“If something big is killing bluefish, then they must be even more efficient and ferocious. Perfect killing machines with the Long Island Sound as their hunting grounds. And that sounds like mako sharks to me, despite what the bite impressions suggest.”
“We need to focus on the possibility of this being the work of one school of fish. And I’m pretty sure those bite marks are not from makos.”
Katie wouldn’t let go. “The animals we are dealing with might only be stragglers, cut from a larger group. If they are fish, that would mean a large school. Fish tend to travel both in small packs and entire schools of equally sized fish. And given the time of night this incident most likely occurred, it’s possible it was the result of a small pack that had broken away from the main school. And how do you know it’s just one school?”
“Because predators like our possible culprits often prefer the interaction of large groupings of peers during the day, but they also break off into smaller packs or pods during the late evening and night. Odds are that if it was marine life that killed the guy, it was a small group of marauding creatures that were part of at least one larger population.”
“Yeah. And then all their buddies broke up into equally deadly pods of super-sized killers. School’s out,” Katie said.
“This is . . . baffling. Science fiction not science fact.”
“Why don’t you think it can happen, Nick? There are all sorts of recorded discoveries of gigantism in marine species. Look at the giant squid. Those things are monstrous. And it wasn’t until the last decade that scientists actually had a chance to study them. Is it so hard to believe that some beast could grow to these outsized proportions? Look, you were the one who said that whatever did this was most likely about a hundred pounds.”
“Most likely is the issue, Katie. We need more facts. You know me, always second-guessing my conclusions. But one-hundred-pound killers swimming in the Sound? That is simply astonishing, if true. We’d be breaking new ground here.”
“Yep. But it is possible and the evidence tells me these things are very real, very dangerous, and very much fish. You are very good at what you do and you can’t precisely identify those bite marks, even with all your tools and technology.”
CHAPTER 9
About three hundred million years ago, dinosaurs roamed the primordial landmass that would eventually be transformed into Long Island, but it was the receding movements of the massive Wisconsin glacier just twenty thousand years ago that began to carve the land into the shape it is today. By most accounts, the specific geological events that would shape the future of Long Island occurred a mere eleven thousand years ago, a speck in time when compared to the age of planet Earth. Two terminal moraines, the Ronkonkoma Moraine and the Harbor Hills Moraine formed the structural spines of Long Island. The Ronkonkoma ridge is the older and more southerly of the two and formed topography of low rolling hills along the south side of the Long Island Expressway. The higher Harbor Hills Moraine is more recent—about eighteen thousand years; it gave the north shore its characteristic hills, cliffs, and massive boulders. Kettle lakes and rivers were shaped, as was the Long Island Sound, its bays and harbors.
Volcanic upheaval and glacial movements created the fish-shaped island that is now one of the most densely populated suburban areas in the United States. In that relatively recent epoch, water surrounded the Island landmass, framing the beginnings of the elongated, fish-shaped formation we now know as Long Island. It is said that the indigenous Native Americans called the land Paumanok in recognition of its likeness to a fish profile. The distinguished American poet, Walt Whitman, reaffirmed the name in his poetry.
Long Island is a 1,723 square mile piece of real estate nestled between the Long Island Sound to the north and the Atlantic Ocean to the south. It is approximately 120 miles long with a width that ranges between 12 and 20 miles. The Island is the fourth largest land mass surrounded entirely by water in the United States and the largest outside of Alaska and Hawaii. Both the Long Island Sound and the Atlantic Ocean each define Long Island’s north and south shores respectively. To the west is New York City. The boroughs of Brooklyn and Queens are geologically linked to Long Island but true Islanders are defined as residents of only Nassau and Suffolk Counties.
One hundred twenty miles to the east of the city is one of the most fabled fishing holes of all, Montauk. It is a place of hardy men and great fish, a formula from which legends were born. It was there the legendary Captain Frank Mundus plied his trade and skill for catching great white sharks. His reputation was as great as the fish he chased, so much so that he was believed the most likely inspiration for the crusty Captain Quint of Jaws fame. While it is beyond comprehension for most anglers, Captain Mundus and Donnie Braddick, in 1986, caught the largest fish ever on rod and reel—a 3,427-pound great white. Although that was a remarkable catch, it was far from eclipsing the 4,500-pound behemoth Mundus harpooned previously off Montauk in 1964. Those two fish showed the world that monsters do indeed swim in the waters off Long Island.
Slightly to the north of Montauk are Orient Point and the legendary Race, places in their own right filled with much angling lore and seafaring adventure. Bracketing the Island are both the north shore and south shore coastlines. The fertile waters of the Long Island Sound—approximately 122 miles long—and the expansive and seemingly endless Atlantic Ocean define the character and scope of the Island’s marine environment. Remaining true to its original contours, the eastern end of the Island, beginning at about the town of Riverhead, begins the fishtail-like transformation that creates two fluke-shaped peninsulas known locally as the north and south forks.
The Long Island Sound is a large body of water situated between the north shore of Long Island, a portion of the Queens County shoreline, and the Connecticut coastline. It was formed approximately thirteen million years ago, another by-product of the Wisconsin glacier scraping and then receding across the landscape. The Sound is actually an estuary, a body of saltwater nourished by freshwater flows from rivers and streams. Approximately 90 percent of the freshwater that enters the Sound does so primarily from three Connecticut Rivers and one from Long Island: the Connecticut, Housatonic, Thames, and the Nissequogue. This freshwater mixes with saltwater that enters the Sound from the Atlantic Ocean. The Sound has an east-to-west orientation and is approximately 110 miles long and 21 miles across at its widest point. Its surface area encompasses 1,320 square miles and the watershed’s drainage extends an astounding 16,820 square miles and well into the Canadian provinces.
Long Island Sound is an extremely productive ecosystem inhabited by significant numbers of fish and other wildlife. Its estuary characteristics enable portions of the Sound to function as highly active feeding, breeding, and nursery areas. The watershed, wetlands, and the Sound itself are a natural wonderland. Almost 175 birds and waterfowl maintain some residence in the area, as do about 170 species of fish and 1,200 invertebrates. Dozens of tropical species of fish annually visit the waters of the Sound as do several coveted pelagic game fish species. Approximately fifty species of fish actually spawn in its waters.
Nearly twenty million people live within fifty miles of the Sound. It is a vibrant, multiple-use natural resource that attracts power-boaters, sail boaters, fishermen, water fowlers, birders, kayakers, divers, swimmers, hikers, and a whole host of other outdoor enthusiasts. In 1987, it was classified as a National Estuary. Unfortunately, a consequence of its suburban profile results in more than one hundred sewage treatment plants discharging about one million gallons of treated effluent into the Sound each day. The extensive range of the watershed resulted in numerous and varied pollutants entering the Sound. At one time, the lobster fishery of the Sound was rated in the top three of such fisheries in the United States, that is until pollution caused a massive die-off of young lobster. The most probable culprits were the meticulously manicured and fertilized lawns of the north shore. While the root cause of the die-off has not been definitively identified, the lobsters have died, and a
long with them a once thriving industry.
The primary recreational fish in the Sound of interest to fishermen are striped bass, bluefish, fluke, tautog, porgy, sea bass, bonito, and false albacore. The Sound is a magnet for many forms of bait throughout the entire season since its waters stay relatively cool and its backwater harbors and rivers act as natural nurseries. The principle food sources of predatory fish in Long Island Sound are sand eels, silversides or spearing, bay anchovies, adult menhaden, peanut bunker, shad, squid, herring, mackerel, cinder worms, crabs, shrimp, and the American eel. Since most recreational fish are very opportunistic feeders, they will also actively feed on juvenile fish of many species. Large bass, weakfish, and bluefish will key in on larger prey, especially the bunker. The longer bunker remained in the Sound, the longer those large predatory fish would also hang around.
The spring migration of fish into the Sound typically moves from west to east, with the most active early spring fishing occurring in the western-most reaches of the Sound. Much of that movement has to do with striped bass migrating out of the Hudson River, into the East River, and then following time-honored routes into the Sound. During the middle of April, those fish take up residence in the western Sound. As the waters warm, bait and fish become more active in areas of the central Sound, and then along the East End of the North Fork. Some areas of the Sound have greater proclivity toward attracting and holding bigger fish throughout the season, while some areas tend to appeal to smaller fish. But each area will see peak times when big fish move through. Yet, fish are not always predictable and their patterns of travel can change from one year to the next.
The season of the killer creatures had seen abundant bait and strong runs of fluke, big bass, and very large numbers of bluefish. The masses of bluefish ranged in all sizes, from small snappers to tailor and harbor blues, to fish of twenty pounds. For a while, bluefish, bass, and even fluke had come on hard times from over-fishing but reduced harvest limits and the natural cyclical turnaround of their stocks resulted in a large, revived biomass of those species. For larger predators, there was an abundance of food. But now, the most superior and deadly of all oceanic creatures had found their way into the normally tranquil waters of the Long Island Sound and were on the prowl. They came here to feed.
CHAPTER 10
The needle was buried in the red on the radiation detection device. At first the safety engineer making his daily rounds of the cooling pools thought the instrument might have malfunctioned, since the warning siren had not sounded. But when he obtained a second device, the results were the same. Blood drained from his face and nausea took hold for he knew the potential consequences. His body trembled. After gathering his composure, he rushed to inform his boss.
It had taken almost ten years to build the new East Coast power plant. The facility was completed in 1989 but the 820 Megawatt nuclear reactor was shut down without ever delivering the electricity that was to have been one answer to growing power demands along the East Coast of the United States. Overwhelming public outcry against the plant’s safe operation and ineffective evacuation plans were too much to overcome. But before the plant was decommissioned, an incident involving the nuclear reactor had taken place with very unexpected consequences.
At the time of initial plant construction, Ned Mack was named head of the plant’s mechanical engineering department. Ned’s primary responsibility was to oversee the construction and subsequent online operations of the steam-driven turbine generators. He was considered the best of the mid-level operations managers. Ned had a special passion for power generation and was good at his job. His superiors recognized his talents and ambition and eventually tapped him for this position at the nuclear plant. With all the political furor and sensitivities surrounding construction of the plant, and the nonstop public revolt against the plant, they needed their best management team in place. They’d have only one shot at getting the construction done right and acquiring the approvals to put the plant online. The main project team had botched their most important emergency evacuation drill and the local politicians were up in arms over the failure. There were daily protests by throngs of residents and organizations to cease and desist from further plant construction and operation. Their resistance worked. The combination of a failed evacuation drill, the 1979 Three Mile Island accident, and the 1986 Chernobyl tragedy put the final nails in the new power plant’s coffin. Twenty-five years later, the gray hulk of the main reactor building sat idle as an omnipresent reminder of a multi billion dollar fiasco.
Although no commercial power was ever generated at the plant, low-level testing of the reactor was authorized by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Ned was part of the quality control team during those tests. He was a disciplined and no-nonsense guy. While he managed with a heavy hand, his employees considered him fair. Ned believed to his core that when working with nuclear power, there was no tolerance for error. His motto was “Zero defects, zero mistakes, zero failures,” and he hung signs with those words around the entire workplace. He drilled that discipline into his team every day. That approach worked for most of his tenure at the plant. Ned had no incidents of failure among any of his workers; that was, until one leak of radioactive waste.
Nuclear power plants operate on the principle of nuclear fission, a process by which atomic particles split. As the atoms split at light speed, they generate enormous amounts of heat, turning water into pressurized steam, which in turn drives turbine engines to produce electricity. Uranium, especially “U-235,” is an ideal natural element to use for nuclear power generation, since it is one of a select few natural elements that allow for induced fission to occur in nuclear reactors. That capability is essential for the controlled generation of nuclear power. The process is so efficient that a pound of highly enriched uranium equates to about one million gallons of gasoline. The heart and soul of any nuclear power plant is the reactor, the most common of which is known as a Pressurized Water Reactor. Uranium enriched fuel rods are contained within the reactor and sheathed in zircaloy, an alloy used as protective cladding of the fuel rods. A nuclear reactor also contains significant quantities of water maintained at high-pressure levels to prevent boiling. Add to that control rods that assist in managing the amount of nuclear chain reaction that takes place in the reactor, and the plant is good to go. The U-235 nuclei split, releasing heat that is transferred to the water. From there on, the process is simply a heat transfer to the water that turns to steam, which powers the turbines. Ultimately, electricity comes out the other end to power the needs of energy customers. Despite their effectiveness and efficiency as a source of power generation, nuclear reactors generate significant amounts of high-level radioactive waste in the form of spent fuel rods.
There are potentially cataclysmic consequences if those rods are mishandled or disposed of in a careless way, the most catastrophic of which is a total core meltdown and explosion, somewhat like the Chernobyl fire and the catastrophe in Japan. Spent fuel rods are stored in basins of water referred to as spent fuel pools. The water provides a cooling bath for the still-decaying fission products that can take hundreds or even thousands of years to fully decay. Spent reactor fuel is maintained in these water-filled storage pools. The pools are typically forty feet deep, with the bottom fourth of the pool equipped with racks designed for short-term storage of the fissionable materials. Re-circulating water cools the fuel and provides a protective shield from radiation. This nuclear power plant had just such a configuration. Even though this was a limited power test, the spent fuel rods still generated an enormous amount of heat and radiation. The amount of power output generated by the reactor is managed by controlling the fuel rods, and over time the fuel rods decay to a point where they are spent beyond useful life. At that point, they have to be disposed of and placed in the interim cooling pools. This is where the disposal team dropped the ball.
The spent fuel rods were removed from the reactor by a team of highly trained technicians. The logistics involved with the r
emoval to the fuel pools required the use of an automated fuel rod handling system. The transport team had been through numerous simulations of the process and could perform the drill blindfolded. Ned Mack’s quality control team was tasked with monitoring the fuel rod removal process. The spent fuel rods were successfully transported from the reactor and placed into the cooling pools. All went well with that phase of operation.
The critical value of fuel pools is that recirculating cold water works to remove the heat generated by the spent fuel assemblies, and the water also acts as protective barrier against the escape of harmful radiation. As long as the water remained a cooling influence on the rods, and as long as it was of an adequate volume to cover the rods, all was well. All nuclear power plants have contingency back-up supplies of water. In the case of this plant, one such source was the water of a large bay set off the Atlantic Ocean. Without adequate cooling, pool water can heat to the boiling point. If that happens, the spent fuel assemblies will eventually overheat and possibly melt or catch fire. The worst possible nuclear power plant accident will occur if either complete draining of the pools occurs or if the heat-exchanging cooling system fails. This can result in the most dreaded of all events: The Meltdown. Under those scenarios, deadly quantities of radioactive materials could be released into the atmosphere or surrounding environment. But a complete meltdown does not have to occur for damaging levels of radioactivity to be released.
Once the spent fuel cells from the plant’s reactor were safely stored beneath thirty-plus feet of water, Ned Mack’s quality control team triple-checked the various protocols. Although all procedures were followed, one major defect in the cooling system went undetected. A control valve at the bottom of the pool that allowed an external water source to replenish water lost through evaporation malfunctioned and reversed the water flow. Rather than adding water to the pool, the valves released it back into the bay. Compounding the control valve problem was a failure of the low water alarm system.
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