“That's good to know,” the captain said.
He jumped on the cutter and motored away. I stood on the dock and watched, the sound of the cutter's engines reverberating across the marina.
“What do we do now?” I asked Linderman.
“We wait,” Linderman said.
“I'm not good at waiting,” I said.
Linderman slapped me on the back. He reminded me of a Little League coach I'd had who liked to slap his players on the back when the team was getting trounced.
“Keep the faith, Jack,” he said.
We walked down the dock to Tugboat Louie's bar. On the way, I counted the steps. There were exactly 120. It was a number I would never forget: 120 steps from my office was the boat used to dispose of the women I'd spent six months looking for.
God was cruel.
“I need some coffee,” Linderman said.
We went inside the bar. The cops' presence had cleared the place out, and Robert Palmer's “Addicted to Love” blasted the empty room. We took a pair of stools and waited to be served. My sense of helplessness would not go away. I needed to do something, or I would start pulling my hair out and make everyone around me crazy.
Buster sat by my feet. He was panting, and I scratched behind his ears. I'd read that this calmed dogs down and wondered if it would have the same effect on me. Right now, I was willing to give just about anything a try.
“Jack, Jack!” a familiar voice rang out.
I lifted my eyes. Kumar stood at the bottom of the stairwell behind the bar, motioning excitedly to me.
“What's up?” I asked.
“I have figured out where they are taking the lady,” Kumar said.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The scrape of my stool was enough to make Buster jump.
“You did? How?”
“I used a nautical chart,” Kumar said. “Come upstairs, and I'll show you.”
We followed Kumar upstairs to his office. A large nautical chart hung on the wall behind his desk. It was for boaters and showed the shoreline, minimum and maximum water depths, and aids and hazards to navigation for Broward County. Grabbing a pencil, Kumar began drawing lines on the chart.
“Here is what I'm thinking,” Kumar said. “The engine on Perez's boat is less than a hundred horsepower, and not very strong. Even in calm seas, he can't go far without fear of capsizing. More than likely, he'll stay close to the shoreline to dump the lady. He'll probably pick a deep area that can be found on a fisherman's map, or a chart like this one.”
“Do fish like deep areas?” Linderman asked.
“Oh, yes,” Kumar said. “They are safe places for them to breed.”
Kumar drew three lines across the nautical chart. Each started at his marina and went down the canal to the ocean. Reaching the ocean, the lines veered off in different directions. One went north, one south, and one due east. None went very far.
As I stared at the lines my heart began to race. The line going south ended at a spot in the ocean that I knew better than any fisherman in the state. North Dania Beach, within spitting distance of the Sunset. Had I not been so damn tired, I would have guessed it before now.
Perez and Skell were going to dump Melinda in the waters where I swam every day.
Linderman burned down Dania Beach Boulevard and practically flew over the bridge. He pulled into the Sunset with a squeal of brakes, and I jumped out with my dog.
“I'll be right back,” I said.
I ran to my room and changed into bathing trunks. Then I tossed my Colt and a pair of binoculars into my snorkeling bag and headed for the door. Buster had climbed onto my bed and passed out.
I hurried downstairs. Entering the bar, I caught Sonny and the Seven Dwarfs in a rare moment of sobriety. They were slurping coffee and eating doughnuts, and they stared at me as if I was a ghost.
“Where the hell you been?” Sonny asked.
“Road trip. Why?”
“We were worried about you, man.”
This crew didn't worry about anything. Then it dawned on me what Sonny was saying. He and the Dwarfs were worried that I'd done something to myself.
“I'm fine,” I said. “Look, I need your help.”
Whitey jumped off his stool and saluted me.
“Help's my middle name, captain.”
I pulled the binoculars from the bag and tossed them to him.
“Go to the window, and look due north for a Boston Whaler hugging the shoreline. There will be two guys in the boat. One is Hispanic and is in a lot of pain. The other is about my size and has surfer-white blond hair. There's also a beautiful blonde with them who's either doped up or unconscious.”
Whitey went to the window and lifted the binoculars to his face.
“What are they up to?” he asked.
“They're going to throw the woman over,” I added.
“Oh, my Lord,” Whitey said.
I found Linderman standing by the shoreline, talking to the captain of the FBI cutter on his cell. I heard him tell the captain to bring his cutter to the northern tip of Dania Beach. Fitting on my mask and flippers, I threw my bag over my shoulder and waded in.
“Where do you think you're going?” Linderman asked, finishing his call.
“Out there,” I said.
“Don't do it, Jack. If Perez shows, you'll be a sitting duck.”
A wave broke over my legs, and I felt the ocean's unmistakable pull.
“I've got a gun in my bag,” I said.
“Ever try shooting while treading water? It doesn't work.”
I stared out helplessly at the ocean.
“I can't just stand here.”
“Jack, I've had enough of your bullshit,” Linderman said. “I'm ordering you to stay here with me. If you disobey me, I'm going to jump in and drag your ass out of the water. Am I making myself clear?”
I have a way of getting on people's nerves that pushes them to the breaking point. I'd reached that juncture with Linderman, and I reluctantly tossed my bag on the shoreline. Then I plopped down in the sand. Thirty seconds later, Whitey appeared in the bar's open doorway, flailing his arms.
“I saw the boat,” Whitey yelled. “I saw the boat!”
I stood up in my spot.
“Are you sure?” I called back.
“Positive, captain. It's coming from due north and has two men in it. There's another boat chasing it.”
I said to hell with Linderman and dove into the water.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
