Marguerite laughed again. "I think people are looking for attention. And they'll say and do whatever it takes to get it.”
There was a little truth to that. Maybe a lot.
We said our goodbyes, walked across the parking lot to the Porsche, and hopped in.
"What do you make of all that?" JD muttered.
“If they’re engaged in genetic manipulation, they’re not doing it here,” I said. “They’ve got another facility.”
I sent Isabella the network IPs I had sniffed, then gave her a call. “Hey, I’ve got another project for you.”
27
“Those sharks are tagged and relaying data to satellites,” I said. “Those tags can be hacked, right?"
"A lot of the older tags are unencrypted,” Isabella replied. “But I would imagine if Aqus is engaged in illegal genetic experiments, all their data is encrypted. And if this is government-sponsored, you can expect the highest level of encryption.”
"If you can hack into their network, I'm sure you can snoop around and find the tracking data. If we can find that shark, it would make this situation a little easier to deal with."
"I'm just curious, what are you going to do when you find the damn thing?”
"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."
“Odds are it will be considered a protected species, despite the fact that it was created illegally. It’s probably got enough great white DNA. Plus, there’s the Endangered Species Act. You’re dealing with a ton of sticky bureaucratic red tape.”
“Like I said, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.“
"I'll see what I can do,” she said in a sigh. “I’m working on something for you. I’ll get back to you shortly.”
I had faith in Isabella’s hacking abilities.
We left and drove to Oyster Avenue to grab something to eat at Totally Tubular. The surf-themed restaurant was always good for a burger and earthy surf girls. Longboards hung on the walls, along with pictures of massive swells and perfect barrels. Autographed pictures of famous surfers lent authenticity.
Jack ordered the Hang Ten burger, and so did I. We split a basket of sweet potato fries and kicked around more theories.
My phone buzzed with a call from Isabella as we were finishing up. “You are going to love me.”
“I already do. What did you find?”
“So far, nothing on the gene splicing bit. But I've got something for you on the murder at Sandpiper Point.”
"I'm listening."
"I used software to calculate the size of the assailants based on reference objects within the frame. The taller assailant is 6’1”, approximately. The other assailant is roughly six feet tall. I was able to enhance the footage and adjust exposure. The taller guy has a facial tattoo that extends beyond the edge of the surgical mask. He's also got a gang tattoo on his neck that is barely visible. I cross-referenced the county database for prior arrests of people both with facial and neck tattoos that matched the height and approximate weight. I got a list of names. Then I cross-referenced that list of names against the local hospital’s medical database.”
"You hacked medical records?"
"Do you want answers, or do you want to keep twiddling your thumbs?”
"I want answers.”
"That's what I thought," she said. "Two guys matching that description went in for knee issues in the past six months. One of them had surgery for a meniscus tear six weeks ago. His name is Mason Serrano. That's where I'd start.”
"We’ll do a knock and talk. See what we can stir up.” Then I added, “You're the best."
"And don't you forget it.”
I relayed the information to Jack. We finished our burgers and hustled out of the restaurant.
