Michael had comforted her, and said in the long run it wouldn't matter anyway, not when she was settled in the States with him. Skye had been caught off guard by his comments. Her heart had sung with delight. Was Michael proposing? She was euphoric as he explained that he wanted her by his side, always. It was what she had dreamed and hoped for. They had talked long into the night, Michael vehemently declaring his love for her over and over again.
He'd already made plans for their future. After twenty-five years service, he would have a reasonably good pension, enough to buy them a house somewhere. Skye could easily continue her career and Michael couldn't foresee any problems in her being granted a fiancée status visa. Her mind burned with the memory of his smooth words. At the time he’d been so convincing, and it was only now, with the benefit of hindsight, could Skye appreciate how easily she had been sucked in by his glib words and charming smiles.
She would never forget a single detail of the events that took place in the following days. At first it was little things, like Michael's pager going off halfway through dinner and him rushing out of the restaurant supposedly back to the ship, leaving Skye to finish her meal in solitude and to pick up the tab. He became secretive, volunteering little information about himself or why he had been recalled to the ship. On Sunday afternoons he'd disappear for hours on end, on some pretext or other.
There had been other last minute excuses to cancel their plans, like the weekend in Victoria and the trip to Friday Harbor. The endless questions about who called while he was out, made Skye feel as if he was trying to control her.
When Michael had asked about her business she had been reluctant to answer, feeling as if she were betraying all she and John had built together. But once again, Michael convinced her to tell him, saying that if she loved him as much as she said, then as her future husband he had a right to know such things. Skye had caved in and told him that she and John were equal partners.
Skye never discussed what she and John were working on outside the office and she wasn't going to break that personal rule even for Michael. She tried hard to explain that to him, but he refused to accept her decision, questioning her over and over again. Each time his tone would be civil, but she would never forget the anger in his eyes.
Unable to fathom why her response had annoyed him so much, Skye ignored the warning voices in her head. Michael's constant questions were nothing compared to the events that ultimately unfolded.
From the day they’d met, Michael had been attentive to her. Skye had been flattered. It hadn't crossed her mind, that Michael could have a hidden agenda when he suggested they meet. She had been too wrapped up in her own happiness to realize that anything was amiss. Just how wrong she'd been.
Chapter Six
The bad weather brought little respite for Walker. After leaving Skye, he decided to fly to Seattle. He stopped at the local store on his way to the airport and purchased a copy of the island paper. His stress level rose a few points when he noticed a small article concerning the increasing numbers of dead fish that were washing up on the island’s beaches. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he read on. The journalist didn't give a reason for the phenomenon other than the storm, but Walker knew differently. He cursed himself for foolishly thinking the rainstorms would buy him some time to continue his investigation.
A short time later he surveyed the mountain of paperwork that covered every inch of his desk. But he was too restless to concentrate for long on anything other than the recent events on the island, and the beautiful woman staying in his cabin.
He swore viciously under his breath. He was still mad at himself for allowing the realtor to lease it so early in the season. He had enough problems without adding to them with his own stupidity. So far, no fish had washed up in the cove in front of the cabin, but it was only a matter of time before they did. And as for the very attractive Ms Dunbar, under different circumstances, he mused, it might be interesting to get to know her better. But, as things stood he remained highly suspicious of her and her motives for renting the cabin.
He stared moodily out of the window at the Seattle skyline and considered his options. Slowly a strategy formed in his mind, which, if successful, could give him the lead he was looking for. His first call was to the Port Office at Friday Habor. He needed exact details of the tides for the last few days, the names of any vessels that had passed through the straits, their cargo and heading.
Normally such information would not be available, but fortunately for Walker, Joe had contacted the Port Director, and told him to expect Walker’s phone call. His second call was to the meteorological office for details of wind direction and velocity. Finally he entered all the information he'd gathered on to a large-scale map of the islands, and marked where the latest batch of fish had washed up.
According to the Port Director, none of the ships that had passed through the straits in recent days could have been responsible for the new reports of dead fish. They had mainly been cargo vessels delivering containerized stores to small remote villages. Walker studied the map; the lines of concentration furrowed his brow. If his calculations were correct, then whoever was illegally dumping chemical substances was doing so somewhere in the waters between Friday Harbor and Shaw Island.
He fervently hoped that the chemicals were in containers, rather than being dumped overboard like raw sewage. If they were, and the containers were marked, then he stood a chance of tracing them back to the plant from which they came. If they weren’t, then there was no way to determine their source.
It was a huge area to search, and Walker wasn't too optimistic, but at least it was worth a try. It would be the equivalent of looking for a goldfish in a pond and a pure fluke if they actually managed to find anything. The waters around the islands were treacherous and even if the containers were lying in shallow water it would be a dangerous operation. Besides, the current weather conditions weren't exactly ideal for diving off a small boat. Divers weren't the answer, thought Walker grimly. But there was another possibility, if he could persuade Joe to involve the Coastguard or even one of the specialist companies, in an underwater search using sonar, or better yet, a remotely operated vehicle, then maybe—just maybe, he would get lucky.
Walker massaged the pain in his temples as he waited for Joe to pick up the phone. He felt as if he had aged ten years over the last three weeks, the stress and lack of sleep had taken their toll. His concern now wasn't just for the depletion of the local salmon population, or for the rest of the wildlife, such as the sea otters and seals, which abounded in the waters around the islands, but for the human inhabitants too. He said a silent prayer that none of the hospitals had reported anyone being admitted with suspected poisoning. Once the food chain became involved, there was no telling where this would end.
The seconds ticked away and then a somewhat disgruntled voice answered.
"McCabe."
Walker cut straight to the chase. "Joe, do you know anyone who could do a sonar survey of the straits, or better yet, send down a remotely operated vehicle?"
"Christ, you don't want much do you? Have you any idea what you're asking for or how much these surveys cost? Let's not leave out the fact that they are way outside my department's jurisdiction. I could easily be kissing my whole budget for the next ten years goodbye."
"Calm down, think of your blood pressure. Besides, I haven't asked you to pay for it. We can ask other departments to chip in. I just wanted to know if you could organize one."
"Calm down? Easy for you to say, you haven't got the entire State Department watching every move you make. Sonar surveys, remotely operated vehicles? Just what are you planning to do, look for hidden treasure like some perverse pirate?"
"I've been plotting tides, vessel movements and details of where fish came ashore. I now have a rough idea of where these chemicals are being dumped. It's a large area to search, but if we could survey the seabed, who knows, we might come up with some anomaly to justify taking a closer l
ook. I know it's a long shot, but I don't know what else to suggest, unless of course you've managed to come up with something positive."
"I hear you, Walker, but before I go spending all of Uncle Sam's tax dollars on what could easily be a red herring, let's see if we can't streamline your plan a little."
"What do you have in mind?" asked Walker. A muscle flicked impatiently in his jaw.
"I don't have authority to spend the sort of money you're talking about, that's for sure. As I've said, it's technically out of my jurisdiction. How about I take this upstairs and explain the position. Maybe I could get approval for a sonar survey. We could compare it to one done a few years back, that way if anything unexpected did show up we could justify the need to investigate further. Even then, I can't promise I'll get approval for an ROV, but I don't see why we couldn't send down a dive team, provided the water's not too deep, and this damn weather improves. How does that sound?"
"I guess if that is the best you can do," Walker replied. "Just make sure you tell whoever that sooner or later it won't be fish turning up dead, but people, and when that happens I'll be first in line to say I told you so. Get back to me with the details as soon as you can."
Walker slammed down the phone. Frustrated, he stared out of the window. Normally he found the view relaxing, but today it did little to calm his rage. He swore heartily under his breath. Not only was his professional life fast going from sugar to shit, but he couldn't get the image of his sexy tenant out of his mind either. Totally disgusted with the direction his thoughts were headed, he grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and marched of the office.
He walked quickly, and glanced over his shoulder every now and again to make sure he wasn't being followed, as he headed downtown towards Pioneer Square. He entered the first Internet Café he could find with a vacant booth, and logged into his web-based e-mail address. He was disappointed to find nothing new. His fist hit the desk—hard. People just didn't disappear without trace, especially not leading computer scientists, unless of course they were up to no good. He had to find Ridge, and soon. If his plans for searching the seabed came up empty, then finding out who was hacking into his company's computers was his last hope.
He ordered another strong black coffee, and searched the web once more. With his back and neck muscles aching, he finally came across an interview in a little known computer journal with a John Ridge. It had to be the same person; it couldn't just be a coincidence. The article was a few years old, but tucked away at the bottom of the page was an e-mail address. Praying that once again the gods were on his side, he quickly typed a note, briefly explaining his situation and asking if Dr. Ridge could help. His final request before hitting the send key was to ask for an immediate response.
Stretching to relieve the ache in his tired muscles, Walker knew there was nothing more he could do, other than sit back and wait for either McCabe or Ridge to contact him. Ironically, waiting wasn't one of his better traits. He was used to being in control of his own destiny, and for the last few weeks he’d been anything but. He downed his coffee, deleted all traces of his activities on the PC, and left.
Back in his office, he set about clearing the pile of paperwork on his desk. Around ten his private line rang. Few people knew the number and even fewer knew he was in town. He snatched the handset off the cradle, and was relieved to hear Joe's voice at the other end of the line.
"I might have guessed you'd still be at your desk at this ungodly hour."
"Paperwork, Joe, paperwork. It gets us all in the end. I hope you've got good news."
"I need you to send me everything you have so far—lab reports, newspaper articles, witness statements, maps—whatever you've got. And, Walker, it had better be convincing."
"I didn't ask you to go out on a limb for me."
"A limb? A mere limb? I've done more than go out on a limb for you, I'm dangling off a leaf at the end of the branch, and I don't want to crash and burn, and find myself collecting my pension fifteen years early just because we didn't cover our backs."
"I hear you, Joe. I'll have everything couriered over to you in the morning. Do you have any idea of timescale?" Walker’s voice was as cold as the water in Puget Sound.
"If your evidence is as good as you say, then within forty-eight hours. I understand the Coastguard has a suitably equipped vessel on standby for emergencies, and are prepared to let us have it for a couple of days. The other bit of good news is that my opposite number is already pulling the results of the survey carried out last year for comparison."
"I suppose that's something. Should I go along for the ride?"
"Let the boys in blue handle this. They'll get back to me as soon as the analysis has been made."
"Okay. But I don't think I’ll sleep easy until I see the results."
"That makes two of us. I'll give you a call once they've sailed. Will you still be at this number or are you heading back to Friday Harbor?"
"I'll be here. There are a few things I want to check out. Don't worry; I'll keep you informed as to my whereabouts."
"I'll wait for the courier in the morning. Don't burn the midnight oil too much, ole buddy."
"Yeah, old is right. I'm already losing way too much sleep over this one. Remind me again, why I let you talk me into taking this on? And, Joe, better add this one to my tab, its another favour I owe you."
"Hey, if your tab gets any longer buddy, I'll be collecting 'til hell freezes over, thaws, then freezes over again. Talk to you in the morning."
Walker worked long into the night, correlating lab results, copying the recent newspaper article, the map he had drawn up and pulling all the information he had on PCBs their effects on fish and the food chain. Finally he set about writing his report and recommendations.
Somewhere around four, his eyes burning and no longer able to concentrate, he allowed himself the luxury of a few hours sleep on the office couch. The masculine, rich mahogany coloured leather couch wasn't built for Walker's tall, powerful frame, but there was no way he was allowing the report out of his sight until he placed it in the hands of the courier. He chided himself for being so paranoid. But under the current circumstances, he didn't trust anyone but Joe. He eased his weary body into the most comfortable position possible in the cramped space, and fell into a troubled sleep.
He woke just after seven, and showered and shaved in the executive bathroom, changing into the spare clothes he kept at the office for emergencies. He called the local courier company, and arranged to have his neatly packaged report delivered to Joe.
Three days later a harassed Walker returned to the island. These days, his temper always seemed to be at boiling point and a two-hour delay in takeoff due to reduced visibility hadn't helped his demeanor one little bit. Finally receiving clearance, he took off and was now flying relatively low over the straits, on his approach to his landing point at Friday Harbor.
Less than a thousand feet below him, the Coastguard cutter was slowly working lines with the sonar fish. The vessel was moving painstakingly slowly as towing a sonar fish smoothly in deep water with strong currents, was not a job for the inexperienced skipper. Annoyingly, it would be another few days before the survey was completed and the results correlated and compared with those of a previous year.
Walker was only too conscious of the fact that his reputation was on the line. He wasn't confident that the survey would turn up anything significant, he could only hope. If it didn't, all his years of hard work establishing his company as a leading authority on environmental issues would be down the pan, and Walker Environmental would lose all credibility. There was no way he was going to give in without a determined fight.
His body ran on a mixture of anger and adrenalin. He was tired beyond belief with the strain, but he knew he couldn't rest until whoever was responsible, was brought to justice. One thought kept turning over in his troubled mind. There was no doubt this was a personal vendetta against him, and he couldn't help feeling there was someone close by watchin
g his every move. They had already succeeded in hacking into his computer. What would be next he wondered, a physical attack on his company? A personal assault? And where did his sexy tenant fit into the the scheme of things?
There was something decidedly odd about Ms Dunbar's timely appearance on the island. It was just too much of a coincidence. Perhaps it was time to storm the castle, or should he say ‘cabin’, and discover just what made the charming Ms Dunbar tick.
Chapter Seven
Three Weeks Last Spring Page 6
