by Matt Lincoln
“Lighten up. You’re retired,” Mike said as he flashed me a grin. “Besides, socializing is good for you. Don’t you want to help shape the minds of the next generation of American patriots?”
“Yeah, I do,” I sighed, “but I’m not allowed to shape minds with a sledgehammer.”
“Be nice.” He turned his smile to the group, who’d gotten up and circled the bar with polite curiosity that suggested they didn’t mind humoring an old man with a crazy story. They had no idea that Mike’s crazy story happened to be true.
“So… that’s really Cobra Jon’s walking stick,” Jeff said when they reached us. “How’d it get there?”
Mike jerked a thumb at me. “Ask him.”
Six pairs of eyes turned to me, and I sighed and rolled my shoulders. “It got there with a couple of metal brackets and some shaped wood dowels,” I said. “Picked them up at Home Depot.”
The girl with the military bearing laughed and punched Jeff’s shoulder. “Ask a stupid question,” she said.
Mike gave me a look. “Are you gonna tell them, or am I?”
“Tell us what?” Ty seemed a little agitated. Definitely the cocky hotshot of the group, probably at least a rank above the other two enlisted and itching to throw his weight around in front of them. “That can’t be the real thing.”
Instead of refuting him, Mike calmly drained the rest of his drink and set his glass down. “Where are my manners? I haven’t introduced myself,” he said. “Name’s Mike Birch, former owner of this establishment, and this here’s the new owner.” He nodded at me. “Ethan Marston.”
Ty flinched back a half-step in surprise but didn’t speak. Jeff found his voice faster, despite the goggle-eyed stare he leveled at me.
“You… you’re Special Agent Marston?”
“Retired Special Agent,” I tried not to growl, deliberately avoiding Mike’s expression. He was enjoying this far too much.
All three Navy officers snapped to attention, and Mike about fell off his stool while he held back a laugh.
“Don’t do that,” I sighed, and when they didn’t relax, I added, “At ease.”
The instant the words left my mouth, they all started talking at once.
I gestured with both hands to get them quiet. “You really want to know?” I asked. “Yeah, that was Cobra Jon’s, but the snake carved on it isn’t actually a cobra. It’s a black mamba.”
Ty blinked a few times. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me,” I said rougher than I intended to, and then forced myself to ease down. There wasn’t a boot-camp soldier alive who’d ever fully bought their CO’s war stories, and I was sure Tolbert had… embellished whatever he told these kids. “Really, it’s no big thing. This is just a bar, and I’m just the guy who owns it.”
“You’re a legend,” Jeff said eagerly. “Can you tell us about it? Cobra Jon, I mean. What really happened?”
I opened my mouth to protest, but a look from Mike stopped me. “Yeah, alright, but I’m gonna need another drink,” I said as I signaled for Nadia, who was closest to us. I asked her to pour me a draft and then settled back on the stool.
“Well,” I said, “like all the best stories, this one starts with a girl and a sandy beach.”
1
Southern coast, Florida — ten years ago
Donald had warned Tessa that it would be a little muggy in Florida, but he hadn’t emphasized it nearly enough. Actually, he’d flat-out lied. There was muggy, and there was Florida, which she would definitely describe as soggy-bordering-on-drenched. How could there possibly be enough moisture in the air to make every outdoor space feel like a sauna?
But she did have to admit, the scenery was spectacular.
She stood at the edge of a pristine stretch of white-sand beach that backed up to rocky cliffs, her camera bag slung on a shoulder. She hadn’t dared use the Hasselblad once on this assignment since the Florida humidity would’ve damaged it, so she’d brought the Nikon D3 FX with a waterproof housing and a VR lens. Even so, she wouldn’t take it out of the bag until she was ready to use it.
This area was restricted, but her editor had gotten permission from the Coast Guard for her to shoot here as part of her piece on tidal pools. Donald Farr had an excessive number of military connections for the editor of a magazine that focused on environmental conservation, even one as big as the National EcoStar. Of course, she knew exactly why he knew so many big military names, but he kept all that pretty low-key at work. She didn’t think anyone else on the staff actually knew who Donald used to be, even though the information wasn’t that hard to find.
She supposed he had his reasons for keeping that quiet, though. Besides, his contacts had definitely opened a lot of doors for her. She’d traveled to places she never imagined she would see, but this was her first time in Florida.
A little muggy. Very funny, Donald.
Tessa swiped an arm across her forehead and started slowly across the spit of beach toward the cliffs and the caves she expected to find there. She found herself oddly reluctant to walk across this sparkling sand where few, if any, human feet had ever trod before, to sully the beauty of this largely untouched natural haven with her footprints. But she’d already covered a number of tidal pools in public areas where careless tourists tromped through the water and upset the delicate balance of life they contained. Now, she needed undisturbed sources for comparison.
She was sure to find at least one here, maybe more. The conditions were perfect for tidal pools to form.
It wasn’t long before she spotted a sizable cave entrance with an almost perfect line of stones cutting through the sand, leading to the mouth of the cave. This looked very promising. If there was a tidal pool inside, it would be large and rich with life. Maybe even something she could shoot without a macro lens. Starfish, sea urchins, anemones… any of them would make for fantastic photos.
Tessa stopped a good distance back from the cave, so she could get some good shots of the entrance before she ruined the scene with footprints. At least out here, she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone stealing her camera bag while she was busy. She took out the Nikon and snapped several standard shots and then attached a polarizing filter and took more. Tomorrow she’d probably return here, after the tide washed away the signs of her passage, to catch everything again at the golden hour just before sunset.
When she was satisfied that enough of her shots were usable, Tessa began a slow approach toward the cave, stopping every few steps to snap more pictures. Shadows from the backdrop of cliffs crept across the camera’s field as she drew closer, occasionally darkening it enough to trigger the flash.
She was about fifteen feet back when she first saw something inside the cave, just to the right of the entrance. She only caught a glimpse in the camera flash, but it looked like some kind of irregular formation growing from the floor. Dark stalagmites, maybe. Which was odd, because sea cave floors were usually smooth near the mouth where the tide washed in.
Another few steps, another few photos. This time the flash picked out more of whatever it was, and Tessa realized it couldn’t be a natural feature of the cave. There was something lying there on the ground, partially covered with a coating of sand. Her heart fluttered as she briefly considered the possibility of an alligator. They weren’t fond of saltwater, but they could tolerate it for brief periods.
The object in the cave didn’t seem to be alive, though. She detected no movement. Still, gators could be extremely still when they weren’t moving with a purpose. Like hunting prey.
“Hey!” she called out, half-startling herself as she broke the relative silence out here, punctuated only by rumbling surf and the occasional calls of birds. “Hey, is there anyone, er, anything in there?”
Her mouth went dry as she recalled that startling an alligator was a bad idea. They reacted to noise… and they could be just as fast on land as they were in the water. Usually faster than people.
&n
bsp; But nothing answered her. Nothing moved.
For some reason, the lack of response filled her with more dread. Something about this felt very wrong.
Despite her fear, Tessa crept closer to the cave, trying to peer into that dark corner off to the right. It was impossible to see. Though she probably didn’t have enough exterior shots to create the spread she wanted, she moved a little faster and came to within five feet of the entrance. She fiddled with the Nikon’s settings for a moment, cranking up the ISO and slowing the shutter speed, and then aimed the camera toward whatever it was inside.
The flash burst against the darkness. She paused, suddenly not sure she wanted to find out what that horribly silent object was, but finally, she switched to review mode. The most recent picture appeared on the screen.
She had to force herself to look.
An instant later, Tessa fell to her knees in the sand, a scream clawing at her throat. Her entire body shook like she was being electrocuted, and she had to actively fight not to drop the camera.
That was not an alligator.
It was a dead body.
2
“Do you think he’s in there?” Holm said as we approached the weathered wooden shed, the last building on the property we hadn’t searched.
I shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
“Yeah, I know.” My partner looked past the outbuilding to the inlet and the private dock where the sweet little Jeanneau cruiser was tied up. “I’m supposed to be fishing right now,” he said a little wistfully. “Quiet Saturday morning, just me and the water and a six pack.”
“Right,” I replied. “When we get back, I’ll put out an APB and tell all the bad guys to take weekends off, because they’re interrupting your fishing plans.”
“Could you?”
I smirked and nodded at the shed. “Arrest first. Fish later.”
“Great motto. You should put that on a bumper sticker or something,” he muttered.
Once we got within twenty feet of the shed, both of us slowed our steps and went silent. We were here to pick up Karl Francke, a small-time drug dealer who’d killed an undercover cop and took out an off-duty Coast Guard officer in the crossfire. Okay, he’d allegedly killed them. Technically Francke was a suspect, but I knew he’d done it. I’d seen the video of his initial interrogation.
If they’d let me handle the questioning, Francke would’ve been in custody and awaiting trial right now. And we wouldn’t be out here on a Saturday morning, interrupting Holm’s little fishing extravaganza.
I heard something and motioned for my partner to stop. He did, and the questioning look he gave me turned into a raised eyebrow when the sound came again. A slight scrape from inside the shed, like something heavy being nudged across a wood floor.
“Hey, Robbie,” I said, loud enough for the guy inside to catch. “I think he’s in there.”
A gunshot went off. The bullet punched through the door of the shed in a shower of splinters, passing about a foot to my left.
“Ya think?” Holm shouted as we both sprinted for the building.
More shots sounded, and more splinters exploded from the door. We pressed against the front of the building to the right of the assault on the entrance, and I glanced back around the corner. No window on that side of the shed, but there could be one on the other side. Might be a back door, too.
And I didn’t feel like spending the rest of the weekend chasing Francke.
“Make some noise,” I told Holm in a low voice while jerking my head at the corner of the building.
He rolled his eyes but faced the door to comply.
“Federal agents!” he yelled as I slipped away and headed toward the back. “Come out of the building, Francke. You’re under arrest.”
Two shots responded in rapid succession.
“Dammit, would you just be under arrest?” Holm called out. “I’m supposed to be fishing.”
Shockingly, that didn’t seem to make the suspect surrender.
I rounded the back of the shed and spotted the back door just as it burst open and Francke sprinted out, gun in hand. His focus was on the docked cruiser fifty feet away, so he didn’t even see me coming.
It almost wasn’t fair.
I was on his tail and lunged, tackling him to the ground before he realized I was there. He tried to bring the gun up, but I caught his wrist and slammed his arm on the ground. He let out a pained snarl as the weapon slid from his fingers. I wrenched his arm back, snapped a cuff on his wrist, and grabbed his other arm.
“When somebody says you’re under arrest, you should probably listen,” I said as I finished cuffing him. I got off Francke, and he groaned as I hauled him to his feet. “You’re under arrest.”
Francke tried to jerk away, a half-hearted effort. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Back here!” I shouted for Holm’s benefit before I bothered responding, and then I grabbed Francke’s elbow and steered him around the shed.
“Didn’t do anything, huh?” I said in low tones. “Aside from killing two people and firing on federal agents.”
He gave me a sour glance. “You were trespassing. I got rights.”
“Yeah. The right to remain silent,” I said sarcastically. “Except you don’t even have that, because I’m not bringing you in for questioning. People who are being charged with murder don’t have rights.”
Holm jogged around the corner, took a glance at the situation, and grinned as he fell into step beside me. “This means I can still go fishing, right?”
“Looks like,” I said with a grin. “After we process the scene and bring this asshole in.”
“Processing. My favorite,” Holm sighed.
Our sedan was all the way around the front of the property and slightly down the road, obscured from the view of the main house. When we reached the car, I shoved a sullen Karl Francke into the backseat and shut him in, then grabbed the keys from my pocket and tossed them to Holm.
“Start the AC, will you? I’ll call for a team.”
“Couldn’t we just let him suffocate in there? Don’t answer that,” Holm said as he started for the driver’s side.
I reached in my jacket for my phone, and it started ringing just as I pulled it out. The call was from the office. Even before I answered, I had a feeling Holm wasn’t going to see the inside of a fishing boat anytime soon.
“Marston,” I said into the phone.
“Hey. It’s Griezmann,” a female voice responded, and I heard the sounds of traffic in the background. “What’s your situation?”
I smirked. “Under control. We have Francke in custody, and I was about to give you a call. Need a team down here.”
“Birn and I are en route with one.”
For some reason that didn’t make me feel great. “Are you a mind reader now, Agent Griezmann? Because I don’t remember calling for backup on this, so I know that’s not why you’re already on the way here.”
“No, it’s not,” she said. “District 7 just called in about a body, and the director wants you and Holm on it. We’re supposed to take over your scene so you can head out there.”
I sighed and ran a hand over my hair. “Did he say why?”
“Nope.”
“Of course not,” I said. “Alright. Fill me in.”
She gave me the details, and I knew this was going to be a long one. By the time I hung up with Griezmann, Holm was watching me with a wary expression.
“I’m not going fishing today, am I?” he asked.
“Not a chance,” I said with a frown. “We’ve got a weird one, Robbie.”
“How weird?”
I shook my head as I caught sight of the black truck turning onto the road and headed in our direction, followed by a white van. Griezmann and Birn weren’t just on the way. They’d been practically here already.
“Guess I’ll tell you on the way,” I said. “Apparently, we’re in a hurry.”
3
The place was getting a little crowded when H
olm and I arrived at the rocky little spit of government-owned beach. In addition to a pair of agents from CGIS, presumably the ones who’d called our office, at least four Miami cops and two paramedics had piled onto the crime scene. Also, there was a civilian woman off to the side, seated on a rock with a blanket around her and a foam cup of something gripped in both hands. She seemed rattled.
I’d hazard a guess that she was the one who’d found the body.
What little information I received, I’d passed to Holm on the way. I also had our forensics people coming a few minutes behind us to round up the evidence and get it back to the lab. I seriously hoped the locals hadn’t screwed up the scene too much since I knew they’d been the first responders.
We headed for the Coast Guard agents standing off to the side of the cave talking in low tones with their heads bent toward each other. One of them I recognized: Will Parker, the tall dark-haired guy with the goatee. Our paths had crossed on a few previous cases, but I didn’t recognize the nearly-as-tall blond woman with him, and I knew I’d met just about everyone at the Miami CGIS office.
“Parker,” I called out when we got close, drawing him and the blonde from their conversation. “I heard you guys actually called us in for this one. What happened? Did your director lose a bet or something?”
Agent Parker snorted a laugh. “Nah. For once, the jurisdiction is pretty cut-and-dry, unlike how this place is about to be.” He pointed across the beach toward the rhythmic lap of the surf. “High tide in about ninety minutes. It’s gonna flood your crime scene.”
Well, that explained the rush, even if it didn’t explain why the director had earmarked me and Holm for this assignment. I’d have to ask her about that when we got back to the office.
“Huh,” I said with a smirk after Holm offered his greeting to Parker. “I think that’s the first time anyone from CGIS has ever uttered the words ‘your’ and ‘crime’ and ‘scene’ to me in that order.” I nodded to the blonde, who hadn’t said a word since we came over. “So, who’s your friend here?”