The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(87)

“Well, we can’t find them. Maybe they’re somewhere else.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve been on busts and someone says, ‘We’ve looked everywhere,’ only to find a suspect hidden under a pile of laundry or a stash inside a used-diaper bin? It’s here,” George says flatly.

“Is that intuition?” asks Run.

“It’s experience, son. Experience.”

“Okay,” I say. “What does your experience tell you now?”

Dad interrupts, “We need to disassemble the Kraken. Winston could have had a compartment inside there.”

“We checked,” Run replies. “But by all means, have a look.”

“I knew Winston for twenty years. I know his tricks. I think.” Dad picks up a tool belt from the floor and climbs into the sub.

A minute later we can hear the sound of parts falling and clanging on the sub’s deck. Run sticks his head inside and starts pulling the loose components out and laying them on the ground.

George and I inspect the panels, pumps, displays, and other parts as Dad dismantles them and Run delivers them to us.

An hour later the insides of the Kraken are spilled across the floor like the entrails of a mechanical fish.

George and I are unscrewing and inspecting the insides of all the battery packs. Dad is checking the electronics in case the files are stored digitally.

Run crosses his arms and stares at the Kraken. “The problem is, they could literally be anywhere.” He flicks a temperature gauge. “A microchip could fit under a washer, and we wouldn’t know.”

“Bonaventure would want hard copies of the most important stuff,” says George. “Ledgers, cashed checks, that kind of thing.”

“I don’t see where he could fit all that,” I reply.

The wind gets stronger, and the whole building shakes. I call up to Jackie, “What’s the weather report, sweetheart?”

She’s sitting on the stern of a Chris-Craft on the third level. “I don’t know. I can’t get any signal.”

“Probably the storm,” says Run.

George and I look at each other and pull out our phones. Mine shows full signal, but when I try to make a call, it doesn’t even ring.

“You too?” I ask George.

He nods. “Hey, Jacobs,” he says, using Run’s last name. “You got a VHF radio?”

“There’s one in the truck.” Run leans inside and turns it on. A clicking sound fills the air. “What the hell is that?” he asks before turning it off.

“We’re being jammed,” I reply. “They know we’re here.”

George nods to Run. “You take the front. I’ll take the back.”

“We have a landline back there. You can try calling out.”

“What should I do?” I ask.

George points to the pile of parts. “You and your dad find the files. Fast. We have to assume Bonaventure told them where to look.”

Dad starts to tap the hull of the Kraken with a wrench, listening for hollow compartments. I run my hand along it, trying to feel anything abnormal.

We race around the submarine, desperately searching for something, finding nothing.

“See anything?” George shouts to Run, who’s watching the front door.

“No. Wait. There’s an SUV across the street with a funky antenna.”

“That’s them. They probably have a search team on their way. Shoot anyone that comes close.”

I watch their exchange and almost scream when Jackie grabs my elbow.

“What can I do to help?”

“Go back up there and hide,” I reply.

“Ugh.” She kicks at a nut on the floor, and it ricochets off one of the sub’s many oxygen cylinders.

Dad and I glance up.

“That son of a bitch,” Dad whispers.

“What’s going on?” asks Solar, still standing by the door.

Dad and I hurry to the oxygen tank. He hits it with his wrench. When a tank loses pressure, it changes its pitch when it’s rung. The metal makes a “nearly empty” clang that you never want to hear when diving.

“We may have something . . .” My voice is interrupted by the hissing sound of Dad letting the air out of the tank.

It quickly dies, and Dad pulls a tank-valve tool from his key chain and unscrews the top. “Got a light?”

I aim my phone light into the tank, revealing something sealed in plastic inside.

Bingo.

“Someone’s here,” shouts Run.

“Someone?” George yells back. “What the hell does that mean?”





CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

LAGOON

Dad uses a pair of pliers to pull a plastic bag from the cylinder. He hands it to me, then retrieves another. Inside is a sheaf of documents and a thumb drive.

He hands those to me as well, then points to the upper row of boats. “Go there, now.”

I take Jackie by the hand. “Come on.”

“What’s going on with your guy?” George shouts to Run.

“He’s at the property line. I think he’s talking on a radio.”

That sounds ominous. But there’s no time to worry about that. I follow Jackie to what she described as her best hiding spot, a midsize boat with a large cabin and deck.