The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale - Marc Brandel [30]
Constance thought it all over for a minute.
“Okay.” She pushed the scuba goggles up over her eyes. “I guess Fluke and Pete and I can handle the diving without Bob. Come on, Fluke.”
She turned and swam quickly out to sea. Fluke swam beside her. Jupe followed more slowly. Pete walked back to the beach and picked up a small sealed plastic bag Jupe had brought with him to the cove that morning. Pete turned his back while Bob fastened it with a cord to the rear waistband of his swimming trunks. Inside the bag was a walkie-talkie.
“Think you can swim with it okay?” Bob asked.
“Sure. It feels pretty heavy now, but it won’t weigh me down once I get in the water.”
Bob watched his friend wade out into the sea. Pete was right. Once the water was above his waist, the plastic bag with the walkie-talkie in it floated up from him. Pete launched himself forward, breaking into a strong breaststroke. He soon caught up with Jupe.
Bob walked back up the beach. He picked up the airtight metal case with the recorder inside it, then, unrolling the sweater he had strapped to his bicycle, he took out a second walkie-talkie.
He pulled out the antenna and switched it on to Receive.
He found a dry rock, put on the sweater, and sat down, holding the walkie-talkie on his lap. The recorder in its metal case was on the rock beside him. Looking out, he could see that Constance and Fluke had already reached Slater’s boat.
“Welcome aboard,” Slater said, holding out his hand to help Constance climb in.
She paid no attention to him. “Stay, Fluke,” she said. “Good Fluke, you stay here.” She raised her hands to the low wooden rail and with a single easy movement swung herself on board.
With rather more effort, Jupe climbed in after her. Pete was floating on his back a few yards away.
“Can we just check the equipment, Mr. Slater?” Jupe asked.
“Sure.” Slater led him into the cockpit and showed him the small closed-circuit television camera. Jupe examined it and then looked at the monitor screen fastened to the bulkhead above the wheel.
“Are you sure the camera will work underwater?” he asked.
“Of course it will. Constance borrowed it from Ocean World. They use it all the time there.” He pronounced it “they–er.”
“You got any more stupid questions, boy?”
Jupe was ready with as many more stupid questions as he needed to give Pete time to get aboard, unfasten the plastic bag from his waist, and hide the walkie-talkie in the locker at the stern without Slater seeing him. Jupe was an accomplished actor when it suited him, and one of his best roles was playing dumb.
“I was just wondering about the range underwater,” he said. “How close will Fluke have to stay to the boat?”
“It’ll be okay up to fifty yards.” Slater’s bald head seemed to be gleaming with annoyance. “Didn’t Constance explain all that to you?”
“Yes, I guess she did. But with the searchlight she’s going to attach to Fluke’s head –”
He didn’t need to go on. Pete was standing on the afterdeck. He ran his hand through his wet hair. It was the signal they had arranged. The plastic bag was safely stowed away.
“Oh, I see, yeah, that’s a pretty powerful light,” Jupe finished.
“Then let’s get on with it,” Slater walked back on deck. Constance was leaning over the side, talking to Fluke in a friendly, reassuring voice.
“Where’s that other kid?” Slater asked her. “I thought there were three of them.”
“Bob’s got a bad cold,” Pete explained. “We left him at the cove. We thought –”
“Okay.” Slater unhitched the line that was holding the wheel on center and put his hand on the throttle of the outboard motor. “How fast can that fish swim?” he asked Constance.
“He’s not a fish,” Constance told him coldly. “Fluke’s a highly intelligent and civilized mammal. And he can swim at least fifteen miles an hour when he feels like it. But I’d sooner you kept the speed down to eight knots. I don’t want him to tire himself.”
“Whatever you say.” Slater eased the throttle forward and steered out to sea. Constance stayed