Hunting the Dragon (6 page)

“I’m sure, captain,” said Santos.

Gandara called into the bridge, “What heading is
Salvador
on now?”

The radar operator answered, “Still north, captain, and almost off the scope. On a heading for Fiji, I’d guess.”

“If she changes direction, let me know immediately.”

“Aye, sir.”

He considered the problems that would arise if
Salvador
came upon them while making a set. He was tempted to ignore the fish, but they were so close to the cannery, and the price for fresh tuna had never been higher. He made his decision and said calmly, “You may order the set now, Santos. And may God smile on our ship.”

The mate reached for a large black button and pressed it three times. The klaxon’s insistent blast resounded in every corner of the vessel, sending a shock of anticipation throughout the crew. As the horn’s insistent note died, Gandara picked up the bridge phone and turned the switch that would carry his orders over the ship’s loudspeakers.

Gandara glanced over the side to watch the dolphins leaping and spinning effortlessly as they raced away from
Lucky Drag
on
. Some of the bolder juveniles had forgotten they were being chased and had fallen back to ride the white tumbling wake cascading off
Lucky Dragon
’s bow. He watched them play, admiring their acrobatic grace, and thought, Without you, where would I be?

He turned his eyes from the dolphins, and with the voice of a conquistador ordering his cavalry to slay the unbelievers, he screamed savagely,
“Atún! Atún! Atún!”

T
he klaxon’s strident blast, followed by the captain’s command booming out of the ship’s loudspeakers, energized the crew like a lightning bolt. From every companionway the seamen dashed to fishing stations. Billy was caught up in the frantic rush of fishers dropping chase boats over the side and readying the net for release. He ran on for the stern to find Rocha already in the skiff waving for him.

“So, Surfking’s a flyboy now. How come you rate a joyride in the chopper?” Rocha demanded as he hurriedly hooked a line from the bitter end of the net to the skiff’s tow bit.

“Hey, he invited me. I didn’t have a station, and next thing I knew, I was up in the sky getting airsick.”

“You don’t look sick to me, bro.”

“Just wanted you to know you weren’t missing anything, homeboy.”

“Enough of that.”

“Okay with me. What happens next?”

Rocha checked the pelican hook securing the net to the towline, seemed satisfied it would hold, and said, “It’s gonna be a few minutes, or maybe an hour, before we launch. It all depends on how long it takes the cowboys to corral ’em.”

“You know a lot about fishing for a—”

Rocha’s glare stopped him. “My grandfather was a fisherman. He took me out a lot as a kid.”

His attention shifted to the water and Rocha said, “He’s going to set for sure.”

On either side of
Lucky Dragon
excited fishermen were hurriedly dropping outboard motor-powered speedboats over the side and into the sea. Six of them splashed down, engines roared, and the drivers raced off ahead of the clipper after the pod of leaping dolphins. The lightweight, open chase boats, driven by 125-horsepower Yamahas slammed across the water at 35 knots. The drivers, called cowboys, quickly overtook the dolphins and began to circle the pod. The leaders dove and surfaced, swimming steadily eastward, ignoring the snarling, bucking machines that charged them. Suddenly a geyser of water burst out of the sea in front of the pod, followed by the deep boom of an explosion. Then came more eruptions and another and another loud report. Billy turned to Rocha and asked, “What’s that?”

“Seal bombs. When the cowboys can’t turn ’em with the boats, they throw those firecrackers.”

“Pretty big firecrackers.”

“M-80s…like little sticks of dynamite. They do the job.”

“It’s gotta be hard on their ears.”

Rocha shrugged and then pointed toward the pod. “Hey, they’re turning. We got ’em now. We’ll launch any minute.”

Billy glanced about the aft deck. Santos and half the crew were standing there. They were tense, like soldiers waiting to charge into battle. Billy climbed on the skiff’s engine cover to see better. Off the port side the cowboys were racing around the dolphins that were now gathered in a great mass some 200 yards away. The pod had stopped and the dolphins were darting, jumping, diving, and leaping high to spin and fall back into the sea in a confused, fear-driven frenzy. Then Santos waved at a seaman standing by the skiff’s bow. He pulled the pin holding the retaining line. The boat suddenly tipped and slid off the stern to smash into the sea. Billy grabbed the gunwale to keep from going over the side as the big Volvo roared. The skiff surged away from the clipper, hauling out the net that slithered off the stern like a nylon reptile diving into the sea.

Rocha’s eyes darted between the pod and the stern of the ship. “Keep watching the net. If it snags, yell like hell!”

They powered out, pulling the net in a huge circle around the confused dolphins. Every few seconds one would leap skyward, spin, and fall back with a splash. Then a tuna shot out of the water and nosed in like a bomb. Already some of the dolphins were ramming into the net trying to force an opening with their beaks. Flukes beat the water into froth, bodies quivered from intense exertion, but the webbing stopped their futile fight to escape.

At the outer edge of the pod the skiff turned and roared back toward the ship to complete the encirclement. Five minutes later the trap was closed and Rocha slowed the engine to idle. They peered over the side and the boatman yelled, “Looking good, Billy!”

“Where are the tuna?”

“Down there deep…tons of ’em. You’ll see ’em when the net comes in. Man, we’re going to be
ricos
!”

Billy leaned over the gunwale and cupped both hands over his eyes to shield the glare. In the lee of the hull, where the boat cast a shadow, he peered through the incredibly clear water. It was almost like looking through a diving mask. Below, a thrashing mix of dolphins and tuna charged about in the wide expanse of net. His gaze shifted along the curtain of mesh where a few of the dolphins had entangled their beaks and fins in the webbing. With a gasp, Billy realized that the ensnared air-breathing dolphins were drowning.

On the bridge the captain turned from watching the net. He was pleased that all had gone well, and with the sea calm and no wind, they would have the catch aboard quickly. He called to the radar operator. “Anything on the scope?”

“All clear.”

He picked up the walkie-talkie and keyed the transmit button. “Mr. Santos, you may haul the net.”

Out of the speaker the mate’s filtered voice inquired, “Will you wish to order a back-down? It’s calm. We would release most of them.”

“With
Salvador
over the horizon?”

“As you ordered, captain.”

In the skiff, Billy and Rocha faced the stern of
Lucky Dragon
watching the net being drawn slowly out of the sea. Sunlight glistened off droplets of water falling from the mesh creating thousands of flashing, diamond-like sparkles. Even from where they drifted Billy could see struggling dolphins and thrashing tuna entangled in the shrinking circumference of the net. Then he caught sight of the sharks, two turtles, and many other trapped fish—the accidental catch that would be discarded when the net was pulled.

Rocha muttered softly, “He’s not going to back down. I don’t like to see this.”

“Back down…?”

“That’s when the captain backs the ship up, and revs up the propeller. That causes part of the net to sink so the dolphins can get out. American skippers used to do it all the time. They save almost all of ’em…. My grandfather told me about it.”

Billy saw that the narrower the net’s circumference, the more chaotic the trapped dolphins became. He wondered why they didn’t simply jump over the corkline holding up the net. With the slightest effort they would be swimming free.

“Why the hell don’t they jump out?” Billy demanded.

“They just don’t. I guess it’s instinct. They never had a net around ’em till maybe thirty-five years ago, but I heard there’s a pod off Mexico that does. The fisherman call them ‘The Immortals.’” He saw that Rocha was edgy. “Ach, Billy. Shut the hell up, will you?” The haunted look Billy had seen on Rocha’s face when they had discovered him sitting in the skiff crying had returned.

Billy looked across the net which had been drawn into a third of its original size. Nearby a dolphin was attempting to nudge a pup over the corkline. The little creature wouldn’t make the leap. Again and again the mother shoved the pup with her beak until Billy screamed at them, “Jump! Jump! Just do it!”

He was furious at the stupidity of the dolphins. A snail could have made it over the net’s rim. Without thinking, Billy peeled off his shirt and moved to dive off the skiff. He felt Rocha’s hand on his arm and heard him yell, “There are sharks in there. You want to end up in the freezer?”

He looked at the pup. Half its short beak projected over the corkline, and its tail flapped ineffectually as the little dolphin tried to surmount the net. Then Billy twisted out of Rocha’s grip and dove off the skiff.

In three strokes he was at the pup’s side and hurling the small dolphin over the corkline. He turned to help the mother, but she dove away from him and down the curtain of mesh. Billy peered underwater. In the cauldron of darting tuna and sprinting dolphins he saw the vague outline of the mother in the net. She had jammed a pectoral fin in the webbing and was hanging there seemingly lifeless, as if she had given up the fight to escape. He clawed down the net after her. She was deep and his ears felt the pain of pressure. He pulled apart the nylon strands holding her fin and shoved the dolphin upward. For a moment she drifted, then with a beat of her fluke she shot for the surface to breathe. Billy’s need of air was so great he feared he’d black out before making it to the surface.

He burst out of the water beside the dolphin and attempted to shove her out of the net. She was too big and heavy. Billy pushed down on the corkline and then slid a shoulder under the dolphin. “Go on! Your pup’s out there!”

With a knee on the corkline he was able to drop the net and at the same time partly lift the dolphin. That was enough to encourage the mother. With a wild beating of her tail, the dolphin escaped the net and swam to her pup.

Billy was exhausted. He treaded water trying to catch his breath and glanced at
Lucky Dragon
. A flash of reflected light caught his attention and he saw the captain peering at him through binoculars.

Something brushed against his shoulder and Billy spun in fright to see a small female dolphin attempting to wriggle over the net. He called to her, “Come on, jump!”

She ceased her struggle and looked at Billy. He was struck by the liquid purity of her eyes. Was she asking for help? He bore down with all his weight on the corkline, sinking it a few inches. The dolphin seemed to understand. Without the slightest hesitation, she wriggled over the barrier. Turning toward Billy, she paused to stare at him. He heard the familiar chattering clicks as she sounded on him, and he reached out to touch her. His movement sent the dolphin leaping away and she fled across the water. He stared at her until Rocha’s cry snapped him back. “Billy! Shark!”

He saw the boatman waving frantically for him. Driven by terror, Billy sprinted for the skiff. In seconds he was muscling over the gunwale. Billy stood and looked down. The jaws of a six-foot mako were savaging one of the dolphins trapped in the net. Blood gushed, staining the water, drawing more sharks, and they slashed at the dolphin in a brutal feeding frenzy. Billy felt a surge of rage that dominated reason. He wanted to grab a gun or harpoon, or something deadly, and kill the sharks taking the lives of the dolphins. He turned to Rocha and fought for words to express his feelings. All he could say was “Why?”

The boatman shrugged and turned away to start the engine. Without looking at Billy, he spun the wheel and started back for the clipper. As they floated alongside the clipper, Rocha said, “Now we gotta help unload the net. And Billy, be cool.”

They tied off the skiff and climbed a boarding ladder hanging off the aft deck. Halfway up, a loud splash turned Billy’s attention to the water. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a dolphin landing in the sea. It was dead and badly mangled. Moments later a shark lunged out of the water and in a single bite devoured half of the dolphin. Billy felt sickened and dizzy. He clung to a rung and fought to keep from throwing up.

Rocha reached for him, pulled Billy over the railing, and led him along the deck. Where the net came cascading down from the power block, a dozen fisherman worked furiously untangling tuna and dolphins from the red nylon webbing.

Dead or alive, the dolphin were untangled and cast over the side to the waiting sharks. The old fisherman from the mess line grabbed Billy and said, “When I get ’em out of the net, you throw them porpoises overboard. They’re a little heavy for me, but I can still manage the tuna.”

To prove his strength, the old man untangled a young dolphin from the web. It flopped on the deck and her fluke beat against the steel until it abraded and blood flowed.

“Come on, kid. Get it over the side!” he ordered.

Billy hunkered beside the dolphin, wondering if it might survive. There was nothing else he could do but scoop the animal up in his arms and carry it to the railing. He held it over the water and looked down. Sharks were massacring the wounded, half-dead discarded dolphins. Those not visibly injured were so shocked by the trauma of their capture that they couldn’t or wouldn’t swim to safety. And then there were the babies. Would they survive without their mothers?

“Damn it, drop that sucker and get back here!” the old fisherman bellowed.

Billy looked at the young dolphin he held in his arms and felt her life force course from its dying body through his fingertips and into his consciousness. He murmured, “I’m sorry,” and let the creature fall into the sea. At that moment the breakfast of spicy Portuguese sausage and scrambled eggs came gushing out of his stomach and he vomited on the dolphins and sharks below.

He wiped his mouth on his forearm and turned back to the deck to see the captain standing beside the ship’s cook. The man in the stained apron held a butcher knife and watched Gandara move among the dolphins littering the deck. The captain paused over a young female that reminded Billy of the one he’d saved and placed the toe of a white tennis shoe on the dolphin. The cook bent over the carcass, slit the throat, and began filleting long strips of flesh from its body.

Billy could only stare and fight down the convulsions that racked him. At that moment, the captain looked away from the dolphin and his eyes held on Billy. He couldn’t face Gandara’s stare and turned for the railing to throw up again.