by Jerold Last
Our group was mostly still in shock from our gruesome discovery. The small number of us with enough experience finding dead bodies to not be in shock---Suzanne, Bruce, me---were deluged with questions from some of the other passengers from the dinghy. Most of them wanted to know what we thought about finding the body and how Rita had come to be floating here in the ocean. I noted a few exceptions, which I filed in my mind for future reference. Both Gretchen and Barbara Kaufman acted like old pros who’d also seen dead bodies before. They were silent and stayed out of the way. Linda and Michael Smart and Raul Vonhorst also acted like they’d been there before. I needed time to process these impressions, especially since experience as a homicide detective had taught me that different people process the shocking events surrounding murder in very different ways.
Like the motto of the old-time theater, “The show must go on,” a crewmember took the name of each passenger in our Zodiac. Juana explained that we’d only be in the way on board ship and continuing with our tour was the best choice to aid in the police investigation that would inevitably follow. The police would interview us all during our scheduled break for lunch or dinner aboard the Santa Cruz, depending on when they arrived.
Then we were released and the Zodiac once again motored us to the island, this time landing successfully in the knee-deep water just off the beach. Our guide assembled us into a group for this morning’s scheduled tour, reminded us about essential tourist etiquette in the Galapagos---follow the guide, stay together, stay on the marked paths----and off we went to study nature.
By mutual consent we all reverted to being tourists and tried to make the best of the day despite this morning’s bad start. We’d lost an hour recovering the body, but still had 3 hours or so for hiking the island’s beach and hilly surface. Juana promised us the view of sunrise over the Galapagos we’d missed this morning as an add-on for tomorrow. As we motored into our destination beach, Linda and Michael Smart reintroduced themselves to the rest of us. There wasn’t enough time to learn much more than their names on the Zodiac, but they promised us the rest of their story while we were hiking over the island. We disembarked, walking directly onto the beach under the careful guidance of Juana, and followed a well-defined walkway and several flights of stairs carved into the rock face of a high volcanic peak.
The climb was fairly steep and felt a whole lot longer than the 600 meters the guides had told us to expect. To get to the top of the peak we had to walk through a section filled with lava tubes, which varied in texture from smooth rolls to fractured pebbles, from ripples to boulders. As we looked down from the top of Pinnacle Rock we saw a vista that would have been called “The Textures Of The Galapagos” if it were hanging on the wall of an art museum. The volcanic rocks mixed with a vast variety of colors and patterns in the vegetation while clusters of brightly colored birds and animals defined an infinite number of microcosms, each demanding to be separately explored.
We had time to talk with our Frigate Birds group members while we stood on Pinnacle Rock looking over the island below, and as we walked back down to the beach afterwards. This gave us an opportunity to learn more about our newest members from Diego Garcia.
“Where and what is Diego Garcia?” asked one of the group members. “I’ve never heard of it before.”
Linda and Michael Smart looked at each other. Some kind of newlywed nonverbal communication took place and Linda became the designated spokesperson for the couple. “Diego Garcia is a British territory, an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The U.S. Navy leases it from the British. We’ve built a huge base on the island. Almost all the people on the island are U.S. civilian and military personnel who live there and maintain the ships and planes that use the base. It’s a very isolated location, more than a thousand miles away from the nearest developed country and civilization, but it’s a very strategic location because it’s a convenient distance for bombers to fly to anywhere in the Middle East. It’s also in a perfect position to supply and maintain our fleet that’s stationed in and around the Persian Gulf and off the coast of East Africa patrolling offshore from Somalia.”
Suzanne did a quick calculation. “That’s a long way from here, isn’t it?”
“Almost, but not quite, half way around the world,” replied Linda.
Suzanne had a surprised look as she thought about Linda’s answer for a moment. “Wow! That’s almost as long a trip to get here as our Australian couple had to make.”
“Longer,” answered Michael. “It’s less mileage than Australia as the crow flies, but it’s a real you can’t get there from here kind of place, especially if you’re flying on military transports. We flew from Diego Garcia to Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, California on a C5A, then a bus ride to Oakland to get civilian flights to Los Angeles, Quito, Guayaquil, and Baltra. That’s the better part of four days of travel with layovers.”
Linda picked up the story from there. “But we’re used to spending a lot of time together. We’ve both been stationed on Diego Garcia for several years. It’s a very boring place with a small cohort of Navy folks stationed there on a long-term basis who can’t help but get to know each other very well. We fell in love a while ago, but there was a lot of red tape to get through before we could get the Navy’s approval for our marriage. We’re both officers but we had to be the same rank to get approval. Mike caught up to me when he was promoted to Lieutenant Commander a few months ago, and we finally got the approvals.
“It’s been a dream of both of ours to visit the Galapagos for a long time and here we are. Actually, it’s a bit of a busman’s holiday because the climate is so much alike between Diego Garcia and the Galapagos Islands. Diego Garcia is a bit more than 400 miles south of the equator, with enough of a steady breeze from the trade winds to keep the weather pleasant most of the time.”
Mike added enthusiastically, “Diego Garcia itself is all coral. It’s horseshoe shaped, 15 miles long, and 35 miles from tip to tip, with a big lagoon in the middle. That’s heaven for outdoor lovers like Linda and me. The surrounding islands and parts of Diego Garcia itself are maintained as a Marine Protected Area, with local plant species, fish, and other animal species protected from hunting and commercial exploitation, so it’s a big playground for nature lovers. We’re not allowed to scuba dive, but we can swim and snorkel in the lagoon and the ocean.
“The United States Navy, which is us, operates Naval Support Facility (NSF) Diego Garcia. It’s a combined large naval ship and submarine support base, military air base, communications and space-tracking facility, and an anchorage for pre-positioned military supplies aboard ships in the lagoon. There’s a base commander in charge of all of the naval activities on the island, usually with the rank of Captain, who serves a term of one year and rotates out. Linda and I are next in command, which provides some continuity in the leadership chain of command despite the frequent turnover of the base commanders. We love the duty and the posting.”
The conversation waned as our group finally reached the beach. We waited less than five minutes for the Zodiac to pick us up for the next adventure of the day. Back in the Zodiac, we were ferried over to a white sand beach for snorkeling and getting up close and personal with the local sea creatures. Suzanne and I teamed up with the Kaufman sisters to make a swim and dive group. It took a lot of urging to get Barbara into the water, which felt quite cold by Southern California standards, but we eventually got all the way into the water.
Did I mention that the water was cold? “EEEEK,” yelled Barbara as her feet went under water. “Aren’t we supposed to be on the Equator here?”
“Six hundred miles offshore in the Pacific, the water doesn’t care whether we’re on the Equator or at the South Pole. It’s just cold,” Suzanne contributed to the conversation as we all dived in and immersed ourselves. Suddenly we were in a completely different world, a world of wonder. The fish, like the terrestrial birds and mammals, didn’t seem to have any fear of humans.
Suzanne led our little
quartet of snorkelers over the rocky shallows that ringed the cove we were swimming in. She grabbed my arm to get my attention and dragged me a few feet further, over a huge swarm of brightly colored sub-tropical fish of all sizes and varieties. “Look at those fish. They’re dancing.”
And indeed the fish were dancing in the currents while they ate and played.
“Look over there!” Suzanne alerted me to our aquatic neighbor about six feet below us. A large octopus hung around long enough to carefully check us out as dinner possibilities before swimming off. As we swam closer to the rocks the quality and quantity of fish increased noticeably. Suddenly, there was a large splash in the water directly in front of us as a blue-footed boobie caught a fish in his beak four feet away. He continued his dive most of the way to the bottom, keeping his wings tightly against his body, arched his back, and kicked his way back to the surface where he took off with a large fish flapping in his mouth.
We swam closer to the rocks, staying on the surface with our faces in the cold clear water, breathing through our snorkels. As we got within 5-10 feet of the rocky outcropping we could begin to see the structure of the submerged volcanic rocks below us. There were lots of shelves and crevasses for fish to dart in and out of, and lots of foraging birds and mammals looking for their fish dinners. Suzanne grabbed my arm and signaled me to swim over to her other side and take a look.
Several very short gentlemen in formal gear were swimming gracefully in the water, standing on the ledge of a rocky shelf, or diving off the shelf into the ocean in front of us. Well, maybe they weren’t really little people dressed for a formal dinner. We were actually watching several hundred Galapagos penguins, the only known living species of tropical penguin, fishing for their lunch. They looked exactly like the Arctic and Antarctic penguins we’d seen in books and at zoos, but a lot smaller. The typical bird was short, squat, and black and white except for some yellow markings around their faces and beaks. They waddled clumsily with rapid short steps on land, but were incredibly graceful as they swam quickly and effortlessly in the ocean water. The birds were playful as they darted in between us and bounced off us in the water. They were absolutely fearless as far as humans were concerned.
Suzanne and I swam over and watched a white tip shark that was almost as long as I’m tall, maybe 5-6 feet, swim away from the rocky shelf for about 50 meters, until the water got much deeper, and disappear into the depths.
We swam back to the penguins and the shallower water where there was much more to see, taking our time so we could talk. “So, what’s your take on the sisters?” asked Suzanne.
“It’s a shame Barbara has dark hair. Otherwise I’d say she’s a perfect fit to the stereotype of the ditzy blonde.”
Suzanne spat a bit of salty water out of her mouth. “Remind me to keep my mouth out of the water while we’re talking. I’m not so sure about the whole ditzy brunette routine she seems to be into. She plays the role of the ditz whenever she’s around men, but have you noticed she seems to do everything very well when she’s not performing for an audience? For example, have you watched her while we’ve been swimming and snorkeling out here? She’s got a pretty good skills level and seems to know what she’s looking at under the water here.”
“How about Gretchen?” I asked. “She seems to play the big sister role across from Barbara’s ditz.”
“Yeah, that seems to be pretty consistent. They really do act like sisters, even when nobody but us is watching.”
Just then, we were called back to the beach to assemble and return to the boat for lunch before going onwards to James Island. We reconnected with Bruce and Robert, as well as the remaining Frigate Birds. Suzanne excitedly told Robert about all of the things we’d seen underwater in the ocean until the Zodiac arrived and interrupted the conversation. There would be plenty of time to get to know all the members of our group better since the ship was so small. We were especially drawn to the Smarts as a couple because of the similarity in our ages. A few minutes later we were back on the Santa Cruz and preparing for lunch.
Chapter 9.The police arrive
Darwin: I have stated, that in the thirteen species of ground-finches [in the Galapagos Islands], a nearly perfect gradation may be traced, from a beak extraordinarily thick, to one so fine, that it may be compared to that of a warbler. I very much suspect, that certain members of the series are confined to different islands; therefore, if the collection had been made on any one island, it would not have presented so perfect a gradation. It is clear, that if several islands have each their peculiar species of the same genera, when these are placed together, they will have a wide range of character. But there is not space in this work, to enter on this curious subject.
Suzanne was back in the dining room keeping track of Robert, who was still eating his lunch. I caught up with Bruce on the ship’s deck, where he was looking at the islands just off the port side of the ship. We stood together on the open deck looking at the Pacific Ocean.
A seaplane with markings of the Ecuadorian Air Force flew loudly over the Santa Cruz. Ecuador claims a 200-mile band of Pacific Ocean as its territory, and it is the Fuerza Aerea Ecuatoriana’s responsibility to patrol and enforce the limit. That limit includes 200 miles offshore from the mainland and 200 miles in every direction from the Galapagos Islands. We, and most of the other passengers that had been eating lunch, went up on deck to watch. A large plane, usually used for intercepting and interdicting ships more than a few miles offshore suspected of containing illegal drugs, taxied to a landing a few hundred meters from our ship.
“Now who do you think those people might be?” I asked Bruce, since he knows a whole lot more about all things military than I do.
Bruce ticked off the categories on his fingers as he thought about the possibilities. “I’d guess Air Force pilots, some high ranking air force officer in charge of everything here, civilian police, and probably the local equivalent of a coroner or medical examiner.”
I stared at the plane. “I’ve never seen a plane that looked exactly like that one before. Do you know what it is?”
Bruce was looking closely at the plane while we were talking. “That’s one of the older DHC-6 Twin Otter transports made in Canada by de Havilland 25 or 30 years ago. It’s a great little workhorse plane, short takeoff and landing, plenty of power, turboprop, easy to maintain. As a civilian plane used for short-haul commuter flights it holds 19 passengers plus crew, so I’d suspect the military version can easily fly 20 or 25 people out here from Baltra or Guayaquil when they need to. It’s old and obsolete by mainstream USA standards. Most of the commuter jets we see nowadays are faster, hold more passengers and payload, are a lot more comfortable and fuel efficient, and are usually made either by Embraer in Brazil or by Bombardier in Canada.
“Let’s see how many cops and medical folks come on board here.”
The Zodiac zipped out to meet the plane, loaded several people from the side of the plane we couldn’t see, and began its return to the Santa Cruz. The little water taxi raced back to the Santa Cruz with less than a full load. Within a few moments we could count passengers. There were six plus the Zodiac’s crew of two. The six newcomers, all wearing suits and ties or military fatigues, climbed on board where they were greeted by the Captain and led towards the Officers’ cabins.
The leader of the group, in military fatigues and insignia indicating a Colonel, went off with the Captain and two more of the new arrivals, another man in fatigues wearing lieutenant’s bars, and one of the suits carrying a medical bag and a large case that seemed heavy. The remaining three passengers wore suits and ties, and all were obviously recognizable as police. They headed off towards the dining room.
The Santa Cruz’s First Officer got us organized into our normal groups and turned things over to the guides. We were all given instructions about what was now expected of us: One of the groups was to remain on board for questioning, while the rest of us were to continue with our planned activities for the afternoon. We’d be b
rought back to the ship as individual groups when it was the next group’s turn for questioning. As the group that had discovered the body, the English-speaking Frigate Birds had the dubious honor of being the first tourists chosen for questioning.
Juana was in charge of herding us to the now empty dining room where we’d be questioned. She split us into two subgroups, fluent in Spanish and English only. “Under Ecuadorian law the police have to conduct their investigations in Spanish. I’ll stay with the English-only group to serve as a translator, while those of you who speak Spanish will be on your own. The police want you all to stay together and wait for their instructions. As I understand the process they’ll want to question each of you individually, so they’ll take you somewhere for questioning, then release you to return to your cabins to prepare for your outing once the entire group has been questioned and I’m free to lead today’s tour. They promise this won’t take very long for most of you.”
