!”
Clay Guffawed and Palmer grinned broadly. I only frowned.
When Clay quit wheezing, he wiped his eyes and said: “Oh, you hit the nail on the head, Umberto… if Scott is anything… he’s the shaft…”
“Oh, you’re just loving this, huh?” I said good-naturedly.
Rincon looked a little confused until Palmer explained it to him. The Costa Rican turned a little red but was grinning widely, “I’m sorry, senor Jarvis…”
“It’s not your fault my friend is a child, Umberto,” I said.
“Not much has changed, huh Clay?” Palmer asked with a shake of his head.
Clay had to go get a paper towel and blow his nose.
“So I understand you asked Clay to have me come down,” I said to Palmer, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Is there a specific reason? Are you having some sort of trouble?”
Palmer leaned back in his chair and sighed, “I’m not exactly sure… can I call you Scott? Great… I’m not entirely sure, Scott. But there are some things going on that I thought a guy with your experience and talents could help with.”
“I told Miles there was nobody better,” Clay stated as he came back into the room.
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously,” Clay said. “I’ve filled him in on a few things.”
“I’ve read all of your books, Scott. I know quite a bit about you… which is one reason I asked for your help,” Miles stated.
Umberto’s eyes went wide, “You’re Jarvis… the detective from the books! I’ve also read them. Very impressive.”
“Thanks,” I said modestly, “but perhaps a little embellished for entertainment value.”
Clay scoffed, “I was there for the last one, remember? At least parts of it. In my opinion, he understates.”
“Does that include a man named Charles Conklin?” Miles asked us.
Clay and I exchanged a curious glance. I cocked an eyebrow at Miles, “You know Charles?”
“Not exactly… I’ve heard of him. I know he and Clay served together… and I’ve heard rumors. Just curious,” Miles replied.
I filed that nugget away for later and once again tried to get things back on track, “Miles, what is it you’re concerned about? Is it something Umberto here can’t handle?”
“Not in terms of security,” Miles said. “Umberto is very skilled as are his men… no, it’s more something an investigator might be good for.”
I waited.
He sighed, “How much do you already know about me and my company?”
I shrugged, “The basic history of EcoLife. I’ve also recently completed a case for a home builder in Orlando who’s incorporating some of your new tech into her home designs.”
“Oh, Virginia Chandler,” Miles said with a smile. “She’s a sharp tack, that lady. She actually helped me finalize some of that tech.”
“I also know,” I continued, “that you recently divorced your wife and maybe that’s an issue? And I know that La Cuidad de Tierra Verde—“
“Just Green City for short,” Miles interrupted and then smiled apologetically.
“—Green City is a big deal down here,” I finished.
“A big deal worldwide if it works,” Miles clarified. “And yes, those last two items might be related. I think my ex-wife, Andrea Wellesley might be trouble.”
I leaned back in my seat and frowned, “I don’t do divorce business, Miles. If you want me to stalk her and dig up some dirt on her sexual or drug habits or something…”
He shook his head and chuckled sardonically I thought, “Believe me, Scott… there’s plenty of that to find. Andrea is a girl who adores her pleasures. It’s not really a secret. No, it’s more that she feels that EcoLife is as much hers as mine.”
“Isn’t it?” I asked.
He scowled, “I started that company over twenty years ago. She comes along and now that the business is a nine-figure multi-national, she feels it’s her baby rather than mine. She wants to wrest control from me and push me out entirely now.”
“I see…” I said thoughtfully, even though I didn’t. “With all due respect, Miles… and I’m only exploring ideas here… as I understand it, you were only making six figures when she came along. It’s been said and reported that its Andrea’s business savvy, grit and tenacity that’s made EcoLife the big deal it is today… or at least as much as it is you’re doing. Is that not so?”
This seemed to piss the CEO off. He folded his arms across his chest, “So you’re buying into that garbage, too? Who do you think is responsible for all that positive PR around her?”
“Take it easy, Miles,” Clay said, holding out a hand. “Scott is just asking, trying to get a handle on the situation.”
Miles blew out his breath and grinned sheepishly, “You’re right… sorry, Scott. To answer your question, yes… to a degree. Andrea has definitely helped us grow. But she’s way overstating her case. I’ve offered her a sizable divorce settlement and a minority interest in the company as a silent profit-sharing partner…”
“But she isn’t happy with that,” I said. “From what little I hear, she wouldn’t be. I hear tell she’s a very ambitious woman.”
Miles snorted, “That’s putting it lightly. She’s a shark.”
Miles shook his head, “For our personal property, yes. But this is a whole different kettle of fish. This is a corporate situation. I’d prefer to settle with her out of court if possible… but I don’t think she’ll go for it.”
“So what does this have to do with me?” I asked. “I’m still not interested in some deal where I spy on her and gather dirt. Not only is that still what I consider divorce business… it goes two ways, you know.”
Miles nodded, “Sure. She could hire a private detective to scope me as well. No, Andrea is only part of the equation… and it’s figuring out what the equation is that I need your help with. And maybe Clay’s too.”
“What do you mean?” Clay asked.
“There’s trouble,” Umberto cut in. “Trouble we think may be coming from Nicaragua. La Cuidad… Green City has been raided.”
Clay and I exchanged a look.
“Are you certain it is not time for a colorful metaphor?” Clay asked wryly.
I smiled, “Miles… we have a few things to tell you. I don’t know if they’re related, but Clay and I have had two very interesting experiences since I arrived yesterday.”
We related the story of the two para-military goons who tailed us and the two men in the boat that morning.
“Ay dios mio…” Umberto groaned.
“You know something,” Miles pondered, “that seems odd to me… twice you’ve been intercepted, for the lack of a better term, by unknown assailants… and each time, you’ve bested them.”
“It’s not that weird,” Clay stated. “I’m a Marine and Scott is a superhero. Why is it so odd we got the better of these jokers?”
Miles smiled, “I’m a Marine too, Clay. Well, a short termer, but still… no, I don’t mean it’s odd you guys didn’t get beaten… I mean that it just seemed too easy.”