by Jerold Last
She continued thinking out loud. “We have a few other, independent bits of evidence we can use to corroborate the conclusion from the eavesdropping tape. The paperwork Bruce found in the Schultz’s cabin regarding tortoises and the tortoise books in some of the other cabins suggest there’s a lot more interest in tortoises and tortoise poaching among the Frigate Birds group than you might expect from random tourists. And we have the unsolved murder of the Galapagos Island park ranger last week for no apparent reason suggesting the possibility the ranger interrupted some illegal activity like tortoise poaching and was killed as a result.
“And we also have a bit of negative evidence Roger and I haven’t mentioned yet to add here. Roger and Raul had a couple of discussions today. It’s pretty obvious that Raul doesn’t particularly like Roger because of some friction between the DEA and Roger in his most recent case. They exchanged some information about drug dealing in this region. Because Raul dislikes my husband so much I believe what he told him. They would never have had that discussion if Raul hadn’t wanted to make sure he had the right Roger Bowman to dislike. Bottom line: Raul assured Roger that as far as the DEA was concerned there isn’t any unusual drug-related activity going on at this time here in the Galapagos Islands.”
Suzanne paused to sip her wine. Several heads were nodding agreement and body language was showing intense interest as she continued. “We originally agreed that whatever illegal activity was going on here was most probably related to drug dealing, illegal fishing, tortoise poaching, or terrorist activities related to the Panama Canal. If we rule out drug dealing for all the reasons I’ve mentioned, I think illegal poaching of Galapagos Tortoises moves to the top of our list. When I started thinking about who could be involved, I couldn’t decide. There were just too many possibilities on our list of suspects, which could include just about all of the folks who signed on to the cruise in the last few months.“
She stood up and began to pace around the cramped cabin. There wasn’t much room, but she continued talking as she walked back and forth behind her chair. “I finally remembered an old Agatha Christie novel I’d read. Hercule Poirot had a similar problem to solve. Just about everybody on a crowded train could be a plausible suspect for a murder. How do you figure out which one did it under these circumstances? Poirot finally suggested it was a massive conspiracy and they were all complicit in the crime. The fictional plot made me start to think, what if that were the case here? Could we have walked into the middle of a similar situation? There were a lot of people interested in tortoises on this tour, a lot more than should have been by mere chance. Having everybody except us in the Frigate Birds group so interested in Galapagos Tortoises that they had an expensive book on the subject in their cabins as a random occurrence seemed to defy the laws of probability. The particular book in question can be bought on the Santa Cruz, which may explain why they all had it with them on the cruise. But that’s still a whole lot of people fixated on Galapagos Tortoises when they could have chosen big books on birds, vegetation, lizards, or the geology of the islands as their splurge for a coffee table book instead.”
Suzanne was clearly enjoying being the center of attention as teacher and theorist. She paused to pick up her wine glass and sip a bit more wine to milk the moment of drama. “The obvious conclusion I would draw, gentlemen, is that there was a group of individuals from all over the world who chose this tour of the Galapagos islands as an ideal place to meet under circumstances where nobody would ever realize they were associates in an illegal enterprise. Some, or all, of the Frigate Birds are involved in something very illegal, something to do with tortoise poaching. Well, not all, of course. Neither Roger nor I is part of the plot. And a large part of our remaining problem, if my theory is correct, will be figuring out who is. Or, put the other way, which of the other Frigate Birds are also innocent of these crimes and the subsequent killings?”
She put her wine glass down on the table before continuing her explanation. “Something went wrong, starting with the killing of the park ranger here in the islands. Now we’re here trying to identify a murderer in this group. We need to know more about the why before we can be sure about who did the killings. I think we already know enough so we can guess the why. My hypothesis is someone, and I think we all know which specific someone this is, conceived of a brilliant idea. How about stealing enough Galapagos Tortoises from the park to start a breeding colony somewhere else? The new tortoises could be used as a source of shells for the traditional pharmaceutical black market in the Far East, and everyone could get rich.”
Suzanne paused a moment behind her chair to think, then looked up at the group around the table. “What’s wrong with this theory? We know the tortoises grow slowly, maybe too slowly to get enough shell from the animals to make this kind of scheme pay off. But my guess is if you had warmer water and used modern techniques of intense aquaculture like they use for commercial fish farming, you could get faster growth and a bigger payoff. This would be even better if you could harvest the shells without killing the animals. I think we’re looking for a pretty elaborate, well-contained setup for growing and feeding the big tortoises, not just a patch of isolated swampy marshland or an island somewhere with critters on it. And, if we can prove this hypothetical tortoise farm exists, we have our motive for the murders and a whole lot of suspects. Without the murder weapon, which I assume is on the bottom of the ocean by now, it’s going to be very hard to prove which of the suspects did the killings unless we can get all of them testifying against each other.”
She sat back down in her chair before continuing. “I’d also guess the unauthorized boat in the Galapagos Reserve last week when the ranger was killed has transferred its load to a bigger ship that’s a few thousand miles west of here, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, carrying a fresh load of Galapagos Tortoises headed towards the Indian Ocean and eventually Diego Garcia. Someone needs to look at the satellite photos to see if they can find a ship that could be our smugglers in the right place on the right route. And that one could be a legitimate freighter.”
Suzanne sat back, sipped the last of the wine in her glass, and turned to Bruce. “What would you need to find out if my theory actually holds water? Could you check out a specific location on the main island in the Diego Garcia reserve to see if it’s been prepared for tortoise farming and whether there are any Galapagos Tortoises being held there for breeding? If I were betting on it I’d say it’s about 3:1 there’s a farm and maybe 2:1 there’ll be some tortoises there already. We already know from my browsing the Internet that Diego Garcia provides food and nesting habitat for several species of turtle, so tortoise farming isn’t too big a stretch to believe.”
Bruce thought about how to best answer her question before answering. “I assume you realize that Diego Garcia is almost halfway around the world if we fly directly across the Pacific Ocean. Without aerial refueling, that’s a 30-something hour flight when we include three or four refueling stops. We’d need that many refueling stops in any kind of military transport plane like the Galaxies I’ve flown on. That’s probably the only kind of plane the Navy would allow to land on the island. I don’t think it would be possible to get from here to there in less than a week without the right transport plane and refueling privileges in several countries, some of which don’t particularly like Americans. And I don’t think we could get our hands on a Galaxy.”
Help came from an unlikely source. General Aleman shifted his weight in his chair, cleared his throat, looked intently at Bruce, nodded his approval of the direction we seemed to be going, and started to speak. “I think we have the ideal solution to this problem right here on Baltra. One of the more useful things we’ve learned from our collaboration with the U.S. DEA is the advantage of adopting the American legal system’s asset forfeiture rules. If you’re accused of certain types of crime, the government is allowed to seize your assets prior to any sort of trial or legal proceedings where we have to prove guilt. Acting under these rules, several mon
ths ago the Ecuadorian Air Force obtained possession of a Gulfstream 650 jet plane from a major Colombian drug dealer we arrested with several hundred kilograms of cocaine in his plane, which had conveniently stopped in Guayaquil to refuel.”
Bruce looked intently at the general for a moment then smiled. “May I assume you’re going to suggest a long test flight of your country’s new acquisition is in order here, General Aleman?”
The general beamed at Bruce as if in appreciation of a particularly quick student in a college class. “In fact, my recent trip to the United States was to be trained to fly this particular business jet, which is by far the fastest civilian jet aircraft available. It can reach speeds just short of Mach 1 and has an incredible range of about 8,000 miles on a single tank of fuel.”
Bruce thought quickly before asking his next question. “How does that solve our problem General Aleman? Isn’t Diego Garcia almost halfway around the world, which is a lot further away from Baltra then that?”
The general nodded and leaned forward in his chair. “I’d calculate that Diego Garcia is something like 11,000 miles west of here if we fly directly across the Pacific Ocean. We could refuel in Tahiti, which is close to being the midpoint of the flight, and make it there to Diego Garcia in less than 22 hours, even with a refueling stop.”
Bruce stood up and started pacing. He was obviously getting enthused. “So far, so good, General, but even after we get there, Diego Garcia is a restricted military base. How are we going to convince them to let us land once we make it there?”
General Aleman leaned back in his chair. He was clearly enjoying himself now. “If we declared an emergency several hours after we left Tahiti and had to divert to Diego Garcia to refuel, I think we could land there despite its restricted access. Diego Garcia, because it’s the only major airport in that part of the Indian Ocean, is a designated Extended Range Twin Engine Operations emergency-landing site. These emergency sites are part of the safety net for commercial airliners. I think we can take advantage of what is quite a unique opportunity.”
Bruce had stopped pacing and listened very carefully to the general as he continued. “When the commercial airlines were planning on really long non-stop flights like between Perth and Dubai, Hong Kong and Johannesburg, or Singapore and Säo Paulo, they needed to identify emergency landing sites if one of the commercial flights lost an engine or had a mid-air emergency in the middle of nowhere while flying over the Indian Ocean. Diego Garcia volunteered to be a diversion airport for these kinds of emergencies. It would all seem legitimate when we reported being low on fuel near Diego Garcia if we filed our flight plan from here via Papete, Tahiti, with a final destination of Colombo in Sri Lanka. I think the back of the envelope numbers I just threw out at you would work. So we could get to Diego Garcia, give you almost an entire night to do your reconnaissance and tortoise liberation, and still be back to Baltra in a few days.”
Eduardo stood up, opened the other wine bottle and walked around pouring fresh Malbec for all of us. He paused before pouring for General Aleman saying, “I’m sure your throat can use a little lubrication, Vincente. Have a little more of this excellent Malbec.”
The general sipped a generous amount of the wine, smiled his satisfaction, and continued. “That still leaves us with having to plan the logistics for landing on Diego Garcia in case they search the Gulfstream. We should be able to rig up a place for our little army to hide all of its special gear on the plane before we land. My guess is I’ll be invited to visit the Base Commander’s office to explain my terrible navigational miscalculation that got us caught over a restricted area without enough fuel to go elsewhere, while the rest of the crew would be confined to the aircraft. Since I outrank the Base Commander, at least theoretically, this should be a very polite and formal invitation. I’d assume they would just ignore the rest of you and not risk insulting me by asking to search the plane.”
General Aleman sipped some more wine, emptying his glass. “I think we might be able to sneak Bruce and a few of my best Special Forces men dressed as civilian flight crewmembers onto the Diego Garcia Reserve without having the U.S. Navy’s permission. If they could get themselves and their gear off the plane and back again without being observed, we could check out whether someone has created a Galapagos Tortoise farm somewhere on the main island of Diego Garcia. What do you think, Bruce? Would you like to do a quick trip halfway around the world and back in the next few days?”
Bruce thought for a short time before he smiled. “It sounds like a lot of fun, especially if you promise to check me out flying the Gulfstream. I like playing with new toys.”
Suzanne politely interrupted with another question. “Do you know how they get around on the island, Bruce?”
“I assume they have trucks, buses, and jeeps to move people and supplies around,” he replied.
The problem was simple, like they often are. The devil would be in the details. This was clearly a job for Bruce, with his background and training. “Do they teach you how to hotwire the ignition on military vehicles in the SEALS?” Suzanne asked.
Bruce smiled broadly again. “As a matter of fact, yes, they do. But most of the SEAL recruits know how to do this before they graduate from high school. We still need to figure out how to get me there, and I’d need help to pull this off.”
Suzanne smiled at Bruce. “I’ll make another prediction, Bruce. I’ll bet I can tell you just where to look while you’re planning all this. I looked up Diego Garcia on the Internet earlier today as I was thinking about who did it and why all this happened. It turns out there’s an old abandoned coconut plantation on the main island that’s off limits to the U.S. Navy and used to be nominally British headquarters for something or other before the US Navy took over on Diego Garcia. The old East Point Plantation area hasn’t been used for anything since the days of the early coconut plantation. Development and construction aren’t permitted in this area. Entrance to the plantation is restricted to people who have a pass issued by the British Territorial Police, and they don’t give these away to people who aren’t British subjects without a very good reason.
“If I was doing something illegal on the base, that’s where I’d do it. I wouldn’t need a boat to get around and none of the sailors or civilian personnel on the island would be likely to trip over what I’m doing by accident. You might want to think about how to get from the landing strip to the old plantation on the east end of the island unless satellite imagery tells you something else.”
“Hey, Suzanne,” said Bruce cheerfully, “knowing your batting average for these kind of predictions, which is close to 1.000, I’ll bet you’re right. I’d need to know a lot more about the plantation on Diego Garcia before I could actually plan in detail how to get there. Tell me all you can about it. Don’t worry about how trivial a fact it may seem to be. Just tell me whatever you know or can guess. The more we know, the better, if we’re going to try to make plans to sneak onto a deserted plantation in the middle of a military base on an island that none of us has ever been to before. I don’t think the short time I spent on a ship in the harbor several years ago counts.”
Suzanne thought a bit, stood up, and started pacing again. “I’m doing this from memory, so can’t guarantee the dates and some of the other details, but as I recall it goes something like this.”
There are times Suzanne can still amaze me with her recall of technical material she has read. This was certainly one of those times. Her amazing memory and instant recall has got to be one of the more important things that make her so successful as a scientist. “The first coconut plantation on Diego Garcia was developed by French planters in 1793 using slaves as a work force to clear land, harvest the fruit, and process the copra and oil.
“The British took over the island in 1814 after defeating Napoleon. The main plantations were located at East Point, the main settlement on the eastern rim of the atoll; Minni Minni, about 3 miles north of East Point; and Pointe Marianne, on the western rim, all located on th
e lagoon side of the atoll. The workers lived at these locations, so the plantations included buildings and improvements. In 1882 a French-financed corporation based in Mauritia called Diego and Peros consolidated all the plantations in the area under its control. In 1962 the Chagos Agalega Company of the British colony of Seychelles purchased the Diego and Peros corporation and moved company headquarters to The Seychelles.”
Suzanne stopped to take a deep breath before continuing. “The British Government bought the entire assets of the Chagos Agalega Company in 1966. The plantations, both under their previous private ownership and under government administration, proved consistently unprofitable due to the establishment of vast coconut plantations in the East Indies and the Philippines. In 1971, U.S. Navy construction battalions began building the Communications Station and an airfield. The plantation on Diego Garcia was closed in October of that year. Except for a few token British police officers, U.S. troops and civilian support staff are the only permanent residents who currently live on the island.”
Suzanne paused again to sip some wine from her glass, which Eduardo had carefully refilled, before she continued pacing. “I’m sorry about the history lesson, but I think it’s important. You’ll see why in just a minute. The island stretches 15 miles, north to south, and about 35 miles from tip to tip of its horseshoe shape, with an opening at the north. The interior lagoon is 13 miles in length and 6.5 miles at its widest point. That interior lagoon is dredged to allow big ships to use the facility, and is where you’d have been when you visited the island. The ocean surrounding the island on the ocean side is too shallow to allow anchorage of seagoing vessels. The total area of the atoll is about 66 sq mi. The lagoon area is about 46 sq mi and gets as deep as 80 feet. That means you would have to search a total land area of less than 20 sq mi, which is still a pretty big area, to cover the entire island. I think we need to know beforehand where you have to look if you’re going to have a reasonable chance of finding an unfinished tortoise farm in the dark with just a few hours to look.”