by Rick Chesler
“Yeah okay, Eric, I’ll leave that for you to try.”
“You’re getting in that Whaler, Pineapple. We’ll tow you in behind us, just like they used to do in the olden days when crewmembers had to be punished.”
“Punished? Will you listen to yourself? Are you all right?”
The Mexicans were chortling now, but concerned.
“I’m dead serious.” Stein yelled a crewmember’s name. A sleepy first mate poked his head out the cabin. “Tommy, prepare the launch.”
“Listen, Eric, I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with you,” Pineapple said, “but I’m not getting in that boat.”
“Then I’ll throw you in it,” Stein said. “Yo, Tommy, Wes, help me out.” Eric took a step toward Pineapple, who backed away toward the Mexican divers.
Suddenly they heard the sound of an engine, its clear and unmistakable buzzing at complete odds with the quiet world of a drifting ship. Juan and Fernando sprang to their feet. Juan turned his head skyward while Fernando hopped around the heap of dive gear on deck.
“Radio, señor,” he said urgently to Eric and Pineapple, pointing to the sky as he did so.
Pineapple was glad for the distraction. “C’mon, let’s go,” he said, leading the way. Stein’s curiosity over the plane had him willing to forget about his plan for the tender.
Just then Juan called out, “Lo veo.” I see it.
At the radio, Fernando flipped to the channel he’d used before with his pilot.
Silence.
Pineapple turned an eye toward Stein as the inebriated skipper approached the radio console.
A string of rapid-fire Spanish burst from the speaker. Fernando’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Juan,” he called back to the stern, “Juan! It’s him.”
Juan was jumping up and down on the stern deck, waving his hands. “He’s circling. What’s he saying?”
Fernando white-knuckled the transmitter while he shouted and frothed into the microphone. Pineapple frowned at him. Was this guy going to lose control? Right here and now, in the middle of their cramped cabin with a bunch of drunks passed out all over the boat, fifty miles out to sea?
He looked uncomfortably at Stein. “Tell him to ask if they’re alone,” Pineapple said. Stein interpreted the question. Fernando uttered some words and shifted his eyes nervously as he waited for an answer.
When the reply came he relayed it to Pineapple. “They only have one plane, but they have more divers with them,” he said.
Around Pandora’s Box, people were coming to life, lulled from their collective stupor by the sound of a low-flying aircraft and all the shouting.
“He’s landing,” Fernando said before running back out to the stern deck.
Pineapple addressed Stein. “They could pirate us, you know. You wanna play around with pretending you’re an old-time sea captain, well this is for real. Modern-day piracy.”
“Come on. They came back for their divers.”
“After six hours? Such concern. They really pulled out all the stops.”
“Why’d they land by us at all, then? Why even acknowledge the radio calls if they don’t want their divers back?”
“Maybe they just came back with more divers so they could get the whale’s video. You ever think about why they want the damn video so much in the first place, Eric?”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Maybe they killed that girl,” Pineapple speculated.
“So? What’s that got to do with us?”
Pineapple looked incredulous. “What it’s got to do with us is that they’re about to land next to our ship, which, I might add, is dead in the water until some kind of breeze comes up.”
“We’re helping them. They won’t want to hurt us.”
“Yeah, right. Once those guys get on the plane, how do you know they won’t shoot us all and set Pandora’s Box on fire? Get rid of all the witnesses?”
“Because, my friend,” Stein said, “we’re going to help them in a way they won’t be able to deny. A small plane by itself is one thing. A ship by itself is one thing. But a ship and plane working together . . . think about it.”
“I don’t know. . . .”
“Come on, they could fly search patterns while their divers rest on the ship. We can provide all the diver support. Greater efficiency. Less risk.”
Stein extended a hand to Pineapple. Pineapple shook it. “Okay. OLF, man.”
“OLF!”
The two men stepped out on the stern deck in time to see a blue seaplane cut a white swath across the cobalt sea.
CHAPTER 35
DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES
Even as he poured four Tylenols from the ever-present bottle in his pocket, Anthony Silveras cracked a smile for the first time in two days, then quickly erased any show of emotion from his face. He did not want those around him to perceive anything less than a total sense of urgency for the task at hand.
But it was working! “Forget about all the bells and whistles,” Silveras had told his lead Information Technology man, “just get the live feed and subscription-taking software back up without delay.”
He stood in the middle of a glassed-in room whose walls were lined with racks of computers and tape drives behind glass cabinets, ten times the size of the one Trevor had destroyed. Outside the room, the entire thirty-ninth floor of the Arco Tower, downtown Los Angles—cubicles, computers, network and all—lay at his disposal.
A loan processing center had been forced to shut down as a result of a class-action suit stemming from illegal practices. The IT consultant he’d contracted to get the Wired Kingdom web site back online as fast as humanly possible had informed him that they might be able to take over the space at a bargain price.
Since the expenditure would show up on Accounting’s radar as a large blip, Silveras had tried to call George Reed, thinking he should be out of his fundraiser. He’d gotten no answer. He saw no other way to get the site back online so soon, so he’d gone ahead with it without waiting to hear back. His IT guru had just informed him that he should have the live feed back up within minutes, with the subscription services to follow shortly.
Silveras watched as a small army of technology workers buzzed about the machines like bees about a hive. Trevor Lane had been wrong when he’d said no one else would be able to figure out the complex architecture behind the whale’s live feed, Silveras realized.
Dead wrong.
DEPARTMENT OF BIOLOGICAL SCIENCES,
USC
Dr. Anastasia Reed was having a bad meeting. As principle investigator for the highly funded Pacific Pelagics Telemetry Tracking Study, she was responsible for delivering the asked-for reports with supporting research. Now in a conference with National Science Foundation funding partners to report progress on the project, she was finding out that her people had made anything but sufficient progress in the last reporting period—a time when she herself had been busy with Wired Kingdom.
Minutes earlier she had openly tried to place the blame for the lagging project on a graduate student she’d left in charge, berating the young man in front of the group. The contractors reminded Anastasia, however, that she alone was accountable for submitting project deliverables on time, not her students or employees.
Anastasia’s request for a project extension had just been denied when there came a knock at the conference room door. It was opened by a student.
Tara Shores flashed her badge and asked to see Dr. Reed. The surprised student beckoned the detective inside.
A pudgy bald man was standing at the head of the table, addressing the group in irritated tones, gesturing incessantly. “We asked for ‘A’ and you’re giving us ‘A’-prime.”
Anastasia sat at the middle of the rectangular table, flanked by assistants, her back to the door. “The no-cost extension will allow us to—” she began.
“Why should we give you more time? Your extracurricular activities are clearly affecting your job,” the NSF guy said over her, unaware that
Tara had made her way into the room. “We notice that in the coming months, the schedule for your television show is more, not less, demanding. What’s going to change?”
Heads around the room swiveled, fixing on Agent Shores as she stood just inside the door. Anastasia stood up, her chair clattering to the floor. “I’ll tell you what’s going to change: you can get someone else to head up your study. I have plenty of other projects to choose from.”
“Yes, we know, like TV game shows. That’s very—”
Tara made eye contact with another of the NSF reps, who indicated for his associate to turn around. He cut himself off in mid-sentence when he saw the special agent.
Anastasia, wondering what put a stop to his angry reply, turned to see Tara’s badge held out in front of her. Seeing Tara, a smile slowly spread across her face. “Special Agent Shores, to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” She turned so as to address the group at the table. “Agent Shores accompanied our film crew this morning during the rescue operation I told you about.”
The NSF guy rolled his eyes. “Maybe if you weren’t out playing detective and interacting with pseudo-environmental thugs, you’d be able to complete your contracted work on time.”
Anastasia’s face reddened. She thrust a finger at him. “Perhaps if you—”
Tara cut in. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sorry to disrupt your meeting. Dr. Reed, I need your assistance immediately. This cannot wait.”
Anastasia stood up, collecting the papers in front of her. “Gentlemen, this meeting is over. Please inform me of your decision in writing. Good day.”
Anastasia’s assistants shot each other bewildered looks that said, I hope she knows what she’s doing, or else we’ll be looking for new jobs!
Tara led Anastasia out into the hall. “I understand you have an office here. Can we speak there? I’d like to keep this matter private.”
“Thanks for getting me out of the meeting, but what’s this about?” Anastasia said, forcing a fake smile at Peter Young as he cautiously approached the conference room.
“I have reason to believe the whale’s GPS coordinates will start broadcasting in the next few hours.”
“How do you—”
Tara held up a hand. “Please. Your office?”
Anastasia nodded to several people who gave her curious looks coming out of the meeting. She looked back at Tara. “Lab. I have a lab. Let’s go.”
Tara couldn’t see why Anastasia’s lab was called a lab and not an office. There were no racks of glassware, microscopes, centrifuges, or any of the high-tech equipment Tara associated with research laboratories. Only computers. Lots of them. In rows along the lab benches. Several graduate students looked up from LCD displays as the lab’s namesake entered with the federal agent.
A wooden door with a frosted glass window and a nameplate reading “Dr. A. Reed” led to a small office within the computer lab. Anastasia unlocked it and Tara followed her inside. One wall of the large inner-office contained the now-familiar racks of computer servers and related equipment. The other walls were lined with books. Two desks occupied the room—one with a PC and one dedicated to paperwork, cluttered with journal articles and various printouts. A few chairs were scattered about the room. Tara took one as Anastasia sat behind her desk.
“So what makes you think the GPS unit will broadcast again so soon?” Anastasia asked.
Tara told her about the Coast Guard e-mail she’d read in Trevor’s office.
Anastasia shook her head. “Doesn’t surprise me he would keep that a secret. He always wanted the tag for himself. Wanted to sell it to some third-world government where it would represent an overnight quantum leap in communications technology. Looks like he got what he deserved.”
Tara tried not to appear taken aback by such a callous remark. “As you know, the web site for Wired Kingdom is still down,” she said. “But if I’m not mistaken, your lab receives a direct GPS feed from the whale that does not depend on the web site, correct?”
Anastasia nodded. “Yes, it’s like Trevor said. Here I get the data-logger feed, including GPS coordinates, but no video. So if what you say is true, we should have the whale’s position as soon as the testing stops.”
“Right. In about”—Tara consulted her watch—“two and a half hours.”
“And what would you like to do until then?” Anastasia looked deep into Tara’s eyes. Tara wondered if she was reading more into the question than she ought to be.
“I’d like to wait right here.”
“That’s an awfully long time. Hey, my dad’s holding a charity lunch at the Beverly Hills Hotel. We could check that out for a little while and come back here.”
“Thanks for the invitation but, first of all, believe me when I tell you I'm not dressed for it, and second, getting those coordinates is critical to my investigation. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to just wait right here until I get them.” Make sure the data feed is physically secure.
“Well, there might be something we can—”
The desk phone rang. The scientist clutched the phone as a panic-stricken voice trilled on the other end. Anastasia appeared concerned at once. She threw the phone onto the desk.
“You arrested my father?”
“Anastasia—”
“You arrested my father for murder! After I assisted you for the last two days with your investtigation. And then you have the nerve to come here asking for my help?” Her voice was steadily rising in tumultuous waves. Tara recognized that on the heels of the finance committee meeting stress was mounting for the scientist.
“Anastasia, listen.”
“No, Special Agent Shores, you listen. I want you to get the hell out of my lab this instant.”
“Dr. Reed, do not address me in that fashion. I—”
“I said get out! You have no—”
A soft knock came at the door, followed by footsteps padding quickly away. Tara guessed it was a student who had decided now would not be a good time to review the latest test material.
“Tell me what you know about your father’s affair.”
“You can forget about any help from me. Get out or I’m calling security.”
“Do you think he’s innocent?”
“I know he’s innocent.”
“Then the best thing you can do for him is to help me get that video from the whale. If there is any possibility of identifying a killer other than him, then you should be every bit as eager as I am to get at it.”
Anastasia gently put the phone back in its cradle.
“Thank you. And no fooling around this time. I’ve got a Bureau underwater unit on standby to handle the extraction. All I need to do is feed them the coordinates.”
“This kind of stress could kill him, you know.”
“He’ll be okay. I’m sure he’s made bail by now.”
“He has. . . .” She drifted off, pondering something.
“You okay?” Tara asked.
“Yeah. I’m sorry I blew up at you. I was just thinking how sad this is. I mean, not the murder—I know he didn’t kill anyone—but the fact that he was cheating on my mother.”
“You had no idea?”
“No. I mean . . . not this time. Years ago he cheated. There was a time, right after I got my PhD, when I didn’t speak with either of my parents, things were so bad.”
“Why not talk with your mother?”
“I blamed her for driving him to it. For never being at home—always out shopping or on some cruise with her friends while he was at the studios making deals.”
“So you weren’t close?”
“We were always different people. Neither of my parents ever understood why I wanted to ‘toil away in a lab,’ as they put it,” she said, waving an arm toward the book-and-computer-lined office. “Especially since they have a trust fund for me and reminded me that I didn’t need to work such a demanding job. But I wanted to. It was the only thing that got me away from them—mentally, by forcing my mi
nd to deal with academics, and physically, by spending a lot of time in the field on oceanographic cruises.”
Tara nodded, sympathetic. She couldn’t help but wonder if the success she’d had in her own career was the result of filling the void left when her parents’ car had plunged into the canal in Florida so many years ago.
“So you stayed in school to avoid dealing with the reality that your parents had a less-than-perfect relationship.”
Anastasia laughed. “To avoid dealing with the reality that they had a completely dysfunctional relationship. When I defended my dissertation, my mother was on a cruise in the Greek islands. Dad was in Palm Springs with some tart who was a backup dancer on one of his stupid shows. Neither of them even knew I’d completed my PhD until about a year later when I had started teaching here at USC.”
“It seems like you’re on better terms with them today. You work with them, in a way.”
“Right. That’s what brought us back together.”
“Wired Kingdom?”
“Yeah. It allowed our two worlds to meet: my science and their Hollywood glitz.”
Tara nodded. Anastasia gestured to a pot of coffee. She offered Tara a cup and the detective surprised herself by accepting. Usually she avoided anything offered to her while in the field. But the coffee smelled great, she was tired, and there wasn’t much to do until the GPS came back online.
Then came another knock at the door. Anastasia glanced at the clock on the wall. “Office hours. I won’t be able to hold them off any longer,” she said smiling. Inwardly, Tara cringed as she recalled the conversation with the head of Anastasia’s department. “There’s a couple of hours left until the GPS is back,” the professor continued. “You’re welcome to wait here, if you don’t mind hearing me explain the basics of marine population dynamics to aspiring biologists.”
“Thanks, I think I will. I need to be the first one to see the coordinates when they become available.”
Tara took a seat at one of Anastasia’s desks and settled in to wait.
