The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale - Marc Brandel [38]
“Swam away,” Slater repeated. There was a bitter helplessness in his voice. He raised the binoculars to his eyes again.
“Where would that stupid, ungrateful animal swim to?” he demanded. “Where did he go?”
Constance glanced at the First Investigator. “What do you think, Jupe?” she asked.
“It’s just a guess.” Jupe’s mind was working fast. Fluke had at least fifteen minutes start on them now. Even at full speed Slater could never catch up with him. And Bob was alone at the cove. He might need help.
“It’s just a guess,” Jupe repeated. “But I think it’s possible Fluke returned to the cove. The place we put him back in the ocean this morning.”
“Why would he do that?” Slater was glaring suspiciously at Jupe now.
“Sort of a homing instinct,” Jupe suggested innocently. “I told you it was just a guess, Mr. Slater.”
“Mmmm –” Slater looked toward the shore. “Okay,” he decided. “You take the wheel, boy, and head back to the cove.”
He walked quickly away onto the forward deck. Jupe took the wheel from Pete. “Full speed!” Slater shouted down to him, raising his binoculars.
“Full speed it is, sir,” the First Investigator answered.
Full speed suited Jupe fine. He was just as anxious as Slater now to get back to the cove. He wanted to see if their plan had worked, if Fluke had responded to his own song and returned there with the metal case.
Because if he had, Jupe wanted to open that box and see what was inside!
Chapter 16
The Face of the Faceless Giant
TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES, Bob saw, glancing at his waterproof watch.
He had been playing Fluke’s song for twenty-five minutes now. Another five minutes and the tape would run out. He would have to rewind it and then start it again.
As he crouched there, holding the recorder underwater, he kept stamping his feet and wriggling his toes. The water was so cold he was afraid his legs would freeze solid unless he kept moving them.
He straightened slightly. Maybe it was just his imagination but it seemed to him he had seen a movement, a quick turbulence in the smooth, swelling ocean a hundred yards offshore.
There it was again. This time Bob knew he hadn’t imagined it. He was so excited he even forgot to stamp his feet as he waited, staring out to sea.
He saw the metal case first. It rose out of the water only a few feet from him. A moment later Fluke’s head broke the surface. He glided in and pressed his nose against Bob’s knees.
“Fluke. Fluke.”
Bob no longer cared how cold the sea was. He tumbled forward into it, clutching at Fluke, stroking him, hugging him.
“Fluke. You made it.”
Fluke seemed glad to see him too. He raised himself straight up, as though standing on his tail, and stared at Bob expectantly.
“I’m sorry, Fluke.” Bob switched off the recorder. “I guess we did kind of trick you.”
He wondered what the little whale had expected to find at the end of his long journey. Another whale? Or had he recognized his own voice? Had he only felt the same kind of curiosity Bob would have felt hearing his own voice played back to him?
“Never mind, Fluke,” Bob said. “I’ll take your harness off, get that metal box off your head, then I’ve got something for you.”
Constance had brought a bucket of fish to the cove with her that morning. Bob had the harness loose in a few seconds. He lifted it clear of Fluke’s head.
The metal box felt surprisingly light.
“Stay, Fluke,” Bob told him. “Stay and wait for me here. I’ll be right back with your dinner.”
He turned and waded toward the shore, holding the green metal case against his chest.
He had almost reached the dry sand when he saw the man standing there, halfway up the beach, watching him, waiting for him.
He was a tall man, wearing a Windbreaker, and the brim of his hat was tilted down over his eyes. But the thing Bob noticed first about him was the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms.
The second thing Bob noticed, as the man advanced down the beach, was that he didn’t have any face. None Bob could see anyway. It was hidden by a nylon stocking pulled down over