"How deep is it?" Jake asked.
"As best as I can figure from the topographic and water table charts, should be around sixty feet. Give or take a few feet. Also the water temperature could be as low as the upper 40's. Research indicates the visibility can range anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five feet so that is in your favor. Another thing, according to the topo charts, the knoll where Reese is buried is only about fifty feet from the shoreline so you might be able to shore dive."
"How much of this intel do you think Regan and her friend have?"
"I can't say for sure, but I think it's unlikely they have anything very precise. I think they'll have to search for the grave. It could take them a while to find it."
"What about lodging, are they staying someplace in Butler?"
"Again, don't know for sure. According to the hotel in Banner Elk, the room was booked for two nights. Paid in advance. In cash. I'll keep a tracker on her cell phone. See if they stay in Butler or return to Banner Elk. You know, if the coast is clear, you might want to consider diving tonight."
Jake turned the Tahoe onto Interstate 26 toward Johnson City. He was already thinking the same thing as Fontaine. If he could find the grave first then he would be a step ahead of Regan and her friend. It would also give him something far more important.
Control.
There was another option, he could always follow and locate Regan before she had a chance to make a dive. Confront her on dry land, expose her illegal activities, hopefully acquire whatever she found in the glacier, and then determine what she was retrieving from the graves. But a public confrontation carried with it the possibility of law enforcement involvement, which had to be avoided at all costs — for President Rudd's sake. He'd already had a run-in with the Charleston Police Department and the FBI, fortunately it was handled without consequence to the President. Until he knew what he was involved in, he needed to avoid any volatile situations. Confronting Regan and her friend in public could turn volatile fast.
"Tell you what, George. Unless Regan decides to go after it tonight, I'll be doing just that." Jake paused. "There wouldn't by chance be a dive light in that bag, would there?"
"Not one dive light, two of them. Along with one replacement battery."
"Looks like you thought of everything. Any thing else I should know before I let you go?"
"Couple of things, Jake." Fontaine said. "From what I've found on the Internet, most of the divers have reported a rather heavy layer of silt near the bottom of the lake. Up to eight feet deep in some places so stay away from the lake bed or you'll lose your visibility."
"What else?"
"I sent you some information on possible lodging in the Butler area. I hope it helps."
"Thanks, George. I'll take all the help I can get."
In Johnson City, Roxanne, the name he gave the woman's electronic voice from the GPS unit, instructed him to turn on U. S. Highway 321 to Elizabethton where he pulled over at a truck stop to take advantage of good cell phone reception. He wasn't sure how good the service would be in Butler.
He pulled his iPad from his backpack and downloaded the information Fontaine had sent him. He'd been thinking about lodging and decided to rule out campgrounds and B & B's because his comings and goings would be too noticeable. What he needed was a private place, preferably on the lake where he had quick access to the boat. A quick Google search under his favorite websites, VRBO.com and HomeAway.com, revealed nothing useful. Another search for fish camps, even though not as desirable, also turned up nothing. A third search under 'Butler, Tennessee lodging' hit pay dirt. Several sites he'd never heard of showed up but only one proved useful. He found several lakefront cabins but only one that wasn't booked. He figured it was because of the price, $450 a night. Most families weren't going to pay that price, especially this time of year during the middle of the week.
He called the number and secured the cabin from the owner for three nights using his Commonwealth Consultants credit card.
He plugged the cabin's address into his iPad and was pleased when he saw the cabin was just across Watauga Lake from the location Fontaine had identified as the site where Norman Reese was buried. Using his distance-measuring tool he realized the straight-line distance across the water was less than a mile. By road it was nearly fourteen miles from the cabin to the point where Reese was buried and another four miles to Butler itself. He needed to mull over the geographical logistics of his predicament. A visual of the area would help so he put the Tahoe in gear and pulled back on the highway toward Butler.
At the intersection of U. S. 321 and Tennessee State Road 67, Roxanne told him to turn left on SR 67, cross Watauga lake, and into Butler. The map on the iPad showed both the cabin and the grave site on the east side of the lake.
Jake wanted eyes on Regan and her friend first. The only way he could do that was with Fontaine's help. He pulled to the side of the road and called Fontaine.
Fontaine answered.
"Is Regan still in Butler?" Jake asked.
"According to her cell phone, she's at the Pizza Place and has been for the past fifteen minutes."
The waitress placed the pizza on the table and asked if she could get them anything else. Regan shook her head and thanked her. She pulled two pieces of pizza from the platter and placed them on her plate and did the same on Christa Barnett's plate.
She sprinkled pepper seeds and Parmesan cheese on her pizza then looked at Barnett. "When should we do this?"
"It'll have to wait until tomorrow. I can't do it by myself and I don’t want to throw your ass in the water until we've had a chance to go through all the equipment. And I'm certainly not taking you down at night. Not on your first dive."
"Oh hell no. I'm not going underwater at night period." Regan paused. "Maybe we should just skip this one. I was excited at first but now…I don't know. I'm kind of scared. What do we do if something goes wrong?"
"Relax, Ashley. It'll be okay, I promise. Nothing will go wrong. We bought the very best equipment. The full-face mask will allow you to breathe normal and the communications system will allow us to talk when we need to. I'll be right there by your side. Besides, it'll be fun."
"Should we put the stuff on and get in the pool tonight? Maybe that would help."
"Might draw unwanted attention," Barnett said. "The last thing we want is for someone to remember us."
"No, no. Of course you're right." The room lit up when the front door opened. Rays of sunshine blasted across the floor then disappeared as the door closed. Regan noticed Barnett wasn't paying attention. "Christa. You're not listening."
"Check this guy out. He is H-O-T."
Regan looked. A man with dirty blond hair, jeans and a long sleeve button down shirt walked behind Barnett toward the counter. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows and he had a five o'clock shadow on his face. "Not interested."
"Are you kidding? He looks like Chris Pine. Makes for nice eye candy, right?"
"He's handsome, I guess. Hard to tell anymore. I haven't been on that side of the fence for a long time."
"Yeah, yeah, Ashley. Maybe it's time you gave men another try." Christa turned her head and watched the man while he placed his order at the counter. "Now that you and Sam are on the fritz, might be a good time to experiment."
As if she wasn't worried enough about scuba diving, Christa's remark certainly didn't help any. She was already concerned that Sam hadn't answered her phone in over two weeks. What if she'd moved out? Maybe back to Atlanta. Regan resolved that as soon as they were finished in Butler, she would go straight to Charleston or wherever Samantha Connors was, apologize, and try to reconcile with her.