“So, what? You’re saying we wait around and do nothing?”
“You don’t like cold coffee and stale doughnuts?”
“Dalton!”
“Actually, I have an idea.” He grinned. “I think you’ll like it.”
I didn’t like the sound of this.
“When I was a SEAL, we used down time for training, trust building, that kind of thing. We could use a little of that.”
“Like a little of what?”
A grin spread across his face. The hint of challenge in his eyes made me nervous.
CHAPTER TWO
I leaned out over the granite ledge and gazed down at the fjord 3,208 feet below. A white sheen of glistening sunlight spread across the greenish-blue water. Two endangered Eurasian peregrine falcons swooped and soared on the wind below us. One caught a thermal and gently glided into a circular flight path, its wings outstretched. The fastest animal on Earth, a falcon can dive over 200 miles per hour. I don’t know how Dalton knew, but I’d been wanting to see one for as long as I could remember.
At last, there were two in my sights. But today we weren’t here just to see them. We were going to soar with them. If they’d have us.
“You ready?” I asked Dalton.
He nodded and smiled, the dimple in his right cheek appearing. “You’re the one who’s been lollygagging.”
“I want to time it just right.” I shaded my eyes with my hand and searched for the sliver of grassy shoreline onto which I was supposed to land. “See you on terra firma.”
I ran back to where my paraglider wing lay in the grass, clipped it to my harness, then gave it a yank. It lifted from the ground, filling with air. I turned and ran and as I reached the edge, I was airborne, held aloft by the warm ridge-lift air current.
My breath left my body as the great expanse of the fjord spread below me, the cliffs on either side narrowing downward. No matter how many times I did this, it still took my breath away.
As I glided outward, I felt a slight uplift and shifted to catch the thermal, which lifted me up and up as I circled.
I scanned below for the falcons. There was the one I’d seen, its wings spread wide, still riding on a thermal below. I leaned right, yanked on my brake, and went into a sharp, spiraling, tickle-belly descent, heading toward the bird on a corkscrew path. I dropped about a hundred meters in eight seconds.
I released the inner brake, shifted left, and planed out.
Curious, the falcon flapped its wings and cut right, circling to get a look at me. I spread my arms wide. “Come fly with me!”
I entered the core of the thermal and caught some serious lift. As I circled, Dalton appeared, riding on the wind beside me.
The two falcons darted between us, banked and soared upward, then circled back and streaked past like feathered bullets.
I grabbed my radio. “Oh my god! That was incredible!”
Dalton gave me a thumbs up.
Now I could relax and enjoy the view. Blue sky dotted with tiny, white puffy clouds contrasted with the jagged granite peaks. Below, strokes of green, white, brown and yellow covered the landscape—an abstract painting come alive. I settled into the peacefulness of no sound save for the breeze against my ears. It was perfection.
Between my feet, a tiny spec of a boat left a wake on the water’s surface, a white line etched in blue. Amid the patches of green that spread across the mountain side, little dots of white randomly roamed. Billy goats.
I leaned back and breathed deeply the cool, clean air. To ride on the wind, to soar like a bird, to see the world from this perspective, in pure solitude, where I was the spec, the tiny dot, made me wonder, is this what it is to know God? Or the spiritual essence some call God, that something beyond, the unexplainable sensation of being more than flesh and bone?
Is this what was meant by transcendence? To defy the law of gravity? To be held aloft by an invisible force of nature like some great hand, lifted from below? What is the wind but an illusion, made manifest by the collision of hot and cold air?
However it could be explained, it felt like touching the divine.
I closed my eyes and when I opened them again the colors looked deeper, more vivid. So many varied shades of green. The blue of the water, rich and deep against the sky. Simplicity. The purest form of beauty.
Dalton’s voice came over the radio. “Last one to the LZ buys dinner.”
He pushed on his speed bar, leaned left, and shot away, circling downward toward the landing zone.
I grabbed my B-lines and went into a stall, chasing after him. Like two giant raptors, we rode the wind downward.
He dropped away from me, gaining speed. The wind was perfect, the sun shining. Why rush?
Okay, fine. I admit. It grinded my butt that he got the drop on me. There was no way I could catch him now. Another dinner on me. Maybe he’d go for some peanut butter and jelly.
I controlled my descent, taking my time to plan my approach. As I lined up into the wind, Dalton was already touching down.
The landing site was a grassy patch along the shoreline. I circled to head into the wind and as I approached the ground, I pulled a quick brake, flared, then my feet touched the ground and I had to run a few steps to stay upright as the wing settled behind me.
“Took you long enough,” Dalton hollered.
He was wrapping his wing and stuffing it into the sack.
I had a mind to stuff his head in the sack. “We have enough daylight to make one more run,” I said. “Double or nothing?”
He shook his head. “We need to check in with Nash.”
I nodded. Work. Of course. That’s why we were here in Norway. But we had nothing new to report. We’d have called if Johnny the informant had changed the meet time again.
Dalton flipped on the flashing light that would alert the ferry of a pickup, then helped me gather my wing.
We hauled our packs to the shoreline and sat down to wait. My pulse was finally settling to normal after the glide. I’d stripped off my thick coat after landing, but now the chilly breeze coming off the water gave me goosebumps on my bare arms.
Dalton sat with his arms comfortably wrapped around his knees. His hair looked almost blond in the sun. A hint of stubble showed on his chin. Suddenly I was remembering watching him shave in Costa Rica, fresh from the shower, with nothing on but a towel. He hadn’t liked me much then. I’d been sent to fortify his cover story in a floundering operation and he wasn’t too happy about it. I’d barreled into the bathroom and demanded he talk to me.
“What are you thinking about?”
“What?” I snapped out of my reverie.
“You seemed a million miles away.”
“Oh, sorry, I…” I looked up at the sky, searching for a subject. “When you’re up there, do you, I don’t know, do you feel like—” I looked around “— like with all this, there’s something greater, you know—”
He raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes challenging me. “Are you getting soft on me, McVie?”
“Nah,” I snorted. “I was just testing you.”
He shook his head but his eyes lingered in the clouds. Then when they met mine, they revealed that he felt it too.
I held his gaze for a moment. This guy, I swear. I turned away.
“Here it comes now,” he said. The ferry was chugging down the fjord toward us.
We got to our feet and hauled our packs onto our backs.
The blue and white ferry pulled up and dropped its front loading ramp right on shore so we could walk on.
Once aboard, Dalton slumped to the floor, leaned on his pack, and closed his eyes. I stayed at the rail, counting waterfalls as we puttered back toward town. The landscape here was too much to behold. I turned to Dalton, “You’re missing the—”
His eyes were open; he was staring at me.
“What?” I said.
He smiled. “Nothing.”
“Don’t you want to see the scenery?”
“I’m full. Too much beauty for one day.”
I suddenly felt self-conscious of how I must’ve looked and ran my fingers through my tangled hair. “What are you talking about, cornball?”
“Nothing.”
“Hey, what was this exercise all about? What was I supposed to learn today, anyway?”
“Did you have fun?”
I shrugged, unsure what that had to do with it. “Yeah.”
“There you go.” He closed his eyes again. “Now, leave me be. I’m dreaming of that dinner you owe me. I’m gonna order a big, juicy steak.”
I milled around the fish market, keeping Dalton in view while checking out every man that looked like he might be our Johnny. Then the guy appeared out of nowhere, wearing a hoodie, his back to me. Dalton didn’t look uncomfortable or alarmed, so I hung back, scanning for anything out of the ordinary.
The whole conversation lasted no more than two minutes and he was gone. I never saw his face.
Dalton moved toward me. “The description fits. It’s Ray Goldman all right. He’s been busy getting a crew together and all the gear he’ll need. No doubt about it. This guy’s sure he’s going after orcas.”
My pulse pitter-pattered in my ears. “We gotta catch him, Dalton. This one’s big. Imagine the impact it will have, the message it will send to all the poachers out there.”
“Simmer down. We’ve got to find him first. The informant said he’s in Tromsø right now, on the fishing vessel Forseti, but he’s not sure which way he’ll set sail. We need to get up there, find him, and rent a boat before we lose his trail.”
“What then? We just follow him? That’s your plan? Won’t we be too obvious?”
“What else did you think we’d do?”
“Well.” I pursed my lips, thinking. “I don’t suppose Norway requires AIS on all commercial vessels? We could track him that way but keep our distance.”
“I doubt it. That would be too easy. Besides, he’d likely turn it off anyway. It’s a big ocean. Easy to hide if you don’t want to be found.”
“If only we could get away with planting a GPS tracker on his boat.”
He stopped and turned to face me. “We’d have to be awfully creative and I’m not sure—”
My head jerked back. “Isn’t that illegal? No matter how we did it?”
He gave me a half shrug.
An idea sizzled through my gray matter. “Maybe we don’t have to. Follow the boat, I mean.” Why didn’t I think of this before?
Dalton clenched his teeth. “I recognize that look.”
“What?”
“You’re thinking. Scheming.” He crossed his arms. “Let’s get something straight. We’re going to work together on this one. Do you understand? No secrets, no sneaking around.”
“I wasn’t—”
“And nothing off book. You got it?”
I lifted my hands in innocent surrender. I couldn’t blame him for being irritated with me. In Costa Rica, our first time working together, I hadn’t exactly been straight with him. Of course, he hadn’t quite rolled out the red carpet for me either. But now we were officially partners. He had to listen to me.
“I was just thinking that the orca pods don’t follow a predictable migration route like other whales.”
Dalton waited, expectantly. “Yeah, so?”
“Well, I wonder how Ray plans to find them. Did your pal Johnny mention that?”
Dalton shook his head.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “We need the Internet.” I turned to make my way out of the crowded fish market and head toward the main street.
Dalton grabbed my arm. “First, you tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Maybe we don’t need to follow Ray,” I said and started walking again.
Dalton followed. “Slow down,” he said. “It’s not a race.”
“Actually, it is,” I said over my shoulder. I rounded a corner and saw a sign—Internettkafè—down one block. I picked up the pace, Dalton on my heels.
Inside the cafè, teenagers filled the booths and tables, plunking away at their laptops, sipping from cups of coffee as the expresso machine squealed, making its magical brew. The scent of fresh muffins lingered.
I went straight for an open computer along the wall and plopped down in the chair. Dalton hovered over my shoulder, so close I could smell his aftershave. For a moment, I forgot what I wanted to search. “Maybe you could get us some coffee,” I said.
He stood up straight and glared at me.
I gave him a sweet smile. “And some of those mørkaker shortbread cookies?” My eyebrows went up, a gentle pleading. “They are to die for.”
He crossed his arms. “Not until you fill me in.”
“It’s like I said, if we find the orcas, we find Ray.”
“Yeah?” He didn’t budge.
“I figure someone knows where to find them. Must be scientists monitoring the pods, right? Identifying their members, documenting their behavior.”
The corner of his mouth turned up with the hint of a smile. “Mørkaker shortbread cookies, huh?”
I nodded.
He slowly turned away from me and headed for the line.
When he got back, I’d already found what I was looking for. “Look,” I said. “Right here.”
I pointed to the page for the Center for Marine Research at the Havforskningsinstituttet.
“Now there’s a Norwegian word if I’ve ever seen one. It’s ten miles long,” he said.
“I think you mean ten kilometers.” I looked up at him. “They’re hosting an American biologist, here to study the vocalizations of killer whales. April Parker, Ph.D. If anyone knows right where to find killer whales in the north Atlantic, it’ll be her.”
“Yeah, but will she tell us?”
CHAPTER THREE
The cafeteria at the Havforskningsinstituttet bustled with students. Dalton and I meandered through the crowd looking for Dr. Parker. Her Internet picture was no help. She was all bundled up in a down jacket with a hood and sunglasses. We’d checked in her department where we were told she was at lunch.
“When we find her, I think I should approach her alone,” I said. “She’s likely to be more trusting of another woman.”
“Actually,” Dalton said. “I was thinking I’d approach her alone. I have more experience with this kind of thing.”
“That might be,” I said, holding back, “but the key is to build trust right away, right? I can do that, you know, woman to woman.”
“This is going to take some finesse.”
“Finesse?” I said, amused.
“Charm,” he said.
I pressed my lips tight, trying to squelch a smile. “Dalton, I think you overestimate your—”
“We only have one shot at this,” he said, his voice stern now. “I’m doing it.”
I spun on him. “Dalton, you’re not being reasonable. Just admit I’m right.”
He got that look on his face. Man, this guy could be stubborn. Through a forced smile he said, “It’s not about being right.” Then the condescending grin. “It’s about the line of command. Or have you forgotten who’s the senior agent?”
“So it’s not about what’s most effective? It’s about who’s in charge?”
He sighed. Thought about it a moment. “Yes.”
“Fine,” I said, holding back an eye roll. “Now, let’s find her.”
He nodded toward a table in the corner. “She’s right over there.”
Sitting with her head down, a fork in one hand, a book open in the other, was a woman not much older than me, her long blond hair tied back into a stylish Chinese bun, two hair sticks poking out from it, criss-crossed.
I spun on him. “How do you—”
He held his phone in my face. “Her DMV photo. Nash sent it.”
“What? You knew she was there all along?” I frowned. “What is it with you today?”
He flashed his half-grin.
I asked, “So what are you going to say?”
“I’ve got it covered
.”
“She could be informing for Goldman, you know. I’m sure he’d pay big money for that kind of info. Maybe we should test the waters a little and—”
“I said, I’ve got it covered.” He brushed past me and crossed the room to her table.
I circled around, eased into a chair at a table nearby so I could hear their conversation, and tried not to stare. Flawless skin, high cheekbones, curvy, voluptuous lips. I hadn’t expected a whale biologist to be so…so stunning.
“Hello,” he said. “Are you Dr. Parker, the whale researcher?”
She looked up at him, hesitating. “Yes,” she finally said as she tucked a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear.
He flashed his tummy-tingling smile. “I was hoping you might be able to help me.”
Her brow creased and she examined him through squinted eyes. She had the look of a porcelain doll, but this woman was no naive little plaything.
He shifted his weight to one side, easing into a comfortable, disarming stance. “You’re even prettier in person.”
Real smooth, Dalton.
“What is it you need?” she said, blank-faced.
He smiled, trying to keep it light. “I hear you’re the expert on the killer whale population here in Norway and I—”
She shook her head. “I can’t help you.”
“Oh,” he said. “I was really hoping you—”
“Listen—” she gripped her lunch tray “—I don’t know what you’re up to, but no amount of money—”
“Oh no, ma’am, I think you misunderstand,” he said, then shot a quick glance my way. “I’m a federal agent with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife service.” He motioned for me to join him. “We’ve been alerted to a possible live capture attempt by an American here in Norwegian waters.”
Her sharp blue eyes darted back and forth between us, then landed on me. “You don’t look like federal agents. Show me your badges.”
Dalton shifted on his feet. “We don’t carry badges when we’re undercover.”
“Well, that’s convenient.” She grabbed her tray and started to rise to go.
Dalton stepped forward with open hands, a subtle gesture of peace. “We’ll do whatever you ask to prove it to you.”
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 21
