The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(46)

“Wonderful.” It’s one thing to know this technology exists; it’s something else entirely to realize it’s being used on you.

“If they have their act together, they probably have a database of persons of interest too. You’d be in there for sure.”

“Delightful.”

The main road on the island is a loop. On one side is the ocean view; the other is the bay side. While the ocean side has the better view, the bay side has the calmer waters and is where most of the houses with boat docks are located.

Bonaventure’s parcel is at the tip, so it features a dock on the bay and an ocean view from the main house. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have that kind of money. This is Run’s family’s territory. I’m just happy if my boat doesn’t have a leak.

The houses are all predictably immaculate and have perfectly manicured lawns. Some have fountains in front, others high fences.

When we get to Bonaventure’s estate, I’m surprised that his fence is only two feet tall. It’s more of a property divider. I’d been expecting a walled compound.

Instead, I can see clear across the estate to the ocean. Parts of it have stone walls and are shielded from the road, but the house itself and the cottages are out in the open.

You could almost go up and knock at the door if it weren’t for the small guardhouse at the base of the main driveway. A stocky man in a polo shirt is sitting inside and watching as we drive by.

Solar waves to him, and the guard returns the gesture. Much to my horror, Solar stops the truck and rolls my window down.

“Is Jason around?” he asks.

The guard steps over to our vehicle. “Mr. Bonaventure isn’t home today,” he replies politely. “Shall I tell him you stopped by?”

“Yeah, tell him George Solar said hello.”

The guard makes a note of this. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.” Solar gives him a grin, then pulls ahead to the far end of the loop and brings the truck to a stop.

“You’re one ballsy man,” I note.

“Did you get a good look?”

“At what? His clipboard?”

“George Solar 101: talk but see. He had a sidearm on his right side and another under his slacks on his ankle. Former cop. Which means he’s paid a lot more than a regular security guard.”

“Okay. That makes sense.”

“Upper-right window over the side garage?”

“What?” I didn’t even notice there was a side garage.

“The curtains were drawn partially, but there was a six-inch gap. A man with a telescope was watching from there.”

“How the hell did you see that?” I resist the urge to turn back and look.

“Because Vernon, the ex-cop in the guardhouse, just turned around and looked at that window and flashed him an all-clear sign.”

“No radio?”

“Would you trust a radio with DIA surveilling you?”

“Fair point. Anything else?”

“You tell me. Did you spot a secret submarine pen?”

He’s serious.

“Um, no. They’re usually on the water.”

“Even secret ones?”

“Another fair point.” I glance back at the dock and the boathouse. “I’d have to have a look from the water.”

“All right, then. There’s a boat-rental place ten minutes from here.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

GROTTO

Solar makes a show of casting his fishing line into the water while I stare at Bonaventure’s estate. At first I thought he was making a half-assed effort at being undercover, but then I realized he genuinely wanted to know if the fish were biting.

It’s typical Florida weather: overcast skies to the south and bright sun to the north, each side seemingly flipping a coin to decide if it’s going to rain or stay sunny here.

“What do you think?” asks Solar from the bow of the small boat.

“Your cast could use some work.”

“I’m more of an inshore guy,” he replies. “What about the place? Any James Bond villain chicanery going on?”

I was curious to get a look at the dock, but I see nothing suspicious about it. The seawall is made of large boulders and doesn’t look like the ideal place to install a secret hatch or whatever.

A boathouse stands at the end of the dock, next to a small crane for lifting smaller boats out of the water. At the other end is a motorized boat cradle and a floating dock for kayaks and craft like ours. It looks like a thousand other waterfront properties in South Florida.

At one point, another guard dressed in the same maroon polo came out and walked around the grounds before going through a door in the back of the large garage area.

We figure that’s their command center. If I were going to Jason Bourne this place, my first stop would be that garage entry, to knock them out or something. Thankfully that’s not our job.

We’re still trying to figure if there’s some way Bonaventure could load or unload a Kraken-type craft here under watchful eyes. So far it seems questionable.

“What if it’s under the dock while the larger ship is moored here?” asks Solar.

I try to estimate how much space there is under the dock. “I don’t know. The waves are a little rough. I could see the thing getting banged up on the rocks. You might be able to do it under cover of loading a bigger boat, but that also seems like when there’d most likely be DEA and coast guard ships out there watching. Too risky.”