The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(67)

“Are those systems networked?” asks George.

“Probably. Know anybody who could hack them?”

“No. You?”

“Hardly. I mean, I know how the systems work. Generally. But nothing about accessing it remotely. I could probably get the data if I could put my hands on their positioning system.”

“What if I could get you aboard?” asks George.

“Do you mean like inside a birthday cake?”

“No. Maybe we could create an excuse . . .” He takes a seat by the window. “How hard would it be to start a fire?”

“Don’t even go there. That’s two hundred million dollars of boat right there.”

“I’m just brainstorming,” he replies. “What if something malfunctioned? Like their radar up there? They’d need to call a repair crew.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. A rifle?” he says quietly.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m not sure sometimes.”

“Let’s put your grassy-knoll idea on hold,” I reply. “What’s the smarter way to do it?”

“Sometimes I just flash my badge and barge in.”

“Ever been shot at doing that?” I ask.

“Yep,” he sighs.

I immediately regret the question. “Okay, let’s use our limited brainpower. They’re a boat, so they’re used to inspections in port. Coast guard, customs, immigration. Maybe even DEA. It’s not that uncommon. The problem is they probably know who their local feds are. If we show up pretending to be some agency, they could call our bluff.”

“McPherson, you’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re not pretending to be an agency. We are an agency—or at least a division.”

“Yeah, but not a federal one. Not one who can just show up and inspect a boat for no reason,” I reply. “I mean, we have laws.”

“Correct. But sometimes nobody knows what the law is until we push it. Give me a reason we could search the boat.”

“Like with a search warrant?” I ask.

“Of course not. We’ll never get one. I mean a good reason for us to show up and ask to search the boat and have them let us aboard.”

“It can’t be too accusatory. If we say we’re doing a drug search, they’ll call their attorneys. What if we said there was a runaway in the harbor and we’re looking for her?”

“No. They’ll insist on searching the boat themselves because they know it better. What else do you have?”

“Why is this on me?”

“Solar 101: don’t use your own brain if there’s a perfectly good fresh one to pick.”

What is a reason they’d voluntarily let us aboard? Who boarded us when I was a kid?

“I got it!” I blurt out. “Dad once talked Winston into installing a naval-grade sonar system we could use out at sea. This thing was a monster. We’d been in port maybe two hours in San Diego when two naval officers showed up at our dock with some fancy gear. It turns out their listening posts were picking us up all the way into the harbor and flagged us as a Russian spy trawler. I also saw the FCC show up once when someone was using an old Chinese transmitter that interfered with local radio stations.”

George raises his eyebrows and lets me go on.

“So, what if we tell them we want to check their radar because it might be interfering with government systems?”

“Make it more innocuous,” says George.

“Okay, hmm, how about we say there’s been some interference with weather radar? There’s a big radar ball visible from the harbor.”

He smiles. “And they do have the tallest mast.”





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

SEXTANT

A Finnish first mate named Irro greets us at the bottom of the gangplank after I press the button on the intercom built into the railing. He’s in his late twenties and has short, close-cropped hair on a round skull.

We waited until the captain and the rest of the crew left for their nightly adventure. It turns out Irro pulled the first watch.

“Alo?” he says when he greets George and me on the pier.

“Hello,” George replies in his least threatening tone—which is still pretty intimidating. “I’m Mr. George and this is Ms. Sloan.” He holds up a State of Florida employee ID card—but no badge. “We’re with UIU. We’re trying to track down a signal interfering with the long-range radar. It’s a bit of an emergency.”

I show the guard the radio scanner we picked up at a surveillance supply store and point the antenna at their communications mast. “We need to check out your array to make sure it’s not the source of the interference.”

“What’s your full name?” asks George as he pulls a clipboard from under his arm.

“My full name?” asks the confused man.

“You’re in charge of the ship right now? Correct?”

He looks back and forth between us, trying to understand how serious this matter is. “Yes. The captain is ashore.”

“Okay. Then the fine has to be made out to you. I’m sure the owners will reimburse you. I’ll make sure you have a copy.”