“How was it? The aquarium. Did you enjoy yourself? You and your girlfriend?”
“I found it fascinating.” She had a friend’s name on the tip of her tongue, just in case he should ask.
“You did?” His face relaxed into a smile.
“So, where do you work when you’re a marine biologist?”
“The Scripps Institution of Oceanography. It’s a research facility in La Jolla. They stationed me up here to conduct some studies. Ever hear of it?”
“Yes, I have. Have you been with them long?”
“Not long,” he said.
“So what are you working on?”
“Has to do with the maximum sustainable yield.”
“I’m sorry, the what?”
“It’s the maximum amount of fish that can be caught each year without impairing the population growth. In the past six months, fishermen have reported an alarming decrease in the population levels off the Pacific Coast.”
“Oh my. And what would cause that?”
He was about to reply when he stopped himself. He studied her for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a shrug. “There I go again. Bad habit of mine, asking too many questions. I guess I’m just a little nervous.” She glanced away and saw a couple vacating a table. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” she said and began to pick up her tray.
“No, no. It’s all right. Don’t be silly. Please. Stay,” he said, placing his hand on her wrist.
“Only if you insist.”
“I insist.”
“Maybe I should introduce myself. I’m Vanessa Simmons.” She held out her hand.
“Vernon Murdock,” he said and shook her hand. He was not in a great hurry to release the grip. She liked that; it was working.
Once he pulled his hand away, she lifted up her cup with both hands and peered at him through the steam. He sat back in his chair, watching her. The corners of his mouth swept up into a sly grin.
“What?” she asked.
“I spend so much time with my work, I almost forgot how nice it is to just relax and talk.”
“You should do it more often. It seems to agree with you,” she told him.
He glanced down at his watch. “Oh my, I didn’t realize the time. I should go. Perhaps I could see you again?” he asked, stuffing his binder into a backpack.
“I’d like that. Let me give you my number. I better get yours, too, just in case you have trouble reaching me.” She wrote down her phone number and got his.
“Then I’ll see you later, Vanessa?”
“I’m counting on it,” she said. She watched him leave the coffee shop and waited until he was far enough down the street before picking up her purse and putting it on her lap.
She pretended to rummage through her handbag and switched off the tape recorder. She took out her cellular phone and punched in the numbers before putting the phone to her ear.
“Hello, Mrs. Constantino? This is Victoria Savage. Yes, I do believe I will be subletting the apartment after all. Yes, a six-month lease would be fine. I’ll bring the deposit over tomorrow. Yes, you too. Bye now.”
She put the cellular phone back in her purse. She sipped her latte, staring out the window, and pondered like a Grand Master at a chess tournament, contemplating her next move.
PART TWO
THE SILURID DOMAIN
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Galapagos Islands—San Cristobal Island
Steve McKay, marine biologist and tour guide at the Charles Darwin Research Center sat on a grassy knoll with the four tourists in his group. They were enjoying their lunch while a hundred yards away heavy waves pounded the rocky shore.
“When Charles Darwin first came here in eighteen thirty-five, there were an estimated two-hundred and fifty thousand giant tortoises populating the Galapagos Islands. Now, there are only fifteen hundred,” Steve said.
Dora and Mike Westlake shook their heads in disbelief. Retirees, they had been traveling the world, soaking up new lifetime experiences, and squandering their children’s inheritance.
“How tragic,” Dora commented.
“I’ll say,” Mike said. “So what caused them to die off?”
“Well, the tortoises had no reason to fear man. Commercial hunters and whalers contributed to most of the declining tortoise population.”
“Such senseless slaughter. Kind of like the American buffalo,” Mike said.
“Bison, dear,” Dora said, correcting her husband.
“What? Bison, buffalo, same thing.”
Steve paused to take a bite out of his sandwich and smiled at the other couple.
Philip and Lorrie Riker were newlyweds, Green Peace activists and environmentalists, visiting the Galapagos Islands for their honeymoon. They waited tentatively while Steve swallowed. He continued by saying, “Hmm, not exactly, Mike. Don’t take me wrong. I by no means condone what they did, but times were harsh back in those days. Ships didn’t have refrigeration, so it was difficult to preserve food supplies. Sailors suffered from malnutrition, scurvy, rickets, you name it.”
“But once the tortoises were killed, wouldn’t the meat spoil?” Lorrie asked.
“They could have cured the meat by smoking it,” Philip said. “Just like beef jerky. Right, Steve?”
“Well, Philip, I wish that was the case. You see a tortoise can live up to fourteen months without food or water.”
“You can’t be serious,” Mike said.
“Oh, I am. The sailors would capture the tortoises alive. Then they’d stack them in the hold of the ship, one on top of the other on their backs. Tortoises were often referred to as Galapagos mutton.”
“That’s just damn right cruel,” Lorrie said, putting her hand up to her mouth as if she might throw up her lunch.
“Fortunately, in nineteen fifty-nine, the Galapagos Islands were declared a national park, and now the giant tortoises are protected,” Steve said.
Mike removed his hat and combed his thinning hair with his fingers.
“So, I gather Darwin wasn’t here to save the tortoises from extinction,” he said.
“It was too early for that. He came here primarily to study them and formulated his concept of evolution through natural selection.”
“Natural selection?” Dora asked.
“It’s a term referring to when certain species become dominant over other species; even to the extent of reducing their numbers or even driving the subordinate animals into extinction,” Steve said.
“Survival of the fittest,” Mike piped in.
“Exactly,” Steve responded and also added, “The giant tortoises are a prime example. Darwin discovered that depending on the terrain that they had to adapt to, the tortoises on each island became separate species, even subspecies. Of course, it also helps to be able to live to be one-hundred and fifty years old.”
“No wonder they move so slow,” Dora chuckled.
“So, everyone up for a little hike?” Steve asked. “I promise it won’t be too strenuous. There are four-hundred and fifty land tortoises here on San Cristobal Island, so I’m sure we’ll be able to spot a few. I’m hoping to see sea turtles at the beach.”
The group gathered up the blankets and lunch bags and proceeded single file behind Steve down the well-traveled dirt path.
Frigate birds soared high in the azure, gliding the wind currents in a cyclone pattern.
Steve pointed out a giant iguana, scurrying between two rocks. A few minutes later, they paused to watch ten 300-pound giant tortoises graze, their thick necks stretched out of their protective shells, beak mouths nibbling on thorny thickets.
White cap combers crashed on the boulders bordering a cove.
“Where is that God-awful smell coming from?” Lorrie asked, stepping off a rock onto the beach.
“I don’t know, but it sure is foul,” Philip said, holding his nose.
Steve strode around a boulder and stopped. The others warily came up behind him.
Three decomposing seals and hundre
ds of dead fish littered the beach with even more limp bodies floating ashore on the incoming surf.
“Oh, Mike, I think I’m going to be sick,” Dora said. Mike put his arm around his wife to steady her.
“Come on,” he said and led her away.
“Steve, what’s that over there?” Philip asked.
Steve, Philip, and Lorrie walked across the sand and approached two sea turtles seemingly washed ashore.
“Oh no! Not them, too!” Steve blurted.
“What is it?” Lorrie asked.
“It’s Gorge and Maria.”
“They actually have names?” Philip asked.
“Yes. Those black boxes attached to their backs are GPS tracking devices.”
“That seems a little cruel,” Lorrie said.
“Not at all. They’re light enough. Besides, after a period of time, once the transmitters quit, they eventually drop off. This is really devastating. We were hoping to map Gorge and Maria’s mating habits by tracking them via satellite. We even set up an Internet Web site so that if people spotted the sea turtles, they could report when and where they saw them.”
Lorrie knelt in the sand to get a closer look at one of the sea turtles, its lifeless head extended out the shell. She stroked the dead creature’s head. The stenciled name Maria and a series of numbers were painted on the shell.
She glanced over at the other sea turtle—its identifier Gorge—and was shocked to see that the determined aquatic reptile was still alive and was dragging itself across the sand by its front flippers to be near Maria.
“Thank God,” Steve said.
“Sorry, Gorge,” Lorrie said, tearing up. “I’m afraid she’s dead.”
Gorge nudged his head against Maria’s head in an attempt to revive his companion.
Mike trudged through the sand and joined them.
“Dora will be fine in a bit.” He surveyed the dead fish. “What in the world could have done this?”
“I’m not completely sure,” Steve said. He went over and knelt to examine some of the fish. “Strangest thing I’ve ever seen. There are no defensive wounds, no visible wounds at all and no sign of toxin rejection.”
“Looks almost as if they were struck by lightning,” Mike said.
“We haven’t had a storm in months,” Steve said.
“Hey, you guys! Look!” Lorrie called out as Philip pointed.
Steve and Mike turned and saw Gorge paddling into the water. The sea turtle quickly met an incoming wave and submerged under the breaking foam.
“Where do you think he’s off to?” Mike asked.
“I have no idea,” was all Steve could say. He stared bewildered and watched Gorge swim out into the ocean.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Bolsa Chica State Beach—Southern California—Three Months Later
Arty Nelson and Leo Carr carried their lit lanterns and buckets across a patch of lawn overlooking the beach. They wore sweatshirts and shorts, as the night was balmy, only Arty had on sneakers where Leo wore flip-flops.
Small waves unfurled and rolled ashore, sparkling like tumbling gems under the full moon.
“Where is everyone? I thought you said this was a big deal,” Arty said.
“It is. We’re just early, that’s all,” Leo replied.
“Are you sure they’re in season?”
“Of course.”
Arty suddenly stopped when they reached the picnic tables by the state park’s public restrooms. “Ah, geez, I gotta go!”
“Can’t you wait?”
“No. I gotta go,” Arty said and set his bucket on a picnic bench.
“Told you not to eat those chili dogs.”
“What, and pass up the buy one, get one free senior discount? Not in your life, buddy boy. Hey, won’t kill you to wait.” Arty held up his lantern and headed for the men’s side of the restroom.
“Sorry, pal!” Leo said. “Kind of ironic, wouldn’t you say? I get you to go on your first grunion run and you get the runs?” Leo laughed. “Hurry it up. I’ll be down by the water filling my bucket.”
“Fine, fine,” Arty said and scurried into the public restroom. He could hear the fading flapping of Leo’s flip-flops as his friend headed out onto the sand.
Arty raised his lantern and peered inside the restroom. There were some crumpled paper towels on the concrete floor next to the refuse can. He rushed by the sinks and bolted into the first stall.
He placed the lantern on the floor by his feet, pulled down his shorts and squatted on the toilet seat just in the nick of time.
When Leo reached the water’s edge thousands of tiny grunion were already scampering out of the surf onto the wet sand to spawn. He put down his lantern and chased after the fingerlings with his bucket. His flip-flops flapped even louder when he scurried across the hard-packed sand, scooping up grunion by the handfuls and tossing them into the pail.
Back in the restroom, Arty was finishing purging himself with one last explosive gush. “Oh, never again,” he swore and reached for the toilet roll. He pulled down and got only a couple squares before the paper pulled off the cardboard tube. “Swell, just swell.”
A loud crash outside his stall made him jump.
“Leo? Is that you?”
Something banged against the metal refuse can.
“Leo! Quit screwing around!”
Arty pulled up his pants, picked up his lantern, and opened the stall door.
The glowing light shone about the restroom, but there was no one there.
Arty figured to hell with washing his hands and went directly for the exit.
He was just passing the refuse can when something lurched up and clambered across his back.
“Holy shit!” Arty yelled at the raccoon, racing across the floor and dashing outside.
On the beach, Leo already had a full bucket of squirming grunion and was walking back to his lantern.
Suddenly, the casting light was blocked by a dark, looming shadow that stretched across the sand.
Leo looked up and instantly there was terror in his eyes. He fell back on the sand and began scrambling back on his hands and feet like a fleeing crab.
Arty came out of the restroom and grabbed his bucket off the picnic bench. He followed Leo’s footprints in the sand until he reached Leo’s lantern.
Leo’s bucket was knocked over. Most of the captured grunion had already escaped and were wriggling back into the water.
There was no sign of Leo.
“Leo?” Arty called out.
He looked down and saw a set of footprints. He followed them for a short distance and soon found Leo’s flip-flops left in the sand next to a deep furrowed impression that had to be more than ten feet wide leading into the water.
Arty stood in a daze.
The frothy surf washed ashore, claimed Leo’s flip-flops and swept them out into the ocean.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Los Angeles International Airport
The underbelly of the 747 made its approach, low enough to peel the paint off the rooftops of the morning commute traffic. The jumbo jet cleared the sound barrier and touched down, tires screeching and smoking on the tarmac.
Twenty minutes later, Devon and Jess were lugging their travel bags down the busy corridor through the LAX terminal. They were passing by a bank of telephones when Jess stopped.
“Shouldn’t we call Kate? Let her know we got in okay.”
“Tell it like it is. You just want to know how Jonathan’s doing.”
“It is our first time away from him.”
“And this is our honeymoon. True, it’s a couple years overdue.”
“I’m just excited as you are to get to Catalina, but couldn’t we just call?”
“All right.” Devon smiled. He put the suitcases down by the wall.
He picked up a telephone receiver and dialed collect.
“Hello, Mom? We made it. No, we’re still at the airport. Not bad. Jess was…I mean we were wondering how Jonathan was doing?”
Max sat a couple feet away, observing the boy with close interest.
Jonathan reached into the bowl and grabbed a small handful of dried nuggets.
The golden retriever perked up his ears.
“Jonathan? Oh, he’s having breakfast.” She cupped her hand over the phone and said in a stern whisper, “Jonathan! Get away from there! Leave Max’s food alone!”
Jonathan peered up at Kate and munched on a nugget. He grinned, brown drool running down his chin.
Kate took her hand off the phone.
“Tell Jess not to worry. Jonathan’s fine. Just enjoy yourselves. Oh, by the way, the reservations are all set for the delta. Now, you two go and have fun. We’ll see you in a couple of days. Love you. Bye.”
Kate hung up the phone just in time to see Jonathan giggling and Max licking the boy’s face.
“You two.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Playa Del Rey State Beach—Southern California
Hundreds of umbrellas and many more sunbathers were sprawled on their beach towels, baking under the torrid sun.
There were sun-worshipers playing volleyball and crowds of people in the surf. A concession stand was set up with a long line of bronze teenagers, girls in thong bikinis and boys in hotdog surfer shorts waiting to place their orders.
A barefoot man in a Hawaiian shirt and denim cutoffs hurried across the hot sand carrying a large cooler and an umbrella. He stopped and danced in place to cool off his burning feet then continued on for a few more steps only to repeat the ritual.
Lifeguards towers were lined along the waterfront, each man and woman poised for action, scanning the shallow waters for swimmers in trouble or the potential threat of a shark attack. The six-foot waves were breaking in steady sets perfect for body surfing and boogie boarding.
A teenage boy on a lime-green boogie board rode the crest of a wave and skimmed in on the foam. He quickly stood up, turned the nose of his board around, dove back on, and paddled back into the surf.
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