Operation Dolphin Spirit

by Kimberli A. Bindschatel

  When I popped up at the surface, Droppin’ Skirts idled nearby, rolling in the surf. When they spotted me, Mike brought the boat around. Tom threw a line for me to grab and dragged me toward the boat.

  He lay on his stomach on the swim platform on the back of the boat, holding on with one hand. The platform slammed into the water, then raised five feet into the air on a wave. I would have to time it just right, or the platform would come down on top of me.

  “Keep it steady!” he yelled to Mike at the helm. To me he said, “Stay to the side. Don’t get under it.”

  “Roger that.”

  First, I took off my gear and shoved it toward him. As the stern came down, he grabbed hold of it. He didn’t have to lift. He held on as the boat went up a wave, then set it down as the platform dropped again, all in one motion.

  “I’m going to have to grab you. You’ll have to come up the rope, close enough, at just the right time.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  The platform slammed down next to me, but I missed my chance.

  “Take your time,” Tom said. “I’m ready for you.” He held out his hands.

  The boat rode up again and, hand over hand, I pulled myself close. As the platform smacked the water, Tom’s arms were around me, and I was lifted into the air. He rolled and I rolled with him. I scrambled to my knees and grabbed hold of the swim handle.

  “Gotcha!”

  We both got to our feet and duck-walked to the seats.

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked once I’d got my balance.

  Mike handed me a glass of water. “We saw you leave the marina in the dive boat, figured you might need some help. Your friend Chris was relieved to see us, by the way. It was the only reason he went on back to the marina. Poor guy looked a little green.”

  “Yeah, but I thought you were on Dalton’s side.”

  “We’re all on one team,” Tom said with a fatherly tone.

  I pulled the trackers from the BC pocket and held them out for them to see. “I removed their trackers. Four of them. The fifth wouldn’t come close enough for me to get it. Then they all disappeared, as if—”

  Tom sighed. “Yeah, we kinda figured.”

  “What? How’d you know?”

  “We’ve had the hydrophone in the water. We recorded a high frequency sound. Possibly a signal.”

  “You mean—?”

  “Yeah. We think the Russians are communicating with them using underwater sound amplification.”

  I looked to Mike, then back to Tom. “So, they’re not using whistles?” I knew it was stating the obvious. Somehow, I was two steps behind.

  Tom was shaking his head. “This way, they can give the dolphins commands from a long distance away.”

  “So, the trackers being off—”

  “Doesn’t matter. They don’t need to find them. They can call them home like dogs.”

  “Dammit!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Once we got back in the bay and had the boat tied back up at the dock, I turned to the guys and asked, “You don’t really think Hyland is going to want us to help kidnap the dolphins?”

  Tom stared at me.

  Mike looked away, chewing on his thumbnail.

  C’mon, guys.

  Tom finally said, “You know, Dalton, he—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of Dalton?”

  “Listen,” Tom said, placing his hands on my forearms and looking into my eyes. “We know enough to know that we are too far down the food chain to make decisions on our own.”

  Hot frustration traveled up my neck.

  “We follow orders,” he went on. “And, right now, we don’t have new orders.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But nothing,” Mike said, digging something out of his ear. “I’m already on shaky ground as it is.”

  That was true. He’d damn near got us killed on the last op.

  “And so are you,” he added.

  My jaw tightened. “I’m not the one who—”

  “All right.” Tom held up his hands as he stepped between us. “The point is, it doesn’t matter what we think. We don’t act without direction.”

  “I don’t believe that,” I said. I wanted to slap them both. “This is an elite team. Not because we have exhaustive training like Navy SEALs. It’s because we’re smart. We know how to get to the heart of an operation and expose criminal activity. And we do it all for the good of the animals. In this situation, we know exactly what to do.” I threw up my hands. “But hey, if you want to wait for Mom to give you a permission slip, you go right ahead.”

  I found Chris and Natalie at the dive dock, watching for me.

  “There you are!” Chris shouted when he saw me, relieved.

  “Tom and Mike picked me up.”

  We moved to the leeward side of the building, under a slatted roof out of the rain. I told them about the acoustical summons and the dolphins disappearing.

  “So, it was all for nothing?” Natalie asked.

  I shook my head. I had an idea.

  “Oh-kay?” Chris moaned.

  “I know what we need to do. The question is, are you up for it?”

  “Oh god,” Chris said.

  “Up for what?” Natalie asked.

  “These guys think I’m an intern. An animal lover. I’ve got red hair, so, I’m hot-headed, right?”

  Chris nodded. “Um, yeah, you’re saying that like it’s a ridiculous stereotype but--”

  “Fine, what do young, idealistic, passionate dolphin-lovers do when they see dolphins being harmed?”

  Chris groaned. “Here it comes.”

  “I can tell you what the Sea Shepherds do to whalers.”

  Natalie nodded. She was getting the idea.

  “Butyric acid. Methylcellulose. Prop fouling.”

  Chris backed away, his hands up. “Acid? You can’t be serious.”

  “Butyric acid,” I said. “A homemade stink bomb. It smells like vomit.”

  His lips curled up.

  “We use the cover to get close to their boat and we destroy that damn acoustic device.”

  “Yes!” Natalie said, then immediately lost her enthusiasm. “But getting a hold of some butyric acid and methylcellulose on this island—you can’t even get decent chocolate.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, I think—”

  “What does Dalton say about it?” Chris asked.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “But doesn’t Dalton—”

  “I don’t need Dalton’s approval.”

  “Okay.” He backed away.

  “I don’t need Dalton and I don’t need to call my boss, which I can’t do now with the storm anyway. I’m calling the shots here.”

  “Okay,” Chris said, his voice gone soft.

  “We have to give these dolphins a fighting chance to get away.”

  “Right on,” Natalie said.

  I turned to her. “We need the feces of an ungulate. One with the stomach—what do you call that?—you know, where the food ferments in the stomach. Horses? Cattle? Are there any on the island?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about a goat?”

  “I think there is one goat, on the North Island.”

  “Good. And okra has a high concentration of methyl cellulose. Do you know—”

  “Yes, yes. We can get okra. Frozen. But it’s commonly served here on the island.”

  “Vegetables?” Chris said. “Are you kidding?”

  “Methyl cellulose is slippery. Makes it hard to walk on the deck of a boat.”

  “Ah.”

  “Remember, it’s all a façade anyway.”

  “Right.”

  “We just need a way to get it and the stink bombs onto their deck. The Shepherds throw glass bottles that break on the steel ships. But in this situation, I don’t think we could—”

  “I know.” Natalie grinned with devilish intent. “How about a water balloon launcher, with biodegradable ba
lloons, no less.”

  I smiled. “Now we’re talking.”

  While Chris shopped for okra and Natalie, having drawn the short straw, collected goat droppings, I ran another errand. To the Bimini Big Game Club.

  The pool area was deserted. Palm trees whipped in the wind and rain showered the patio. I ducked into the Bar & Grill. Rod and Alison sat at a corner table watching the television and sharing a fried shrimp appetizer.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” I said. “I just have a quick question.”

  Rod shot up from his chair and pulled one out for me.

  “No need,” I said. “Like I said, quick question.”

  “Sure. Happy to help.” He eased back into the chair next to Alison.

  “The boat, with the Russians. You mentioned there was communication equipment on board. But did you see any audio equipment? Anything that would produce sounds underwater?”

  “You mean like a diver recall transducer?”

  “Um, maybe?”

  “You’re wondering if they had an output actuator?”

  “Well, I don’t know what it’s called, but—”

  “An underwater loudspeaker. Yes, that equipment was on board.”

  I tried to hide my excitement. “Okay, what did it look like?”

  He stood back up. “Is Dalton thinking of going back out there? Because I can be ready in—”

  “No, no.” I held up my hands as if to block him. “I just need to know that I could identify it. If the opportunity arises.” And it will. “I need to know what I’m looking for.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Well, they’re simple, actually. A speaker or I think that one had several speakers on one cord.” He cupped his hands, holding them about ten inches apart. “About the size of a pie plate. When in use, it would be deployed over the side, into the water, and likely have a line attached with a weight on the bottom to keep it submerged.”

  “And you’re sure you saw one? That kind, I mean?”

  He nodded. “Affirmative.”

  Two hours later, Chris, Natalie, and I were back at my room. Okra bubbled in a pot on the hotplate. Outside my door, the goat dung steeped in the juices at the bottom of a trash barrel.

  “As soon as the okra mash cools, we’ll fill the balloons. We can start with the goat dung.”

  Chris shook his head. “That’s where I draw the line.”

  “C’mon.”

  “Nope. No way.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  Natalie and I tied bandanas over our noses. “How bad can it be?”

  She’d brought an old ladle and a funnel.

  Holding our breath, we filled one balloon at a time.

  “Omigod,” Natalie said, trying not to retch. “That is nasty.”

  “That’s the point.” I held my breath to keep from gagging. “Let’s just get it done.”

  Soon, we had twenty-five balloons filled.

  The okra mash filled up another fifteen.

  We carefully loaded them into a hard-sided cooler.

  “This is a great start,” I said. “They won’t mistake the message anyway.”

  Once Chris and Natalie left for the night, I slumped down in the chair. What an exhausting day.

  What was Dalton up to?

  Thoughts of his kisses warmed my insides. Maybe I should go find him.

  But we’d just argue. What was going on with him? I’d never seen him so worked up.

  Yeah, I needed to go find him.

  I grabbed my raincoat and put it on as I went out the door.

  He’d been given a room on the second floor of a house two streets over. It had an outside entrance. When I got there, no lights were on. It was only eight thirty.

  Where might he be?

  I walked down on the dock. Lights were on in Droppin’ Skirts. Mike and Tom were sitting in the salon, but not Dalton. I went back down the dock.

  Gaspar’s Revenge was no longer docked. Jesse probably had it anchored out in the bay. If Dalton was with him, I would have to find a dinghy and drive around in the dark.

  No. Let it go. If he wanted to see me, he would.

  On my way back to my room, I went by his place again, but the it was still dark.

  I needed to get some sleep anyway. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The rain had stopped overnight and blue sky cut through above, but the ocean was still a maelstrom of big waves. Chris and I waited at the water sports shack, sipping our coffee, until finally, at 9:15, an older Bahamian man ambled in. Hair was as white as snow and his ebony skin as weathered and wrinkled as old leather. He sat in the well-worn chair, and when he smiled, there was a wide gap between his middle teeth.

  “Can I help yuh, miss?” he asked, his voice like an old island song.

  “I’d like to rent a WaveRunner,” I said.

  “Ah, sorry, miss, can't do dat,” he said, shaking his head. “Not during dis blow.”

  I pulled out my government Amex card and handed it to him. “How about if I pay for three, but just take one?”

  He shrugged, then looked at the card and smiled. “Well den, kick up rumpus, miss,” he said, running my card and handing it back, along with the key.

  Chris and I headed for the dock where Natalie met us with the cooler. We strapped our makeshift stink bomb case onto the back of the WaveRunner, buckled our life vests, and climbed aboard.

  Chris had agreed to drive while I sat on the back and deployed the bombs, but the balloon launcher was a huge slingshot apparatus that, we found, wasn’t going to work on a WaveRunner; it’d be really difficult to aim. We’d have to throw our homemade balloon-bombs by hand. Since Chris had a much better throwing arm, a fact that I had a hard time admitting, we switched seats.

  “Good luck,” Natalie said and waved as we left the harbor.

  As we turned out of the bay, headed for open ocean and big waves, I slowed.

  “Chris. Thanks for doing this,” I said.

  “It’ll be fun,” he replied with a grin.

  “No, I mean, being here. Everything.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “What are friends for? Let’s just get this speaker thing. Then we can work on the real problem. You and Dalton.”

  “You never let up.”

  “Nope. And by the way, take it easy. Don’t kill me out there. We both know you’re a crazy driver.”

  I gave him a grin back, said, “Hang on,” and squeezed the throttle. We shot through the water, hit a wave straight on, and launched into the air.

  Chris let out a squeal.

  We hit a second wave and went airborne again, this time slamming down so hard it knocked us forward. Water sprayed over our heads.

  “What’d I say?” he shouted. “Slow it down!”

  “Roger that,” I said, and took the next wave with a little less throttle.

  We rounded the island and headed north to the area we guessed they’d most likely be. Each wave sent us skyward, then plunging down the trough in a steady rhythm.

  What seemed like twenty minutes later, we spotted their vessel. For whatever reason, they hadn’t chosen to take cover from the storm in the lee of the island. Or maybe they had and they were already back out. Whichever, they wouldn’t be here much longer. Not if I had anything to do with it.

  I drove straight for them. There was no point in trying to be stealthy about it. I wanted them to see it was me, not Kerrie or Natalie. Me, the intern. With the red hair. They could threaten me all they wanted. I wasn’t going to tolerate them harming these dolphins.

  As I approached the boat, two men stood at the stern, watching. One held a pair of binoculars to his eyes. Then I spotted in the water, behind the boat, four dolphins.

  I drove the WaveRunner straight at them. The dolphins would dive out of the way. Once I was within range, I said to Chris, “As we pass, fire at will!”

  A balloon shot through the air and hit the stern, right in the center, and exploded on contact. Liquid goat
shit sprayed everywhere.

  Chris let out a whoop.

  The men jumped back, then the odor hit them and their hands raised to cover their noses.

  “Take that!” I yelled as I spun the WaveRunner around to make another pass.

  Chris launched another, then another.

  I circled back. “Hit ‘em with the slippery stuff.”

  Two more balloons fired into the air, one then the other. Only one hit. Splat.

  The men disappeared inside the boat.

  “Keep hitting ‘em,” I told Chris. “We need to come around for our prize.”

  I could see the audio device, hanging from a cleat on the starboard side.

  “Oh man, oh man,” Chris yelped.

  “What?” Then the smell hit me.

  “One broke open in the cooler.”

  I slowed. “Rinse it out. Hurry.”

  My throat involuntarily constricted.

  A shot rang out. A gunshot.

  “They’re shooting at us?” I said in disbelief. At animal rights kids?

  “Omigod!” Chris shouted. “Go, go, go!”

  I squeezed the throttle and shot over a wave. We slammed down the other side.

  Shots zinged by and—smack—a bullet hit the engine cover.

  I kept the hammer down. “Hang on!” I shouted to Chris.

  Up and over another wave we went, then another.

  What the hell! They shot at us? Of all the scenarios I considered, I hadn’t thought they’d shoot at us. They were shooting at us!

  We slammed into a wave too hard and Chris fell sideways and slid off the WaveRunner.

  I rammed the handlebars to the left, the nose dipped, and the ass end spun around. He bobbed in the surf.

  “Get on!”

  His arms flailed at air. I grabbed his hand and hauled him back aboard, knocking the cooler off the back.

  Another shot rang out and the back panel shattered to pieces.

  I hit the gas.

  We raced toward the marina, Chris latched onto me, his arms locked around my waist.

  “What the hell? They shot at us,” he hollered in my ear.

  I shook my head. It didn’t make sense. They were in foreign waters, illegally harassing dolphins. Keeping a low profile would be their best approach. But to shoot at us?