Three Weeks Last Spring (7 page)

With the exception of John, she didn't trust men in general, and she certainly didn't trust Walker, that was for sure.
But if asked why, she couldn't explain.
Some would call it womanly intuition.
Skye, however, was more logical, and put her lack of trust down as the direct result of Michael's betrayal.

Michael—the one person she had trusted with her heart and soul, and yet he had almost destroyed her.
She thought back to the first idyllic ten days of her visit and remembered how things began to change on the eleventh.
They’d spent as much time in each other's company as the Navy would allow.
Towards the end of her second week, over dinner, Michael asked her to extend her stay.
The ship would be in dry dock longer than first anticipated, probably for another couple of months.
He'd understand if she couldn't stay that long, but woul
d she at least consider trying?

At first Skye had said no. She had commitments and her business partner to consider.
But Michael persuaded her to stay and although it hadn't been an easy decision, Skye had changed her mind and said yes to please him.
She remembered how guilty she
felt when she called John to inform him of her change of plans.
They had a blazing row.
John was adamant that she should return, claiming the business needed her and it was unfair of her to expect him to do all the work.
Skye
had
responded by saying that John was complaining because
, for once,
he was workin
g the long hours instead of her,
and it was his social life that had been put on hold for a change.
It was the first time they had exchanged harsh words about their business
and
personal lives
,
and the whole experience had left Skye
ashen, drained, and exhausted.

Michael had comforted her, and said in the long run it wouldn't matter anyway, not when she was settled in the States with him.
Skye had been caught off guard by his comments.
Her heart had sung with delight
. Wa
s Michael proposing?
She was euphoric as he explained that he wanted her by his side
,
always.
It was what she had dreamed and hoped for.
They
had
talked long into the night, Michael vehemently declaring his lo
ve for her over and over again.

He'd already
made
plans for their future.
After twenty-five years service
,
he would have a reasonably good pension, enough to buy them a house somewhere.
Skye could easily
continue her career
and Michael couldn't foresee any problems in her being granted a fiancée status visa.
Her mind burned with the memory of his smooth words.
At the time he’d been so convincing, and it was only now, with the benefit of hindsight, could Skye appreciate how easily she had been sucked in by his
glib words and charming smiles.

She would never forget a single detail of the events that took place in the following
days
.
At first it was little things, like Michael's pager going off halfway through dinner and him rushing out of the restaurant supposedly back to the ship, leaving Skye to finish her meal in solitude and to pick up the tab.
He became secretive, volunteering little information about himself or why he had been recalled to the ship.
On Sunday afternoons he'd disappear for hours on
end, on some pretext or other.

There had been
other
last minute excuses to cancel their plans, like the weekend in Victoria and the trip to Friday Harbor.
The endless question
s
about who
called while he was out, made Skye feel as i
f he was trying to control her.

When Michael had asked about her business she
ha
d been reluctant to answer, feeling as if she were betraying all she and John had built together.
But once again,
Michael
convinced her to tell him, saying that if she loved him as much as she said, then as her future husband he had a right to know such things.
Skye had caved in and told him that she and John were equal partners.

Skye never discussed what she and John were working on outside the office and she wasn't going to break that personal rule even for Michael.
She tried hard to explain that to him, but he refused to accept her decision, questioning her over and over again.
Each time his tone would be civil, but she would neve
r forget the anger in his eyes.

Unable to fathom why her response had annoyed him so much, Skye ignored the warning voices in her head.
Michael's constant questions were nothing
compared
to
the e
vents that ultimately unfolded.

From the day they’d met, Michael had been attentive to her.
Skye had been flattered.
It hadn't crossed
her
mind, that Michael could have a hidden agenda when he suggested they meet.
S
he
ha
d been too wrapped up in her own happiness to
realize
that anything was amiss.
Just how wrong she'd been.

The bad weather brought little respite for Walker.
After leav
ing Skye, he decided to fly
to Seattle.
He stopped at the local store on his way
to the airport
and
purchased a copy of the
island paper.
His stress level rose a
few points when
he noticed a small article concerning the increasing numbers of dead fish that were washing up on the island’s beaches.
With a sinking feeling
in the pit of his stomach, he
read on.
The journalist didn't give a reason for the phenomenon other than the storm, but Walker knew differently.
He cursed himself for foolishly thinking the rainstorms would buy him some time to continue his investigation
.

A short time later he surveyed the mountain of paperwork
that
covered every inch of his desk.
But he was too restless to concentrate for long on anything other than the recent events on the island, and the beauti
ful woman staying in his cabin.

He swore viciously under his breath.
He was still mad at himself for allowing the realtor to lease it so early in the season.
He had enough problems without adding to them with his own stupidity.
So far, no fish had washed up in the cove
in front of
the cabin, but it
was
only a matter of time before they did.
And as for the very attractive Ms Dunbar, under different circumstances, he mused, it might be interesting to get to know her better.
But, as things stood he remained highly suspicious of her and her motives for
renting the cabin.

He stared moodily out of the window at the Seattle skyline and considered his options.
Slowly a strategy formed in his mind, which, if successful, could give him the lead he was looking for.
His first call was to the
Port O
ffice
at Friday Habor
.
He needed exact details of the tides for the last few days, the names of any vessels that had passed through the st
raits, their cargo and heading.

Normally such information would not be available, but fortunately for Walker, Joe had contacted the
Port Director
,
and
told him to expect Walker’s
phone
call
.
His second call was to the meteorological office for details of wind direction and velocity.
Finally he entered all the information he'd gathered on to a large-scale map of the islands, and marked where the late
st batch of fish had washed up.

According to the
Port Director,
none of the ships that had passed through the straits in recent days could have been responsible for the new
report
s of dead fish.
They had mainly been cargo vessels
deliver
ing
containerized stores
to
small remote villages
.
Walker studied the
map
;
the
lines of concentration furrowed
his brow.
If his calculations were correct, then whoever was illegally dumping chemical substances was doing so somewhere in the waters between
Friday Harbor and Shaw Island.

He fervently hoped that the chemicals were in containers, rather than being
dumped
overboard like raw sewage.
If they were, and the
containers
were marked, then he stood
a chance of tracing them back to the plant from which they came.
If they were
n’t
, then
there was no way to determine
their source.

I
t was a huge area to search
,
and Walker wasn't too optimistic, but at least it was worth a try.
It would be the equivalent of looking for a goldfish in a pond and a pure fluke if they actually managed to find anything.
The waters around the islands were treacherous and even if the
containers
were lying in shallow water it would be a dangerous operation.
Besides, the current weather conditions weren't exactly ideal for diving off a small boat.
D
ivers weren't the answer, thought Walker grimly.
But there was another possibility, if he could persuade Joe to involve the
Coastguard
or even one of the specialist companies, in an underwater search using sonar, or better yet, a remotely operated vehicle, then maybe—
just maybe, he would get lucky.

Walker massaged the pain in his temples as he waited for Joe to pick up the phone.
He felt as if he had aged ten years over the last three weeks, the stress and lack of sleep had taken their toll.
His concern now wasn't just for the depletion of the local salmon population, or for the rest of the wildlife, such as the sea otters and seals
,
which abounded in the waters around the islands, but for the human inhabitants too.
He
said
a silent prayer that none of the hospitals had reported anyone being admitted with suspected poisoning.
Once the food chain became involved, there was no telling where this would end.

The seconds ticked away and then a somewhat disgruntled voice answered.

"McCabe."

Walker cut straight to the chase.
"Joe, do you know
anyone
who could do a sonar survey of the straits, or better yet, send d
own a remotely operated vehicle?
"

"
Christ
, you don't want much do you?
Have you any idea what you're asking for or how much these surveys cost?
Let's not leave out the fact that they are way outside my department's jurisdiction.
I could easily be kissing my whole budget for the next ten years goodbye
."

"Calm down, think of your blood pressure.
Besides, I haven't asked you to pay for it.
We can ask other departments to chip in.
I just want
ed
to know
if
you could
organi
z
e one
."

"Calm down?
Easy for you to say, you haven't got the entire State Department watching every move you make.
Sonar surveys, remotely operated vehicles?
Just what are you planning to do, look for hidden treas
ure like some perverse pirate?"

"I've been plotting tides, vessel movements and details of where fish c
a
me ashore.
I now have a rough idea of where these chemicals are being dumped.
It's a large area to search, but if we could survey the seabed, who knows, we might come up with some anomaly to justify taking a closer look.
I know it's a long shot,
but
I don't know what else to suggest, unless of course you've managed to come up with
some
thing positive."

"I hear you, Walker, but before I go spending all of Uncle Sam's tax dollars on what could easily be a red herring, let's see if we can't
streamline your plan a little."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Walker.
A muscle flicked impatiently in his jaw.

"I don't have authority to spend the sort of money you're talking about, that's for sure.
As I've said
,
it's technically out of my jurisdiction.
How about I take this upstairs and explain the position.
Maybe I could get approval for a sonar survey.
We could compare it to one done
a few years back
, that way if anything unexpected did show up we could justify the need to investigate further.
Even then, I can't promise I'll get
approval
for an ROV, but I don't see why we couldn't send down a dive team, provided the water's not too deep, and this damn weather i
mproves.
How does that sound?"

"I guess
if that is the best you can do,
" Walker replied.
"Just make sure you tell whoever that sooner or later it won't be fish turning up dead, but people, and when that happens I'll be first in line to say I told you so.
Get back to me with t
he details as soon as you can."

Walker slammed down the phone.
Frustrated,
he
stared
out of the window.
Normally
he found the view relaxing,
but today it did little to calm his rage.
He swore heartily under his breath.
Not only was his professional life fast going from sugar to shit, but
he couldn't get the image of his sexy tenant out of his mind either.
Totally disgusted with the direction his thoughts were
headed
, he grabbed his jacket off the back of his chai
r and
ma
rched
of the office.

He walked quickly
,
and
glanced
over his shoulder every now and again to make sure he wasn't being followed, as he headed downtown towards Pioneer Square.
He entered the first Internet Café he could find with a vacant booth, and logged into his web-based e-mail address.
He was disappointed to find nothing new.
His fist hit the desk—hard.
People just didn't disappear without trace, especially not leading computer scientists, unless of course they were up to no good.
He had to find Ridge, and soon.
If his plans for searching the seabed came up empty, then finding out who was hacking into his company
's computers was his last hope.

He ordered another strong black coffee, and
searched
the web once more.
With his back and neck muscles aching, he finally came across an interview in a little known computer journal with a John Ridge.
It had to be the same person; it couldn't just be a coincidence.
The article was a few years old, but tucked away at the bottom of the page was an e-mail address.
Praying that once again the gods were on his side, he quickly typed a note, briefly explaining his situation and asking if Dr
.
Ridge could help.
His final request before hitting the send key was to
ask for an immediate response.

Stretching to relieve the ache in his tired muscles, Walker knew there was nothing more he could do, other than sit back and wait for either McCabe or Ridge to contact him.
Ironically, waiting wasn't one of his better traits.
He was used to being in control of his own destiny, and for the last few weeks he’d been anything but.
He downed his coffee, deleted all traces of his activities on the PC, and left.

Back in his office, he set about clearing
the pile of paperwork on
his desk.
Around ten his private line rang.
Few people knew the number and even fewer knew he was in town.
He snatched
the handset
off the cradle, and was relieved to hear Joe's voice at the other end of the line.

"I might have guessed you'd still be at y
our desk at this ungodly hour."

"Paperwork, Joe, paperwork.
It gets us all in the end.
I hope
you'
v
e
got
good news."

"I need you to send me everything you have so far—lab reports, newspaper articles, witness statements, maps—whatever you've got.
And, Walker, it had better be convincing."

"I didn't ask you to go out on a limb for me
.
"

"A limb?
A mere limb?
I've done more than go out on a limb for you
,
I'm dangling off a leaf at the end of the branch, and I don't want to crash and burn, and find myself collecting my pension fifteen years early just beca
use we didn't cover our backs."

"I hear you, Joe.
I'll have everything couriered over to you in the morning.
Do you have any idea of timescale?"
Walker’s voice was as cold as the water in Puget Sound
.