Operation Dolphin Spirit

by Kimberli A. Bindschatel

  Alison smacked her husband’s shoulder with her cloth napkin. “That’s not a lunchtime story.” But she was clearly amused.

  Dalton shrugged and took another sip of his beer. “You don’t miss that stuff, buddy?”

  “Aww man, I miss the guys, the crazy stories, but it’s time for me to settle down, you know, with a kid on the way.”

  That made Alison grin.

  “Yeah,” Dalton said. Did I see a little envy in his eyes?

  Rod looked at Alison with an expression that no one could mistake. They were happy together. Two people madly in love. Married, with a child on the way.

  Was that what Dalton had wanted? After he left the Navy? To settle down? Have a few kids?

  Of course he did. Why hadn’t I seen it before? He’d married her, hadn’t he? She was that kind of woman. They’d have had that life together. Regular. Settled. In one place. With a swing set in the backyard.

  The shape-shifting anxiety stirred in my stomach again.

  My dad had looked at my mom that way. No matter what came between them, he’d loved her, unconditionally. But a life like that would never have worked for them. And it wouldn’t for me either.

  “Well, I need to use the ladies room,” I said and rose from my chair.

  Alison pushed back her chair and rose.“I’ll go with you.”

  I’ve never understood women who must go to the bathroom in twos, but ohhh-kay.

  We headed down the stairs to the restrooms, which were on the first floor where they were accessible for the pool users as well.

  After I’d gone, I waited near the sink for her. That was the thing to do, right? I paced. We were alone. This was my chance to ask her about Dalton. Anything. But what? It felt so…intrusive. Gee, why would you divorce a guy like Dalton? Or did he divorce you? Just what happened? I know it’s none of my business, but spill anyway. I want every gory detail.

  Omigod, I’m losing it.

  She came out of the stall and went to the sink to wash her hands. “I hope this isn’t too awkward for you, meeting Dalton’s ex-wife, and all.”

  “Not at all. Why would it be?” Tell me everything.

  She threw the paper towel into the wastebasket and turned to me. “Well, since you’re his girlfriend.”

  I shook my head and backed away. “Oh, no. You got it wrong. I mean, our cover is, but no. We’re not—”

  She stared at me with skeptical eyes. “All right,” she said. But I could tell she didn’t believe me. Well, what did it matter anyway?

  I turned and walked out of the bathroom. She followed. I came to a halt, turned back to face her. “What makes you think we’re together?”

  “I can just tell.”

  I eyed her a moment. Tell how? I crossed my arms. Crap. I knew it would be an issue with us, working together, undercover.

  I opened my mouth to—was that man following me? He was leaning on a post, smoking a cigarette, his eyes on me. I’d seen him somewhere before. In the crowd. On the beach. Where the dolphin had stranded.

  Probably a coincidence. It was a small island.

  And yet, the way he’d looked at me, then looked away.

  I took Alison by the arm. “We should get back upstairs.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Is there something wrong?” She looked around.

  “I’m not sure. Let’s just get back upstairs.”

  Chapter Six

  Kerrie wasn’t in the office again. I wanted to poke around, see if I could find anything that might give me a clue, but she’d given me hours of computer work to do.

  I called Greg, our analyst and tech support at our Chicago headquarters. Greg was one of those young, nerdy types who could eviscerate an online security system in five point seven seconds. Our first interaction hadn’t exactly been a treat.

  He answered on one ring. “Yo.”

  “Yo, yourself.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. This is Special Agent McVie.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, of course you do.”

  “So, you’re in Bimini, Bahamas. How’s the weather?”

  “Nice—”

  “I’ve got your GPS coordinates.”

  “Well, that’s…comforting.”

  “Whew. Eighty six degrees and sunny.”

  “Wow. You’ve Googled the weather?”

  “I do have a degree in computer science.”

  “Excellent. Speaking of that—”

  “So, are you wearing a bikini right now?”

  Eye roll. “That’s an inappropriate question.”

  “What I want to know is, how does one get such an assignment? Sand, sun. Bahama Mama’s. I could use a couple tropical rum drinks on the job. What is that you’ve got that I don’t?”

  “Do you enjoy getting shot at?”

  Pause. “What can I do for you?”

  “I want to go through the office here, while the researcher is gone, see if I can dig up anything, but I have a mountain of actual intern work to do. It’s all computer stuff.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, clearly anticipating what I was going to ask next.

  “Can you get someone there, one of our interns to do it, so I can use the time—”

  “What are we talking about here?”

  “It’s easy. Looking at pictures, sorting dorsal fins, that kind of thing. The files are all in the cloud.”

  “And how should I log that? Under what billing code? I’m not familiar with fin sorting.”

  “Are you serious?”

  After a long pause, he said, “What’s in in for me?”

  I sat on the line, silent, giving him the same long pause.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  I gave him the information he needed and disconnected.

  Now. I looked around the tiny office, the piles of folders on the desk, the filing cabinet with one drawer ajar. Where do I start?

  Atop the desk was one of those hand-therapy, stress-squeeze balls, the kind you get free at a convention with some logo plastered on the side, a mason jar full of sharks’ teeth, and a pencil can stuffed so full of pens and pencils, if you pulled one out, they’d all come tumbling out with it.

  Under the desk was a fifty-year accumulation of dust balls.

  The folders turned out to be mostly clerical stuff—some old intern applications, nonprofit status forms, petty cash requests. Nothing seemed like a red flag, but I took pictures with my phone and sent them to Greg as well.

  I sat back in the chair. Hanging on the wall behind the desk were several photos of Kerrie, each with a young man or woman, presumably former interns.

  My phone rang and I spun toward it with a start.

  It was Greg, calling me back.

  “Yo,” I answered.

  “Yo yourself.”

  “Right. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got someone here to plod through these files, but I need you to let me know when you plan to leave the office there, so we can make sure login times match.”

  “Sure,” I said, thankful he was thinking of those details.

  When we disconnected, I stared at a photograph on the wall. It was two dolphins, underwater, side by side, suspended in a beautiful stream of sunlight in their surreal monochrome world.

  “What’s going on with you?” I whispered to the image. “If only you could talk.”

  A spokesman. The idea popped into my head as if the words came from the image. Ask a spokesman. Someone who knows dolphins better than anyone. Dr. Parker!

  April Parker, Ph.D., is a biologist who studies killer whale vocalizations. Since killer whales are dolphins, she’d have some insight for me for sure. Dalton and I had met Dr. Parker in Norway when we were there chasing a criminal. She’d been very helpful on the case. I was sure she’d help me if she could.

  I searched my phone for her number.

  She answered on the fifth ring.

  “Agent McVie, how are you?”

  “I’m great. You?”

  “Go
od. And Agent Dalton? How is he?”

  A twinge of jealousy tightened my stomach. She and Dalton had an undeniable attraction. In fact, I wasn’t sure what exactly had happened between them. Oh stop! What if something did? He’s not my boyfriend. He wasn’t then. And he’s not now.

  “Good. Good. He’s good.”

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes. Dolphins. We’re on a case, here in Bimini and—”

  “Bimini? Has something happened?”

  “No. Not exactly. Actually, I don’t know. That’s what I was hoping you could help me determine.”

  I told her what I knew—about the Navy incident, the recent stranding of one bottlenose dolphin, Kerrie’s claim that all was well.

  “From what I’ve read,” she said, “most of the research being done there is with the Atlantic spotted dolphins. The bottlenose dolphins aren’t as approachable. And it’s a healthy population overall. The Navy took responsibility for that mass stranding incident and claims it was an isolated case.”

  “I’m at a loss here,” I said.

  “If my memory serves me,” she said, “isn’t the research being done there a non-invasive approach? Their data is collected by observation only, right?”

  “Yes. Kerrie made that clear on the swim boat. They don’t touch the dolphins for anything.”

  “But you said the stranded bottlenose had a satellite tracker.”

  I sat back in the chair, my mouth open. How did I miss that? I can’t believe I missed that.

  “The thing is,” she said, “bottlenose can be resident or transient. If it was migrating, that could explain it. But…”

  “But what?”

  “Tell me again about the behavior of the one that approached the boat.”

  I described the way it bobbed and squealed.

  “Yeah, that’s not the behavior of a deep water, transient dolphin.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Was there anything else unique about that dolphin or the stranded one? Vocalizations? Any scars or distinct marks?”

  “Yes, now that you mention it. The stranded one did. Maybe the other, but I didn’t see. I mean, they could be the same dolphin. But the stranded one had scars on the base of the flippers. What do you think it means?”

  “Well, I have a guess.”

  “And?”

  “It’s a long shot guess.”

  “Your expert guess is better than my fumbling around.”

  “I think what you’ve got there is a trained dolphin.”

  “Trained?” I sat back, stunned. She was right. It was so clear. The way the dolphin came up to the boat, trying to get attention from the humans, begging for a fish. “I think you’re right. It makes sense. But trained to do what?”

  “I don’t know. But the rub marks suggest it has had something strapped to it. Maybe it carried something? A modified backpack?”

  “So, someone here is training dolphins to carry something? But what? And who?”

  “Can’t help you with that. But as far as the dolphin’s behavior, that’s my best guess, yes. Someone has trained that dolphin.”

  I looked up at the photo of Kerrie on the wall. What have you been up to?

  I called an urgent meeting of the team. We agreed that a rendezvous after dark was best.

  Meanwhile, I sorted through the remaining folders and found nothing suspicious, nothing that suggested Kerrie had any interest or experience in dolphin training.

  When the clock finally rolled over to five, I texted Greg, notifying him I was leaving the office, then locked up and headed out. I grabbed a bite to eat at the snack shack and paced until the sun went down.

  Tom and Mike were cleaning the galley after their dinner when I slipped onto the boat. I quickly looked around the salon. “Where’s Dalton?”

  Tom paused from towel-drying a plate. “Not here yet.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “You got something?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah, but we should wait for Dalton.”

  He pulled the plug from the sink and the soapy water sputtered down the drain.

  “Beer?”

  “Sure.”

  He grabbed a cold bottle of Sierra Nevada from the refrigerator, popped off the top, and handed it to me.

  “We still got nothing,” Tom said. “I’m curious to hear what you’ve found.”

  “Not nothing,” Mike said, admonishing Tom. “We caught three fish and managed to get close to several other boats. This obnoxious fishermen ruse is working out swell. Didn’t learn anything, but”—he grinned—“we’re eating well.”

  Dalton came through the door. Mike handed him a beer without asking.

  “Thanks, man,” Dalton said and sat on the bench on the other side of the boat, a spot where he wasn’t right next to me.

  “So, what’s up?” Tom said sliding into the seat across from me.

  I launched into the whole story. When I mentioned April Parker, I kept my eyes on Dalton, but he didn’t make the tiniest twitch.

  “So that’s it. At least one dolphin out there, maybe two, have had significant interactions with humans, possibly even training of some sort, and that training might involve carrying something.”

  “Any idea what?” Tom asked.

  Mike leaned forward. “Drugs, most likely. We’re only fifty miles from Miami.”

  “With the history of Bimini,” Dalton said, “that makes the most sense. In the eighties, high-speed Cigarette boats ran cocaine and marijuana from here to Florida every night. Drug smugglers practically took over the island of South Bimini. U.S. patrol boats were chased off with gunfire and the Bahamian military couldn’t get control of the situation. DEA finally shut it down.”

  “But those boats could carry huge cargo,” I said. “And like you said, they’d go every night. What can one dolphin carry?”

  Tom swallowed a swig of beer, set the bottle on the table. “Enough for one guy to get rich, I would think.”

  “Or one gal,” Dalton said.

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I just don’t see it.”

  “Work on this tiny island isn’t exactly lucrative,” Mike said. “It’s gotta be hard to make ends meet.”

  That was true. I remembered the Hilton and all the boarded up motels and restaurants. Natalie’s family. Could Natalie be involved? No, that didn’t feel right either. But my intuition was all out of whack. “Okay, but one person running a tiny parcel of drugs? Do you really think that’s what we were sent here to find?”

  “Maybe this is a test run. Maybe there are plans to train a whole fleet of dolphins,” Mike said.

  “Maybe,” I said. It didn’t set well either.

  Dalton spoke up. “Poppy makes a good point though. What popped up on whose radar to get us sent down here? Did DEA request us because of the animal involvement? If so, why weren’t we clued in to begin with?”

  Tom shook his head. “Dunno.”

  “Well you two have worked for Hyland longer than we have,” Dalton went on. “Is this common? No intel. No explanation.”

  “She came on after we were already on the case in Chicago,” Mike said. “It makes no sense to me. But I do as I’m told.”

  Right. Like last time. Mike was the epitome of the rogue agent. For all I knew, he had all kinds of information he wasn’t sharing. It wasn’t a stretch considering how he handled our last operation. I had forgiven him but I wasn’t stupid enough to forget.

  “I’m sure there’s some point to keeping us in the dark,” said Tom. “Maybe if they gave us direction, it would come with bias.”

  “Maybe,” Dalton said, but I could tell he wasn’t buying it.

  “Well, I don’t like it,” I said. “We’re not children.”

  “Well, should we call in what we have?” Tom asked.

  “Which is what?” Mike said. “A dolphin that may or may not be trained? With marks that may or may not be from carrying something?”

  “Or should we wait
until you call it in yourself and take the lead?” It popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. Okay, I definitely still didn’t trust him.

  “Mike’s right,” Dalton said giving me a silencing look. “There’s no reason to call in yet.” He looked to Tom. “The stranding incident must be related.” His eyes swung around to me. “Didn’t you say that underwater noise could be the cause?”

  I nodded.

  He turned back to Tom. “Why don’t you guys look into the noise issue? Drop your hydrophone in the water. See if you pick up anything interesting. And keep an eye out for anything else. Poppy and I will keep up our charade, poke around to learn some more about these researchers, and see what else comes up.”

  “Will do,” Tom said.

  “We’ll also check out the nightlife on the island,” Mike said. “See if we can pick up some babes.”

  I held back an eye roll.

  “Hey,” Mike said, “when you’re given a role to play, you need to do it right. One hundred percent. All in, baby.”

  Tom smirked.

  I left the boat, Dalton on my heels.

  “Hey,” he said, taking my hand. “We’ve got our roles to play, too. What do you say we head back to your place?”

  My insides got all tingly and my head felt light. All it would take was one kiss on my neck and I’d spiral out of control again. I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  He came to a stop, tugging on my hand, turning me to face him. “Talk to me.”

  “About what?” As if I didn’t know what he meant.

  He leaned closer, looked confused. “Are you avoiding me now?”

  “No. Why would you say that? It’s just that…we have work to do. We can’t get distracted.”

  “Distracted?” He gave me a wicked smile. “It’s part of our cover to get under the covers.”

  “Cute.”

  The smile faded. “What work do you have to do at nine thirty at night that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  He frowned. “You’re just saying what?” He stared at me for a long moment. “Is this about Alison?”

  “No.” I said it too quickly. Sharply.

  He stared some more. “Because whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

  “It’s not my…I mean…it’s not like we…you don’t have to—”