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

by Scott Cook

  I looked down into her pain-wracked face, feeling a little stab of jealousy. I knew it was irrational, but the feeling and the thought just popped up. Was she still carrying a torch for this guy?

  Her eyes met mine and she smiled slightly, “I’m saying he’ll keep me safe for old times’ sake.”

  “Miles,” I said, “Lisa’s been hit.”

  A long pause, “is she… is she okay?”

  “No, she’s been hit you motherf… chest wound, looks bad,” I said. “If I leave her behind, will you see she gets help?”

  Another pregnant pause I didn’t like. We needed to move that instant and take advantage of the distraction that Umberto and Juan had bought us.

  “Of course I will,” Miles replied, “but you have to stay with her and make sure she’s stable until we can get to you.”

  “Agreed… tell your men to stop firing, Garcia, you’re liable to hit her again,” I grumbled and turned my earwig off. “Prick… Ready?”

  Clay nodded and Lisa looked confused.

  “I’m not leaving you,” I said and kissed her gently. “C’mon!”

  “Go!” Clay snapped. He’d turned his earwig off, too.

  We ran. Clay ahead and weaving to the right to make a big arc around the burning tents. I followed, trying to keep pace and keep from jostling Lisa too much. That was all the more difficult because my own wound was protesting loudly at the rough treatment I was giving it. I had blood squelching in my boot and could feel more on my leg. The dressing was leaking.

  It wasn’t easy for me, but every few steps or so, she’d gasp or moan or whimper in pain. I tried to focus on that, knowing this was much worse for her.

  “Sorry, sweetie…” I whispered to her. “Sorry… sorry…”

  Her hand found my arm and she squeezed weakly.

  The firing had stopped, but I knew that wouldn’t last. It would only be a matter of seconds before Garcia realized I was full of shit.

  We were past the tents and had to cross open ground. It was extremely dangerous. Thankfully, I could see Juan and Umberto kneeling ahead and to our left, covering our retreat. A quick glance over my left shoulder showed a group of eight men lying prone on the dirt fifty or sixty yards away, pointing rifles but not firing. They had their heads down.

  I reached up and turned my earwig back on, “Clay, activate your comm!”

  I saw Declan do it for him.

  “Red one, Ramius…” Jack broke in. It was odd to hear his voice after so much time. “I hope you guys are on your way out… something’s going on up there!”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “Dunno… I see light to the north… can’t quite tell from here,” Jack said uncertainly.

  Even as we ran, I began to feel something odd. The ground beneath my boots was beginning to tremble. It was growing in intensity. I wondered if it was an earthquake. Maybe Mother Nature was offering us a hand?

  “Helos!” I heard Santino shout over the channel.

  “What?” I asked in shock. “They have air support?”

  “I don’t think so…” Santino said. “Looks like a squadron of helicopters. Approaching from the northwest.”

  “Jesus…” Clay huffed. “What the hell next?”

  “Gregorio, where the hell are you… and how do we shift freqs again?” I asked, huffing great gulps of air.

  Clay, Declan, Lisa and I were past Juan and Umberto now, and they were back pedaling and occasionally sending bursts ahead to keep the others from taking pot shots at us.

  “I’m outbound! As for the earwig… same as before,” Santino said. “Just stop when you find one you want.”

  “Okay!” I called out.

  Lisa reached up and pushed the tiny button on the device in my ear. It began to cycle, a tiny beep accompanying each frequency shift.

  “Now,” I said to her and she hit it again.

  I started chattering nonsense over the channel so the rest of them could tell they’d hit the right one. Once everyone reported in, I reported that we’d reached the tree line.

  The rumbling earth was now very pronounced. It had to be more than helos. What the hell was going on?

  I heard the gunships now. Their blades punished the heavy morning air, their rhythmic tattoo cutting through any sound. Even as we pushed further into the trees and underbrush, the world started growing brighter as their lights lit up the camp.

  “Come on, slow pokes,” Juan said as he and Umberto joined Clay and me as we blundered through the trees. We were headed south and east, trying to put distance between us and the camp and move back toward the river.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I wheezed. “Workin’ on it, Mr. impatient.”

  “Halt,” Umberto said loud enough for Clay to hear. He came around and looked into Lisa’s face, “Como esta, Mija?”

  “I feel like… a hundred dollars,” Lisa said dazedly.

  She was starting to fade out. Umberto met my eyes and reached out, “Here, I’ll take her for a bit, hermano.”

  He gently relieved me of my burden and turned to follow Clay. Juan came up to my side and patted my arm.

  “I think those are regular Nicaraguan military,” He said. “Escucha…”

  A voice boomed out over a loudspeaker, ordering everyone to lay down their weapons. It was all in Spanish, of course. Then Garcia shouted something and it sounded like every weapon in the camp started firing.

  “Damned fool!” I growled.

  “True enough,” Santino said over the comm, “but lucky for us.”

  I scoffed, “We’d have made it on our own anyway.”

  The return fire was devastating even to hear. At least four heavy caliber cannons began to clatter out, no doubt strafing the camp with 20mm rounds. Then there was the sound of a tremendous explosion as something was hit by a rocket or an RPG behind us.

  Oh well, that was Garcia’s problem now. I had no doubt that the helos were only the first line of attack. We needed to move before they started hunting for more people in the forest.

  “The helos are just the forerunner,” Clay shouted, loudly voicing my inner thoughts. “Probably a mechanized infantry unit is hot on their heels. Let’s move!”

  It seemed to take forever. In point of fact, though, the trek through the forest only took ten minutes or less before we came to the slope that led down to the river and began to blend the more forested part of the foliage with the tropical jungle below.

  We all but slid down the hill, both Umberto and I holding onto one another to keep stable and try to keep Lisa stable. As we broke out onto the small beach where we’d stashed the raft, I saw three figures already there, one of whom was pulling the yellow raft from the underbrush.

  “We’ve got a guest,” Santino said, holding Miles Palmer by the back of his neck and his Sig Sauer against the man’s ribs.

  On the other side of Palmer, dressed in the black trousers and long sleeved shirt that was Garcia’s uniform, was Charles Conklin. He grinned at me, “Brought you a gift.”

  “How the hell…?” I asked in confusion and then muttered: “Damned Palmer…”

  “As soon as I knew Garcia was distracted,” Miles almost pleaded. “I said I’d go meet you and Lisa.”

  “Then you took off running for the river,” Clay said, lowering Declan to the ground.

  “I only ran in the first place to help!” Miles pleaded, “To get Garcia to cease fire while you guys were rescued—“

  Conklin shrugged, “I grabbed him before he could get far.”

  Santino took two steps back and Clay stepped forward, balled his fist and decked Palmer with a solid right hand. The businessman toppled backward and landed on the sand hard on his ass.

  Santino put a staying hand on Clay’s shoulder as he was about to wade in on his ex-friend, “Later.”

  “What the hell?” Miles asked, looking up at Clay in confusion.

  “What are you kidding me?” Clay asked, his body tense. “All of this, Miles… all of it… is your fault. My wife, my daughter
s and my son… all because of you! I ought to shoot you right here and now!”

  I put a hand on Clay’s other arm. “Santino’s right, brother. Now’s not the time. Let’s get to safety and then…”

  Clay relaxed and exhaled slowly, “Okay… you’re right. So where do we go from here?”

  “Oh, I’ve got it all worked out, Clay-mation,” I retorted. “Got you a nice submarine right out there. You still with us, Ramius?”

  “Wonderin’ how long you’d dilly dally,” Came Brody’s voice over the comm. “Ready and waiting. Looks and sounds pretty busy up there.”

  “Yeah, no shit,” I quipped. “Surface. We’re headed out to you.”

  “Scott…” Juan said uneasily, pointing at the boat. “This holds only four people, maybe five. We have nine.”

  “Two trips,” I said. “Lisa, Declan, Juan and Clay. You guys row out. Get Lisa aboard and then come back for us.”

  One of the helos circled overhead from the base. It didn’t hover near us, but it appeared that they were widening their search perimeter. It was only a matter of time before we were spotted.

  “Shit…” I mumbled. “Guess we’re swimming out with you. Weapons in the boat, gents. It’s time for a refreshing morning plunge.”

  “In there?” Miles said shakily, pointing to the inky black river. “With… with the…”

  “Hey, you’re welcome to fuckin’ hang out,” Clay snapped at him as he got in the boat and took up the skulls. Declan sat in the bottom of the raft and Juan on the bow. Between them, they managed to get Lisa positioned as comfortably as was possible.

  “Scott…” Santino said in an aside. “How’s your leg?”

  I shrugged, “Hurts, but what choice do we have?”

  He frowned, “Aren’t there… bull sharks in this river?”

  “We’ll only be in the water maybe five minutes,” I replied. “Again, what choice? I don’t think we want to sit around and wait for the Nicaraguan regulars to find us.”

  Umberto, Conklin, Santino and I dropped our rifles into the boat and kicked off our boots. We pushed the raft off the shore and waded in after it. Palmer stood by himself on the beach for a long moment, looking at us, then back at the camp and then to the river again.

  I heard him swear and he hurried into the water, making quite a lot of noise.

  “Hey, asshole,” I said quietly. “You want to make even more of a racket? Maybe attract sharks and the army? Christ…”

  Soon we were up to our chests and the raft pulled away. I angled my body down and began to steadily doggy paddle, being sure to keep my appendages below the surface. It wasn’t the fastest stroke, but it was the quietest. It was also a lot less painful than walking or running had been.

  “Like Scott is doing,” Umberto hissed as he got up next to Palmer. “Keep your arms and legs under the agua. Slow and steady and we might not attract el tiberon.”

  Miles looked as pale as a ghost. I wasn’t sure if Umberto was screwing with him or not, and I’d certainly done my part to put the fear of sharks into him earlier. Yet the truth was that bull sharks did inhabit this river. We were probably fine, but better safe than sorry.

  My monocular showed a bright view of the raft bumping up along the side of the mini sub. Brody popped up through the hatch and helped to lift Lisa out of the boat. They were a good fifty yards ahead and speaking in whispers. But the conversation was obviously about how to get her down. Brody went back down the hatch and Clay and Juan both lowered Lisa through it. It didn’t look very comfortable.

  Dawn, or at least false dawn… that period of light before the sun asserted itself… was beginning to show in the east. I was glad we were almost home, as it were.

  “What the fuck was that?” Miles hissed, his voice sounding on the verge of hysteria.

  “What was…?” I was in the middle of replying when a current of water swished past me. My heart began to hammer in my chest and I muttered to myself: “Me and my big mouth…”

  “Scott…” Conklin said softly, “your blouse…”

  Yeah…” I said tightly, suddenly remembering that Lisa’s blood was all over my shirt. As if my own bleeding wound weren’t already ringing the dinner bell, “huddle up! Get close… pack tight.”

  In my mind’s eye, I could see Robert Shaw sitting at the table aboard the Orca. Hooper sat next to him and Martin Brody on the other side of the cabin.

  “So we formed ourselves into tight groups, Quint said. “You know it's… kinda like ol' squares in battle like a, you see on a calendar, like the battle of Waterloo. And the idea was, the shark come to the nearest man and that man, he'd start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin' and sometimes the shark go’away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into ya’… Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got…lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya, he doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites ya… and those black eyes roll over white. And then, ah then you hear that terrible high pitch screamin' and the ocean turns red and spite of all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in and… rip ya’ to pieces.”

  I don’t mind admitting that I was more than a little unnerved.

  “Oh, God… oh, God…” Palmer was muttering in terror.

  “It’s nothing,” I said with false confidence, “just an eddy. We’re almost there.”

  “You guys okay out there?” Clay asked from the narrow deck of the Rodney Fox.

  Rodney Fox… what an ironic twist… the mini sub was named for an Australian who became world famous for surviving a great white shark attack while diving on the Great Barrier Reef in 1963.

  “No!” Palmer shouted. “There’s a shark out here.”

  I was just about to mock him, in an attempt to minimize the idea when I felt the swish go by again. It was a fairly powerful wash, too. I tried my best to control my breathing but it’s pretty hard not to feel the kind of primeval fear that a shark can evoke.

  “Seriously?” Clay asked.

  “Yeah, man,” I said with a calmness I didn’t feel. I was clenching my groin and sphincter muscles for all I was worth.

  Clay muttered something, held something in his hand and threw it off to my right, “Grenade!”

  “What the—“ Santino started to say.

  The surface of the river erupted a hundred feet to my right. The sound was somewhat muffled because the grenade had gone off under water, but the concussion made itself felt. Water propagates sound faster than air, and the energy of the explosion hit us and dammed near rolled me upside down. It wasn’t lethal but my innards were quivering a bit.

  I also felt something else. The sense that a large body had very quickly shot past us and away. It must’ve worked, because we didn’t feel anything else before we were able to make it to the sub and climb aboard.

  ‘Ay dios mio, pinche loco!” Umberto laughed, punching me lightly on the shoulder. “Remind me not to volunteer ever again!”

  Oh, come on, Umberto…” I replied with a grin. “I take you on a lovely boat ride, on a cool submarine and even a fabulous eco-tour hike through a gorgeous tropical rainforest and all you can do is piss and moan.”

  “We almost got eaten by a shark!” Santino said laughing.

  I scoffed, “That was an up close and personal wildlife encounter and at no extra cost.”

  We all laughed uproariously. More from the release of tension and fear than anything else.

  Everyone went below except for Clay, Palmer and I. I could feel the sub begin to move, turning slowly down river.

  Clay turned to Palmer and glowered, “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t toss your sorry ass overboard right now, Miles.”

  “Hey, I got us out of there,” Palmer said, holding up his hands.

  Clay rolled his eyes, “You gotta be shitting me…”

  “We got us outta there,” I stated, “Although the arrival of the Army was a bit of luck. I’d like to know how the hell they found that place.”

/>   “Brody wants to submerge,” Conklin said, popping up through the hatchway, “so if you three ladies are done swapping recipes up there, the rest of us would like to fucking live.”

  Chapter 35

  The ride down river seemed like the longest four hours of my life. Since he’d started with a full battery charge, Brody was able to push the sub up to ten knots, but it still seemed like an eternity. There were some limited medical supplies on board and Conklin and I managed to get Lisa stabilized.

  We had her stretched out on top of several wet suits in the diving compartment and covered with several blankets. We’d cut her BDU blouse off, added more coagulant to the wounds and bound them with gauze. Thankfully the medical supplies contained an IV bag and some normal saline. We got a bag going and opened it to full bore. Conklin added a broad spectrum antibiotic and a bit of morphine to the bag and this seemed to ease Lisa’s pain and let her breathe a little easier. She’d passed out shortly after that.

  “Probably punctured the lung,” Conklin said. “Missed any vital vessels, thankfully. Her scapula is broken, of course… if we can get her to a hospital soon, I think she’ll be okay.”

  “Christ…” I groused. “All of this so that damned Palmer could build a damned town…”

  Conklin only shrugged, “How about that leg of yours? Probably needs a cleaning. Let’s have a look.”

  I sat on the deck and he cut the trouser leg off just below the knee. He carefully unwrapped the taped up bloody dish towel and wiped the wound with a medicated cloth.

  “Ow!” I said. “Be careful of my boo-boo!”

  “It’s a little more than a boo-boo my friend,” Conklin said with a frown. “Probably needs eight or ten stitches.”

  “Okay, so stitch it up then,” I suggested.

  I don’t have any Lidocaine or anything.”

  I waved that off, “Psssh! I don’t need none o’your fancy potions. Just sew me up.”

  “It’ll hurt…”

  “It hurts now,” I said. “Probably the best thing. Just be gentle.”

  He was right… it hurt.

  This time we had to go out past the twelve mile limit to meet the Robert Ballard as it was broad daylight and the last thing we needed was an international incident. We’d been lucky to get away from Garcia’s camp without being captured by the Nicaraguan Army, and the last thing we needed was their Navy to come along and delay us.