Rogue Justice (32 page)

Satisfied with the plan, Zora left to meet Mack Bowen and take control of his seiner.

* * *

Shortly after 3:00 p.m., the
Northern Star
motored slowly away from the dock at Platypus Marine out past the jetty and into the Strait of Juan de Fuca. From there she steamed eastward through a low mist, long, gentle swells rolling beneath her hull. The boat was now on autopilot, the wheel moving itself, the bow of the powerful steel-hulled vessel smoothly parting the chop. The skies were overcast with gentle winds blowing offshore from the northwest. It was forty-eight degrees. The fog bank reduced visibility to less than a quarter mile.

Zora stood at the helm, sipping green tea, thinking the conditions were ideal for a mission best carried out as covertly as possible. She stared mindlessly into the void, barely able to distinguish between sea and sky. She could feel the smooth chug of the engine and opened up to ten knots, top speed for this 550 HP workhorse. The current was flowing with them and if it continued to hold, they'd reach their destination before midnight.

Every now and then, she glanced at the computer. There was little radio chatter and no cruise ships, tankers, or freighters in the vicinity. She thought that odd, not at all consistent with one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world
.
In fact, more than ten thousand vessels moved in and out of these waters annually. The heavy traffic spawned plenty of contentious debates between pro-nature and pro-commerce advocates.

Beauty versus the beast on a grand scale.

And the beast always wins.

Zora listened to the marine weather report which promised lighter winds to the south and a heavier layer of mist. She wondered if it was accurate. It would sure help if it was. As her hands played over the wheel, she angrily fought back tears, overcome by reflections of a young girl playing word games with her mother in front of the fireplace. The memory of those happy days in their small Idaho ranch house swept over her like the soft brush of a feather.

I will not let anything happen to her. I... will... not!

A short time later Houdini stepped through the wheelhouse door. As expected, he'd meshed well with the rest of the crew and for that she felt thankful. On this run there was simply no margin for error. Everyone must pull together as a unit.

"Fair winds and following seas, captain," he said.

Zora nodded. Indeed the weather gods seemed to be rolling right along with them. Even Point Wilson north of Port Townsend remained relatively calm. Normally, it was a place where winds, currents, and tides conspired to create the kind of hellish conditions area fishermen called
bad, real bad, or awful.
"So what's going on down below?" she asked.

Houdini flashed his megawatt smile. "McCabe's quite the cook. Pea soup, meat loaf, broccoli, and mashed potatoes topped off with a cherry cobbler. Good stuff."

Zora wasn't hungry and had passed on the hearty meal. "Now, let me guess, they're watching
Fargo
for the forty-ninth time." Movies broke up the grinding discipline aboard shipboard life, and she knew the black comedy was Cassidy's favorite film.

"Yup," Houdini said, smiling. "Listen, I spent some time with Lapenda before dinner. Interesting guy."

"Yeah, they call him, 'The Professor.' He's got a wild imagination, devours books like a kid eats candy. Classics mostly. Just don't ask him about Charles Dickens, though. I made that mistake once and he talked my ear off for an hour."

"I'll remember that," Houdini said, chuckling. "He's a good man. So are the others."

Zora nodded.

"Hey, is that your mother?" Houdini asked, pointing to a framed photo sitting on the window sill. "She's beautiful. So much of her good looks in you." It was a simple statement of fact, with no other meaning implied.

"Thanks. It's my favorite picture of her. She was about thirty then. My aunt Bonnie used to say Mother was the sort of woman poets write about."

Houdini picked up the plain black frame, cupped it in his hands like a piece of fine china. "Well, she sure as hell nailed that one."

Indeed, Stella Flynn looked radiant, smiling out to the world, her long reddish-brown hair falling gently on strong shoulders. She was dressed in a flowing white peasant dress, gold necklace, and lace-up leather boots. Zora brought the photo with her on every run, usually kept it in a drawer next to her bunk.

This trip was different.

"Rico told me about her condition," Houdini said. "Must be really tough, seeing her gradually slip away from you like that."

"Yeah,
really
tough. Every time we talk, another part of me gets ripped to pieces. I keep trying though, grabbing onto whatever bit of hope I can find. She was so vital, you know? I guess that's the saddest part. I'm telling you that woman could run whitewater rapids with the best of 'em. Class
five
rapids, Houdini. Pure adrenaline rush. Anyway, on good days she sometimes remembers things. I see a flash of recognition there. And you know what? Twenty years falls from her face when she smiles that dazzling smile of hers." Zora paused, lowered her eyes. "But most of the time, she's mired in a thick fog, with no idea what's going on."

"I'm sorry," Houdini said, handing back the photo. "Listen, we'll make this work, okay? I promise."

Zora sighed, thinking it
had
to work. She checked the computer again. It was set on three mile range and this time the vessel monitoring system picked up some activity. Crossing the shipping lane could be dangerous, even deadly, and she would be careful not to make that mistake. She sat down, then turned to Houdini. "Let's go over your game plan again, okay? To be honest I've been a little preoccupied since breakfast. Mack had second thoughts, nearly backed out on me."

"No problem," Houdini said. "So here's the deal. We give Samson a proper send-off to the other side, then head up to Whidbey Island, a place called Penn Cove."

"Penn Cove. Why does that ring a bell?"

"Ever hear of Ted Griffin and Don Goldsberry?"

Zora confirmed this with a nod. "Yeah, but I don't know much about them."

Houdini filled her in on the history of the two men, then provided details of the debacle that made them famous, or rather infamous. It was the summer of 1970. Griffin and Goldsberry had brought together a small army of whalers in the Cove. Using boats, helicopters, and explosive devices, they chased dozens of orcas to the point of exhaustion inside three acres of purse seine nets. Several whales were eventually corralled with long gaffs used to slip ropes over their fins. "It took several days to finish the job," Houdini added. "The locals said that at night the squeals and splashing flukes could be heard for miles. Rumor had it that the tavern cat at Captain Whidbey Inn became so freaked out, he went berserk."

"No kidding," Zora said. "How many whales?"

"Nobody knew at the time. Griffin later said there were over ninety."

Zora was now shivering with rage. "Ninety. Holy shit!"

"There was no shortage of buyers, either, mostly looking for weaned juveniles. Easier to train and posed less risk during transportation." Houdini went on to explain that, by the end of the week, Griffin and Goldsberry had sold seven young orcas, pocketing big bucks in the process. During the capture, however, four whales had become tangled in the nets and drowned. Two months later, their bodies washed ashore and the scam was exposed. "After that, Goldsberry went solo, played a cat and mouse game with reporters for years, but eventually copped to what he'd done."

"What about the captured whales?" Zora asked.

"Only Lolita is alive, still being held prisoner in a small tank at the Miami Seaquarium. Whale lovers have tried for years to get her released, but so far no luck."

"It's criminal," Zora said. "Absolutely criminal."

"Yup. And for decades after that disaster, the whales stayed away. That all changed a few years ago when the salmon runs further north became hit and miss. The residents started coming back again, mostly in the spring. They much prefer their Chinook, but sometimes feed on the clams and mussels around here. Best in the world."

Zora shook her head. "Well, here's to not scaring them off for
another
forty years."

Chapter 34

3 April, 12:10 AM PDT

Seattle, Washington

The remainder of the trip went smoothly. Kingdom of the Sea Oceanarium was located on Puget Sound in northwest Seattle, and the
Northern Star
arrived right on schedule. Zora throttled back to three knots and skillfully steered the boat into a narrow, man-made channel that dead-ended at a small wooden dock just off Puget Sound. Using the bulbous bow thrusters, she eased the vessel in sideways and gently made contact with the tyre fenders. Five minutes later, she stepped off the boat, Houdini at her side. She looked warily at the man standing on the dock, a man she instantly recognized from her meeting in Sitka. She still did not know his name, but given his role in all this, Sewer Rat seemed to work just fine.

Zora threw him a withering look. "Jesus, they left
you
in charge? Where's the GM?"

"I'm afraid my colleague is indisposed at the moment."

"My lucky day," Zora said.

The man smiled, but did not respond.

Straight ahead, Zora could see two massive panels of black tarpaulin, ten feet high and set thirty feet apart, panels that ran from the channel to a large prefabricated metal building. It was a distance of about fifty yards, most of it uphill. A pair of heavily armed guards stood watch at the entrance. As Zora, Houdini, and Sewer Rat approached, one of the guards stepped forward smartly, slid open a pair of heavy steel doors.

Zora shivered when she stepped inside. The structure was refrigerated by a portable, industrial-strength cooling unit. Samson's bloated carcass lay on a sweep of thick plastic sheeting and despite the freezing temperature the smell of decomposing whale was nauseating. Sewer Rat explained that the body had been moved earlier in the day from an enclosed sea-pen.

"He's all yours, captain," he said.

Zora looked at Houdini. He clenched his teeth, pivoted on his heels, and stalked off.

"So when might we expect our new arrival?" Sewer Rat asked. "My people are rather anxious to know the details. Here, take a look, the arrangements have all been made." He stepped to the near wall, lifted a blind covering one of the windows. "Hard to make out in the dark, but that sea-pen I mentioned a moment ago is just down the hill. That's where your captured whale will be housed and trained."

Zora cut him dead, her eyes on fire.

Trained, my ass!

She then stormed outside, hustled to catch up with Houdini, and together they retraced their steps back to the
Northern Star
.

Lapenda had rigged the boat's hydraulic power block with a special pulley and heavy, industrial-gauge rope. Houdini, Cassidy, and McCabe hauled out a padded rubber harness, pulled it up the hill, and tied it to Samson's peduncle just forward of his flukes. The big animal was then gently towed out of the building, down the incline, and dragged into channel waters. Despite the thick padding, the rope still bit deeply into the whale's rotting flesh.

It's got to hold,
Zora thought.
It has to.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the powerful seiner pulled away from the dock and eased her way back into Puget Sound. Three hours after that, shortly before five o'clock in the morning, Zora steamed into view of Whidbey Island some thirty miles north of Seattle. She slowed the boat, and the rope attached to Samson's body went slack. A cool mist settled over the water as the crew dropped anchor. Zora then stepped out of the wheelhouse, signaled Lapenda, Cassidy, and McCabe to go below, and joined the shaman on the aft deck.

Houdini was dressed in traditional Makah regalia—feather-soft red cloak woven from cedar bark, cedar braided bands on his forehead and arms, deer-hoof bracelets on his ankles. A soft white ermine pelt swung loosely from a colorful headpiece, his long braided hair falling to the middle of his back. In his left hand he held a small rattle.

"Thank you for your life and the gifts you have given," Houdini said, slowly shaking the rattle. "Your time on this earth was far too short, made intolerable by conditions no animal should ever have to endure. You were stolen from the sea, deprived of your independence, and denied the most precious thing in your world—your family." Tears welled up in Houdini's eyes. Zora could tell the words were now coming with great difficulty as the ritual continued. "For that, and many other indignities, I apologize. And I humbly ask you to forgive man, for he does not realize the destructiveness of his ways. I wish you well and bless you on your next journey. Go in peace, great orca, and may you enjoy your new-found freedom."