Марк Брендел - The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale

“Roger, Jupe. Over and out.”

Bob switched off the walkie-talkie and put it on the rock beside him.

There was no sight of Slater’s boat from the cove. He had no idea how far away it might be. But he knew from his research in the library that whales had incredibly acute hearing. They had no external ears, the way people did, only tiny pinpricks in their skin just behind their eyes.

But their internal ears were much more efficient than humans’ were. They could pick up their own sonar, the echo of their own voices, so accurately they could tell the exact size and shape of any submerged object hundreds of yards away.

They could hear one another’s greetings or calls of distress for miles underwater.

Bob shucked off his sweater and sneakers. Then he picked up the recorder in its airtight metal case and waded into the sea. He lowered the case into the water and held it there while the tape slowly unwound. Fluke’s song, the recording of his voice, was being broadcast at full volume out into the ocean.

No human ear would be able to hear it. But maybe Fluke would.

On board Slater’s boat Jupe was still standing in the stern. He slipped his walkie-talkie quickly back into the locker.

Twenty yards away Fluke and Constance were floating side by side. Slater was still shouting at her to bring the box on board.

Jupe raised his hand in the signal he had arranged with Constance. It meant he had managed to get through to Bob at the cove.

Constance waved back. She had understood. She patted Fluke’s head and they dived together.

Slater straightened from the rail. “What’s going on?” he yelled. He hurried to the cockpit and pushed Pete away from the wheel. Gripping it himself, he swung the bow around until he was headed for the spot where Fluke and Constance had disappeared.

He was almost there when Constance bobbed up. Slater brought the boat to a stop beside her and gave the wheel back to Pete.

“Hold her right here,” he ordered as he ran back to the rail.

“Where’s that box?” he shouted down to Constance.

She didn’t answer. She was holding the searchlight and the camera in one hand. She gripped the rail with the other and swung herself on board.

“Where’s that whale?”

Constance still didn’t answer. She took off her mask and slipped the air tank off her back.

“Where is it?” Slater was peering over the side. “Where is it? Where did it go?”

Constance shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Slater.”

“What do you mean?” Slater turned to Jupe. “Give me those binoculars.” Jupe handed them over. Slater raised them to his eyes, searching the ocean around him.

There was no sign of Fluke. Wherever he was, wherever he was heading, he was swimming underwater.

“Whales can be funny that way,” Constance explained. Slater had his back to her. She glanced at Jupe and winked. “They’re so friendly and then, I don’t know, they get a sudden yen to be free and they just go off and leave you without even saying goodbye.”

Slater lowered the binoculars. “He’s got my box!” he shouted. “You tied it to his head.” He glared suspiciously at Constance. “Why did you do that?”

Constance shrugged again. “I had to,” she said. “It was the only way I could get it to the surface. You must admit Fluke did a wonderful job. He swam right down into that cabin and under the bunk. He had the clothes hanger in his mouth and he managed to slip the hook under the handle of the box. He pulled it out of the cabin. Then I hauled in the line and brought the box up —”

“Why didn’t you bring it to the boat?”

“Please don’t interrupt me, Mr. Slater. I was a long way down. There was no way I could swim to the surface with that great heavy metal case containing all those —”

“It wasn’t so heavy. It was —”

“I asked you not to interrupt me, Mr. Slater.” Constance was looking down at him with her clenched hands on her hips. “The only way I could possibly manage to get that heavy metal case with all those calculators in it back to the boat was to take the camera off Fluke’s head and tie the box to his harness instead.”

She picked up the towel that was hanging over the rail and began to dry her dark, feathery hair with it.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Slater,” she went on. “But it’s just as bad for me. Half those calculators belong to my father. I lost as much as you did when Fluke swam away.”

“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!

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.”