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  This time was different. This time the action he was to investigate had occurred less than twenty-four hours before, and from even the most unimaginative viewpoint the event certainly fitted the designation ‘unusual’.

  Somebody must have been on vacation, leaving decisions to untrained minions, or I would never have gotten this ‘plum’ to investigate! Ed smiled at the thought of the reprimand the junior official would receive when the director returned. Perhaps he’s lying on the beach just a few miles from here. He thought over what he had been briefed on his latest assignment. Apparently, the cruiser he was going to examine belonged to Terrance Stadt, the young multi-millionaire industrialist. That alone would have made it worth the visit.

  How the ultra-rich relax on their very occasional days off. Ed smiled wryly to himself, running his hand absentmindedly over his shiny hair.

  However, there was more to it than that. Stadt had been out fishing with his old school-friends, Professor Isaac Hardy and his wife, Ruth Hardy. Ed’s briefing notes had also informed him that Professor Hardy’s work in nuclear physics was highly acclaimed, and that his importance to the U.S. involvement in fusion research was impossible to overstate.

  Still, the notion of him being abducted by a foreign power seemed like a story from an out-dated nineteen-fifties spy novel. Yet that was exactly what the notes seemed to suggest had happened.

  Baynes came back to the present with a start, as the venerable Yamaha engines slowed to idling speed and the launch executed a slow turn to starboard. The vibrations increased again momentarily as the engines were thrown into reverse to lose the remaining forward speed. He walked the short distance to the port side and looked at the beautiful luxury cruiser floating just a few feet away. Huge black flotation devices with bright yellow stripes were attached to the sides like gigantic leeches or aquatic bumble bees, but the Getaway still sat a little low in the water. About a hundred yards further off to port, the sleek black USS Chicago skulked like a lazy alligator, floating low in the glassy water, the bulk of its almost seven thousand tons hidden quite thoroughly beneath the gentle swell. Ed’s gaze returned to the cruiser, and his hands tensed on the rail as he noticed that the rear end of the superstructure had been crushed downwards several feet, and pieces of fibreglass were sticking out sideways.

  I thought the report said she had been holed by a high-velocity projectile that had passed straight through without exploding; there was no mention of any collision with another vessel! Ed relaxed his grip with an effort as he noticed the manifestation of his annoyance at the incomplete briefing notes.

  “Ah, detective Williams,” Baynes began, as the policeman stepped away from the console, having left the Yamaha outboards ticking over. “What’s the latest estimate of my expert investigator’s arrival time?”

  “I understood that ‘Miz’ Brisson was to be dropped by Coast Guard helicopter, sir. She should be here … any moment now,” he concluded, a little smugly, as the ‘chop-chop’ sound of an approaching rotary-wing aircraft became audible.

  So that’s what it takes to make a good detective. Ed turned away to hide his sarcastic smile.

  Within a couple of minutes the Sikorsky Jayhawk helicopter swung into view from the other side of the launch and did a complete circuit of the stricken cruiser, with a figure in a black wetsuit dangling on the end of a line, just a few feet above the stricken craft. Moments later, her aerial survey complete, Judy Brisson, Ed’s observation expert, disconnected herself from the cable and dropped feet-first into the brilliant blue. She waved to the aircraft overhead, and put on her facemask.

  Someone waved from the side of the red and white helicopter, and it swung away. A few moments later, the air around the launch settled back into its motionless state, and the comparative murmur of the launch’s engines could be heard once more. Judy ducked under, and a small trail of bubbles showed her vectoring towards the wounded pleasure-cruiser.

  Baynes leaned over the side, his hands on the rail tightening again as he found himself wondering how long she could hold her breath. His concern was alleviated abruptly as Brisson popped up, almost directly in front of him. There was a small series of rungs on the outside of the Contender, and Judy climbed up crisply – Ed backed away to give her room, and she jumped down and nodded crisply to him, water pooling all around as she pulled off her facemask.

  Baynes couldn’t help noticing how good she looked in a wetsuit.

  “The hole is about ten inches in diameter and appears to angle slightly towards the bow, sir,” she began without any preamble. “The lower end is just as sharply defined as the top seemed to be – though I’d like to take a closer look at the top when we board her.”

  “That’s interesting, Judy. Thank you for responding to my communication so promptly.” Ed winced as he realised that he had used her first name, something that she usually interpreted as a kind of put-down to her ‘official ego’. Fortunately she seemed to have missed the first part of his comments as she brushed back her short hair to keep the water from running down her face.

  “You said it was urgent, sir.” She tilted her head back slightly so she could regard him directly. Her blue eyes fairly blazed with reflected light, adding colour to her usually insipid appearance. She slipped her facemask over her left hand and lodged it just above her elbow. “There’s some damage to the superstructure also, but I don’t think it’s due to conventional weapons, more likely a simple collision, sir.”

  Baynes nodded and was about to make a complimentary comment.

  “We can run a gang-plank across to her now, sir,” detective Williams interrupted, as the two craft drifted almost unperceptively together. His skill with navigating the old Contender was beyond question, however, the inherent professionalism was spoiled by his exaggerated ‘know-it-all’ expression, and re-emphasised by his bored-looking brown eyes. “Our boys have already been over the vessel for finger-prints. Discounting those of Mister Stadt and his guests, they found one other print. It’s of a gloved hand. Two of the fingers are quite clear, I understand. Sergeant Friesch, on the Getaway, has some copies for you.”

  As if to confirm his statement, a burly police officer, with short blond hair that was thinning on top, climbed up onto the near side of the cruiser and took the end of the plank as it was swung over towards him by the detective.

  Ed and Judy walked over, looking down at the huge balloon-like rubber bags that effectively separated the two craft. Ed marvelled again at the calmness of the ocean.

  “Mister Baynes, I’m Art Friesch.” The sergeant smiled easily at NUIT’s chief-of-staff and stepped onto the wider section of decking at the stern of the Getaway.

  “I’m glad to meet you. This is Judy Brisson, my observations officer.”

  Judy nodded to the sergeant and took the prints that he gave her as they congregated on the burnished surface. She reached down to a hitherto unnoticed pocket in the right leg of her wet suit, and pulled out her glasses. They were speckled with water, but she put them on anyway, and took a closer look at the prints.

  Worth observing! Friesch smiled more broadly as he took in her appearance, still glistening and sparkling a little with seawater as the powerful Florida sun found the last remaining droplets. “I reckon you could probably trace the manufacturer of those gloves, very unusual, probably unique, I’d say, Judy.” He stepped closer to her, ignoring Baynes completely.

  “In what way, Sergeant?” Judy asked, her expression stony as his ‘come-on’ hit her like a bucket of cold water.

  “Well, the surface has been very finely ribbed, as if the glove were intended for very intricate work.” Sergeant Friesch leaned over her shoulder and made a show of pointing out the features on the paper that she now held. “The patterns are very complex, almost artistic. In fact, if this supplier gets going, Judy, I think we could be in for a very difficult time soon.” He stopped and looked at her face, his arrogance demonstrated by the way he expected her to respond.

  She finally looked up into his pale
blue eyes, a slightly puzzled expression on her face as she tried to separate his verbal comments from his body language.

  Ed realised that the sergeant was enjoying the attention given him by Judy, and was dragging out the conversation deliberately.

  “Just what are you getting at, Art?” he said a little brusquely.

  “I mean that convincing fake, or even worse, bogus finger-prints could be applied to such gloves,” Friesch explained simply, without moving from the position he had manoeuvred himself into.

  “Could you show me where you lifted these from, sergeant?” Judy asked, after a glance to make sure that Ed had finished his line of questioning.

  “Sure thing, Judy.” He put his hand on her shoulder casually and led her inside the cabin.

  Baynes followed the two of them as they entered the cruiser, wondering exactly how Judy would handle this man’s rather blatant advances. Very soon he’s going to wish he hadn’t started this, if I’m not mistaken.

  “The water level was up to the bottom of these steps when the navy divers attached the flotation bags. She would have been long gone if the original owner hadn’t had her built with extra safety features, like multiple buoyancy compartments.” Art pointed down into the lower level, his hand still resting on her shoulder, his eyes checking out her neckline, where he noticed perspiration as the stuffy interior of the now powerless Getaway started to affect her, dressed as she was in a restrictive rubber wetsuit. “This panel here was where I found the prints.” He pointed to a section of wall next to the companionway. “I reckon the abductor must have leaned on here as he climbed down.”

  Judy looked at the location and eyed the stairs. She stepped down a couple, managing to separate herself from physical contact with him and leaned forwards, reaching up as far as she could. Her hand touched the wall about three feet below the point that Art had indicated. “How on earth did you lift the print, anyway?” she asked over her shoulder with some doubt evident in her voice.

  “I had to remove the top cover, there, and approach it from above, in the upper cabin,” Art explained as he watched her stretch.

  “But the prints were deposited from below?”

  Friesch nodded and gave her his broad smile again. “Yep, the cover was locked in place when we arrived, and the fingers were pressed against the wall with the tips upper-most.”

  “With respect, sergeant, the abductor would need to have arms like an orang-utan to achieve that,” she said sarcastically as she turned and climbed back up the steep stairs and walked rapidly past him.

  “Brisson, look at this hole,” Ed struggled to stop his amusement from showing. I could have told him that would happen. He pointed at the cabin roof, where daylight streamed in, to divert the conversation. He reminded himself cheerfully that he had not employed her for her tact. “The edges are sharp and perfectly circular.”

  “Sir,” Judy replied after a moment’s thought. “The hole is very precise, and looks to be exactly the same diameter at either end.”

  Baynes nodded, sure that she was correct in her assessment, as his confidence in her powers of observation was to all intents and purposes, boundless.

  “The way I see it, the damage could not have been caused by a projectile. This was done by laser power. Incredibly high power, too. See?” She brought his attention to some materials now hanging out the overhead orifice. “The insulation isn’t even singed. Another thing, the U.S. of A doesn’t have a laser like that, not one that could drill a hole ten inches wide. We don’t even have one that could drill a hole like that three tenths of an inch wide, not to mention the distance...”

  Ed looked down the hole in the floor into the water, some three feet below them. “Would you like to see the hole in the lower cabin, too? Though I imagine it is just the same.”

  Judy shook her head. “I can’t see how the diameter would be different in the middle, now that I’ve seen both ends.”

  “The Navy divers said it was about the same size, too, sir.” Art confirmed, as he finished slinking up to Judy again, still enjoying a fairly unrestricted view of Brisson’s figure, though he was the standing a little further back now he had been warned off by Judy’s bark.

  “Interesting.” Baynes glanced across the room and spotted the communication system. “Nice radio! Brisson, contact Fraser. I want to know if he has detected any unusual radio signals, or any interesting radar images,” Baynes said casually to Judy, using their standard expressions for Unidentified Flying Objects.

  Brisson’s eyes widened slightly, but she stepped over to the radio without comment.

  “I’m afraid the radio is dead. All the controls appear to be jammed,” Friesch apologised, starting to move closer once more as he noticed a trickle of perspiration run down the side of Judy’s face. “I know because we were going to use it to contact our headquarters; it’s more powerful than the old one in this police launch.”

  Judy produced a screwdriver from a pocket in the left leg of her wetsuit and started to take the front panel off. She ran the back of her hand across her forehead and sat down on the captain’s chair so that sergeant Friesch was behind her.

  “So sergeant,” Ed began, leading the policeman away from the radio, the other navigation instruments, and Judy. “Was there any evidence of a struggle?” He opened the door and stepped back onto the deck, holding the door for Art.

  “No, sir. There were some drinks on that table; the glasses were about half-full, and an ice tray from the refrigerator was in the sink downstairs. The ice cubes had only partly melted when the Navy types arrived.” Friesch followed him through. “The first aid kit was missing, though.” He glanced back at the door with regret. “Oh, and a sterilised bandage, still in its wrapper, was about half-way down the stairs. That was it.”

  “Thank you.” Baynes paused in thought for a moment, staring at the peaceful horizon.

  “Message for Mister Baynes from Commander Steele of the USS Chicago.” Williams’ voice called from the launch. Ed walked back across the gangway.

  “He wants you to go over to the sub, sir. Something to do with division of responsibilities,” Detective Williams explained.

  Ed nodded, then crossed back over and went inside to look at Judy’s handiwork. She had the top panel off, and a mass of fused metal and plastic parts could be seen underneath it. Art was leaning against the panelling, watching her while he pretended to be interested in the circuit boards. Ed groaned inwardly.

  “It’s just a mass of junk now, sir.” Judy’s short hair was by now plastered against her head. She ignored the sergeant completely, continuing her work on one component, which she finally managed to prize off the circuit board and pocket for later evaluation. “It will never work again.”

  Ed nodded. “Brisson, we’re going over to the sub.”

  Judy jumped up and slipped the screwdriver back into the small compartment in the leg of her wet suit.

  “Yes-sir!” She followed him over to the launch, clearly pleased to be out of the over-heated interior of the cruiser, and not just because of the temperature. “I believe the abductors also had some kind of anti-radio beam-weapon that they used to destroy that radio, remotely,” she advised Ed once she was sure that Art Friesch was staying on the Getaway. “I’m not sure how that could be done, but I noticed that the unit had been turned on, and that there was a burn mark on the control panel suggestive of a hand placed against the channel selector. I concluded that the operator was attempting to tune into the emergency band and signal for help, when the unit was disabled. That would also explain the sterile dressing on the stair and possibly the missing first-aid kit.”

  Baynes absorbed this latest bit of information silently, impressed as always by Judy’s ability to detect what had happened from the smallest of clues. It seemed that this was no ordinary kidnapping. He tapped Williams on the shoulder. “Do us a favour and go around the Getaway once before we get to the Chicago, will you?”

  The detective nodded, and Ed leaned over the side, glancin
g back at Judy occasionally as they glided past the cruiser. He grinned again when he noticed her eyes widen as the damage to the superstructure became more viewable. Looks different from the side, doesn’t it? Kind of like someone hit it from above with a hammer. A hammer the size of a bus.

  “Do you want me to take a look at the hull from below, sir?” Judy inquired, leaning over beside him, “I could check for structural damage like that at the back of the cabin. Perhaps this was a pincer effect.”

  “Let’s just wait and see what the Commander has to say first.” Baynes leaned closer. “I don’t think it has anything to do with ‘responsibilities’;” he lowered his voice still further, “more likely something he doesn’t want to reveal to the local police.”

  An inflatable navy dingy awaited them some fifty feet from the submarine, so Ed and Judy dutifully transferred to it, sitting down in the middle section while a brawny sailor with tattoos on his arms leaned back and regarded them in silence as he operated the electric outboard motor. He rammed the dingy against the submarine, causing it to ride up over the deck and jam there.

  “Excuse me sir, I need to cool off.” Judy indicated her intentions, and, having seen that Ed had no objections, she slipped her facemask back on, rolled back over the side of the dingy and disappeared under the water.

  The submariner watched, mildly surprised, then grinned when he saw her reappear a few feet down and heave herself onto the deck. Baynes jumped out, thanking the sailor briefly, and headed to the sail as the brawny man had indicated they should. While Baynes started climbing up the small steel rungs on the outside of the sail, Judy slipped the facemask back up her arm and ran her fingers through her short, straight brown hair, removing most of the water and leaving it looking spiky.

  A tall officer with short blonde hair greeted Ed from his position on the port side as the chief of NUIT reached the top of the ladder.

  “I’m Commander Steele, acting captain of the Chicago, and this is Ensign Spackman, who was on the bridge at the time.” He indicated the stocky young man next to him who nodded his subdued greeting. He did not introduce the two look-outs who were perched as far away from the impromptu conference room as space allowed. Both of these submariners ceaselessly scanned the sky to port and starboard. “Welcome aboard, Mister Baynes.”