Crooked River

30

Gladstone had been surprised when Agent Pendergast dropped by the lab unannounced, with an official partner no less. At least this new guy looked like an FBI agent. Pendergast had introduced them with the sort of formality reserved for a duke and duchess, and now they had all crowded into her cramped lab, watching while Lam ran the latest simulation. They had already racked up close to nine grand in computing time on the Q machine, but Pendergast hadn’t batted an eye when he heard the figure.

When the simulation was finished, Gladstone explained its failure. “The only conclusion we can draw is that there’s a gap in our data.”

“What sort of gap?” Pendergast asked.

“I wish I knew. We’re missing an input. To figure out what it is, I’d like to do what we call a ‘rubber ducky’ test in the area where we have the thinnest data sets.”

“Which is?”

“The northern part of the Florida Gulf Coast. We drop about twenty-five floating buoys, each fitted with a small GPS transmitter and battery, in calculated locations, and then track them. I think with that data we could plug the gap.”

“Very good.” Pendergast seemed unfazed, but Agent Coldmoon was giving her the hairy eyeball.

“Rubber ducky?” he asked, his voice laden with skepticism.

Lam burst into a cackle of laughter, abruptly silenced by a glare from Gladstone.

“It’s just our term for floating sensor buoys. They’re yellow. The cost is a hundred dollars per buoy, plus fuel for the boat. We’ve already got the buoys — we keep a stock on hand — and I’d like to drop them tomorrow. Wallace has determined the locations necessary to maximize our data collection. Wallace? Please show Agent Pendergast what I’m talking about.”

Lam tapped away on a keyboard and a chart of the Gulf Coast popped up. “There are eddies and currents all through here,” he said, “especially at the mouths of rivers and inlets. That’s where we lack high-resolution data. So we drop them in a line here, another line here, and then here. Here, too. Oh... and here.” He smiled, immensely pleased with himself. “Five locations, five buoys.”

She glanced over at the agent named Coldmoon, who was peering at the dotted lines on the screen. “Any questions?”

Coldmoon shook his head. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“I really believe this will fill in the missing pieces,” said Gladstone, trying to muster as much confidence as she could. “Anyway,” she went on hastily, “we’ll be doing the buoy drop tomorrow. No reason to delay.”

“I should like to join you,” said Pendergast, “if it isn’t too much trouble.”

This brought Gladstone up short. She didn’t like having landlubbers on her boat. They were always underfoot, never knew what to do, and they tended to ask a lot of dumb questions and then puke everywhere. But she could hardly say no. “If you wish. We leave early — like at five AM. It’s going to be a long day. And the forecast is for a rough sea.”

The briefest of pauses before Pendergast answered. “That will not be a problem.”

“Well, okay. But wear foul weather gear. And bring Dramamine.”

She heard Pendergast’s phone vibrate. He extracted it from his pocket and, excusing himself, stepped outside. She could hear his low voice speaking beyond the door.

“Agent Coldmoon, will you be coming, too?” she asked.

He backed away, a look of horror on his face. “No, thanks. Boats, water, and me, we don’t get along. I grew up two thousand miles from the ocean.”

She felt relieved. The only thing worse than a guy puking off the starboard rail was another one puking off the port rail.

Pendergast returned to the lab after his call. Coldmoon was surprised at the transformation: his face was full of eagerness. He bowed to the oceanographer, saying he would see her at the dock at five the next morning, and they left.

Pendergast walked swiftly away, Coldmoon struggling to keep up. “The M.E. was able to identify one of the victims,” he said, “or at least narrow it down to two people.”

“As in, identify by name?”

“Yes. A foot was shown to belong to one of two sisters: either Ramona Osorio Ixquiac, thirty-five years old, or her sister, Martina, thirty-three. Both were born in San Miguel — the same Guatemalan town that toe ring came from.”

“How in the world did they identify her?”

“Through a commercial genealogy website. The Ixquiac extended family has several relatives in the U.S. whose DNA is on record at a genetic testing database. Using the same techniques used to identify murderers in cold cases, Crossley was able to match the foot as belonging to one of two sisters. A brilliant piece of work.”

“The sisters — where are they now? Did they disappear?”

Pendergast continued through the relentless heat at his breakneck pace. “All we know is they were born in San Miguel — and we have one of their feet. We know nothing in between those two facts. You’ll be able to find out a great deal more when you’re actually in San Miguel.”

“Wait,” Coldmoon said, halting. “When I’m in San Miguel? What are you talking about?”

“You leave tomorrow morning.”

“Hold on here. I came to the Suncoast to work on this case with you. Not to go to Guatemala. No way — no way in hell!”

“According to your FBI jacket, you’re the ideal choice. You speak Spanish fluently. You’ve been to Guatemala before, and you’ve traveled all over Central America. You’re Native American.”

“Yeah. Lakota, not Mayan! Or do all Indians look alike to you?”

“I must admit, you don’t look Mayan.”

“No. Or like Pancho Villa.” Coldmoon paused. “Wait a minute. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“I assure you, I—”

“Now it makes sense. Sooner or later in this investigation, somebody was going to have to go undercover in Central America — and when you realized that, my name just popped into your head. Like magic.”

“Agent Coldmoon, you wrong me! The feet we’re investigating are here, not in Guatemala. But the DNA evidence, the toe ring, and now the actual name — there are just too many commonalities for us to ignore.”

Coldmoon didn’t answer.

“I’d take your place if I could. But consider how I would stand out. You’re the logical one for this minor divagation.” He paused, and a faint smile appeared. “Or would you rather come out on the boat with me?”

Coldmoon swallowed. Yesterday’s taste of the high seas had been enough — more than enough.

Pendergast uncharacteristically placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, partner. This is much appreciated.”