Seventy
Thursday, April 1, 11:12 A.M. CST
Offshore from Roatan
On the Dolorosa’s deck, Eva sat down on a box of pizza MREs that Thomas claimed they could eat later, but lunch was the last thing on her mind. She opened her laptop to monitor the GPS trackers for Finn and the Lusca. The tiles were numbered 226 through 228, but she thought of them only by their last digits, six through eight. Six was the Tylosaurus, seven was Finn’s dorsal fin, and eight was his head strap. Finn knew his business and was moving in the right direction—toward the Tylosaurus, far off West End Point. And the Dolorosa was following along behind.
Leo, who already had his blue drone up in the air, shouted at Eva and pointed to something out on the water behind them. Eva looked to see a cigarette-shaped speedboat
