“Was the Skipper coughing… Mr. O’Toole? Was he coughing?” Kate consulted her notes for the skipper’s name.
“Yeah, but not like Nicky. As da’ day went on, it got worse for him. By mid-day I’s start coughing, too, finding it hard to breathe. By afternoon, I go below to check on Nicky, an’ he really bad, gasping like a fish outa’ water. I goes back top an’ tell the Skip bout’ Nicky. We gots to get home an’ get him to a doctor. Skip says OK, but we got to haul in da’ nets first. They real heavy with a catch.”
“How long did it take to haul the nets in?” Kate asked.
“Bout an hour. We was short-handed cause a Nicky down below, but we rigged the winch an got it started. Soon we had dem’ nets alongside, but something was real wrong. None a dem’ fish in the nets was movin’. They alls dead.”
“All the fish in the nets were dead?” Kate asked. “How big were the nets, I mean, how many fish are we talking about?”
“Bout’ three ton.”
“Have you ever seen something like this before, Bodie? I mean a net full of dead fish?”
“Not jus fish, miss. They was sea birds in them nets, too. Lots a birds. Hundreds. All dead. I been fishin’ these boats since I’s thirteen. I never seen the like, ever.”
“What did you and the Skipper do?”
“We jus’ stood there an’ stared at dem’ fish and birds in them nets. We don’t know what to do. Can’t load em’ on the boat. Can’t sell em’. Wouldn’t if we could. I looks hard at Skip, an he look like death warmed over. Coughin’ and wobblin’, can’t hardly stand up. I’m feeling it too, but not as bad as Skip. That’s when I knew we gots to get outa this blood water. Now!
“I grab Skip an’ take him below to his bunk. He bad. Back on top, I can’t empty those nets by myself. Too dangerous. So I cuts the cables an let em’ fall back into the water. That devil water. I was feeling real poorly by then. I figured it was a matter of time till I get like Skip an’ Nicky, an we gots to go. I get to the wheelhouse. Skip had showed me how to set the GPS. I plugs in the coordinates for home, slams dem’ engines to full throttle, an hightails it outa there.” Bodie finished.
“You had tied yourself to the ships wheel. Do you remember doing that, Bodie?” Kate asked.
“I don’t remember anything after that. Next thing I knows, I’m in this bed an’ that pretty nurse takin’ care of me.” Bodie paused, then said, “How’s Skip an’ little Nicky doin’? I sure hope they feelin’ better.”
Kate met Bodie’s eyes with hers, pausing herself before replying. One thing Kate had promised herself many years ago, was to never lie or withhold bad news from a patient. Never.
“Skip and Nicky didn’t make it, Bodie. You’re the only one. I’m sorry.”
Bodie closed his eyes upon hearing the news of his friends and shipmates. After a few moments pause, “Alas Babylon” was all he said.
Chapter Four
Tampa, Florida
The man walked briskly towards the gleaming glass and steel office tower in Tampa’s central business district. He was quite fit for his 56 years. A retired chemical engineer’s dedication to detail mandated he arrive on-time. This included the time to pass the lobby security desk log entry, ascend to the 12th floor via an elevator that was likely to be stopped on the way up to pick up additional passengers, and make his way to the receptionist’s desk. The announcement of his arrival would occur precisely at 10:00am, the appointed hour.
“Good morning, may I help you?” The attractive and well quaffed receptionist positively bubbled with feigned excitement at his arrival.
“Yes, I am Thuy Piseth, from the Green Gulf Info Coalition. I have 10 o’clock appointment with Mr. Swagart.
“Okey Dokey Mr. Piseth, please have a seat while I see if Mr. Swagart can see you now.” The perfect make-up, styled hair with a bow, and manicured nails radiated southern charm, as did her drawl.
Thuy seated himself ramrod straight on the very edge of the cushioned chair, his satchel and MacBook Air resting on his knees. His posture shouted his readiness to leap from his seat when summoned. As he waited, he wondered to himself why Mr. Swagart would even contemplate not seeing him. He had an appointment at 10:00am. He had confirmed yesterday. Not being available to keep a scheduled meeting would be rude.
The receptionist eyeballed the visitor while smiling sweetly, as she dialed Mr. Swagart. He was obviously a foreigner, Asian with an accent, and an attitude. She didn’t like any of those traits.
After receiving permission over the phone, she rose from behind her desk to show the foreigner into Mr. Swagart’s office.
“Mr. Swagart will see you now, sir.” She had already forgotten his name.
“Of course he will. I have appointment.” Thuy strode purposefully through the door held for him.
“Thank you, God bless you.” She replied in her sweetest southern drawl. This was southern code every southern Belle knew and practiced. Translated as “Fuck you, foreigner.” Yankees and foreigners always got the same treatment.
The office Thuy entered took up a third of the 12th floor, with floor to ceiling windows on two sides overlooking Tampa Bay. It gave visitors the sensation they were floating. From behind a desk the size of a Buick that was perfectly centered in the apex corner where the windows met, a big man strode towards him, hand extended.
“How ya’ll doin’ this fine day, Mr. Thuy? Beautiful day to be alive in South Florida I’d say,” Bobby Lee’s voice boomed.
“Piseth. Mr. Piseth. My first name is Thuy. Thuy Piseth.”
“Of course it is, I knew that. Ain’t never been too good at pronouncing foreign names. My friends all call me Bobby Lee, and you better, too, young fella.” Bobby Lee barked jovially.
Bobby Lee used the handshake to pull Thuy towards him, then steer him awkwardly towards a chair. Thuy had to crab walk backwards and sideways until the back of his knees felt the chair. Bobby Lee then released his steel handshake to allow Thuy to plop into the seat. Bobby Lee liked to be in control.
Thuy was not a young man, as his host insinuated. His thin and fit body combined with his Asian ethnicity often fooled Westerners into greatly underestimating his age. This was compounded by the dozen or so small spots across his face that were mistaken for acne. They were in fact scars from cancerous melanoma’s that were routinely cut from his body. These were the result of exposure to Agent Orange, a caustic defoliant sprayed over the countryside by American forces during the Vietnam War. The idea was to remove leaf cover to reveal communist troops and supply movements to air power that were otherwise hidden in the triple canopy jungle. It was sprayed from C-4 cargo planes indiscriminately, exposing not only plant life, but communist rebels, civilians, US troops and livestock. Veterans of the Vietnam War and civilians from Vietnam and Cambodia with skin cancers related to Agent Orange exposure have petitioned the US government for decades for medical treatment and reparations. The US government denies the defoliant caused these cancers, as they would rather not absorb the medical expense of helping the victims.
To say Thuy was put off his game by Bobby Lee’s physical handling was an understatement. That was the intention. Bobby Lee was built like an overweight and aging NFL linebacker. Broad shouldered, thick neck, and powerfully built. His handshake swallowed Thuy’s hand like it was a child’s. His physical presence, boisterous voice and good ol’ boy drawl completed his ability to command any room, and made Thuy feel like a mouse sparring with a very large cat.
Having deposited his guest in one of the chairs arranged before his desk, Bobby Lee glanced over his shoulder as he strode to take his seat with a flourish. He moved very well for a big man, something adversaries greatly underestimated in his teenage years. They never knew what hit them.
“Well, what can I do for you, son?” Booby Lee asked.
“I’m here to present research on algae blooms in waters of the Gulf.” Thuy struggled to regain his composure.
“Algae blooms? Hell, I never even knew algae could bloom. That stu
ff floats on water. Is it like a waterlily or somethin’ like that? Never seen that before. Don’t much matter to me. Son, I’m in the landscape and lawn care business. I work on dry land.” Bobby Lee smiled like he was confiding a secret.
“No, no. Algae not bloom like flower. Algae bloom occurs when warm waters in Gulf combine with sunlight and pollutants like sewage and fertilizer run off from land to create large patches of algae floating on water surface. The blooms…”
Bobby Lee cut him off before Thuy could continue. Leaning forward, beefy forearms resting on his desk and hands clasped together, Bobby Lee cocked his head and grinned his best fake smile.
“I don’t know much about that science stuff. I leave all that to people a lot smarter than me.”
Bobby Lee knew exactly what this little man was trying to explain. This wasn’t his first run in with environ-mentals and tree huggers as he called them. And there weren’t a lot of businessmen or women in the Tampa Bay area much smarter than Bobby Lee. Correction, not smart, but shrewd, with a killer instinct that guided him.
Born to financially struggling country gas station owners, Bobby Lee grew up with black hands stained by car grease. When he wasn’t working in the garage, he mowed lawns and illegally dug up palm trees out of the State Forest to sell to Tampa and Orlando landscapers who in turn sold them to rich snowbirds wintering in Florida. Nothing says “I ain’t from around here” like a palm tree in the lawn of a retirement bungalow on a golf course.
Thuy tried again.
“Mr. Swagart, I am aware EPA findings, and OSHA investigation on workplace safety from last year not favorable to your company. I am sorry for loss of your trusted employee, and heavy fines. But I must speak with you about nitrate fertilizer your company uses in South Florida. Science show the polluting effects of nitrates are worse than phosphate fertilizer run off in streams and wetlands, and is contributing to increased instances and size of algae blooms in Gulf of Mexico. As largest landscape…”
That was as far as Thuy was going to get. Although Bobby Lee had hired the best public relations firm in Tampa, and subjected himself to extensive media training following his disastrous performance with a rabid reporter when one of his dumbass employees killed himself by spilling a million gallons of liquid fertilizer in the equipment yard. He was still a redneck, and a very rich and powerful one at that. He wasn’t about to listen to this shit coming out of this squirt’s mouth. He rose from his seat, circled the desk and addressed Thuy.
“Mr. Piseth, I’m afraid I have to end our conversation. Time has gotten away from us this morning, and I apologize. I would like to refer you to our technical group. Any technical, scientific, or environmental inquiries brought to their attention will be properly and promptly addressed in detail.” Bobby Lee rose and rounded his desk.
Extending his ham sized hand for a shake, Thuy instinctively responded with his own, and was plucked from his chair like a rag doll and steered towards the door.
“I am so happy you came to see me today, Mr. Piseth, and for your fine, fine work. Men and women like you are what keep this country on the right path. We all need to support you, and do our part to preserve the environment. Jolene has your business card I believe. Our Foundation will be happy I’m sure to make a contribution to your organization…Green Gulf Coalition I believe it is. I will speak to them the very first chance I get. Ya’ll have a great day, now. Thank you, and God bless you.”
Bobby Lee also knew southern code for dealing with foreigners and Yankees.
Beet red in the face, and madder than a hornet, he clenched and unclenched his fists pacing back to his desk. He would have preferred to rip Thuy’s ass out through his throat and to toss him off the roof, but the PR training had finally taken root. Following his instincts would only cause him more trouble.
Bobby Lee had been mauled in the press following a worker’s death at his landscape supply yard last year. Some dumb fucking minimum wage redneck killed himself while spilling two million gallons of liquid fertilizer all over himself, and the yard. Turned the wrong valve. How in the hell is that my fucking fault? he thought. Asshole.
“I’m better off hiring Cubans or Nicaraguans.” he said to himself. “Anyone dumb enough to board an overcrowded raft to try and float here at least has a survival instinct. Maybe they have enough sense not to turn a valve the wrong way, even if they can’t read English”
Bobby Lee possessed all the human warmth of a Florida rattlesnake. He reached for the desk top phone, and dialed. Time for a little damage control. The call went through.
“Center for Disease Control, how may I help you?
“Yeah, this is Bobby Lee Swagart. Let me speak with Dr. Sherrod Simpson
“I’ll see if he’s in, sir. One moment, please.
“He by God better be in, missy!” Moments passed while he was connected. “Dr. Simpson,” the call was answered.
“Sherrod, this is Bobby Lee. I just had some oriental tree hugger in my office complaining about goddamned nitrates making algae bloom. I paid good money to get that fucking storyline killed, and now it’s back.”
Chapter Five
Gulf of Mexico
Captain Jack Simmons piloted the C-37 Gulfstream out of Bayboro Harbor, St. Petersburg. He was currently cruising at 10,000 feet over the Gulf on an Environmental Response flight to check out an area of the Gulf where some fishing vessels had run into trouble. The area they grid searched ran from the southern tip of Texas down to an area east of Belize, a rectangle 300 miles long and half that wide. Grid searches were far from sexy, and the crew had to be on their toes to ensure every inch of the 30,000 square miles flown had eyes on it. It was no picnic for the crew assigned to visually inspect the ocean from the port and starboard portals as they crisscrossed the search area for hour upon hour. So far, it had been a very boring flight. This flight had been made each day for the last three days, but saw very little due to the low cloud cover, and rain. Today, the cloud ceiling was limitless, as the sun glinted off the ocean.
“Captain, I think we have something.” Joey called over the com. Joey was very popular with the crew. A jokester, and a natural athlete who could both drink, and swim like a fish. But on duty, he was all business.
“Location?” The captain responded.
“Four o’clock off the starboard wingtip, sir. There’s something on the water. I can’t really tell cause’ the sun is reflecting straight at us from this angle. Can we approach from the west, sir?” Joey asked.
“Copy that. Stand by while I swing this bird around.” Jack banked the turbo prop in a wide, lazy loop to approach that area from the west, positioning the low sun at their six o’clock. As he came out of the bank and levelled the aircraft the ocean seemed to transform before his eyes.
“Mary, sweet Mother of Jesus. What the hell is that?” Jack was stunned.
Frank, the co-pilot saw it at the same time. “My God.”
It looked like the planet itself was bleeding. The sea surface was blood red, with patches of darker brown floating and swirling in its’s midst. From horizon to horizon, the water undulated and rolled like a living thing. There was no sense of tranquility or beauty Jack normally felt by looking over the ocean from the cockpit. This was gut wrenching and terrifying. And, it was huge.
“Jack, what is that?’ Frank asked. “I mean, I see it, but…what could cause something like that?”
“I have no freaking idea, Frank. It sure as hell ain’t no oil or chemical spill from a tanker. Not something that big. Whatever it is, it’s not good.” Jack replied. “We’re going to find out starting now.”
Jack was shaken by what he was witnessing, but 15 years flying missions over the Gulf for anything from drug interdiction, to sea rescue and piracy had forged his resolve and focus to complete the mission, no matter what the circumstances.
”Navigator, geo mark our exact position every 10 minutes. We’re going to fly this things perimeter to try to determine how big it is, or it’s point of origin, if it has one.
Com, get Bayboro on the horn. Tell them what we’re seeing, and to send surface ships to our position. Time to call in the cavalry. Joey, I want a geo position buoy prepped for a drop as soon as possible.”
One by one, the crew responded to their orders.
Tamp, Florida
Thuy was thoroughly pissed, as he stomped across the parking lot towards his 10-year old Camry. That meat head landscaper had dismissed him before he could complete a couple sentences. He had the proof. Scientific proof. But that and a nickel couldn’t buy him a cup of coffee. Keeping the lawns green and orchards plentiful in south Florida was slowly poisoning the Gulf. No one would listen. Not the EPA, not Florida Fish and Wildlife, not the countless marine biologists dotting the Florida coast from Panama City to the Keys. Everybody dismissed his theory. Everybody said it was a natural occurring phenomena. Blooms formed naturally from single celled microbes in warm waters, and dissipated naturally from the action of wind and currents diluting the bloom until it faded away. When a bloom occurred along the coast, people were cautioned not to eat shellfish to avoid getting sick until it passed. That was it.
What concerned Thuy, was the acceleration he had recently discovered, when a mutagen was introduced to the bloom cocktail brewing in the warm waters of the Gulf. This he had tested in his home made lab by introducing a mutagen to a specific algae floating on seawater.
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