by Roland Smith
“Just one,” Al answered. “It was torn from the mounting pretty clumsily, so it might not be much use to them. Others have been disabled.”
“How?”
“Paper clip,” Al said. “They just walk by, find the camera pin hole, insert the straightened clip, and pop the lens. They’ve done it when it’s crowded, and very quickly. All we’ve been able to see is a hand and the clip. No way to ID who’s doing it, and it could be more than one person. It’s probably Noah Blackwood’s people, but it could also be crew members wise to the fact that we’re watching them and they don’t like it.”
“I can’t say I blame them,” Wolfe said, looking uncomfortable. “Since we got back from the Congo we’ve been running eWolfe like a police state. The cameras might be contributing to the bad morale.”
“I doubt it,” Al said. “There’s something else happening on this ship, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it. And you’re not going to like this, but those who choose to leave are going to be strip-searched before I let them go.”
“You’re right,” Wolfe said. “I don’t like it at all and I don’t want you to do it.”
Al shook his head. “We’re missing a camera, Wolfe. It’s small enough to be hidden anywhere. We can’t risk someone getting off the ship with it — even if the camera is damaged. Snapping on the latex gloves and doing body cavity searches is not my idea of fun, but we need that camera back, broken or not. We’ll be discreet, meaning we’ll search them on the sailboat so no one on this ship knows they got the full treatment.”
Marty winced at the idea of getting the “full treatment” from Albert Ikes, and he wasn’t convinced Al was telling the truth about it not being his idea of fun.
Wolfe let out a resigned sigh and said, “Do what you have to do. But I want the rest of the cameras pulled.”
“What?” Al said.
“If they can take one camera, they can take another camera, or all of them, for that matter. We’ll be at Kaikoura Canyon in a few days. If it takes a long time to catch a giant squid, we’re going to have to give the crew shore leave in New Zealand or they’ll mutiny. We can’t strip-search them every time they leave the ship. We have enough data to prove that Ted’s cameras work except for the lenses. We’ll have to harden them on the next upgrade.”
“We’ll be operating blind!” Al complained.
“You still have those.” Wolfe pointed to Al’s eyes. “Pull Roy and Joe out of the surveillance room and have them work the ship’s security with what God gave them. And you have a Gizmo. You know where everyone is.”
“But not what they’re doing,” Al said.
“Get rid of the cameras,” Wolfe insisted.
“All right,” Al said. “You’re the boss.”
Marty was glad to hear this. Up until that moment he’d been worried that Al was the boss, not Wolfe.
“Pull the cameras,” Wolfe added. “Tonight, when everyone is asleep. I guess there’s no reason they have to know that they aren’t being watched.”
“They’re going to figure it out,” Al warned.
“Of course they are,” Wolfe admitted. “But not for a while. When you get the cameras, give them to me and I’ll lock them up in the safe in my cabin.”
Good! Marty thought. Luther won’t be bugging me about hacking into the Gizmo to access the cameras.
“What about that flying insect thing?” Al asked.
The flying insect thing (a.k.a. the dragonspy) was currently clinging to the corner of the ceiling. Marty had gotten very adept at landing the dragonspy. And as usual, Ted had thought of everything. The six insectlike legs were equipped with alternating microscopic hooks and suction cups that attached to any surface, including glass. The advantages of having the dragonspy stationary were that the audio was better (no humming wings in the background), the solar battery lasted longer, and no one noticed it was there, including the very observant Al Ikes, who seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.
“You mean Ted’s bot-fly?” Wolfe said. “What about it?”
“Without the cameras we could sure use it,” Al said.
“Except for the fact that the only person who knows how to fly it is Marty,” Wolfe pointed out.
“He could teach Roy or Joe,” Al said. “It’s not a toy, and that’s how Marty uses it.”
“You’re right, it’s not a toy,” Wolfe agreed. “But Ted made it very clear before we left that Marty was the only one he would allow to pilot the bot-fly.” Wolfe smiled. “I’m sure Marty would be happy to fly it wherever you want. All you have to do is ask him.”
Al had scowled and walked off. And he was still scowling as he walked past Marty in the back of the mess hall, on his way out after Wolfe’s brief lecture.
Marty picked up his half-eaten plate of eggs and was about to dump them into the garbage when Theo walked up to him. Marty had stayed out of the galley and clear of Theo since their first encounter.
“Tell me about the eggs,” Theo said.
“They were almost raw,” Marty said. “I guess if I were an egg-eating snake I’d find them absolutely delicious.”
Theo gave him a venomous smile. “I’m not talking about the eggs on your plate. I’m talking about the dinosaur eggs your uncle has incubating in one of the labs.”
“Huh?” Marty said, stalling for time. Only a handful of people knew about the dinosaur eggs, and he was certain that Theo was not one of the fingers on that hand.
“Dinosaur eggs,” Theo repeated. “Mokélé-mbembé eggs. Two of them, to be specific.”
Marty laughed. “The ship is old, but it’s not sixty-five million years old, which is when the dinosaurs went extinct. Which means you’re not only the worst cook I’ve ever met, you are also crazy.”
“I know we got off to a bumpy start,” Theo said. “And I’ll admit that I’m not the best cook in the world, but you and I both know I’m right about the dinosaur eggs. There are no secrets aboard a ship. Everyone knows there’s something cooking in one of those labs.”
Theo had just elevated himself to the #1 spot on Marty’s spy list. As far as Marty knew, the only people on board who knew about the eggs were Wolfe, Grace, Luther, and himself. He didn’t even think that Al Ikes knew about the eggs.
“I haven’t heard any such thing,” Marty said. “And I’d know about dinosaur eggs if there were any on this ship.” He started to walk away.
“One more thing,” Theo said, smiling now. “Just so you know, I didn’t volunteer for kitchen duty. Wolfe asked me to take the job until Bertha got here. I’ll be happy to get out of there.”
Marty stopped. “So, what’s your regular job?”
“Jack-of-all-trades,” Theo said. “Master of none. I just help out where I’m needed.”
Wolfe needs to help Theo off the ship, Marty thought as he walked out of the mess hall. I’ve got to find him and tell him.
A few feet down the corridor he took his Gizmo out and tried to locate his uncle, but Wolfe’s tracking tag wasn’t online. This wasn’t the first time he had taken himself off the grid. Marty wasn’t sure how or why he did it, but several times a day Wolfe’s tag simply disappeared for a while. Not even the dragonspy could find him then.
* * *
Grace had hardly left her cabin since they’d cast off and was all but immune to the ship’s gossip. Marty brought her food from the galley when she asked, which wasn’t often. She had lost her appetite, and it wasn’t because of the rough seas or the awful food. It was because of the illuminated manuscript. She had been poring over the pages day and night since the moment Wolfe had given it to her, and so far she had learned … absolutely nothing.
Marty rushed into her cabin and set a tray of fruit and yogurt on her cluttered desk. “Have you seen Wolfe?”
“Not since last night. How did his pep talk go?”
“It was more like an ultimatum. I need to find him.”
“Use your Gizmo.”
“He’s off the grid — again. I’m still not sure why
he does that.”
“The eggs,” Grace said.
“What?”
“When he checks on them he disables his tag. He doesn’t want anyone to know where the incubator room is, or that the eggs even exist for that matter.”
“That’s what I need to talk to him about! Do you know where the incubator is?”
Grace shook her head. “I assume it’s in one of the labs, but I don’t know which one. What’s the problem?”
Before Marty could answer, Luther came wobbling into her cabin with the green mamba jar. He was obviously still a little woozy, but he looked a lot better than he had the night before, when Grace and Marty had visited him in the infirmary.
“I’m okay now,” Luther said, setting the jar on Grace’s desk. “And I hope to never see another chessboard for as long as I live … or a stainless steel bucket.” He picked up a banana from the tray and peeled it while he glanced around the cabin. “What happened in here?”
“Rose is back!” Congo screeched. “Rose is back!”
“You didn’t tell me the parrot could talk!” Luther broke off a little piece of banana and fed it to him.
“Saying one sentence over and over again is hardly talking,” Marty said. “Grace could be her mom’s twin. That’s why he says it.” He pointed at the mess of paper strewn on the floor and desk. “Grace has been trying to translate that book Wolfe gave her and isn’t having much luck. Personally, I think the answer is in that trunk over there, along with some other things she’s been looking for.”
“Well, personally, I hate it when you two act like I’m not in the room when I’m standing right here,” Grace retorted.
“We know,” Luther said. “Which is exactly why we do it.” He took a large bite out of the banana.
“That might not be a good idea,” Marty said. “Grace doesn’t want her work slimed by regurgitated banana.”
“No, Grace doesn’t,” she agreed.
Luther stuffed the rest of the banana into his mouth, swallowed, belched, then grinned. “Told you I was okay.”
“Physically,” Grace pointed out, then turned to Marty. “You were about to tell me why you need to find Wolfe.”
Marty recounted the conversation he’d had with Theo.
“How could he know about the eggs?” Grace said.
“He’s obviously one of Blackwood’s spies,” Luther said. “And I know where Wolfe is. I saw him just before I got here.”
“Where?” Marty asked.
“Lab Nine,” Luther answered.
* * *
Butch McCall also knew where Wolfe was.
Like Marty, he had noticed Wolfe’s disappearances. What Marty hadn’t noticed was that Wolfe disappeared pretty regularly every four hours, twenty-four hours a day. And that Wolfe was careful to disable and re-enable his tag in different areas of the ship so no one could pinpoint where he was during the half hour to forty-five minutes he was off the grid. Butch had also noticed that Wolfe always disabled the tag when he was alone. From this, Butch had deduced several things: First, the eggs were aboard the Coelacanth, and they had either hatched or Wolfe believed they were viable and were going to hatch. Second, Wolfe was the only one who knew where the eggs were. Everyone else’s tags were on 24/7, including the kids’. If they knew where the eggs were, and were helping to monitor them, Wolfe would have disabled their tags, too. Third, if the pattern persisted, Butch would have four hours to steal the eggs or hatchlings when the time came.
This still left him with the task of finding out where Wolfe disappeared to. It wasn’t without risks, but the meeting that morning had provided Butch with the perfect opportunity to solve the mystery.
Over the past few days he had perfected his cover as Dr. Dirk (in honor of his dog) O’Connor, a large but gentle marine biologist under contract to NZA. His false identity had been further established with the help of a fellow researcher named Dr. Seth A. Lepod on their third night out at sea.
They had been hit by a very rough storm. Butch happened by Dr. Lepod’s lab just as he was trying to avert complete disaster.
A lot of the crew were up and wandering around the ship because of the storm. Butch took advantage of the situation by joining the worried crowd after loosening the straps holding down the Coelacanth’s helicopter and taking out a couple more cameras in the confusion. He was walking down the laboratory corridor just as the ship was broadsided by a vicious wave that was probably the one that cleared the helicopter pad. A panic-stricken Dr. Lepod burst out of his lab yelling for help.
The wave had knocked over one of Dr. Lepod’s aquariums, which in turn had torn out the main pump and filtration system for all the other aquariums. Dr. Dirk O’Connor was more than happy to assist a fellow scientist in distress.
Butch McCall, former circus roughneck and zookeeper, could fix anything. Within half an hour he had the system back online and most of the slimy squid back in their tanks with their arms and tentacles intact.
Disaster averted, the squid savior, Dr. O’Connor, sat down with the grateful squid doctor for a fishy-tasting cup of tea and scientific gossip. It turned out that Dr. Lepod was the world’s leading authority on squid — in particular Architeuthis. He had no idea how Wolfe intended to catch a giant squid, or how he intended to keep it alive.
Butch could not believe his luck. He sat in the lab for more than two hours, in spite of the horrendous stench, as the long-limbed Dr. Lepod (who resembled a terrestrial octopus) laid out what he would do to keep a giant squid alive if Wolfe were lucky enough to lure one aboard.
That morning, as Wolfe delivered his rant about the haunted ship, Butch sat with his “friend” Dr. Lepod in the center of the mess hall in plain view. No one paid the slightest attention to him, and no one joined them at their table because of Lepod’s odor and unappetizing appearance.
Butch hid his smile as Wolfe went on about the rumors of a haunted ship — all planted by Butch during the past several days. But he wasn’t there to gloat. He was there to discover where the eggs were. If Wolfe followed his established pattern, he would go dark right after the meeting and check on the eggs. With most everyone out of their cabins, heading back to their workstations, it would be easy to follow Wolfe to the nest. The meeting was much shorter than Butch had anticipated, and Wolfe left so quickly that Butch nearly lost him in the crowd. As Butch tailed him, he passed within ten feet of Marty O’Hara. Marty didn’t even look at him. He was talking to another crew member who looked familiar, but Butch didn’t have time to think about where he had seen the man before. Wolfe was on the move.
Butch pushed his way through the crowd and caught a glimpse of Wolfe as he disappeared around a corner. He hurried forward and found him again just as he entered the bridge. He waited in an alcove outside, watching Wolfe’s tag on the Gizmo, along with the tags of the captain, chief engineer, and radio operator. Wolfe was a little behind schedule, but the tag blinked off seven and a half minutes after he entered the bridge. A moment later Wolfe stepped out and walked quickly past the alcove without looking in Butch’s direction. Butch gave him a ten-second lead. Wolfe walked directly to the lab deck, stopping only once to say something to Marty’s friend Luther. Luther continued on his way, then Wolfe slipped into Lab Nine.
* * *
“This is it,” Luther said.
He and Marty and Grace were standing outside Lab Nine.
“Are you sure?” Grace asked.
“Well, I can’t swear he’s still in there, but this is where he went after asking if I was feeling okay.”
Marty checked his Gizmo. Wolfe was still off the grid. He looked at the electronic lock on the door. “Did he swipe a card to get inside?”
Luther shook his head. “Nope. He just held up his Gizmo and hit a button. I think it has Bluetooth and so do the locks, which means you can probably use your Gizmo to get into any of the labs, including number nine …” Luther grinned. “… among other things … like accessing the cameras, or turning off your tracking tag, or mine, or G
race’s —”
“Or we could just knock on the door,” Grace said. “Instead of loitering outside the lab attracting attention Wolfe obviously doesn’t want.”
She knocked. The lab doors all had peepholes. A few moments later the door swung open. They all expected to find a frowning Travis Wolfe. Instead, he was grinning.
“I wondered how long it would take you to find the incubator room,” he said. He was dressed in disposable green scrubs from head to toe, including a mask and surgical gloves. “Come on in. I was about to call you anyway.”
They slipped in and Wolfe closed the door behind them. There was an air lock similar to but much smaller than the one at the Moon Pool.
“You’ll all need to shower and put on scrubs,” Wolfe said. “There are men’s and women’s showers. The eggs are being incubated in a sterile room. I don’t know what viruses and germs Mokélé-mbembé is susceptible to, but I’m not taking any chances. When you’re all scrubbed, come through the second set of doors. I’ll be waiting for you inside.”
Fifteen minutes later the trio stepped into the incubator room looking like a surgical team.
“One of the eggs is pipping,” Wolfe said.
“You mean peeping,” Luther said.
“No,” Wolfe said. “I mean pipping.” He led them over to the incubator.
Inside the sealed Plexiglas were two white eggs the size of small soccer balls, half-buried in rich brown mulch that Wolfe had brought in from the Mokélé-mbembé nest in the Congo.
Luther could barely believe his eyes. He’d heard about the eggs, but this was the first time he had actually seen them.
“Before a chick, or in this case a dinosaur, can hatch, it has to break through the shell. That’s called pipping.” Wolfe pointed to the egg on the right. “See that little hole on the top of the egg?”
They all nodded.
“Four hours ago it wasn’t there,” Wolfe continued. “Birds and reptiles, and even some spiders and frogs, have an egg tooth to help them break through the shell. I don’t know about dinosaurs, but I assume they have something similar. This one has punctured the shell.”
