Марк Брендел - The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale

He was free again. Free in his own world.

“Stay, Fluke. Stay, baby,” Constance called to him.

He obeyed her at once. He turned quickly in his own length and swam back to where she stood waist deep in the water. He nuzzled against her and she stroked his head.

“Okay,” she said to her Mexican friend. “Muchas gracias.”

The Mexican smiled and climbed back into his tow truck. “Buena suerte,” he called as he drove away.

“Ready to go?” Constance asked the Three Investigators. She looked out to sea. A hundred yards off-shore Oscar Slater’s outboard cabin cruiser was waiting for them.

“Bring the tape recorder with you, Jupe,” Constance told him. “I don’t think we’ll need it. Fluke won’t stray away from me, will you, Fluke? But I think we’d better have it with us, just in case.”

“Constance.”

Jupe advanced into the water until he stood beside her. The other two Investigators joined him.

“What is it, Jupe?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Jupe told her. “And I think Bob better stay here with the tape recorder.”

“Why?”

Jupe told her why. He explained it was possible that Oscar Slater had managed to smuggle that cargo of pocket calculators ashore in Mexico. “And if he did,” he finished, “he might want to cut you out of your share of whatever there is aboard that wreck. He might try to kidnap Fluke. Bob can be our insurance.”

Constance listened attentively. “You certain about the dates?” she asked.

“Positive,” Jupe assured her. “We had a friend check it out with the Mexican immigration officials. The boat put in to La Paz all right.”

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 closedcircuit 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 n 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 where she was, leaning over the rail and talking to Fluke as he swam playfully along beside the boat, sometimes leaping and diving in long, graceful arcs.

“The Coast Guard guys who rescued us told me we were five miles offshore when they picked us up,” Slater said.

Jupe glanced at Pete. There were some sensible questions he wanted to ask, but in his role of dummy he preferred that Pete ask them.

“How long?” Jupe mouthed silently.

Pete understood him at once. “How long had you been in the water?” he asked Slater.

“At least two hours.”

“Tide?” Jupe mouthed.

“Was the tide coming in or going out?” Pete asked.

“It was getting dark,” Slater remembered. “And the waves were so high it was hard to see anything. But I did get an occasional glimpse of the shoreline, and it seemed to be getting farther and farther away no matter how hard we tried to swim toward it. So I guess the tide was going out.”

Two hours, Jupiter calculated silently. He recalled the night of the storm. The gale had come up from the northwest. The wind would have carried them parallel to the shore, so he could forget that factor in his calculations. Handicapped by their life jackets, Captain Carmel and Oscar Slater would have been capable of little resistance against the tide. Jupe figured it would have carried them around two miles out to sea in two hours.

He eased over to Pete and whispered to him.

“I’d say the boat must have gone down about three miles offshore,” Pete told Slater.

“How do you figure that?”

“The wind and everything,” Pete explained vaguely.

“Maybe. Your guess is as good as mine.” Slater glanced at his watch and made some calculations of his own. He slackened speed.

“We must be about three miles out now,” he said after a minute. He turned to Constance. “How about getting that mammal harnessed up and we’ll search up and down the line we’re on now.”