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like a speck of light on the water.
    A few seconds later, I knew my eyes were not playing tricks on me. The speck of light glowed brighter and brighter. It was heading right toward the boat.
    Then, in a flash, I put it all together. The boat sitting in the dark for an hour. Waiting for an airplane to pass overhead. Lights flashing to let the airplane know the boat was there. Something in the water, marked by a glowing light.
    I didn’t want to believe it, but it couldn’t be anything else. It was a safe guess that Uncle Gord wasn’t searching for treasure on his Friday and Saturday nights.
    Instead it could only be one thing.
    Drugs.

chapter twenty- eight
    I knew a little about it. A person can’t spend much time in Florida without knowing that smuggling and dealing drugs is big business. Florida has the wide-open ocean. It was the perfect place to move drugs into the United States. It’s against the law, of course. But that doesn’t stop people. Drugs mean big money.
    My Uncle Gord. A drug dealer? Maybe pretending his business was failing so no one suspected what he was doing?
    I wanted to kick myself for not seeing this earlier. For believing his three friends were lawyers. Guys who were built like football players. These were the kind of guys you wanted around if you were breaking the law. These were the kind of guys you wanted around if you were working with dope dealers who didn’t care if they murdered to make their money.
    Thinking about it, I saw his plan was perfect. First, he told people they were spearfishing at night. It was easy to believe that’s why they went out on weekends. After all, Uncle Gord ran a scuba-diving business for a living.
    Then, to make sure people really were fooled, he probably started the rumors about a treasure hunt himself. It was like a lie within a lie. No one would ever guess there was a third lie within the second lie. And then the fourth lie: that his business was broke. Nobody in Florida who was a drug dealer ever looked broke. A bunch of perfect lies.
    â€œYou use this boat for a pickup, don’t you?” I said to Uncle Gord. “You make it look like business has been bad, and you’re making extra money by coming out here to pick up drugs dropped from an airplane. Those three guys went into the water to get it.”
    â€œYou’re almost right,” Uncle Gord said. “We’re anchored on the edge of the strong part of the Gulf Stream. Whatever drops from the plane will pass close to this boat. And yes, the three men are out there to look for it and pick it up.”
    Splashing noises reached us. They were close to the boat now. I took a quick peek. The light bobbed in the water. I couldn’t see much around it except the heads and shoulders of the scuba divers.
    â€œBoys,” Uncle Gord called out to them. “Come in real easy. We’ve got company. Nothing for you to worry about, but I didn’t want you surprised.”
    â€œThe FBI clown?” one of the voices called up to the boat.
    FBI?
    â€œYup,” Uncle Gord said.
    â€œHow do we know he isn’t holding a gun to your head?” one of the other voices asked.
    Uncle Gord stepped over to the control panels of the boat. He flicked on a light. It showed him clearly. His gray hair. His bushy mustache. The gun in his hand. And the cold, cold look in his eyes.
    Uncle Gord snapped the light off again. “You saw enough to know I’m in charge?”
    â€œWe’re coming aboard,” came the answer.
    There were more splashing sounds.
    One man stepped onto the deck near us, dripping water from his wet suit. A second man. And a third. All big. Very big.
    What surprised me was the fourth man. Much shorter than the other three. Where had he come from?
    â€œWhat is going on?” the short man asked in an angry voice. He had a strong Spanish accent. “FBI? This was not part of our agreement.”

chapter twenty-nine
    â€œYes,