had even guessed
the meaning of the MOI-IPL acronym on the back of the large monitor and data storage
system. When he had looked at her for an explanation, Carol had just laughed and said,
‘So I need some help finding the whales. What can I say?’
Carol and Troy had loaded the gear on the cart and wheeled it through the parking
lot. She had been a little dismayed at first by Troy’s recognition of the equipment’s
origin and his friendly, probing questions (which she handled adroitly with vague
answers—she was helped by the fact that Troy wanted mostly to know how the electronics
worked and she, in truth, didn’t have the foggiest idea). But as they talked, Carol
developed a comfortable feeling about Troy. Her intuitive sense told her that Troy
was an ally and could be counted on to be discreet with any important information.
Carol had not, however, planned for a security check inside the Hemingway Marina headquarters.
One of the primary selling points of the slips at the new marina had been the almost
unparalleled security system offered the boat owners. Every person who went into or
out of the marina had to pass through computerized gates adjacent to the headquarters
building. A full listing of each individual entrance and exit, including the time
of passage through the gate, was printed out each night and retained in the security
office files as a precaution in case any suspicious or untoward events were reported.
Matériel entering and leaving the marina was also routinely scrutinized (and logged)
by the security chief to prevent the theft of expensive navigation equipment and other
electronics. Carol was only mildly irked when, after she had paid for the charter,
Julianne asked her to fill out a sheet describing the contents of the closed footlocker.
But Carol really objected when the summoned security chief, a typical Boston Irish
policeman who had retired in the Key West area, forced her to open the locker to verify
the contents. Carol’s objections and Troy’s attempts to help her were to no avail.
Rules were rules.
Because the cart would not fit through the door into the adjacent security office,
the footlocker was opened in the main clearing room of the marina headquarters. A
couple of curious passers-by, including one giant, friendly woman about forty named
Ellen (Troy knew her from somewhere, probably she was one of the boat owners, Carol
thought), came over and watched while Officer O’Rourke carefully compared the contents
of the locker with the list that Carol had prepared.
Carol was a little rattled as she and Troy pulled the cart down the jetty toward the
Florida Queen
. She had hoped to attract as little attention as possible and she was now angry with
herself for not anticipating the security check. Nick, meanwhile, after performing
a few routine preparations on the boat and opening another beer, had become engrossed
again in the basketball game. His beloved Harvard was now losing to Tennessee. He
did not even hear Troy’s whistling until his crewman and Carol were just a few yards
away.
‘Jesus,’ Nick turned around, ‘I thought you had gotten lost….’ His voice trailed off
as he saw the cart and the footlocker. ‘What the fuck is that?’
‘It’s Miss Dawson’s equipment, Professor,’ Troy answered with a big grin. He reached
into the locker, first picking up a cylinder with a clear glass face, a large object
like a flashlight on a mounting bracket. It was about two feet long and weighed about
twelve pounds. ‘Here, for example, is what she tells me is an ocean telescope. We
attach it to the bottom of the boat by this bracket and it takes pictures that are
displayed on this here television monitor and also stored on this other device, a
recorder of some—’
‘Hold it,’ Nick interrupted Troy imperiously. Nick walked up the gangplank and stared
incredulously into the locker. He shook his head
the meaning of the MOI-IPL acronym on the back of the large monitor and data storage
system. When he had looked at her for an explanation, Carol had just laughed and said,
‘So I need some help finding the whales. What can I say?’
Carol and Troy had loaded the gear on the cart and wheeled it through the parking
lot. She had been a little dismayed at first by Troy’s recognition of the equipment’s
origin and his friendly, probing questions (which she handled adroitly with vague
answers—she was helped by the fact that Troy wanted mostly to know how the electronics
worked and she, in truth, didn’t have the foggiest idea). But as they talked, Carol
developed a comfortable feeling about Troy. Her intuitive sense told her that Troy
was an ally and could be counted on to be discreet with any important information.
Carol had not, however, planned for a security check inside the Hemingway Marina headquarters.
One of the primary selling points of the slips at the new marina had been the almost
unparalleled security system offered the boat owners. Every person who went into or
out of the marina had to pass through computerized gates adjacent to the headquarters
building. A full listing of each individual entrance and exit, including the time
of passage through the gate, was printed out each night and retained in the security
office files as a precaution in case any suspicious or untoward events were reported.
Matériel entering and leaving the marina was also routinely scrutinized (and logged)
by the security chief to prevent the theft of expensive navigation equipment and other
electronics. Carol was only mildly irked when, after she had paid for the charter,
Julianne asked her to fill out a sheet describing the contents of the closed footlocker.
But Carol really objected when the summoned security chief, a typical Boston Irish
policeman who had retired in the Key West area, forced her to open the locker to verify
the contents. Carol’s objections and Troy’s attempts to help her were to no avail.
Rules were rules.
Because the cart would not fit through the door into the adjacent security office,
the footlocker was opened in the main clearing room of the marina headquarters. A
couple of curious passers-by, including one giant, friendly woman about forty named
Ellen (Troy knew her from somewhere, probably she was one of the boat owners, Carol
thought), came over and watched while Officer O’Rourke carefully compared the contents
of the locker with the list that Carol had prepared.
Carol was a little rattled as she and Troy pulled the cart down the jetty toward the
Florida Queen
. She had hoped to attract as little attention as possible and she was now angry with
herself for not anticipating the security check. Nick, meanwhile, after performing
a few routine preparations on the boat and opening another beer, had become engrossed
again in the basketball game. His beloved Harvard was now losing to Tennessee. He
did not even hear Troy’s whistling until his crewman and Carol were just a few yards
away.
‘Jesus,’ Nick turned around, ‘I thought you had gotten lost….’ His voice trailed off
as he saw the cart and the footlocker. ‘What the fuck is that?’
‘It’s Miss Dawson’s equipment, Professor,’ Troy answered with a big grin. He reached
into the locker, first picking up a cylinder with a clear glass face, a large object
like a flashlight on a mounting bracket. It was about two feet long and weighed about
twelve pounds. ‘Here, for example, is what she tells me is an ocean telescope. We
attach it to the bottom of the boat by this bracket and it takes pictures that are
displayed on this here television monitor and also stored on this other device, a
recorder of some—’
‘Hold it,’ Nick interrupted Troy imperiously. Nick walked up the gangplank and stared
incredulously into the locker. He shook his head
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