The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(42)

“A what?” replies Solar.

“It squeezes the big-ass antenna you’d need to make meter-size radio waves into a small package. Like I said, expensive.”

“Do you know what it’s for?”

“You mean what he was doing with it? Not a clue.”

I push him. “And you have no idea what Winston’s been up to?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I do,” says Solar. “If he did, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to be hanging around here.”

“Yeah, he would. He loves this place,” I reply.

Albert shrugs and nods confirmation, clinking my bottle with his again.

Noticing the sheer number of people in the bar I’ve never seen before, I palm the transceiver and put it in my pocket. “We need to go. And, Albert, you should think about going back to the frozen north and visiting friends. People who knew Winston are going to be under a lot of scrutiny.”

“Uh, okay,” he replies.

I pull Solar out to the sidewalk outside the bar and nervously look over my shoulder.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“I think I know. Maybe. Or at least part of it. We need to go talk to my dad. He’ll tell me if I’m crazy or not.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

AFT

Dad sets a collection of charts on the table in the galley of his boat. He glances up at Solar. “Uh, that coffee warm enough for you?”

“It’s fine. You’re not much better at small talk than your daughter,” Solar says.

“Yeah. It’s just that I wasn’t really expecting company,” Dad says weakly. His eyes dart toward me. “Can we trust this asshole?”

“Mr. Solar is helping me figure out what’s going on. It might all be a trick and he’s just using me. I haven’t figured it out yet. If I get murdered, make sure they know he’s a suspect.”

“You just blurt everything out there, don’t you?” says Solar.

“My daughter’s not a subtle person. She gets that from her mother.”

We’d caught Dad on his couch playing sudoku on his iPad. To say he was surprised to see me with Solar was an understatement. I watched him keep an eye on his hidden gun, not sure at first whether I was George’s hostage.

He mellowed a bit when I told him how Solar had helped me back at the secret boatyard.

“Okay.” Dad points at the charts he gathered. “These are the tide and drainage charts for the canals west of the Intracoastal. A while back, a study was done about the feasibility of widening some of the canals and using them for barging materials to the industrial areas by Alligator Alley.”

“What happened to that plan?” I ask.

“Environmentalists and logistics.” He points at a group of canals west of Fort Lauderdale. “You get so much runoff soil from the Everglades deposited there in a storm that you could render the whole area unusable for anything with a draft of more than a couple feet. Although going north to south, there’s actually some potential.”

“But not here?” I point to Winston’s secret boatyard.

Dad examines the numbers on the map. “This is the latest Army Corps of Engineers data. You’d barely be able to get this boat in there at high tide.”

“There goes that theory,” I reply.

“What theory?” asks Solar.

“It’s stupid. I had a crazy idea. You mentioned that Winston wanting all that privacy was odd. I thought maybe because he was building a narco submarine.”

“A submarine would never make it through here,” replies Dad. “Maybe a small U-boat. But that would look kind of odd.”

“It’s a good thought, kid. That’s the kind of thing Bonaventure would go for. It might also explain how he got rid of the records and the money.”

“But it would never go down this canal,” replies Dad. “Nothing you’d want to crew and send across the ocean, anyway.”

“You could trailer it,” I reply.

“Then why build it at a boatyard on the water?” asks Dad. “I’ve seen narco subs on the news. Those things are like World War II–size vessels.”

“Yeah, I get it. It was just an idea.” I set the transceiver on the table. “When we found out this could be used to radio underwater, I got excited.”

“Low frequency?” asks Dad.

“Apparently very low, according to Les Albert,” I explain.

“Interesting. Well, anyway. As you can see from the charts, the water’s too shallow.”

“Any chance it’s deeper than that?” I turn to Solar. “Did you get a depth reading when you were out there?”

“I didn’t pay attention. We could go back.”

“Don’t bother,” says Dad. “A foot or two won’t make enough difference for a manned submarine.”

“Okay, next theory,” I reply. “Maybe it’s for finding some kind of anchored vault?”

“Or maybe it’s just a random part Winston had in his pocket,” says Solar. “I know you know the water, but maybe this doesn’t involve it?”

He’s right. As frustrating as it is to hear him say it. “Okay. What are alternative theories? A truck? A plane?”