Code(41)

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“I’m a marine biologist, remember? In 1998, we traced a massive fish die-off to pollution by methyl bromide.” Satisfaction coated Anders’ voice. “Not to toot my own horn, but I helped get it banned.”

I paused to digest this info. “Anything else you can think of?”

“Off the top of my head, no. But if that’s your chemical, I’d be surprised if your assignment was pointing anywhere else.”

I thanked Sundberg and hung up. Three faces beamed from across the table. Even Coop seemed to sense excitement. He rose and padded to my side.

“Locally, bromomethane was used to treat putting greens.”

The boys had been listening. In fact, Hi looked pumped enough to wet himself.

His arms spread wide. “And how many holes make up a golf course?”

“Eighteen!” Shelton aimed two shooters at the iPad.

Of course. 18. The centerpiece of the Gamemaster’s image.

Ben’s fist struck the table. “We’re getting close.”

“Golf must be part of the answer!” Shelton insisted.

“Shhh!” I ordered. “Let me think.”

The boys exchanged glances, but complied. I needed to do my thing.

Pesticide. The number eighteen. A golf course. Those parts fit together. Staring at the puzzle with a fresh outlook, I willed other pieces into place.

“The eighteen is within a circle.” I traced it with one finger. “Black, like a hole.”

“Golf again!” Hi interjected. “The eighteenth hole!”

I hand-shushed him. Hi rolled his eyes. Shelton rose and began dancing on the balls of his feet. Ben just watched me.

“The eighteenth hole of a golf course.” My finger moved to the top of the image. “So what does this K mean?”

“A strikeout,” Hi offered. “Or a symbol for the Ku Klux Klan—sorry, Shelton. Maybe a very ‘special’ breakfast cereal?”

Shelton squinted, thinking hard. I cycled the data in my brain, but came up blank. K? Alone? What could it mean?

“What about Kiawah,” Ben offered quietly.

“Could be,” Hi said. “Kiawah Island has incredible golf courses.”

“Maybe.” But I wasn’t sure. Could it be that simple? “We need more to go on.”

Shelton bumped his fists together in a rapid tattoo. “We’re running out of time.”

“Kiawah’s Ocean Course is supposed to be dope,” Hi commented. “It’s hosting the PGA Championship soon. That tourney is extremely hard to get.”

Something clicked.

My gaze dropped to the iPad screen. One element remained.

Surrounding the black circle. A larger, blue circle.

“Like the ocean,” I breathed.

“What the what?” Shelton asked.

Ben smiled for the first time all afternoon. It was nice to see. When he deigned to flash his pearly whites, Ben went from sullen boy to charming young man. I much preferred the latter.

“Guys, we did it.” My hands popped into a roof-raising celebration dance. Even Coop was impressed, and started spinning in little circles.

We’d broken the Gamemaster’s clue. We could still win.

“Kiawah Island,” I proclaimed. “And I know just where to look.”





CHAPTER 22





Sewee knifed through the surf, tossing spray from her bow.

Ten p.m. We’d waited as long as possible.

We couldn’t poke around the city’s most famous golf course with people still out and about. But time was not on our side.

The clock expired in two hours. Whatever needed doing had to happen before then.

Everyone wore dark-colored athletic clothing. Nothing too sinister—the Ocean Course was famous, and even late at night we might be seen. No sense looking like criminals if we intended to commit a crime.

I sat in the bow, one arm looping Coop’s neck. The wolfdog hadn’t been on the guest list, but his whining had threatened my escape. Kit had continued snoring, but I’d decided not to risk more doggie noise.

Ben piloted, of course. He’d opted for the ocean route rather than risk the twisty, confusing Intracoastal Waterway after dark. Our target was close, a mere two islands to the south.

Hi and Shelton were huddled in the stern. No one spoke. Sneaking out early was trickier than our usual post-midnight jaunts, and the boys seemed on edge.

A crescent moon lit our path down the coast. The breeze was mild, but brisk. I wore a blue LIRI windbreaker, which I’d leave in the boat.

We’d cruised past Folly Beach and reached the Stono Inlet when a dark shadow appeared on the horizon just ahead.

Kiawah is a long, thin barrier island operated primarily as a high-end resort. Exclusive and private, with roughly a thousand permanent residents, the slender strip of land stays relatively quiet. Five world-class golf courses stretch from the densely wooded interior right up to the Atlantic.

The Ocean Course is the most famous of the lot.

Ben motored along the shoreline, passing a series of manicured holes. Minutes later we spied a large structure rising just beyond the first row of dunes.

“I’ll pull as close as possible,” Ben said in a low voice.

“Eighteen is right on the beach,” Hi whispered. “Near the clubhouse. No one should be in there this late, so we shouldn’t be spotted.”