Gladstone watched as the green blur of the boat on her radar merged with the GPS location being broadcast by one of the buoys. She throttled back down and grabbed the mike. “Unknown vessel, unknown vessel picking up our buoy, this is Leucothea, over.”
Still no answer.
“Unknown vessel, this is Leucothea, get your hands off our gear or we’re reporting you to the Coast Guard.”
Still no answer. But now the boat was moving toward the second buoy in the drop.
“Coast Guard, Coast Guard, this is R/V Leucothea, over.”
She waited. No response. “Coast Guard, Coast Guard, this is R/V Leucothea, position 26.68 north, 82.34 west, please respond, over.”
This was crazy. The Coast Guard monitored channel 16 twenty-four/seven and had surely picked up her call. Why the hell weren’t they answering? She checked to see if there was a problem with the radio and confirmed it was indeed broadcasting at twenty-five watts.
“The boat’s picked up two buoys,” Lam said. “And now…looks like it’s accelerating toward us.”
Gladstone stared at the radar. Lam was right: the boat was really coming at them, now moving close to thirty knots. She looked at Pendergast. “I’ve never had anything like this happen before. I can’t outrun that sucker.”
Pendergast said, “Allow the boat to approach us.”
“But they might be dangerous—drug dealers or criminals. I can’t understand why the Coast Guard isn’t responding to our call.”
“Perhaps because that boat is the Coast Guard.”
“What? Why the hell would they interfere with my work? I’ve got permits up the wazoo!”
“If I were you, I would have those permits at the ready.”
Gladstone waited. She kept the throttle down, the Leucothea making only enough headway to keep her bow to the seas. As the green dot approached, she began to hear the distant throb of an engine, and then the vessel’s shape materialized out of the mist and drizzle—the unmistakable form of an RB-M Coast Guard patrol boat, with a Day-Glo orange hull and a 50-caliber machine gun mounted in the front.
“Christ, it is the Coast Guard!” She pulled down the mike again. “Hey, Coast Guard patrol, this is Leucothea. What’s the matter—you guys deaf? Over.”
The vessel slowed about a hundred feet out and a loudspeaker blared. “We are drawing alongside. We are drawing alongside. Bring your vessel to a halt and prepare for boarding.”
Gladstone yelled into the mike. “Coast Guard, in case you haven’t noticed, the sea is a little rough for coming alongside, over.”
Finally a voice came over the VHF. “Leucothea, this is Coast Guard RB-M 5794. Move to channel nine, over.”
Gladstone furiously punched in the channel. “Hey, what the hell are you guys doing, picking up my buoys? I’m a research vessel! And this is no sea for a safe boarding!”
“Repeat: we are coming along your port side and will board, out.”
She clicked off the transmission. “Assholes. Wallace, toss out the fenders on the port side. This is messed up—we’ve got a six-foot swell running!” She turned to Pendergast. “You’re FBI. What are you going to do?”
Pendergast returned her look. “Cooperate.”
“Jeez, thanks a lot.”
She brought the boat to a halt. With no headway, it began getting pushed all over the place by the sea. The Coast Guard boat now came up alongside, and a crew member tossed over a couple of lines, which Lam cleated down before racing into the hold, apparently to hide. The two boats were now tethered, heaving up and down, the inflatable gunwale of the Coast Guard boat smacking hard on their hull with each swell. The man directing the operation came out of the wheelhouse dressed in foul-weather gear, but she could see the lieutenant’s bars on his sleeve. Two sailors helped him over the side and onto the deck of the Leucothea, then followed.
“Lieutenant Duran, United States Coast Guard,” he bellowed. He was a big man, not fat but broad and solid, with a brushy mustache and icy blue eyes. The two other men came up behind him. “This is a Coast Guard boarding. Please remain in place while the vessel is searched.”
“Hey, don’t you guys need a warrant?” Gladstone asked.
“Title fourteen, section eighty-nine of the United States Code authorizes the U.S. Coast Guard to board vessels subject to the jurisdiction of the United States anytime, anyplace upon the high seas and upon any waterway over which the United States has authority, to make inquiries, examinations, inspections, searches, seizures, and arrests,” said the lieutenant in a booming voice.
“Really? Jesus Christ.”
The two men began searching the boat, rummaging through the bin of undropped buoys, opening the hatches, shining lights into the bilges, flipping cushions, opening gear lockers, throwing stuff around.
“Be careful in there!” She looked at Pendergast. “Aren’t you going to show your badge?”
“They know very well who I am,” he said. His face seemed even paler than usual.
Duran came back. “Okay, let’s see your captain’s license and registration papers.”
Gladstone opened a compartment next to the helm and shoved them at him. He took them, examined them, and handed them back. “Research permits?”
She gave those to him as well. He flipped through them, not even bothering to make a show of reading. He tossed them back at her and turned to his men. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Just a moment,” said Pendergast quietly.
Duran turned and jutted his chin at Pendergast. “What?”
“May we know the reason for this search?”
Duran grinned. “Well, we saw shit tossed in the water, so we decided to check it out. Might have been garbage, drugs, sewage discharge—who knows? You got a problem with that, pal?”
Pendergast didn’t reply.
The man’s arrogant, smirking gaze rested a while longer on him; then he turned to Gladstone. “Looks like everything’s in order. We’ll leave your buoys on the deck. Uh, looks like one of them got a bit dinged up when we ran it over.” A bigger grin. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
The man went out onto the deck with his two companions and they climbed back to their boat. Gladstone was sorry to see that none of them got thrown into the drink by the swell.
“Cast off!” Duran called.
Gladstone cast off and the Coast Guard boat revved its engine and swung away.
As Lam cautiously emerged from below, Gladstone turned to Pendergast. “What the hell was that all about?”
“Harassment,” said Pendergast.
“How come you didn’t pull rank on those assholes?”
“A wise man once said, ‘Engage the enemy on your terms, not on his.’”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They wanted to provoke me at sea, where they have almost unlimited power—and I have next to none.”
“So you’re going to, ah, wait to engage them on land?”
“That same wise man said, ‘Let your plans be dark and as impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.’” And with this, the pale agent smiled in a ghastly way and his eyes glittered like broken glass.