by Bobby Akart
“Like now?”
“Oui.”
“Isabella, how fast is fast? I mean, how do those studies compare to what’s happening now?”
The bartender approached them and asked if they’d like another round. Isabella checked her watch and declined. Chapman asked for the check and paid for their drinks and appetizers while she answered.
“The geologic data at Steens Mountain indicated a change of six degrees per day. That rate was so high that paleontologists immediately attempted to debunk the findings. They argued that the liquid outer core couldn’t generate magnetic field changes that quickly. Those who disagreed with the study also argued that even if a rapid shift happened, they wouldn’t be observable at the planet surface.
“Yet a second study confirmed the six-degree shift. Based upon my data, and I would appreciate the opportunity to look at Dr. Pruitt’s journals, the present shift is currently at one degree per day.”
“Much less,” added Chapman.
“Yes, but the normal shift period is thirty miles per year, less than one degree. At the present rate of shift, the magnetic field will reverse within a year or less.”
“And what happens as it does?” asked Chapman.
Isabella hesitated, checked her watch again, and then smiled. “Would you like to accompany me to my loft for, as you Americans say, a nightcap? I will show you my research.”
Chapman bolted off the barstool, embarrassed by his awkward eagerness. He tried to contain his excitement as he responded.
“Oui!”
Chapter 43
Paris, France
Chapman and Isabella walked arm and arm through the streets of Paris until they reached her two-story loft. They shared another drink, talked about his schedule for the next day, touched on her research, and then they fell into bed together. The chemistry, and then the passion, was undeniable between the two of them. If it were possible for two strangers from different worlds to find love in a day, it could happen in Paris.
The next morning, the sun shining through the loft’s eighteen-foot-tall, ceiling-to-floor windows woke Chapman from a deep sleep. It took him a moment to get his bearings, as the six or seven bourbons from the night before weighed heavy on his head.
As his eyes adjusted to the sudden bright light, he felt the other side of the bed for Isabella, but she wasn’t there. He immediately assumed the worst. Did she have regrets? Did the bourbon-induced tryst embarrass her? His mind flashed to scenes from movies he’d seen in the past where one sexual partner or the other questioned whether they’d made a mistake the night before, and then a note was found on a pillow that read show yourself to the door.
But all of his fears were assuaged when he propped himself up against the ornate, padded headboard and found her across the room, sitting in front of a computer. He took a moment to spy on her, hungering to catch a glimpse into her life. He wondered if what had happened between them—the drinks, the laughter, and then the invitation to her loft—was normal. Or was he somehow special for her, like she was for him?
She stood and wandered toward the other end of the spacious loft, wearing nothing but a barely there blouse. He admired her beauty and lack of modesty—the latter prompting him to look around for his own clothing.
After a moment of searching, he saw them lying in a heap near a bistro table and a couple of chairs. This enabled him to replay the night’s events in his mind, which led to his full recollection of how they’d ended up in her bed together. A smile came over his face as he wondered if he had the courage to walk across her loft naked, not only for her to see but also for anyone who might be staring in her windows from afar.
While she fixed her coffee, Chapman shrugged and chuckled before muttering, “What the hell?” When in Paris … as they say. Or was it Rome?
He didn’t want to startle her, so as he made his way toward the open kitchen, he greeted her. “Good morning.”
“Bonjour,” she replied. Her soft voice and that glorious French accent immediately reminded him of why he was infatuated with her. It also caused him to quickly change course to retrieve his khakis off the floor before he embarrassed himself.
Now it was time for that the morning after the night before awkwardness that some couples experience. Only, it didn’t happen with them.
“Yes, bonjour. Um, did you sleep well?”
She didn’t answer, but instead, she approached him, allowed her blouse to fall open, and she hugged him. She whispered into his ear, “Never better, mon amour.”
My love. Chapman beamed as the words flowed like silk out of her mouth.
He kissed her and accepted the mug of coffee that was adorned with a sketched drawing of the Louvre Museum on it.
“Same. Um, I hope that you’re okay with, well, you know.”
Isabella let out her infectious, soft laugh. “It was my idea, or do you not recall?”
“Oh, I recall. All of it, in fact. I just wanted—”
She put her index finger up to his lips. “Shhh. You think too much.” Then she kissed him gently on the lips. “Come with me. Something has happened.”
She led him by the hand to the computer and motioned for him to pull up an armchair that sat next to the plaster interior wall.
“What is it?” asked Chapman as he slid the chair adjacent to hers.
She squeezed his hand for a moment and then navigated the computer’s mouse to open up a window with a news report from Ouest-France, a daily newspaper.
“Dozens of pilot whales beached themselves off the western coast of France at the Bay of Biscay.”
Chapman was somewhat familiar with whales. He’d covered a story years ago on St. Simons Island in Georgia. Due to a hurricane that had skirted the Atlantic Coast from Jacksonville to Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, a pod of pilot whales found themselves swimming too close to shore and ran aground.
“I’ve seen this before in the States. Is this unusual for France?”
“According to the story, scientists are mystified as to why such a large number should get stranded at one time, especially in the Bay of Biscay. These whales do not inhabit this deeply inverted bay. They remain well off the coast, traveling from Morocco to Iceland as part of their migratory pattern.”
“Did something force them into the bay? An offshore storm, perhaps?”
Isabella scrolled through the article and then switched to another screen to scan the contents. “No, nothing like that. One ocean biologist suggested that they may have followed a school of herring into the bay, but they are known to stay in the North Atlantic and the Baltic Sea. Not off the coast of France.”
She pushed away from the desk and pulled her blouse closed. Chapman tried to be respectful and averted his eyes. Her lack of modesty was one thing, but he didn’t want to seem like a creep, constantly trying to catch a glimpse of her naked body.
“I sense that you have a theory,” he said as he took a sip of coffee.
“Yes. The change in the magnetic field, the shift, confuses the animals. Man has to adjust his GPS devices; animals naturally adjust their internal compass.”
Chapman furrowed his brow, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “They thought the west coast of France was north.”
Isabella spun her chair on its pedestal and pointed toward the east, where the sun was now streaming in through all of the windows. “Because they think north is that way.”
Chapman stood for a moment and wandered toward the windows. He was there to report on excessive heat that had been replaced by cooler than normal temperatures. Now he felt like he had a bigger story. He needed to call his executive producers to pitch the idea, but he wanted to call his sister first and get her thoughts on the animal behavior.
Isabella snuck behind him and reached around his waist. “You are so serious.”
“I need to make a couple of calls, and then I think we should go to the coast.”
She nibbled at his neck and whispered, “Not just yet.”
Chapter 44
&
nbsp; Brookfield Zoo
Chicago
Kristi had just completed a meeting with her staff regarding the escaped chimpanzees and capuchin monkeys. The horrendous accident on the interstate was breaking news around the country and soon would become worldwide headlines. She and Tommy had spent the morning preparing for a press conference to be held by zoo officials. She was sure she’d be called upon to answer some difficult questions. Tommy did his best to anticipate any inquiries regarding the monkeys’ behavior.
Despite the unsettling events, Kristi was in a remarkably good mood. Almost all of the chimps had been recaptured, except for those who died on the freeway or as a result of the cars crashing over the guardrail. The capuchin monkeys were still at large. They were smaller and expert at evading any predators. They’d made their way north of the Brookfield Zoo, into the suburbs, where the hiding places were plentiful. Her staff was up to the task of bringing them back to the zoo, which lifted a heavy burden off her shoulders.
Her cell phone rang and the display indicated it was Chapman. Tommy excused himself, leaving her alone with an increasingly tense Knight.
“Hey, Chapman. I guess you’ve seen the news.”
“Hey, sis. Is it about the whales?”
“Wait, what whales?”
“Oh, you mean the polar bear thing.”
Kristi scowled and leaned forward in her chair. She immediately navigated to Google News to search polar bear incident and then whale incident.
“I have no idea about either one of those things,” she said after a brief pause.
She heard Chapman sigh before he spoke again. “Sis, this has to be between you and me, not anyone else.”
“You found a girlfriend, and she’s a polar bear.”
“Shut up!” he shot back playfully. “Yes, I mean no. Dang it, sis, maybe. But that’s not why I called.”
Chapman proceeded to explain the events in Greenland, and as he spoke, she found the news report on the BBC website from London. He finished explaining what had happened before she gave an opinion.
“Listen, I’m glad you’re okay, but I wouldn’t see too much in this. With the massive ice melt in Greenland, the polar bears have likely been driven inland in search of food.”
“People? Sis, it was a massacre.”
“They were hungry.”
“They attacked me.”
“Well, what did you do to piss them off?”
Chapman paused before responding, “So you’re saying what happened in Greenland was normal?”
“Not necessarily normal, but certainly plausible and with a reasonable explanation due to the unusual warmth. What’s this about whales?”
“We woke up this morning and learned about—”
She cut him off. “Hold up, buster. Who’s we?”
“It’s this girl I met in Paris. She got a news alert about pilot whales—”
Again Kristi interrupted his statement. “Paris? As in Tennessee or Texas?” It was a logical assumption because both small towns were in an area of high tornadic activity.
“France. Paris, France. Anyway—”
His big sister was now fully prepared to interrogate him. “You didn’t answer the we part. Who’s we? Did you meet someone?”
“Yes, she’s a climatologist and a professor here in Paris.”
“She? Do tell me more, Chapman Boone.”
“Dammit, sis. I’m trying to be serious here.”
The sides of Kristi’s mouth turned upward into an evil grin that Chapman couldn’t see, but was thoroughly familiar with. “Quid pro quo, bro. Tell me about your girlfriend and I’ll tell you about the whales and the dogs.”
“What dogs?”
“Spill the tea!” she teasingly shouted.
“First of all, she’s not my girlfriend. I met her at the World Climate Conference yesterday.”
She began to pepper Chapman with questions. “Is she cute?”
“Come on!” he responded.
“What’s her name?”
“Dr. Isabella Dubois.”
Kristi burst out laughing, uncontrollably snorting as she did. “Oh my god, you’ve found a French hottie. You go, boy!”
As she forced herself to stop laughing, she could hear Isabella through the phone.
Chapman, do you want a croissant with your latte?
“Yes, please,” replied Chapman.
This exchange nearly knocked Kristi out of her chair. She laughed so hard that she had to take the phone away from her mouth to press it against her chest.
When she returned the phone to her ear, she heard Chapman whisper to her, “Would you calm down? I hate you.”
“So is that sexy French kitten a professor?”
“Yes.”
“Let me say hello.”
“Hell no. Not gonna happen.”
Isabella could be heard again. What is not going to happen?
Kristi was aware that Chapman had cupped the phone with his hand because he spoke to Isabella and all she could hear was his muffled voice saying something about his executive producer giving him a hard time. He then returned to the call.
“Kristi, stop it. This is serious. What about the whales?”
She decided to give him a break. The last time he’d called her by her name was when their dad had been thrown from a horse and broke his wrist. “Okay, fine. I’m looking at the story now. Pilot whales. West coast of France. Right?”
“That’s it.”
She went on to explain the same plausible reasons that the scientists gave in the news article. Then Chapman asked about whether the shift of the poles could impact the whales’ migratory routes.
She thought for a few seconds before responding, “You know, I can’t answer that for sure, but I have a new member of my staff who probably can. I would kinda equate it to salmon. They use their internal compass to find their way to feeding grounds using the Earth’s magnetic field. Lots of migratory animals use the magnetic field to orient themselves, including turtles, whales, and birds.”
Chapman changed the subject. “You said something about dogs, too?”
“Yeah, a horribly gross story out of New York’s Central Park. It seems a pack of crazed dogs, and let me add, these weren’t rabid strays. They were pets, domesticated, allowed to play in an off-leash area of the park. Anyway, they attacked a couple of joggers. Tore them apart before the cops killed them all. Even the shotgun blasts didn’t warn them off.”
“Jesus,” muttered Chapman.
“Yeah.”
“Everything okay with you?” he asked.
“Yeah, we’ve had our own drama at the zoo. I’ve been out chasing monkeys that escaped from the primate center.”
“How’d that happen?”
Kristi ran her fingers through her hair. She was still coming to grips with the events herself. “Well, I’m still looking for answers, but from what I can tell, they used a large piece of granite to break the lock to the enclosure. Then they broke off a tree limb to climb over the wall and escape.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, not at all. It was what happened after that seems straight out of a Planet of the Apes movie.”
“You hate those movies,” interjected Chapman.
“Well, after the last day of excitement, I may have to go back and watch them again.”
Chapman could be heard eating his croissant. Then he asked, “First, they managed to break the lock with granite, and then they found a way to scale a block wall with a tree branch. Where did they learn that?”
“I dunno.”
“So, sis, you said my polar bear attack and the beached whales were both plausible. Is the Central Park dog attack plausible?”
“Sort of. Well, not likely, considering the dogs were domesticated pets.”
“And what about your monkey escape? Think hard. Do you consider that plausible?”
The question dangled in the air and it never got answered.
Chapter 45
Afrikan SafariLan
d
Orlando, Florida
Two of the more ornery, ill-tempered members of the animal kingdom with dangerous dispositions are the crocodile and the hippopotamus. Yet they were known to frequent the same bodies of water and live together in harmony. They also collaborate to scare off intruders who unwarily venture into their territory, and who, because of these creatures’ outwardly docile nature, were unaware of their ability to kill.
There had been reports of crocs and hippos turning on one another. Years ago, a Czechoslovakian photographer had captured a stunning image of a crocodile sunbathing atop several dozen hippos who were casually lounging in the Grumeti River in the Serengeti National Park in Tanzania.
It was a peaceful scene until suddenly, and violently, the hippo bathers were no longer so welcoming of their crocodile friend. The croc got too close to a female who had calves, and the entire bloat turned on their fair-weather friend. The island of hippos suddenly erupted with their wide-open, toothy jaws. The crocodile, and its armor-plated body, was crushed in seconds.
Rhonda Medina had left the Brookfield Zoo as Kristi Chapman’s assistant with great sadness, as the two had worked closely together for years. But Rhonda was interested in advancing her career, and when she was told of an opening at Afrika SafariLand in Orlando, she jumped at the opportunity to pad her résumé at one of the biggest media and entertainment companies in the world.
At first, her duties were similar to those she’d performed at Brookfield. As a zoologist with experience handling the exotic animals of Africa, she was a perfect fit at Afrika SafariLand. Within just a few weeks, her outgoing personality and infectious smile caught the attention of her supervisors. When another opportunity presented itself in which Rhonda could host backlot tours of the world-renowned zoological theme park, she was both flattered and excited.
The park encompassed over four hundred acres, divided between rides, shopping, and animal exhibits. She would continue to work with the fifteen hundred animals representing over two hundred different species. However, her additional duties as a backlot tour director not only paid her more, but it gave her an opportunity to shine in front of the theme park’s executives.
