Rogue Justice (30 page)

His heart was beating so fast, he thought it would jump out of his chest. The wind suddenly picked up and shifted to the north, whipping fine needles of spray into his face. He buttoned his rain gear, pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, and inched toward water's edge. The whales were closer now, no more than one hundred yards away, their cries and whistles so loud, the granite walls surrounding him seemed to vibrate.

Houdini raised the camera again and, as he took aim, something even more extraordinary happened. The creatures slowed their blistering pace and came to a sudden stop, sending a massive wave of water hurtling toward him. He dove for cover, barely avoiding the thundering crash. The ice-cold spray took his breath away.

He waited for a second mountainous wave to hit before repositioning himself. And what he saw next was glorious. The whales executed a stunning spy hop, their sleek heads bursting from the water, their mighty flippers thrusting back and forth like gigantic water wings. These were orcas all right, Houdini could see that clearly now, yet they did not bear the familiar markings: the great patches of white, the deep gray saddle behind the dorsal fin. These exquisitely streamlined creatures were black from head to tail—black as black velvet—with a diamond blaze of gold where the eye-patch would normally be.

The orcas hung there for several seconds, looking around as if to orient themselves. Houdini zoomed in, capturing one breathtaking image after another. He paused, his index finger poised above the shutter button. In that moment, he locked eyes with one of the creatures. It was only for an instant, but long enough. The whale seemed to acknowledge his presence.

Then, in one synchronized motion, they revved their mighty engines and dove beneath the surface, the water churning violently in their wake. Houdini watched after them, his body trembling with excitement. Only after the seas had calmed did he check his camera. He slid the mode switch to playback, shuttling back and forth between images. He could not believe what he was seeing, reminding him of just how powerful photographs could be—a few snatched seconds of time captured for
all
time. The creatures were now completely backlit by the sun, their shimmering black bodies rising majestically from the sea.

As he advanced through the photos, he recalled a quote he'd read once from Ansel Adams, "
Sometimes I get to places when God is ready to have someone click the shutter.
"

This was one of those times.

For the next several minutes there was no sign of the whales. The creatures remained hidden below dark, rolling waves. Houdini tucked the camera back inside his sling pack and lifted the binoculars still hanging from a cord around his neck. Nothing but deep gray. Then, off in the distance, he spotted several shotgun-blast blows. The whales were speeding for three barren rock islets that rose like jagged fortresses from the sea. He adjusted focus and quickly figured out why. The area was swarming with Steller sea lions, huge mammals, some of them ten feet long and weighing close to one thousand pounds.

In the wild, the hunted always know the hunter
,
and they were ready for all-out war.

Seconds later, a wall of white water erupted near a concentrated cluster of rocks. The giant predators soared to extraordinary heights then arched to one side, their backs curving down, down, down before crashing to the surface with extraordinary force.

It sounded like a volley of cannons going off.

A double breach. Impossible!

Now abreast in a single line, the whales closed in with frightening speed. They ran headlong into the terrified sea lions, hammering them with their giant tail flukes. Dozens of outmanned mammals went porpoising across the surface in a desperate effort to escape. Others huddled together, barking and snarling, exposed teeth slashing viciously at the monster orcas. They never had a chance. The water soon became a boiling cauldron of red as one sea lion after another was ripped apart, their still-squirming bodies turned into bite-sized chunks of flesh.

Houdini was overwhelmed by the sheer power and sudden fury of the attack. He'd seen transient killers target sea lions before, and the orcas always prevailed. But it had routinely taken them an hour or more to finish the job. This lopsided contest was over in less than five minutes, and other than a few bits of flesh left drifting on the water there was little evidence of the kill.

Then, as quickly as the whales had come, they were gone.

Houdini stood motionless for several minutes, waiting and watching, hoping for one more look. It wasn't to be. Finally, he gave up the search, unzipped his sling pack, and pulled out a waterproof pad. He then began scribbling notes like a madman.

* * *

Zora, meanwhile, was speeding northwest along Highway 104 heading back to Port Townsend. So far the ride back had been uneventful. There was no one on the ferry who looked even vaguely familiar, and she'd kept one eye in the rear view mirror just as she had on the drive over. The man in Sitka had explicitly warned her about talking to the cops, and she tried not to think about what would happen if she was being followed, or if one of Chandler's henchmen picked up the trail of the detective.

She turned her attention instead to the other key player in this bizarre cat and mouse game, the mysterious shaman known as Houdini. She'd left two more messages for him and still had not heard back. Reaching for her cell, Zora tried him again, willing him to pick up this time. She snapped upright in her seat when he did. "Houdini, this is Zora Flynn. I'm a commercial fisherman. I've been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday. I'm a friend of Katrina's and—"

"Yeah, I know who you are," he interrupted. "I've worked on a boat or two up your way. Sorry about not getting back to you. I took off on a canoeing trip last night, camped out in the deep woods near Cape Flattery. Cell phone reception is really crappy out there."

Zora had only heard the shaman speak a few cryptic words on his voicemail, and expected him to sound different in person. He didn't, and it was somehow comforting. The phrase "speak softly and carry a big stick" came to mind. She dreaded having to finish her thought, to tell him about Katrina's death, but of course she had no choice. He reacted, not unexpectedly, with a mixture of shock and anger. After a long silence, Zora told him what she knew, answered his questions as best she could, and filled him in on the blackmail scheme involving her mother. Then she went for broke, laying out the reasons why Katrina thought he would help—the injustices done to his people... the struggle with his own parents... and the possibility of freeing captive orcas around the world.

There was another long silence, after which Houdini said, "Katrina got it right, bless her heart, right up to the end. So tell me, what can I do?"

Zora had no idea how he'd respond, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Katrina mentioned something else too. She said you talk to orcas, that you see into their souls."

"Not exactly. Truth is,
they
see into
my
soul. Most people have a tough time with that."

"Well, I'm not most people," Zora said a bit more coarsely than she intended. "And believe me, I get it." She went on to describe an incident that had occurred during a run the previous fall in Alaska's Glacier Bay. Both generators had gone down in a thick fog, leaving the
Dawn Quixote
without radar and totally blind. "I knew we were in a shipping lane, but I had absolutely no idea which direction to go," she added. "We were helpless, totally without power. That's when a pod of orcas showed up, like messengers from beyond or something. So I followed their lead and you know what? Less than five minutes later, a giant ocean liner steamed by. If it hadn't been for those whales, my boat would've been crushed to kindling."

"I had a similar experience not too long ago," Houdini said. "Orcas are incredibly perceptive and smart as hell. But listen, I'm not all that surprised at what's going on here."

"Really?" Zora replied incredulously.

"Yeah, ever hear the phrase, 'Gone to Ohio?'"

"No, what's that?"

"Well, years ago, captive whales were often moved around, transferred from cold weather parks in the winter—like the one near Cleveland—and then returned in the spring. Nobody paid much attention to any of that, so if a whale became sick or too tough to handle, no big deal. Same when one of the animals died. It just got lost in the shuffle."

"Gone to Ohio," Zora said. "But I'm not sure what—"

"It's just that it's very different now," Houdini interjected. "The animal rights crowd monitors every park, so it's impossible to move the whales in or out without someone noticing. Seattle's no exception. What's going on with the whales there now, do you know?"

Zora tensed a bit, filled in the gaps of her conversation with Katrina, then told him about the research she and Mickey had done. She explained that Samson stadium had been closed for repairs, with no firm date given as to when it would reopen.

"PR spin," Houdini said. "An obvious cover-up. But at least it will keep the extreme activist element out of our hair. They're anti-establishment, for sure, but they operate much like the military. The generals send the troops where they can do the most good, or raise the most hell, depending. So, it's unlikely they'll be hanging around the park with the stadium shut down."

Zora recalled Katrina's words, about the terrible accident in Japan and how it would only take a single spark to ignite the debate on killer whales in captivity. She also thought about Houdini and the untenable position she'd be putting him in. Then, there was the money. Would it matter? She didn't think so, but still felt compelled to toss out a number. Again, his reaction was hardly unexpected.

"I appreciate the offer," Houdini said. "But this isn't about a paycheck. It's about doing the right thing—for Katrina, your mother, and the captive whales. Look, Zora, I know your reputation, okay? You shoot straight and play fair. That's all I ask, all me and my People have
ever
asked."

"Thank you for that," Zora replied. "So where do we go from here?"

"We want to stay away from the transients—they're too damn unpredictable—so we need to track down one of the resident pods." Houdini then gave Zora a quick tutorial on resident orcas in Puget Sound. They numbered about ninety, he said, and traveled in three separate communities, designated for identification purposes as J, K, and L. He added, "They spend roughly half their time foraging for food, so the most likely place to track down one of the pods is in a shallow inlet. I have some ideas, but we'll need a big boat, a
really
big boat. Five tons is a lot of animal."

"I've got that one covered," Zora said. "Delta seiner. Leasing it from a friend."

"Good call. What about your crew? How many?"

"Three. You'll like them, Houdini. They're flying down from Sitka, should be arriving in Port Angeles right about now in fact. Can you meet us there for breakfast tomorrow morning? We'll have a few hours in the afternoon to pull everything together... then we go."

"I'll have to juggle a few things around," he said, seemingly unfazed. "But I'll be ready."

Zora nodded to herself, quietly arranging the pieces of this bizarre puzzle in her head. "Great. I'll call you back with a time and place." Then she paused, adding, "Oh, one other thing."

"Yeah?"

"Bring your A game, Houdini. We're gonna need it."

Chapter 32

1 April, 4:30 PM PDT

Port Townsend, Washington

After clicking off, Zora attempted to reach Mickey a couple of times, but he didn't pick up. He had offered his guest room again and she'd accepted, maybe a bit too quickly. Even so, she was thinking how good it would be to see him once more, even under these dreadful circumstances. Check that,
especially
under these dreadful circumstances. But first, she wanted to buy him dinner, see how he was doing, update him on her conversations with the detective and shaman. When he didn't answer on the third try, she drove to the town's library, another historic old treasure built not long after the Courthouse in the late 19th Century. Located in the Uptown area, it featured the simple, classical design favored by its benefactor, philanthropist Andrew Carnegie—one of more than 2,500 similar gems built with his considerable fortune.

Stepping inside, she felt as if she'd just entered a time capsule. The crowded shelves and musty smell of old books reminded her of the regular trips she'd made with her mother into the small town library near their Idaho home. She would give anything now to be that kid again. Making her way up the stairs to the second floor, she was directed to the Maritime section and soon found herself filtering through every book she could find on Delta seiners. The vessel was indeed a tough customer. With its powerful diesel engine and a fish hold capable of handling up to 50,000 pounds, the boat could easily accommodate a five-ton killer whale on deck.