The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(70)

“Underwater?” asks Dad. “That has to be some transmitter.”

“I guess. But first we need to know the area where the sub went down. We don’t even have that.”

“Maybe you do,” says Dad.

“You onto something?” asks George.

“Me? No. But maybe you should talk to somebody who understands the currents and area better than anyone else I know. He could probably tell you the best place to try to sink and recover the sub—also where it might have drifted to.”

“And where do we find this person?” George asks.

“The FCI in Miami,” I tell him. “He’s talking about Uncle Karl.”

George makes a loud groan. “Something tells me you shouldn’t go in there and tell him you’ve partnered up with me.”

“You think?”

“He’ll help Sloan out,” says Dad. “Or he’d never hear the end of it from me.”

“I don’t know.” George is shaking his head. “I’m not sure if we can give him this data.”

“You told me,” replies Dad.

“I know where you live. And you’re not serving time with a bunch of other undesirables who would kill to know this.”

George raises his binoculars to the window.

“I think I can trust him.”

“No good,” says George.

I’m about to disagree when I realize he’s watching something in the marina. I stand up to look over his shoulder.

“Shit,” I say when I see DIA Jane strutting down the dock away from the boat, flanked by three men wearing jackets in warm Florida weather.

I spot a flash of black gun metal inside one of their jackets. “Are those . . . ?”

“Probably MPX machine pistols. That’s a hit squad.”

“Which way . . .” My words freeze in my mouth as DIA Jane glances at the hotel where we’re staying.

“We’ve been made. Time to go,” says George.

“Later, Dad!” I grab my phone and throw everything from the table into a duffel bag.

George is already at the door. He holds it open for me. I start running to the stairs.

“Negative,” he replies. “The first thing they’ll do is put someone there. We take the elevator to the floor below, then take a different one down.”

I trust his judgment over mine. The elevator doors open, and we rush inside. Mentally I’m counting how far away DIA Jane and her crew were from the hotel. They’re probably entering the lobby now.

We switch on the next floor and take the adjacent one down. Our elevator is almost at the lobby, and my anxiety is building. “What are we going to do? Your truck’s in the parking garage across the street.”

“We’re going to walk out of here,” he replies. “They’re not stupid enough to do anything in the lobby. But I am . . .”

Before I can ask him what he means, the doors open, and George steps out, raises his weapon in one hand and his badge in the other, and shouts, “Freeze, UIU!”

DIA Jane is in the middle of the lobby with her hired guns. She looks confused, and the goons don’t know what to do. One of them brings a hand to his jacket, but Jane pushes it back.

“Hands up,” says George as he approaches them.

He gets within five feet, and Jane finally responds, “Come any closer, and we drop you.”

“Doubtful,” George replies, but he doesn’t come any closer. “McPherson.” He nods to the front door.

I chase after him as he heads out of the lobby. The guests are still in shock, trying to figure out what just happened. So am I.

I check over my shoulder, but we’re not being followed. When we reach the parking garage, I finally break my silence. “What was that?”

“A distraction. They were coming to talk to us. I don’t know what they would have done if they got us in the hotel room. I didn’t want to find out. I also didn’t want them to try to arrest us in the lobby. We were outgunned.”

“So you threatened to arrest them?” I reply.

“It was worth a shot. Let’s go talk to your uncle. Chances are they know what we do about the Morning Sun, and we’re running short on time.”





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

BAIT WELL

Karl’s eyes narrow as he enters the room and he sees George Solar sitting next to me at the table. When I contacted Karl, he told me flat out that Solar had to ask him himself. Somehow, through the prison grapevine, Karl had already found out that the two of us were working together, and he wouldn’t see me without him.

Having lost my patience for family drama, I told him fine. I was lucky enough to be able to get him on the phone in the first place, let alone arrange a meeting. George had to pull some strings, because someone high up had been putting pressure on limiting access to inmates who had information about Bonaventure or the current situation.

Most likely the Department of Justice was trying to gain an information advantage. George was so paranoid he swept the marshal’s office in the prison for bugs with a scanner.

“McPherson,” George says, greeting my uncle.

“Solar,” he replies, taking his seat. He glances over at me. “Sloan. So, let’s have it. What’s the offer?”