The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(47)

“Yeah, I thought it was a dumb idea too. I just wanted to see what you thought.”

I study the floating dock. “If that thing were hollow . . . maybe it could raise up underneath it? I don’t know. The more I look at this place, the harder it seems for Bonaventure to use it to load and unload contraband.”

“The sub may have been only for handling money shipments,” says Solar.

“Why even bother? Why not Bitcoin it or something?”

“His South American partners prefer cash. Ever since the terrorism laws about money transfers, money laundering has been harder to get away with,” he explains.

“What about the dark web and all that?”

“They’re into that. For sure. But we’re talking billions of dollars over time. Your street dealers get the cash; it moves upstream to Bonaventure, who has to figure out how to get it upstream to the cartel.”

“I always wondered about that middle part, how it gets laundered.”

“All kinds of ways. If you ever paid for a comedy show or a concert in an all-cash venue, there’s a good chance your money got lumped in with drug money in the box office. You can clean a few million dollars a week doing that all over South Florida.”

I never thought of that. Of course, I’m typically only retrieving evidence from underwater, not following a criminal enterprise’s money chain.

“One day we’ll take a little car ride and I’ll show you where all the money goes. You’d be surprised how many hands are dirty—or at least don’t ask questions. If you cut off all the drug money flowing into South Florida overnight, the economy would collapse in some cities. Hell, some countries would topple as well. The only thing keeping certain politicians in office in South and Central America is the payments from the drug trade. And the same could be said for here.”

“Cheery thought.”

“Here’s another one for you. Nobody knows this, but right before Bonaventure got served a warrant, his people had been looking at a possible senatorial run. The cynic in me thinks that his opposition decided it was time to cut him off.”

“You’re pretty much all cynic.” I eye the houses on the island. “I’m looking, but I don’t see it. Maybe the transceiver was just that and not part of a robot narco sub?”

“What about the pool at the shipyard? Think Winston liked to go for laps?”

“Yeah, that . . . I don’t know. But I’m not seeing where Bonaventure could park a sub here and not get spotted by the world. Maybe it was somewhere else? Some other property?”

“Could be . . .” Solar drags his words out a little, hesitating. “Let’s just say I got a strong feeling money came through here.”

“An informant?”

“An informed guess.”

“Okay, but I’m still not seeing it.”

“Maybe look at it differently,” Solar suggests.

“Like with a drone?”

“Do you have one? I’m sure his people would love to see that flying over his estate.”

“Not on me.”

“But you could see a lot with one of those, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve played with my brother’s. They’re kind of cool. Our police department was thinking about getting one. Hold on . . . A lot of rich people live here.” I nod at Turtle Isle.

“You think?”

“That means rich kids. Realtors . . .” I start typing on my phone.

Less than a minute later, I find more than a dozen YouTube videos of Turtle Isle taken by drones. I throw a towel over my head to block the sun as I scrub through the footage until I spot Bonaventure’s estate.

“Uh, that doesn’t look suspicious,” grumbles Solar.

“It just looks like I’m changing film,” I reply.

“Right. And don’t forget to make sure your time machine has enough power.”

“Quiet.” I roll back a video and scrutinize the water a hundred yards up the island from Bonaventure’s estate.

“Interesting . . .” The water is crystal clear blue except for one section where it’s muddy, emanating from a narrow point—maybe a sewer or storm drain.

Solar pokes his head under the towel, startling me. “What have you got?”

“And this really doesn’t look suspicious.”

“They’ll just assume we’re doing drugs. No big deal.”

I hold my phone up for him to see. “See the outflow? That could be something.”

“Could be a sewer. It’s also not connected to his property.”

I drop our towel tent and stare at the area where the outflow occurs. “No . . . but who’s to say how far in it goes?”

“Anything is possible when enough money is involved.” Solar reels in his line and starts the boat.

We go around the island to the area where I spotted the outflow. It’s a less developed section of the island, where mangroves and weeds hang over the seawall.

Solar checks his depth gauge. “Interesting. It’s twenty feet here. That seems unusual.”

“Not if it’s been dredged.” I point to a superyacht moored farther up the island. “They do that so you can park those things.”

I strip off my T-shirt and jeans shorts, down to my bathing suit, and grab my fins and mask out of the gear bag I brought with me.