Find a Christian store

<< Go Back

The Tide of Times (The Blake Meyer Thriller Series - Book 3)

By C. Kevin Thompson

Order Now!

Chapter 1
Highway 116
Wonderwood Drive
Greater Arlington Area
Jacksonville, Florida

Supervisory Special Agent-in-Charge Julee Scarfano and SSA Williams raced toward Chicopit Bay from the west. Smoke spiraled into the sky like a barber’s pole. Scarfano listened in as an emergency helicopter circled the scene and relayed to first responders on the ground information from a bird’s eye view. Three local news station choppers hovered at a safe distance, forming a makeshift triangle of aerial observation and no doubt streamed the scene live to the world.
Julee’s eyes widened in horror. Oh, my. “It looks like a war zone.”
“Reminds me of my first combat mission when I was over in Iraq,”
Williams said. “That didn’t turn out so well.”
Julee turned and gave Williams a look of concern.
With their emergency lights embedded within the grill of the vehicle,
flashing blue and red, Agent Williams slowed their black Ford Expedition
as they approached the now severed bridge. A state trooper’s cruiser,
parked at a forty-five
degree angle, blocked the entrance to the crash site.
The officer stood outside his car, holding out his left hand, motioning for
them to stop.
Agent Williams rolled down his window and flipped the SUV into
Park. He retrieved his credentials from his pocket. Julee did the same and
held hers up.
“I’ll need to see some—” The trooper interrupted himself. “Oh, good.
You’ve already got them out.”
Williams pointed to himself and Julee. “Agents Williams and
Scarfano. She’s the acting agent-in-charge of our Jacksonville field office.”
The officer took the credentials and studied them, and then looked
back into the SUV. “You’re clear, but you’ll have to park off to the side
over here.” He pointed his left. “We’re trying to keep one side open for
other first responders.”
Julee leaned over to see the officer. “You have more on the way?”
“There’s a lot of wreckage down there, ma’am. There might be as many
as twenty bodies caught up in that mess, several of them underwater.”
All part of Murphy’s convoy, no doubt. Julee responded with a sorrowful
nod. She motioned for Agent Williams to proceed. “Thank you,
Officer.”
They parked, and Julee climbed out of passenger side of the SUV and
surveyed the scene. The smell of burning rubber and noxious gas fumes
wafted above the river’s banks. She covered her nose. Agent Williams
followed.
Law enforcement from multiple agencies joined forces with other
first responders—ambulances, fire trucks, hazmat units, and bomb squad
personnel. They all lined the edges of Highway 116 on both ends of the
bridge. Search and rescue boats surrounded the massive pile of vehicles
and debris strewn into the river. Another boat with a substantial fire
hose attached to a large robotic arm, shot arching streams of water in the
direction of a smoldering helicopter lying in a swampy area to the north.
Over her radio, which had been tuned to emergency channels for
the two miles leading up to the site, Julee could hear body count totals
rise and names filter through the chatter of individuals still missing. One
name of interest kept surfacing.
Colin Murphy.
“Go see what you can find out about Murphy,” Julee said. “We need
to know if he’s still alive.”
Williams nodded. “Got it.”
As he walked away, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen.
Give me some good news. “Hey. Where are you?”
“Over here … look across the bridge.”
Julee saw Agent Ryker waving. “What are you doing over there?”
“When we left the field office, I started listening to the emergency channels. I wanted to be on the side the convoy was on when this went down.”
“Good idea. We would’ve needed people on both sides anyway.”
“It’s bad, Julee. We’ve still got people trapped in those vehicles down there. Only seven of the military personnel have been accounted for. And only three of those were rushed to the hospital. The others were pronounced dead.”
“There were thirty-four people in that convoy, and that included Murphy. You’re telling me all of them but three are dead?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t seem to get hard and fast numbers from anybody yet.”
“What about our two men?”
“We don’t know. As you know, Agent Crawley was in the van with Murphy. Agent Townsend was in one of the lead vehicles.” He pointed to the water. “All those vehicles are down there. That must be a what? A thirty foot drop?”
“At least.”
“And I’m not sure how deep the water is there, but it must be at least ten feet deep. Murphy’s van is completely submerged.”
“We need a boat, Ryker. We need to be down there investigating that wreckage. Murphy was our responsibility.”
“They’ve got more emergency watercraft on the way. But personally, I don’t think you have to worry about Murphy anymore.” He pointed again toward the bridge, motioning up and down with his index finger extended. “See that pillar with the top portion missing?”
Julee walked up to the makeshift barricades. “I can’t see it from here. They’re not allowing us to get any closer to the edge because of the instability of the bridge.”
“Yeah, same thing over here, but Coast Guard divers confirmed it. There’s a huge hunk of concrete that broke off of either the top of the pillar or the end of the bridge segment. And it fell on the van and drove it into the river like a sledgehammer. Murphy’s van, as well as a boat they believe carried the explosives, are both under all that debris. Well, what’s left of them, that is. I guess the explosion from the boat was really intense, according to one of the helicopter pilots. May not be much of the boat left.”
Julee stood silent for several seconds. She could hear the sorrow
in Ryker’s voice. The reality of his words settled in like dark, ominous
clouds, and drifted off into the morass of emergency sirens and helicopter
rotors chopping the air above.
Agent Crawley was in the van … He has a wife and four children …
“Please tell me the divers can get those people out.”
“They didn’t see any openings or ways to access the trapped people.
They’ve ordered a boat with a large crane on it and several tug boats. They
should be here soon. But until they can move that concrete, they can’t do
anything.”
“So … they’re dead.”
“Unless there’s some air pocket under there …” Ryker sighed into the
phone. “Doesn’t look good.”
“Any word on who might be responsible?”
“Nothing yet. Nobody’s stepped forward and claimed responsibility.
Shell casings from some large weaponry were found. I’ve heard some talk
about artillery shells, but nothing’s been confirmed yet. They also believe
something else was used to destroy the bridge. I’ve heard C-4
mentioned
in the chatter, but again, nothing confirmed.”
Julee peered up at the helicopters overhead. She wished she could be
in one of them so she’d have a better view of the damage. I could order
a chopper. Then, it hit her. Better yet, I wonder if we have satellite footage
of this area? Remembering her conversation with Blake Meyer and
the surveillance footage they watched when his home was destroyed and
his family was abducted, she made a mental note for later. Someone had
to know when the convoy was crossing this bridge. “You said something
about a boat, Ryker. What kind was it?”
“Not sure of that, either. Although, I’m told a witness who traveled
out into the bay on a joy ride with his grandson stated he saw a white
male piloting a shrimp boat south, in the direction of the bridge. The witness
stated that he thought it was a little strange but not enough to call
it in. Thought the man might be heading home up the river. He said he
knew of shrimpers who live on the water but wasn’t aware of any living
up this particular waterway.”
“So, how did they find a witness that quickly?”
“He was out in the bay when the explosion occurred. He and his grandson has just started fishing. Hooks hadn’t been in the water ten minutes when they heard the explosion and saw the vehicles fall into the water and the chopper crash. According to my sources, he called 911 and got as close as he could so he could give the 911 operator information. He stayed on the line until the first responders arrived.”
“So, he was on the scene when emergency personnel arrived?”
“Yes. About five or six hundred yards to the north of the bridge.”
“And he saw a boat big enough to be a shrimp boat?”
“Correct.”
“In other words, he saw a boat that wouldn’t look totally out of place around here. Not draw any attention.”
“But would be big enough to store plenty of explosives.”
Julee glanced around at all the men and women scrambling to and fro, helping sort out the chaos. I feel like I’m being watched. Every move … She lowered her voice. “Agent Ryker, someone knew this convoy was going to cross this bridge. And they had to know it in enough time to get the boat here with the explosives already on board. That’s no small feat.”
“That would take some time.”
“Unless you already knew.”
“What are you thinking?”
“That someone knew Murphy was going to be transported. They knew exactly where and when. And they knew it with plenty of time to rig that boat and the bridge.”
“So, you think Murphy’s trip to our FO was planned. That they had this bridge pegged the whole time?”
“Got any other ideas? Because I’m all ears right now.”
“Not really. I mean, they had to know the convoy was coming this direction.”
“Exactly. And they needed something big enough to pull this off, but far enough off the beaten path to not draw too much attention or be spotted.”
“The other bridges would have more traffic.”
“And more pedestrians. Too many eyeballs. But this one? It’s swampy around here. The only way you can access this immediate area is by boat. We’re only standing here because the bridge is blocked to all traffic.”
“You know what you’re saying, right?”
“That someone on the inside wanted Murphy dead?”
“That we have a mole, Julee.”
A mole … Is that what Blake was trying to tell me about Connell? “We
need answers, Ryker. Connell ordered Murphy’s relocation. The Admiral
at the naval base arranged it on their end. The men in this convoy made
it happen. And we need to know who knew what. I want you to check
every person associated with this convoy. Every person’s cell phone activity,
land line activity, e-mail,
personal mail, dinner dates, everything. No
stone unturned, Ryker. You got it?”
“Understood. Me and Sandburg. We can do it.”
“Just keep the circle small.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“Get on it, then. I’ll stay here and run point. Keep me posted at least
every hour.”
“Will do.”
Julee slipped the phone back into her jacket pocket and watched the
hurried activity of all the emergency personnel. She stepped to the railing
and looked over the side at the river’s flow. She watched the water glide by.
Its docile movement overpowered by the sound of machinery and loud
voices barking instructions.
She imagined the tranquility of the water …
How nice it would have been to be on a boat … anchored off to one side …
Hear the current lap against the hull as it drifted by …
Coupled with the sound of the stiff breeze she felt against her face,
and what would have been a steady flow of passing motorists on the highway,
it caused her to picture the river as a place only fishermen could
enjoy. Maybe recreational boaters. But definitely not families looking for
a place to picnic. Too swampy.
Julee surveyed the banks of the river. Only a couple of spots in either
direction looked dry enough to handle such an outing, and neither looked
very accommodating.
As she tried to picture the shrimp boat described to her, the breeze
switched directions, and the smell of algae and decay, mixed with diesel
fumes from the fire trucks, overpowered her senses.
She walked back to the SUV and retrieved a pair of binoculars. Stepping to the side of the bridge again, she scanned the river bank to the south. Leaves and small bits of trash dotted the water’s edge. She followed the plant life, powerless in its movement, and watched it dance in rhythm with its invisible partner as the wind whisked down the bank, whipping the growth in frenzied, snakelike patterns. However, she didn’t see anything of note. Of course not, genius. The water flows north toward the St. Johns.
She walked to the north side of the bridge. Large power lines stretched across the waterway’s breadth. Man, it’s a good thing these babies are still intact. Live cables in the water would have made the first responders’ jobs nearly impossible.
She observed, through her binoculars, the rescue boat spray its jets on the crashed helicopter. She tried to make out the markings on the chopper, but a smoldering hunk of blackened wreckage was all that remained. The missing tail probably hiding in the marsh or at the bottom of the river.
She peered at the riverbanks to the north just as she had done on the other side. Up and down the water’s edge, examining the marsh, watching the grass sway to and fro as—
There.
She saw something.
Down the river about a thousand feet or so. Maybe more.
She zoomed in. The closer she brought the image, the more her shaking hands distorted the image. She knelt down, rested her arms on the railing, and worked to reacquire the spot along the river’s bank.
There.
Please don’t let that be what I think it is.
She strained to get a better view, but her binoculars had reached their limit.
She grabbed her walkie-talkie, depressed the call button, and waved her arm. “This is FBI Supervisory Special Agent-in-Charge Julee Scarfano of the Jacksonville Field Office. I’m standing on the west-bound side of the bridge, looking north. I see something, about a thousand feet downstream from the bridge on the west side of the river. Something floating in the water. Looks like it’s hung up in the grass. It may be a body.”
She watched as several emergency personnel faced her direction.
“I’m going to need a forensics team to check that out before it
gets dark.”
“Roger that. Forensics team on its way.”
“I can guide them in route.”
“Roger that.”
Julee clipped the walkie-talkie
back on her belt and gazed through
the binoculars once more.
I didn’t ask for this job.
Agent-in-Charge.
It was thrown in my lap.
And in the middle of all this mess, no less.
Julee sighed.
I better get a raise.

Order Now!

<< Go Back


Developed by Camna, LLC

This is a service provided by ACFW, but does not in any way endorse any publisher, author, or work herein.