You’re going down, Ray Goldman.
I slipped out the door and headed for the galley where I’d be able to see the progress as they pulled in the nets.
The orcas swam round and round inside the net, checking out the boundaries, their exhalations faster and more rapid, sending spurts of misty-spray into the air with loud, forceful breaths. It sounded like they were hyperventilating. Some spy-hopped, vertically pushing themselves out of the water like a human treading water, trying to see. Others slapped their flukes and flippers on the surface of the water, a rapid-fire thwack-thwack-thwack while vocalizing with their high-pitched calls.
The few whales that had not been forced into the nets were now circling outside it, frantically calling out to those trapped inside. Their shrill cries turned my insides out.
The winch fired up again, clankety-clanking as it slowly pulled in the net, drawing the circle in tighter and tighter. Inside the circle, there were twelve whales in all—eight adults, three juveniles, and staying next to her mother, an infant. Baby Kimmy.
My lip began to quiver. Don’t think about it, McVie.
I checked my phone again. Still no service. C’mon, Dalton. I need you. I pushed the button on the remote, starting my video recording, and sent a silent prayer to the Valkyries for support. Vengeance and retribution were in order. Vengeance and retribution.
The winch shuddered and stopped. The whales were now confined inside a net that had been cinched down around them to an area the size of a small swimming pool. The whales became docile, lying at the surface along the line of floats, facing out to sea, their voices now reduced to a low moaning-like hum. It was as though they were already giving up.
Ray reached into one of the lazarettes, extracting an aluminum pole with a noose on the end, then extended it to its full length, and headed for the aft deck. I slipped out the galley door and moved to where I could see.
Michael was there, pointing. Ray came alongside him, pole in hand. He lowered it into the water, adjusting the noose, and as Michael pointed, Ray worked the lasso.
Soon, they’d be raising one in the harness. The act I was waiting for. Not long now. I couldn’t watch, but I had to watch. I glanced up at the crow’s nest. Too far away to see the camera, to confirm that the little red light was on.
Ray had already made a choice from the group and was trying to get it lassoed. They’d pick the healthiest, most robust one, a teenager, young enough to train, old enough to be strong and healthy for the long journey and the time it took for training, not to mention the transition to living in captivity.
I kept my distance, waiting for my moment.
Then Ray dropped to his knees. He had one lassoed around the neck. He let out a whoop. I stepped forward, trying to get a look. He had ahold of the lasso, towing a whale to the side of the boat. I took another step to see and stopped cold.
The baby. He had captured the baby.
Noooooo! Not baby Kimmy! The tiny whale twisted and twirled against the noose while her mother thrashed in the water next to her. I spun around, my eyes stinging, my throat contracting. Don’t let them see you. I pressed my fingers underneath my cheekbones trying to hold back the tears.
What in the world was Ray thinking? He had to know she was still nursing. How on earth did he plan to keep her alive? Why take the risk? This didn’t make sense. None of it. Dr. Parker had said they would take an older whale, an adolescent that was more likely to survive and—
Then it hit me. Ocean World of Miami. They’d been advertising for months, anticipating a captive-born baby whale. News outlets had been picking up the story, splashing headlines across the nation’s papers.
All zoos and aquariums rely on signature species—cute and cuddly panda bears, big cats, gorillas—as their main attractions. The only attraction that brought more attention was a new baby, of any species. And with a baby orca, they had the best of both. A marketer’s dream. Ocean World was planning special celebration days at the park, with parades and fireworks. They’d already sold out tickets. Baby orca dolls were flying off the shelves.
Had something happened to the infant? Dr. Parker had said an unnatural percentage of captive-bred babies are stillborn. Had it already happened? If the press got wind of it, they’d have a heyday. Ocean World would lose millions. Were they planning to slip a wild-caught baby into its place, hoping the mother would adopt it as her own and no one would be the wiser?
No wonder Ray hadn’t bothered with a larger boat. Baby Kimmy had been the golden prize all along.
It took everything in my power to keep my feet planted where they were. Even my hair hurt from containing my fury.
Ray and Michael yanked and pulled, dragging the infant to the side of the boat while the mother thrashed beside her, flipping her tail, churning up the water around them, all the while calling with agonizing squeals of anguish.
How they were immune to her torment was beyond my comprehension. My heart was damn near ripped from my chest.
You’ve got a mouth full of teeth. Now’s the time to use them!
Michael lowered the sling into the water and got it under the baby, slid her tiny pectoral fins into the slits made for that purpose, then gave a thumbs up to Bjørn in the wheelhouse.
My fury threatened to consume my soul. Ten more seconds, McVie. The winch creaked into action and as the baby was lifted from the water, the entire pod of whales became silent. As if being taken from the water meant certain death, they gave up.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was now or never. I’d either gotten the video or not. I charged down the deck, shouting, “Put her back in the water! She’s just a baby! Put her back in the water!”
Michael looked up at me. His eyes narrowed. “I told you to stay inside.”
The baby whale’s little snout was the only part I could see, poking out from the canvas sling. The mother now floated motionless in the sea.
I swallowed hard. “Put her back into the water right now and—”
“Dammit!” Ray was on his feet and charging toward me. “What the hell did I tell you about him?” he bellowed as he brushed past me.
What? I spun around. Behind us, the Sea Mist bobbed in the sea. Dalton! I’d been too distracted to notice. Yes!
Ray flung open the lid of a lazarette, grabbed the rocket-propelled grenade launcher, raised it to his shoulder, and aimed.
No! I pounced on his back just as he pulled the trigger. He slammed into the lazarette, doubling over the edge. The grenade rocketed toward its target and hit the Sea Mist in her bow, shattering it to pieces in a fiery explosion.
My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe. No, no, no, no! Dalton! No! A ball of fire hovered over the water.
Ray regained his balance and tossed the grenade launcher into its case. He spun on me. “You bitch!”
I dropped my head and lunged, pinning him against the side of the lazarette.
“Knock it off!”
Ray smirked.
I pulled back and spun around.
Michael held a revolver pointed at me. “You’re not going to make any more trouble, now, are you?” he spat, his eyes ablaze.
My eyes traveled from Michael’s face to the weapon in his hand, where I fixated. A Smith & Wesson J-Frame, the most popular revolver on the market. Accurate. Deadly. His hand held it steady.
What the hell had I been thinking? Dalton. Dead. And—I shook my head, my lip quivering, tears stinging at the back of my eyes. I’m way over my head.
“You wanted a job,” Michael sneered. “Keep that fish alive. Or when I toss its rotting carcass overboard, you’ll go with it. Got it?”
I stared back at him and managed to nod. Beyond him, a pillar of black smoke billowed skyward from the Sea Mist, but she was still afloat. Flames engulfed the bow. I conjured a silent prayer for Dalton. There was a chance. Maybe he’d seen it coming. He could be okay. And Dr. Parker…
I had to keep calm, do my job.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“I su
ggest you forget your boyfriend and get to work,” Ray growled.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I turned to Dylan, who stood stone still, gripping the end of a net line, white-faced, his mouth hinged open. “Will you please help me get her into the hold. We need to keep her wet and her temperature down.”
Dylan snapped out of his daze and immediately started following my commands.
Ray shouted up to Bjørn in the wheelhouse and the winch creaked into service. As the baby whale was lowered into the shallow water in the bottom of the holding tank and started to float, Dylan and I tried to unhook the sling from the cable.
“’Tis stuck,” Dylan said.
I got up on the rim of the tank and tried to work the hook from the harness. It was wedged in too tightly.
“What’s the problem?” said Michael.
“It’s stuck,” I said.
He shoved me to the side. “I’ll get it.” He halted, glared at me. “You must think I’m stupid.”
“What?” I had no idea what he meant.
He turned to Ray and handed him the gun. “Keep it pointed at her,” he said.
Michael took the hook from me and, with sheer might, worked it free. At least he could see I wasn’t lying.
With a grunt, he stepped down from the edge of the tank, wiped his hands on the front of his pants, and without a word, he and Ray went to work pulling in the net. They were letting the other whales go.
I stared at the baby, my hands interlaced over the top of my head. I was supposed to keep her alive. My insides burned with rage. I’m not a real vet! What had Dr. Parker said, to keep it cool, the areas that are vascularized? What had I been thinking? I looked at Dylan for help. He was staring at me, wide-eyed, waiting for me to tell him what to do.
I turned around and stared at the Sea Mist, worry threatening to shut me down. No. Dalton can take care of himself. He’d been trained by the best in the world. He knew exactly what to do.
If he wasn’t dead.
The flames had died down, but black smoke still wafted from the Sea Mist. Debris floated in the water around the main hull, which was still partially afloat. It was too far for me to see anyone on board. Dammit, Dalton. I told you to stay back.
Dylan touched me on the shoulder. “What’s wrong wi’ it?”
I spun back around. The baby orca was listing to the side, her eyes closed. She floated, but made no movement, no attempt to stay upright.
“Tighten the sling back up a little,” I said taking hold of the roping on my side and tying it off. “Just enough to keep her upright and her blowhole out of the water.”
“It doesn’t luk loike she’s breathin'.” Dylan’s face was pasty white. He’d stared down the barrel of Michael’s revolver, too.
Baby Kimmy’s tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth.
“She’s in shock,” I said, trying my damnedest to sound like I knew what I was talking about. Not that I knew what the hell to do about it.
“The water in the tank is too warm. Buckets of sea water,” I said to Dylan. “Pour them over her.”
He stared, nodding like a bobble-head.
“You got a bucket?” I said.
“Oh yeah,” he said and turned a full circle before finding direction.
I held my hand a few inches over her blowhole. Nothing. I couldn’t feel the slightest bit of air.
I closed my eyes. Please breathe. Breathe! C’mon. You can do it.
Dylan was back, slowly dumping water over her back.
“On her fins,” I said. “Her flippers and her tail.”
The winch stopped. The net was back on board. The engines fired up again and the boat lurched into gear.
Ray came up behind me. “What’s going on?”
“She’s uh…nothing. Everything’s fine.”
He turned to poor Dylan who looked like he’d wet his pants. “She’s not breathin’,” he blurted out.
Ray spun on me. “Well, get it breathing.”
I stared at him, wishing for a fillet knife. I’d have happily demonstrated the workings of the mammalian lungs as I eviscerated him.
Michael came up behind him. “You’re a vet, ain’t ya?”
“Yeah, but—”
“It’s simple, chicky,” said Ray, pulling the revolver from his pocket and shoving it at me. “It lives, you live. It dies…” He held up his free hand and shrugged.
This amazing calm came over me. All my anger and fury simply disappeared. I was going to die either way. Once they sold baby Kimmy, passed her into someone else’s care, I’d be a liability. A witness to the crime. No matter whether they ever knew I was an agent or not.
My fate was in my own hands.
I sized Ray up. With a quick lunge, I could take him down. But what would Michael do? I wasn’t sure I could handle them both. But now Ray had the weapon. An advantage to me. He was the easier of the two to take down.
Dylan wouldn’t fight me. But would he help? I wasn’t sure. I had to wait for the chance to take them by surprise, one at a time.
Right now, my priority was to get this baby breathing. There was nothing I could do to help Dalton. My stomach clenched. He was on his own too. Oh Dalton.
The baby whale floated in the sling. No sign of life. It was a mammal. I could try CPR. Dogs have been saved by CPR. But how would I do it? How do I blow into that mouth? Could I blow into the hole?
I rested my hand on the baby’s back, trying to feel a breath. Nothing.
“I’m not sure—” I started to shake, all the feelings returning in a rush. The sharp prickle of tears threatened behind my eyelids. I blinked them back. My chest tightened and I struggled for air. I stepped back, closed my eyes, and drew in a long breath. “I’m not sure I can.”
Ray took the radio from his belt. “Bjørn,” he said. “Call the men back. I’m not going home empty-handed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The boat changed direction. The high-pitched hum of the speedboats echoed in the distance. They’d drop more bombs in the water. They’d push the whales back into the nets. This was happening. Again.
Something inside me snapped. I’d be damned if he was going to kill another whale. I needed to stop this insanity and get to Dalton. But how? Think!
Ray headed for the bridge to run the winch. Michael turned to work the nets.
I looked up and down the length of the winch. It was the key. If I could disable it, he’d have nothing. “Stay with her,” I said to Dylan. “Keep her wet.”
“But oi tart yer said—”
“Just do it, okay.” I didn’t need Dylan giving me away.
I sneaked around the backside of the winch, hiding from Michael’s view. As the net was drawn in, the winch turned, wrapping a cable around the drum. To let out the net, the drums turned in the opposite direction, unfurling the cable. If I could shove something in there as the nets were being deployed again, maybe I’d foul it. But what? I looked around the deck. What was strong enough, but couldn’t be easily yanked back out? Something that would bind it up for good?
I crossed the deck as we bounced through the waves. There must be something in one of the lazarettes. The extra floats maybe. If one got crushed in the drum, would it cause enough damage to make it inoperable? I sorted through the pile, trying to find anything.
The engine idled down. The winch started to turn. Michael had his back to me, guiding the nets into the water.
The wheelhouse door slammed and Ray came down the stairs toward me, his eyes on Michael and the nets. This was my chance. As he rushed by, I swiped his ankle with my foot. He stumbled forward, trying to catch his balance, and I pounced on his back, slamming him to the deck.
He rolled, wrenching his arm free, and grabbed me by the hair. Nothing pisses me off more than being grabbed by the hair. I brought up my knee and rammed him right in the crotch. He bent inward with a groan. “Bitch!” he managed.
I got to my knees, reached around and grabbed his ass, right on his duct-taped wound.
He howle
d in pain.
“This bitch is a trained federal agent,” I said and brought my elbow down on his neck, knocking him out cold. I reached into his pocket and spun around, the revolver sighted on Michael. He still had his back to me, concentrating on his job.
I let out my breath.
Dylan peeked around the winch, his eyes wide.
“Help me tie him up,” I said to Dylan, making sure I didn’t take my eyes off Michael. “Grab that old piece of net. And that line.”
Dylan obeyed, scurrying about like a puppy bringing me toys.
Once Dylan had Ray’s hands tied, I moved to the back of the boat, to Michael. “Drop what you’re doing and put your hands up where I can see them.”
He looked over his shoulder at me and froze with his mouth open. So he hadn’t suspected me of being an agent. His eyes flicked to Ray, then back to me, his expression turning from surprise to anger.
“I’m a federal officer,” I said. “He’s under arrest. And so are you. Put your hands where I can see them.”
Michael looked to his father, then back to me. “Do you seriously think—”
“Your hands!”
He slowly raised his hands, but I got the sense it was to placate me, not a gesture of surrender. His lip curled up into a plastic smile. “It was only this one. Just one. To get back on our feet.”
“And you have the right to remain silent,” I said. “So do it.” I didn’t care what he had to say, the arrogant, lying son of a bitch. “Get over there and sit down,” I told him, gesturing toward Ray. I gave Dylan an encouraging nod. “Tie him up, too.”
With his narrowed eyes glued on me and the gun, Michael edged toward his father, but there was something about the way he moved, the way he carefully placed each footstep.
“Get down on the deck. Now,” I said.
He stopped, eyeing me with disdain. “You gonna make me?” His voice had lowered an octave, the boyish charm vanished. “You think I’m an idiot? You got no authority to arrest me or my dad. This is a foreign country.” Without taking his eyes from me, he said, “Dylan, untie him.”
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 35