“It sure is!” he said, dropping his voice to a tense whisper. “It’s flashing on and off!”
The light was only a pinpoint in the distance. It flicked off and on in a pattern of dots and dashes which Eddie guessed was some kind of a code. The beam was directed seaward.
“Eddie,” Teena said, “isn’t that light about where the old fisherman’s shack is?”
“I think so,” Eddie said, trying to judge in the darkness about how far down the coast the shack was from the lighthouse.
“I figure you’re right,” a voice spoke behind them. All four turned. They couldn’t make out the stranger’s face in the darkness, but they could see that he was in Navy uniform. As the lighthouse beacon swung around, Eddie saw lieutenant’s bars on his shoulders, and the crossed-anchor insigne of the U.S. Coast Guard on his cap. “Now we’ll wait exactly twenty minutes.”
“Wait for what?” Eddie asked.
“We’re not sure,” the officer said. “But in twenty minutes we spring the trap. Might catch some big game, might catch nothing. Please stay right where you are. Keep your voices low. No lights of any kind.” He turned and went toward the lighthouse tower.
The Coast Guard officer had just left when Teena grabbed Eddie’s arm. “Look!” she whispered, pointing out across the dark bay.
Eddie sucked in his breath as a small light far out on the water flashed three times quickly, then stopped.
“Something’s moving into the trap, all right,” his father whispered.