by David Dun
"They can't see us drop Glaucus in the straits. They can't find him," said Ben. "Let's keep going."
Sam nodded. The big orange-and-white helicopter swooped low; the men inside obviously wanted them to stop.
"Can't trust anyone," Ben said over the whine of the chopper's jet engine.
Silently Sam agreed. Ben kept the outboards running at max throttle. Haley pumped water from the tank and bilges to lighten the boat. Sam kept Glaucus in an octopus embrace. He guessed they were cruising at just under thirty miles per hour. Frick was in a very fast boat and gaining on them.
Haley's phone rang again. It was Ernie.
"My boat is slow," Ernie said.
"So's ours. Keep coming," Sam said.
"Frick will catch us long before we get to the Straits of Juan de Fuca," Sam said after he had hung up.
"That's apparent," Ben said. "You would think he wouldn't do anything with a coast guard helicopter standing by…"
It was overcast all around, with a low, soft, undefined ceiling. To the right lay Griffin Bay, a broad expanse of water in the large hook of San Juan Island. Where San Juan Island and Lopez Island nearly converged, they created a narrower passage to the Straits of Juan de Fuca, replete with tide rips and bad seas on heavy wind days.
"Venture. Too. Venture Too. this is United States Coast Guard helicopter Lima, Papa, Bravo, Alpha, Tango. How do you copy?"
Ben said nothing. Sam tried putting a line around Glaucus, and pulling it tight as a substitute for the bear hug. The creature moved about like a simmering stew, but stayed put. Sam moved to the wheelhouse and picked up the mike.
"This is Venture Too" Sam said.
"Switch and answer twenty-two alpha."
"Roger that, twenty-two alpha."
Sam changed the channel.
"This is Venture Too."
"Venture Too, please return to Friday Harbor. We have some government officials and your friend Rachael Sullivan, who would like to speak with you."
"Copy that," said Sam. "We have a seven-hundred-pound octopus in the tank that we'll be delivering to the straits."
"Negative on that, Venture Too. Please return to Friday Harbor."
"We believe the boat right behind us is driven by Garth Frick," Sam said. "He's the murderer that law enforcement will soon be looking for. He's going to try to kill us."
"This is Special Agent Gayle Killingsworth; that doesn't seem very likely, so long as we are here."
"Get your guns ready," Sam said. "Last we saw, Frick has a rocket launcher."
"Say again. Rocket launcher?"
"Give me that," Ben said. "This is Ben Anderson, formerly of the Sanker Foundation.
Garth Frick is behind us and most certainly has been trying to kill us and won't hesitate to blow your ass out of the sky. Is that plain enough? I need to deliver this creature to deep water. It's a matter of life and death-he can only live out of the water for thirty minutes maximum-and I'm afraid we can't comply until we're done."
"The octopus will die if you turn around?" Killingsworth asked.
"Yes."
Haley had come up and was listening. She and Sam shared a glance at Ben's lie.
The coast guard's silence spoke volumes. Sam assumed that Rachael Sullivan had something to do with their arrival. If so, he could imagine Rachael pleading their case.
Ben gave the wheel to Sam, took the flask from Haley, stepped to the stern of the boat, and put it in a locker.
"I'll tell you if I decide to dump it," Ben said.
"Are you sure?" Haley said. The scientist inside her was no doubt screaming. They watched Frick's boat pull up behind and then swerve to the side, accelerate, and then come in close.
Frick waved a gun, motioning for them to stop.
Rachael and Lew sat, side by side, on a bench seat in the coast guard helicopter; Gayle Killingsworth sat to the far side of Rachael. Behind them sat two more FBI agents and one state police officer. Ahead and to the right was one airman and near a large open door another airman. In the front of the cockpit sat a pilot and a copilot.
They had been to San Juan, Lopez, then Orcas, and were returning to Sanker when Rachael saw what looked to her like the Sanker workboat in the distance, so they followed after to check it out. Gayle's attitude toward the mission had improved. The obvious evasions had convinced her that something was wrong under Garth Frick's command. After catching the workboat they had tried to turn them around, but Ben Anderson was a stubborn man. For his part, Frick insisted he was in hot pursuit of a murder suspect.
Gayle held a police radio provided by the sheriff's department. It crackled, the sheriff's dispatcher putting her in touch with the long-awaited county sheriff himself.
"Tiger One," the dispatcher said, using Gayle's chosen moniker. "I have Sheriff Larson, patched in on a landline."
"Go ahead." Killingsworth waited.
"Tiger One," said the sheriff, "this is Sheriff Larson. I'm gone for two days and all hell breaks loose."
"That's affirmative. What is your position on Garth Frick?"
"I never intended for him to be in the chain of command. I don't believe that two-oh-one would have put him in command. There must be a mix-up."
"What now?" she asked.
"I've got one-oh-one coming back from vacation and he is, as of this moment, in charge.
He can be reached on his cell phone and will arrive on the ferry within the hour."
"May I communicate this to Officer Frick and the other officers?" Killingsworth asked.
"If you can find Frick, you can tell him."
Gayle clicked off and nodded at Rachael.
"Seems we should have moved faster," she said. "I'll give you that. This is a massive mess."
They looked down at Venture Too and Frick right behind.
A new voice came on the radio frequency.
"This is Special Agent Ernie Sanders."
"Huh?" Killingsworth seemed taken aback.
Rachael cheered silently.
"I'm in a boat about two miles back," Ernie said, "and having a hard time catching the pack. My yacht's a little slow."
Killingsworth identified herself. "Where are you from?"
"Washington, DC, but as I mentioned, I'm offering my services. Seems I'm the only public servant down here with a boat."
Other than Frick, Rachael thought.
The pilot interrupted.
"I'm not liking what I'm seeing down in that chase boat."
At that moment the world for Rachael instantaneously went upside down-she heard a huge explosion and in an instant the chopper was violently spinning. She was thrown into Lew and felt herself still grabbing him when they hit the water with an unbelievable jolt. Green seawater poured from every direction, worse than a nightmare. Lew was frantically pulling off her shoes and yelling at Gayle to get hers off. They all wore inflatable life jackets.
Vaguely Rachael recalled being told not to inflate the vest until she was clear of the copter.
"Wait until it fills and you're out," Lew yelled.
Rachael grabbed Lew's hand with one of hers and his belt with the other.
It was torture watching the cabin fill. Brief torture-for it was full in seconds. Cold water hit her face and the world disappeared in an ugly green haze.
CHAPTER 44
Ben pointed a finger at the coast guard helicopter-a message for Frick to back off.
Instead, Frick motioned for them to stop. Without warning, Sam fired a shot into one of the three big outboards on Flick's boat. For a second it raced; then, with an ugly clunk, it died.
Now Frick's boat was crippled. Frick shoved the throttles on the two remaining engines forward and peeled off to the side. Sam saw the left-hand motor tip forward and the idle prop come out of the water. This made the two boats more equal in speed, but Frick's still had more horsepower and a more hydrodynamic hull form with less weight.
Sam turned sharply away, but Frick followed-and with slightly more speed, he was able to stay right o
n his tail.
Frick lifted what looked like a green tube. Sam knew it was a rocket launcher.
"Duck!" Sam shouted, turning the boat so abruptly that it almost spilled Glaucus's tank.
He heard a rushing sound, but Frick's rocket passed above them. Before their eyes the tail boom of the helicopter exploded and the copter whirled crazily, dropping abruptly into the ocean.
"Oh, my God," Haley breathily observed.
Sam reduced the throttles and turned the boat hard again, attempting a 180-degree turn back to the copter. There was another whoosh. A muffled, wet explosion sent Sam flying, and he realized that a rocket had struck just beneath the water, blowing the motors off the stern of the boat and exploding the structure beneath the pilothouse.
His body, lying over the gunnel and half out of the boat, screamed in pain. Something in his shoulder and something in his leg burned. Haley, just forward of the helm superstructure, looked dazed. He rolled to her, holding her for dear life. Behind him, Ben was groaning and barely conscious. He would be out of commission.
Frick's boat roared up close. Maybe thirty yards off, Sam raised his eyes above the gunnel. Frick looked like a hungry animal, rocket launcher at the ready. The tall man rose with a pistol. Sam fired four times, hitting him square, once in the side of the neck, and Khan went down, probably for good.
There was a second explosion. It was hell, packed into a moment, a blinding fireball rolling over him at the same time the concussive shock wave seemingly flattened his head and nearly punctured his eardrums. For a second his mind was like an empty neighborhood-quiet, lifeless, suspended. Then sound and color returned: Haley was screaming about Ben. The bang of a bullet puncturing the aluminum hull. Sam took a hit to the shoulder. It was a flesh wound, but he played dead because his gun was empty.
Haley struggled beneath him to get to Ben.
Venture Too bobbed about, mangled, burned, and listing badly.
"Be still," he whispered in Haley's ear. For once, she didn't argue.
Frick rammed the Venture Too, putting the sharp bow of his craft right on top of the workboat. Frick's boat stalled and he leaped aboard like a pirate, a side arm in his hand.
He met the boat's largest occupant head-on. Glaucus was out of the tank; his grasping red tentacles were everywhere.
Frick stopped for a moment, his mouth and eyes wide. Sam quit playing dead and grabbed Frick's gun hand. Pulling himself up Frick's arm, Sam swung his gun hand into Frick's jaw.
The wound in his right shoulder impeded Sam, rendering the punch indecisive, but Frick lost his footing. Sam wrenched the gun free, throwing it overboard.
Frick wheeled, a long knife in his hand. Sam feinted a left-hand punch as Frick slashed with the knife. The blade caught only air. Sam followed the slashing motion, getting behind the knife, driving it into Frick's own leg. Frick screamed and Sam turned the knife in the man's flesh. Frick went crazy with the pain.
Sam felt wet tentacles feeling his legs, moving around him. Frick was in Glaucus's grip as well, suction cups over his bloody leg-tasting.
Almost too late, Sam saw a new gun, attached to a shaking, bloody hand in the boat above them. A deafening shot and barrel blast rocked Sam as the bullet slammed into the meat outside his right clavicle.
Khan rolled his eyes and fell.
Frick pulled the knife out of his leg, grabbed Haley by the hair, and put it to her neck.
She sank her teeth into his hand in desperation. The blade parted skin on her throat as Sam lunged, using his left hand to get at the knife. The three of them struggled, blood running down Haley's neck as she ducked and pulled out of the scrum.
Sam found himself eye to eye with Frick, blood-slippery hands competing for the knife.
With a sudden motion Sam used his head for a massive butt to Frick's forehead. It staggered Frick. The knife clattered to the deck and Sam sank hardened fingers into Frick's neck.
Frick gouged for Sam's eyes. Sam ducked and dug deeper into the neck. He found the Adam's apple and closed his fist.
When Frick couldn't find Sam's eyes, both hands went around Sam's neck and squeezed.
Sam felt light-headed, but Frick was making a wheezing sound, weakening as Sam's hand assumed a death grip on Frick's trachea. Sam felt cartilage pop. Frick screamed and squeezed, then released Sam, who shook Frick like a rag doll.
Sam felt himself falling.
The shock of hitting the wet deck brought him back to semiconsciousness. His neck still felt as if Frick's hands clenched it. But that was impossible-Frick lay next to him, fish eyes opening and closing as the man tried to draw oxygen through his ruined windpipe.
Frick's hand spidered across the floorboards and grasped the knife. To Sam's surprise, he drew the blade to the base of his own throat.
Sam had just enough energy to stop him. He knew what Frick feared and it wasn't death.
"They'll put you in a cage," Sam said as he pulled the knife away. Frick passed out, probably imagining the headlines announcing that a discredited female scientist had taken him down.
Sam felt fingers pressing down on the wound at his shoulder. It was Haley, blood seeping from the wound in her neck. Ben lay beside them on the deck, two bullet holes in him. He struggled to breathe, and it didn't look promising.
Haley sobbed as the last of Glaucus's tentacles slipped noiselessly over the side.
"Don't worry," Ben said. "I've lived a very good life."
"You're not going to die," she sobbed.
"Haley," Ben whispered
She put Sam's fingers in the hole under his clavicle and moved to Ben, taking his head in her lap.
"I loved you more than my dream. That's why I kept you out of it," he said. "The world isn't ready, but maybe it's like a new mother… never ready."
"Stop talking," she said.
"You understand I love you more?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Hide it from all the Fricks and Sankers of the world…"
"No. No. No," she said, trying to quiet him, uninterested in the Arcs for the moment.
Ben rested a moment, catching his breath.
"Save your energy," she whispered, trying desperately to somehow hold the blood in his body. Sam understood her desperation.
"The flask," he gasped.
"It's gone," she said. "Blown away over the side." She cradled his head. "We don't get to choose." She kissed his forehead and smoothed his hair.
Ben managed the slightest smile. Then he sighed and looked up at the sky, his face growing peaceful, content.
"I want you to have babies," Ben told Haley, his mind clearly wandering. "And if some fishermen catch a giant octopus, tell them it's not Glaucus and let them make sushi."
"I said quiet, old man," Haley chided, tears in her eyes. Ben managed another smile. "I have loved you as much as I could love anyone," he said. "And if I could, I would see your children."
Ben closed his eyes and Sam's heart shrank within him. The weariness of death was overtaking him as Haley's racking sobs filled his ears. He'd lost another fellow traveler.
EPILOGUE
Sam sat on the veranda above the ferry, with the turquoise of the water against the blue of the sky and the breeze washing over his mind like the waves on the rocks. The orcas made their rounds, looking for foolish seals, the salmon having mostly passed to the rivers. Food was already a bit sparse for the bald eagles and they were flying about hunting and generally looking magnificent.
After all the hysteria about youth retention, Sam occasionally found himself looking in the mirror, wondering about the coming of the age spots and wrinkles. He was too young to think about such things, about which kind of bypass surgery worked best, what diet might keep his prostate reasonably small and his hemorrhoids under control. Despite the aches and pains of aging and not-so-old injuries, he felt better than ever. Felt comfortable with getting older (unless Haley could make him a deal). Felt happy to take his place in the order of things, content to breathe the sea air and lis
ten to the blow of the whales. Life brimmed inside him, and, for the first time since his wife, Anna, had died, his joy was unmitigated. He hadn't yet decided why the fullness of his spirit had returned, but he thought the reason might have been buried in a conversation with Haley about measuring life by whom you loved and who loved you-and not by what you thought you did or did not do. Anna was a terrible loss, but now he knew that they had agreed in a moment that she should go on ahead.
Ben had been right. The older Sam got, the more surprised he was by the shortness of his days on earth. It was important to get to wherever you were going before you went out of this life. Anna had done that.
Haley had her own lab at the university compound and was desperately trying to figure how she might extract microbes and mud from the deep parts of the sea and keep it under pressure. Sam had been there when they gave her an award and had reveled in the gleam in her eye when her shame became just a memory.
Finding the magic Arc was a grail quest she undertook willingly-largely, Sam thought, because she thought humankind was meant to have it, to use it, despite men like Garth Frick. Frick himself awaited a death sentence or, if unlucky, life in prison.
Sanker and Rossitter were fighting charges of conspiracy to commit murder, and Sanker had the largest criminal team ever assembled. Sam figured having to deal with all the lawyers was in itself some punishment. Of course, Sanker and Rossitter had turned on each other. Everybody figured they'd both end up with life terms, which in Sanker's case wouldn't be long.
Frick's rocket had melted the Arc container, effectively disintegrating it. Whatever was left of the genetically engineered Arcs had been blown over the side by the explosion.
The obstacles to rediscovery, given the luck of the first find, were turning out to be enormous. Somewhere down in the depths of the sea, under the mud-maybe a thousand feet down into the earth or even deeper, or perhaps under a brackish freshwater pond- lived a particular Arc with a particular gene with a certain codon. No one knew exactly where and no one knew how many of this Arc subspecies existed.