Everglades Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  chapter twenty-eight

  chapter twenty-nine

  chapter thirty

  chapter thirty-one

  chapter thirty-two

  epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  “White brings vivid imagination to his fight scenes . . . it all roars along with cliffhanger chapter endings and great technogear. Think Mickey Spillane meets The Matrix . . . Rich and mysterious.”—People

  “This magical, but deeply vulnerable corner of North America needs all the help it can get, and White is an eloquent witness for the defense.”—The Associated Press

  “White just keeps getting better, his plots more shapely and intricate and his characters more complex and believable.”

  —The Miami Herald

  “[The] superlative tenth episode in the acclaimed series . . . pulsating action . . . Righteous indignation never felt better.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “Randy Wayne White, a former fishing guide and thirty-year resident of the Sunshine State, writes about Florida’s natural world with lyrical elegance and passion . . . An accomplished writer, White mixes his naturalist’s eye and small-town sensibilities with a combatant’s edge. His book is simultaneously gentle and compelling, a rare combination.”

  —The Times-Picayune

  “White’s Ford novels build slowly to a breathless ending, and Everglades is no exemption . . . White doesn’t just use Florida as a backdrop, but he also makes the smell, sound, and physicality of the state leap off the page . . . Ford continues to excel as an unorthodox detective whose beat is the watery byways . . . Unique.”—Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel

  “This satisfying, madcap fare could well go seismic on the regional bestseller lists.”—Publishers Weekly

  “A remarkable writing job.”—St. Petersburg Times

  “Before it’s over, White takes us on a wild ride involving an encounter with a testy bull shark, a heart-stopping airboat race across the Everglades, and a depressingly documented expedition through the ongoing despoliation of Florida’s most fragile natural treasure.”—The Raleigh News & Observer

  “White masterfully guides his narrative to a riveting conclusion that will have readers eagerly awaiting the next Doc Ford adventure. In Everglades, Doc Ford may be out of shape, but White’s writing is as muscular as ever.”

  —The Tampa Tribune

  “Randy Wayne White is a creative genius who writes stories that are seductively compelling and hauntingly refreshing . . . After reading Everglades, one will come to appreciate just how fragile that ecosystem is and find pleasure in the complex and intricate plot.”—BookBrowser

  Praise for the novels of Randy Wayne White

  “Randy Wayne White and his Doc Ford join my list of must-reads. It is no small matter when I assert that White is getting pretty darn close to joining Carl Hiaasen and John D. MacDonald as writers synonymous with serious Florida issues and engaging characters.”—Chicago Tribune

  “Enough twists to satisfy any hard-boiled but intelligent detective fan.”—The Dallas Morning News

  “One of the hottest new writers on the scene.”

  —Library Journal

  “Great action scenes, terrific atmosphere, and a full-bodied hero add up to a pleasure.”—Booklist

  “Packed with finely drawn characters, relevant social issues, superb plotting, and an effortless writing style. . . . The best new writer since Carl Hiaasen.”—The Denver Post

  “White is the rightful heir to joining John D. MacDonald, Carl Hiaasen, James W. Hall, Geoffrey Norman. . . . His precise prose is as fresh and pungent as a salty breeze.”

  —The Tampa Tribune

  “A series to be savored.”—The San Diego Union-Tribune

  Titles by Randy Wayne White

  EVERGLADES

  TWELVE MILE LIMIT

  SHARK RIVER

  TEN THOUSAND ISLANDS

  THE MANGROVE COAST

  NORTH OF HAVANA

  CAPTIVA

  THE MAN WHO INVENTED FLORIDA

  THE HEAT ISLANDS

  SANIBEL FLATS

  Nonfiction

  TARPON FISHING IN MEXICO AND

  FLORIDA (AN INTRODUCTION)

  LAST FLIGHT OUT

  THE SHARKS OF LAKE NICARAGUA

  BATFISHING IN THE RAINFOREST

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either

  are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and

  any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

  establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  EVERGLADES

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with

  the author

  Copyright © 2003 by Randy Wayne White.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form

  without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution

  of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the

  permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please

  purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate

  in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-16147-0

  BERKLEY®

  Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY and the “B” design

  are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To Dr. Dan L. White,

  a great brother, a great friend

  Acknowledgments

  The islands of Sanibel and Captiva are real and, I hope, faithfully described, but they are used fictitiously in this novel.

  The same is true of certain businesses, marinas, bars and other places frequented by Doc Ford, Tomlinson and their friends. When you spend as much time as I have roaming around in a boat, it’s hard not to mention interesting people you’ve met and come to care about.

  In all other respects, however, this novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book demanded extensive research in several fields, and I am grateful to the experts who took the time to help. I would like to thank Dr. Allan W. Eckert not only for years of encouragement and friendship, but also for allowing me to draw on his vast knowledge of both the brilliant Shawnee leader Tecumseh and the Everglades. Also invaluable was Dr. Doug Smith of the University of Florida Geology Department. He very kindly replied to my questions about earthquakes with a valuable letter he entitled “Creating Artificial Seismic Disturbance in South Florida.”

  Equally helpful was Dr. Patricia Riles Wickman, Department of Anthropology and Genealogy, Seminole Tribe of Florida. Her enthusiasm for the premise of Everglades was as important as the guidance she provided and her detailed replies to a novice’s questions. For any serious student of Florida history, her book The Tree That Bends is recommended.

  I would also like to thank David Dell and Pedro Chamorro, and the excellent staff of the Colony Hotel for their help while I was in Nicaragua; Tina Osceola; Officer Larry Chil son of the City of Miami Police Department; Sergeant Jim Brown of the Lee County Sheriff’s Department; Dr. Rebecca Hamilton, Lee County Medical Examiner; Sue Williams; Re-nee Humbert; Dr. John Miller; Dr. Brian Hummel; Bill “Spaceman” Lee; Andrey Aleksandrov, administrator of the Russian national baseball team; John and Mitsu McNeal; Bill Haney; Thaddeus Kostrabala, MD; my friend Peter Matthiessen, for allowing Tomlinson to paraphrase his powerful quote about a life that “may not be understood”; Jack Himschoot, for teaching me to drive an airboat; Cindy Abele and Lisa Worthington, for introducing me to windsurfing; and my dear friends Rob and Phyllis Wells, for letting me hide out and write in the boathouse at Tarpon Lodge.

  These people all provided valuable guidance and/or information. All errors, exaggerations, omissions or fictionaliza tions are entirely the fault, and the respon
sibility, of the author.

  Because of deadline obligations, I was unable to participate, as I traditionally do, in the Roy Hobbs World Series 2002, so I’d like to apologize to the members of Bartley’s Bombers, a great team: Gary Terwilliger, Stu Johnson, Dan Cugini, Steve McCarthy, Steve Liddle, José Imclan, Victor Candelaria, Tim McCoy, Mike Padula, Dr. Mike Tucker, Dr. Kevin Goodlet, Johnny Delgado, Mike Miller, Rich Johns, Rick Scafidi, Mark Lamers, Mike Radvansky, Don Carmen, Kerry Griner, Scot Harding and Rob Moretti.

  Finally, I would like to thank my sons, Lee and Rogan White, for helping me finish this book.

  —Randy Wayne White

  Old Cypress House,

  Key West

  Hope could not exist if man were created by a random, chemical accident. Pleasure, yes. Desire, yes. But not hope. Selfless hope is contrary to the dynamics of evolution or the necessities of a species.

  —S. E. TOMLINSON “One Fathom Above Sea Level”

  I have always thought there might be a lot of cash in starting a religion.

  —GEORGE ORWELL, 1938

  My letter of yesterday will inform you of the departure of Tecumseh. There can be no doubt his object is to excite the southern Indians to war. [These] include the Seminole of Florida.

  The implicit obedience and respect which the followers of Tecumseh pay is astonishing. He is one of those uncommon geniuses which spring up occasionally to produce revolutions, and overturn the established order of things. If it were not for the vicinity of the United States, he would, perhaps, be the founder of an empire that would rival in glory Mexico or Peru. No difficulties deter him.

  —GOVERNOR OF THE INDIANA TERRITORY,

  LATER U.S. PRESIDENT, WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON,

  ON THE SHAWNEE LEADER, TECUMSEH,

  WHO ACCURATELY PROPHESIED THE NEW MADRID,

  MISSOURI, EARTHQUAKES OF 1811

  chapter one

  izzy

  Izzy Kline said to Shiva, “Today, she hopped in her Beamer and drove across the Everglades to Sanibel Island. She’s got a couple of friends there, so it could be she’s looking for help: a marine biologist named Ford, and someone whose name you might recognize.”

  Shiva was wearing sandals and a Seminole medicine jacket, rag-patched, rainbow reds, greens, yellows, belted around his waist like a bathrobe. Shiva’s hair was cut Shawnee style: a fifty-six-year-old male, born to a Canadian mother in Bombay, India—indifferent to the irony.

  He was standing in a bedroom that was larger than some of the West Palm Beach homes he could see across the Intracoastal canal through the western window of his beach compound.

  In the bedroom was a Buddha-shaped bed with canopy, a gymnasium with sauna, a meditation corner, an office with computers and security monitors. The place was done in white tile and teak, all decorations in gold except for several wooden figurines on the walls. There was a carving of an impressionistic cat, several masks with horrific faces and two rare Seminole totemic masks.

  The carvings had been added within the last two years.

  Shiva said to Izzy, “I haven’t seen or talked to you in a month. So why do you show up now, bothering me with this garbage?”

  “It seemed important. She doesn’t believe her husband’s dead. I already told you.”

  “You’ve been working for me for—what?—ten, twelve years. You know I hate details—as if I have the time. I don’t care about this woman.”

  “Details—Jesus Christ, are you kidding? If she finds out the truth about what happened to Geoff Minster, say good-bye to your casinos and your development. Three tons of ammonium nitrate fertilizer, explosives grade. Does that ring a bell? It’s my nuts in the wringer.”

  Shiva looked impatiently at the Cartier watch he wore on his left wrist. “You need to leave. I have a massage scheduled in a few minutes. There’s a new girl among the disciples—with a nice body for a change. I don’t want you interrupting.”

  Izzy Kline: Lean, gaunt-cheeked, with a scar below his right eye, dimples and a dimpled chin—a ladies’ man. Ex-Israeli Army, he’d trained with the Mossad, chosen to leave his adopted country rather than face morals charges, returned to America and been hired as security manager by a controversial religious leader, Bhagwan Shiva, founder of the International Church of Ashram Meditation, Inc.

  Strictly business.

  Shiva had established his first church west of Miami Lakes, the palmetto country between Okeechobee Road and Opa Locka, edge of the Everglades. This was back before he’d changed his name from Jerry Singh. He’d started with forty-some disciples, mostly dropouts and runaways who’d craved the discipline, and liked wearing robes and growing their own food.

  When he’d had cash, he’d bought land. He’d bought a lot of it west of Miami. Cheap swampland.

  Eighteen years later, Shiva now had a quarter million followers worldwide, and one hundred twenty Church of Ashram Centers, mostly in the U.S., Great Britain and Europe, though the numbers were declining. In the last five years, his organization had been crippled by lawsuits, IRS investigations and aggressive TV, magazine and newspaper exposés.

  He’d been described as the “wizard of religion” because of elaborate miracles staged before thousands. He’d been called the “rich man’s prophet,” and an incarnate “sex guru.”

  Kline didn’t believe Shiva was an incarnate anything; he knew him too well to fall for his holy man act. Izzy was the only person in the organization who spoke frankly to Shiva. As a result, he was the only man Shiva could be open with, behave naturally around—and who also scared him a little.

  Izzy knew everything.

  Shiva sighed and said, “Okay, okay, so why should we be worried about her two friends on some island? Where’d you say she went?”

  Izzy said, “She sent her cousin an e-mail, said she’s driving to Sanibel today.”

  “An e-mail. You have access to her computer? Or did you break into her house?”

  Izzy had broken into her house. Several times; twice in the last week. He enjoyed going through her drawers. He’d found a couple of fun items hidden away. But he said, “No. I hacked her password. The one friend she’s going to see, I think you’ve probably heard about. Which’s why I’m telling you. A guy named Sighurdhr Tomlinson. Or Sea-guard, I’m not sure how you pronounce it.”

  “Sighurdhr Tomlinson,” Shiva said, considering it, but not giving it his full attention. “The name sounds familiar.”

  “Remember Miami River, the archaeological site where you tried to build the condo complex? That group of protesters who futzed it? Eco-freaks, all the shitty PR they caused. How many millions’d we lose on that one?”

  Shiva was nodding now. “Okay, yes, I know who you mean. He was with the protestors, one of the leaders. I remember one of my advisors telling me—not you—that he was a kook. Like most of them. A heavy drug user. That’s the information I got.”

  Izzy said, “Really? That’s all? There’s more. You know me, I’m a fanatic when it comes to background checks.”

  Shiva said, “I don’t think I’m interested.”

  Izzy said, “I think you should be.”

  “Why? I don’t see the point.”

  “Because what I found out about this guy is kind of interesting. For instance: Fifteen, twenty years ago, he was implicated in a terrorist bombing at a U.S. naval base. Killed a couple of people.”

  That got Shiva’s attention. “Really. A bombing. Hum-m-m-m.” Thinking about it, how the information could be used.

  “Yeah, but he skated. The feds didn’t nail ’im. I’m not sure why yet. I’m still working on that. There had to be a reason.”

  “But there’s a record?”

  “Not official, but it’s there if you dig deep enough.”

  “Is there anything for him to find out about Geoff?”