The following is the second excerpt from the Mike Scott thriller novel, Cayman Cowboys. See the first excerpt here.

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Mike plunged into the warm, clear water and could instantly see why Tanya was so excited about this dive site and why she had wanted him along. It instantly reminded him of the way the island looked below the water line 10 years before. Maybe it was his “you should have been here when…” mentality kicking in. He had always hated the fact people didn’t realize that their memories were better than reality ever had been. But this place is certainly amazing, he thought.

Whatever his reason for thinking so, it was beautiful. And the sea life was everywhere. Fish of every description and color. The shallow nature of the dive prevented the water from leaching out the reds and oranges from the penetrating sunlight, which reflected off the vivid soft and hard corals, sponges, fish and other marine animals. It was a virtual fishbowl, and Mike slipped effortlessly into photographer mode. He quickly began choosing his shots and framing up his images in his mind long before he ever moved in with his camera.

It is often said that photographers are the worst dive buddies. They get so involved with the images they are making that they forget about everything else going on around them—including their buddy.

In the case of this dive Tanya was the perfect buddy for Mike. She wanted to show Mike her private reef, so she pointed out everything and helped him set shots up, and then stayed out of the way, hanging back and waiting—unless he wanted an underwater model. In those situations, her grace, natural beauty and comfort underwater allowed her to gracefully swim into frame with just a few simple hand signals from Mike and add just the right element to the image.

Mike had shot a lot on the dive, but still had room on his digital camera card as he and Tanya rounded the final bend underwater. What he saw made him glad he did. Incredibly, the coral reef appeared to have been scoured clean of all life. They were stunned by what they saw.

It looked as though someone had run a bulldozer underwater and leveled everything. There was absolutely nothing. No Elkhorn coral, no brain coral, nothing. No shape, texture or color, except for the pile of once-vibrant color mixed into a jumbled mess, like the colors of a bowl of kid’s cereal floating in milk. Parrotfish were everywhere eating the broken coral. Mike photographed the scene to record the devastation.

When they finally surfaced after the long dive, Mike and Tanya discovered they were the last two up. The rest of the teams of researchers and volunteers had finished their dives, and most were already out of the water. From the sounds of their voices, they couldn’t believe what they had seen any more than Tanya and Mike could.

“What in the world happened down there?” Tanya asked at the top of her lungs to no one in particular. She and Mike were floating on the surface of the water.

“You mean you haven’t seen this before?” Mike responded. “When was the last time you made this dive?”

“It’s been about a week since the team made this dive. We try to hit it regularly, but not so much as to attract attention. We don’t want a lot of people coming down here messing up our research,” Tanya explained. “I just can’t believe it. That’s a mess. Someone is going to pay for this.”

“So you’re saying that a week ago, this section of the reef looked exactly like the rest of it? Not this parking lot?” Mike said. “That’s amazing. Have you heard of any groundings or anything that could explain it?”

As they talked Mike and Tanya swam toward the exit point.

They climbed up the rope ladder and on reaching the ledge, Tanya headed for the nearest rock that offered comfort to her outrage and grief and slumped onto it. She was sickened by what she saw, and as the reality of the destruction and its effect on her work penetrated more deeply, she became completely withdrawn, like someone who had just lost a loved one. “I just feel numb,” she muttered as she finally stood up and stumbled across the rocks and back to her truck.

Tanya’s staff of researchers went wild all around. Mike didn’t know exactly how to handle things, so he quietly packed away his gear and disassembled Tanya’s as well. Upon reaching the truck, she cast him a glance that showed that the fire had returned to her eyes. Her pain had turned to anger. There was going to be trouble. “I’m going down to Government House to find out what is going on here,” she bellowed.

“You all go back to the lab and download everything. Log every single detail and record all your findings in the computer archives. Take extra time if you need. Don’t leave out a single detail of what you saw. I want everything in the computer tonight.”

Tanya looked at Mike who had remained silent, allowing her to formulate her thoughts without interruption.

“Someone did this on purpose, Mike. This is not like the damage caused by some cruise ship anchor or some other grounding. Sure damage occurs from time to time, but this is unbelievable. Usually it’s only localized and relatively minor. Something that will recover over time. But this is extermination. It’s scarred forever or at least for longer than I’m going to be around. This was deliberate, calculated, and systematic—almost neat. Besides, cruise ships don’t come up here and there is nothing else I can think of that would have caused it.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Mike asked.

“I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t mean to take this out on you. I know this isn’t exactly the dive I planned to show you, but I’ve got to find out what is going on. Do you mind if I drop you off at Sunset House?” Tanya asked.

“Not to worry, Tanya. I have some things to catch up on anyway,” he lied. He had no plans for the afternoon, but it would serve no purpose adding guilt to her woes.

On the way back to the hotel, Tanya was quiet, but Mike could tell she was thinking—she was somewhere between finding a cause for the damage and planning a response.

“Sorry I haven’t been good company, Mike,” she said as they pulled up out front of the hotel. “Kelly and I will be by about 7:30 p.m. to pick you up for dinner. By that time I’ll have cooled off some and will hopefully have some answers.”

“See you guys tonight,” he answered, intentionally keeping it short to give her an escape. Anyway, he thought, she probably didn’t hear a word I said.

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Get your copy of Cayman Cowboys today, in softcover or Kindle. It is also part of the Mike Scott Boxed Set that includes the first five novels and two short stories.

The following is the first scene written for the novel Cayman Cowboys. It actually appears about a third of the way into the story. Cayman Cowboys was the first Mike Scott thriller, originally published in 2005.

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Out of the darkness, a third car slowly pulled into the drive behind the abandoned cottages and came nose to nose with the car already there. Two men got out. No one bothered with formalities or useless greetings. They had business. The men were both islanders and dressed in jeans, dark jackets, and hats. They did not want to be recognized by others. In the low light, it was nearly impossible to distinguish which one was speaking.

“Do you have the map?” Walker asked the new arrivals.

“Yeah, I got it. What do you think I’m here for? You got the money?” one of the men responded.

“You’ll get it when I guarantee these are what we need. For all I know, you brought the wrong ones,” Walker responded.

Walker turned and gave his driver an order. The man pulled out an electric lantern while the driver of the new car spread the maps out across the hood of his car.

“Here they are,” said the driver of the third car. “Environmental surveys of the area. It shows everything you’re looking for.”

“These appear to be perfect. Exactly what we need,” said Walker. “Do you have our map?” Walker asked Akins.

“Yeah, right here,” Akins said.

“Bring it up and put it in the light. We need to make sure it matches the original,” Walker instructed the politician.

“Don’t worry, man. I had the same man who made the real map make this one. He worked at the government land office for 40 years and is trying to make it by on his retirement. He needs money to live here. His services are for hire,” the passenger from the third car said.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from an abandoned house directly behind where the men were meeting, and they heard the sound of a young woman yelp in pain.

“Check it out and find out who’s in there,” Walker ordered. The Lincoln’s driver and both men from the third car rushed toward the house. Samson started to go as well, assuming this was one of the duties his boss was paying him for, but Walker reached out his hand and held him back.

Seeing the men come rushing out of the darkness, the girl, who was just sleeping in the house, ran out the side door to get away.

All three men shouted after her and one fired a gun into the air, hoping it would make her stop. It didn’t. Scared beyond all comprehension, the girl ran faster. She was a runaway, hiding out from her family and the law. Waking up from a sound sleep, she thought it was the police coming to take her back to her abusive father in the U.S. She had tried to run away before. When she was caught and taken home, the beatings were worse than they had ever been before.

Quite possibly the last thought the girl had was that these men would never take her back to her family, no matter what happened. She ran from the sandy soil that covered much of the island directly onto what the locals call iron shore, limestone rock left over from millions of years of coral buildup that has been eroded over the years by the rain to form jagged edges and crevices. Even in solid shoes, iron shore is treacherous. At night, with nothing more than sandals on her feet, no light, and fleeing in a panic, the girl didn’t stand a chance. Not a local, she only set foot there just a few days before. Using money she had stolen from a small liquor store near her home to buy the ticket and a friend’s passport to gain entrance to the island, she had fled during the night. She had read stories in magazines about the island and thought it sounded like a wonderful place to escape to. She hadn’t had a chance to learn the land yet. She didn’t realize just how treacherous running across the iron shore could be, especially down by the water’s edge where the wave action had made things even more hazardous.

She fell. Hearing the men’s voices, she stood up bleeding from her shoulder and tripped again just a few yards away. This time she tore a jagged hole in her leg. In agony, she struggled to her feet and tried to run again. Turning to look, she saw the lights the men carried swinging back and forth. Knowing she had to get away, she struggled to her feet one more time, pain searing through her body. Already dying from the increasing blood loss from a torn artery in her thigh, she fell for the last time in a crevice between the rocks at the water’s edge.

She could hear the gentle sounds of the small Caribbean waves lapping against the rocks and the iron shore coast. When the waves hit the shore just right, the water would work its way through the rocks and blast straight up into the air, like a blowhole from a whale.

“Do you see the girl?”

“Nah, I don’t see anything. I’m not even sure there was a girl.”

“Someone was out here, but I can’t find her,” the men argued at the edge of the iron shore field.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not climbing across this stuff at night.”

“You’re right; she couldn’t have gone this way. Let’s check the other side of the road.”

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Get your copy of Cayman Cowboys today, in softcover or Kindle. It is also part of the Mike Scott Boxed Set that includes the first five novels and two short stories.