Killing Keiko

by Mark A. Simmons

  Although the comment was made over the helicopter’s VOX system, Charles stared down at the unfolding introduction without response. Jeff’s trepidation still resonating in his mind, his foreboding words faded in the noise of the helicopter as if they had never been given voice.

  On the distant side of the island, Draupnir, Keiko and those of us on the walk-formation worked our way south paralleling the island’s eastern shore. We beat into the small chop and made for the open area at the southern point. Following coordinates relayed from Zero-Nine-Zulu, now back in the air, and the occasional sighting report from Siti, we hoped to reach a site in the path of the wild pod and clear of the island. It seemed the ideal spot was in open waters to the south of Heimaey. We didn’t know how fast the group of wild whales was moving, and we knew nothing of their aggravated posture. Onboard Draupnir, most of our information came from our aerial scout. But at altitude, they could not discern the telltale signs of frustration among the wild ones rising to a threatening crescendo.

  Below and on the decks of Viking II, the evidence was all but written in stone. To this point, the Viking II had trailed the pod of unsuspecting whales for nearly five hours. They were not entirely unaccustomed to curious stalking boats, though this one was overly persistent. On this occasion their wariness intensified not only by the duration of the pursuit and the presence of newly born young, but also by the odd feeling suction cups placed on two of their members and the loud strange bird now frequently passing above.

  This was anything but normal.

  But their struggle to evade the Viking II had been fruitless. Either from helplessness or fatigue or something of both, the pod largely gave way to the needs of the young among them and adopted a slower pace allowing more visits to the surface for air. Hours into the progression, they held a more consistent east-southeast heading. The pod and the Viking II were now only two nautical miles apart from Keiko and the walk-formation. In the distance, Draupnir and Keiko were just rounding the southern point of the island. The convergence of the two paths became more apparent. The meeting would take place somewhere just south of Heimaey within sight of shore.

  The agreed protocol called for Draupnir to stop and hold position approximately one nautical mile from the wild pod. This was a programmed pause in the countdown to introduction intended to ensure that both Keiko and the wild whales were aware of each other. It goes without saying that nothing good would come of a surprise encounter. Caution was in order; we had no real way of knowing when either Keiko or the wild whales would each become aware of the other’s presence.

  Per the staged plan of approach, all boats were scheduled to stop and observe. If nothing obvious presented itself, we could continue forward in half-nautical mile increments, repeating the same check and balance at each interval as the distance between them closed. Somehow that first programmed stop never happened. Without warning we could now see the Viking II on the horizon and she us. Only a half-nautical mile remained between.

  Radio chatter picked up. The closing gap between the two flotillas shrouded the human orchestra with intoxicating excitement. This was to be expected, but also lent to a quickening where protocol and communication can be altogether lost. Michael’s experience and wisdom prompted him to suppress the chatter, and that he did, with measured authority.

  “Draupnirrr—Support,” he drew out the introductory call. “Ahh, we need to cut the chatter. I don’t need to know everything the whales are doin’ or what everybody thinks. We need to keep the channel open unless its sumpthin’ serious.”

  It was vital that the Draupnir be able to communicate on a moment’s notice. No one responded to Michael’s reprimand. Nonetheless the supplementary reports quieted for the moment.

  At half a nautical mile apart, every vessel in the formation should have been dead in the water with engines shut down. By our estimation, this was more than close enough for the whales to realize each other’s presence. On the contrary, that awareness would be unlikely in the midst of rumbling engines and the distracting cavitation of boat props. Steadfast in her leading role, the Draupnir shut down. Michael called to all boats to become neutral: to kill their engines and observe.

  Aboard the Viking II, Lanny pushed Captain Siti to continue onward. Tom debated the issue. Then his mind cleared: this was enough. He would purposefully impose the exacting mandates that all boats assume a neutral position. It was his responsibility. Perhaps he’d had enough after hours of watching what equated to harassment. Perhaps he was emboldened by the visual contact of his compatriots just a few hundred meters distant. Perhaps it was the final sight of a lone female defiantly slapping her flukes on the surface in a display of irritation. Tom himself didn’t know, but it didn’t matter, enough was enough.

  “Siti. Stop the boat. We are supposed to shut down the engines. You need to stop the boat,” Tom pleaded and instructed at the same time.

  Lanny stood to one side in the small confines of the pilothouse.

  “You’ll do no such thing. Keep the boat on this heading,” Lanny retorted, ignoring Tom.

  Siti, so good-natured, did nothing. He looked from Tom to Lanny and back again.

  “We’re too close. At half a mile we’re supposed to shut down … all boats are supposed to be neutral,” Tom addressed Lanny directly this time.

  “Get the f-ck out of here,” Lanny snapped at Tom. “We’re nowhere close enough yet. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” To Siti he commanded, “You keep going and don’t do anything that I don’t tell you to do.”

  Steaming with anger at the rebuke, Tom left the cabin and moved to the back of the boat’s lengthy outside deck. Life’s too short to deal with assholes like this one, he thought.

  For the briefest of moments he considered pulling the ignition key from the helm thus physically preventing Lanny from interfering any further, but only for the briefest of moments. Tom was not a confrontational type. He knew well enough that anything more, whether it be words or action would only erupt into a catastrophic scene at a precarious moment. It wasn’t a fear of confrontation that held his tongue. It was most certainly a loathing of everything Lanny represented and how he conducted himself.

  The Viking II was now only a few hundred meters away. I stood on the platform holding the topline, keeping one eye on Keiko. He sat before me, no sign of anything unusual in his disposition. Outwardly he appeared as if we were on just another leisurely stroll about the ocean.

  “Robin, what are they doing?” I asked as I looked back and forth between Keiko and the vicinity of the wild pod, which we could not see. We only knew that they were near the Viking II. Oddly, the tracking boat was still drawing nearer.

  Robin ignored the question and instead went directly for the solution. “Michael, tell the tracking boat to hold position and shut down her engines.”

  “Draupnir—Viking. Hold position and shut down your engines.”

  The reply didn’t follow the usual acknowledgments. Outside the pilothouse we couldn’t hear, but we knew it must have been Lanny on the radio who responded. Michael called out through the open port in the window.

  “Robin, they want us to move closer. They’re saying the whales are heading off, and we’re not in a good position.”

  “Okay, let’s move a bit further in,” he replied as he indicated south with his hand held out in a flat pointing position. “Just a few hundred feet, Michael, I don’t want to get right on top of them.”

  I could hear the entire exchange in the background but kept a laser focus on Keiko expecting that some overt sign would be forthcoming, something that would indicate awareness of the wild ones nearby. There was nothing. Keiko seemed to be the most relaxed individual across the entire assortment of species and craft. Still, I did not want to be “holding” Keiko’s attention when the discovery occurred.

  From the beginning it was mapped out that Keiko’s first delicate meeting with his own kind would take place during his emancipation from the Draupnir. It was engineered to be a
calm and distanced unification. At the very least we wanted to create the ideal conditions for a passive encounter, one propelled by genuine curiosity on the part of both Keiko and the wild whales. It was important that I was not splitting his attention when he awakened to their presence. I could feel the tension in my body. I wanted to get to a stopping point, break from Keiko and get out of the picture. In no time, the expanse between the Draupnir and Viking II had closed to that of a football field.

  “Michael, we need to stop … go neutral … hold right here.” Robin and I must have been on the same wavelength. He voiced exactly what I was feeling. It seemed everything was happening at once.

  The Draupnir had only been crawling forward. She stopped easily and did not linger. I stepped over the sponson, ready to retract the platform and signal a neutral disposition. In the background my mind recorded sounds of a helicopter, radio chatter, boats … more than one, but I was unable to define them with any exacting clarity in my blurred periphery. There was yelling. Yelling? Why are we yelling? Communications are almost always over the radio. At sea, even short distances swallow the spoken word.

  “Get control of Keiko,” Robin barked as he moved to do it himself. I wasn’t fully off the platform yet and was able to get there first, dropping the platform hastily in the process.

  Struggling to catch up, to gain meaning from the sensory assault, I could make out Keiko in front of me and the Viking II off our starboard stern. I was moving to get Keiko to follow. I heard Robin shouting at the Viking to shut down. I heard someone urging the Draupnir to move Keiko. I heard the engines behind me turning over to start. I heard Tracy’s voice. I saw the bow of the Viking II first in front of me, coming directly at us, and then turning to her starboard. I saw her port broadside exposed. She was close. She was very close.

  The gap between became a narrow alley darkened in the shadow of the tracking boat. Holy shit, where are the wild whales? I realized in the middle of the overload that Viking II had stayed with the whales just as we had stayed with Keiko. Here she was right on top of us. What in the hell are they doing? How did they get so close? Another realization. At once the disorder coalesced to recognition. Somewhere in the middle of this bedlam was a pod of wild killer whales. Keiko sat before me, still willing to hold his faithful position at the extended appendage of the Draupnir. He had no clue. We needed to move.

  Just as we were gathering ourselves, about to put some distance between the tangle of boats and whales, Keiko plunged explosively to the depths. A forceful exhale burst at the surface sending a disorganized geyser two meters into the air. He moved downward so rapidly that he left a momentary parting of the water where his head had been. Involuntarily I threw my arm up and jerked back away from the fray. The void closed over him in a miniature whirlpool. I had no way of knowing how close the wild whales were or what was happening beneath me.

  For all intents and purposes I was largely unprotected. The meager platform on which I sat could easily be sent topsy-turvy if caught in the middle of a whale-sized feud. The lightening speed and forceful movement that would detonate from a charged mix of whales would likely render bystanders as insignificant as a fly hitting a windshield at highway speeds. To my good fortune, both Keiko and the wild whales went elsewhere for the moment, presumably straight down. The more imminent threat came from the Viking II who had finally cut her engines and now drifted broadside directly toward the Draupnir.

  Where Keiko had submerged now became a closing corridor between the boats with only a few feet separating the two hulls. Only seconds had passed. Keiko had gone deep and was nowhere to be seen. In the depths, despite suspending water clarity, all that was visible was a vast array of bubbles thwarting any chance at deciphering the chaos beneath.

  In the moments following, exchanges rifled back and forth between the two proximal boats and with others over the radio. Unable or unwilling to feign interest in the premature speculation, most of us locked our gaze outward looking for any sign of Keiko or the wild whales. There wasn’t yet time or testimony enough to itemize the jumble or organize thought. Those of us on the frontlines knew without need of scrutiny that the introduction had derailed as if a great and mighty freight train, the cataclysmic wreckage still emerging before us as the smoke settled in the aftermath.

  We sat adrift for the longest time. No one knew with any certainty what had transpired in the vast watery space below us or what would come next. We did not know where Keiko had gone. For now, the entourage of boats merely waited for Zero-Nine-Zulu to provide some indication of direction, some idea of Keiko’s whereabouts. Sightings were confirmed from one of the periphery support vessels: the wild pod had run far off in the distance due south from our position, moving swiftly. All we knew for certain was that Keiko was not with them.

  11

  The Unraveling

  Two hours after the debacle, Draupnir and her crew made a hurried stop in Vestmannaeyjar Harbor. Michael insisted that we top off the gas tanks, knowing that we could be in for a long night. Tracy and Jen disembarked and remained on the island. Brad Hanson came aboard along with the VHF radio tracking equipment. Blair, Michael, Robin and I never left the boat even while she was at dock. The entire exercise took less than twenty minutes. In no time—but all the same an agonizing delay—Draupnir and her crew were swiftly back at sea and joined in the search for Keiko.

  Zero-Nine-Zulu was in the air scanning the ocean’s surface. Onboard Draupnir we motored in a general northeasterly heading at about ten knots, waiting for some indication of Keiko’s whereabouts. Robin’s concentration was intense. He stayed fixed on the bow scanning the horizon, willing his eyes to focus beyond their normal capacity and looking for any telltale glimpse of activity at the surface. Nothing.

  It had been several hours since Keiko had contact with the wild pod, and no one had seen him since. We knew his general heading was most likely north-north east of the island based on one unconfirmed aerial sighting immediately following the incident. It didn’t much matter; a killer whale can cover a great stretch of the sea in that span of time. There was no telling where Keiko could be, and light was fading fast.

  No one onboard uttered a word. Everyone had his eyes on the horizon covering every direction outward from the boat. We were each lost in thought, wondering what Keiko’s condition might be and what would happen if or when we found him.

  Robin broke the silence calling everyone together at the back of the pilothouse. I had not seen this level of intensity and weightiness from Robin often, but each time I did, it was paired with a profoundly sobering event. Every soul on that boat gave him his undivided attention.

  “I intend to get this whale back. I realize that I’m going against some by doing this, but in my opinion this is exactly what’s defined in the protocols as an intervention situation.”

  After a brief pause without breaking eye contact, he continued, “Keiko is not with other whales, and the introduction was obviously traumatic. I’m not asking for your approval. As chief of this boat, I am making the decision to find Keiko and bring him back to the bay. If you don’t agree, I will take the Draupnir in to harbor, and you’re welcome to get off the boat. But I need your decision right now before we get too far from base.”

  No one said anything, each waiting for another to go first. Then Michael spoke. “Well, I’m in, Robin. I think we need to get him back.”

  Blair and Brad nodded in agreement. Robin never looked at me; he knew there was no need. It was settled. The Draupnir crew would go after Keiko. We would search until we found him … and bring Keiko back to the bay enclosure.

  Standing around the back deck, we couldn’t do anything but speculate. We theorized about what had happened, Keiko’s reaction, and the reaction of the wild pod. No one really knew. Although we all had somewhat different vantage points at the time of the event, no one could see anything that went on below the surface.

  Nonetheless, we dissected the event over and over, expecting that two divergent observations mig
ht combine to provide us some insight as to Keiko’s whereabouts. As hard as we tried to anticipate Keiko’s actions, we could not. Our discussion did nothing but pass the time.

  Hours passed at an agonizing crawl.

  All the other boats from the formation were back at dock in Vestmannaeyjar. It was now late afternoon, bordering on evening. Only the helicopter and Draupnir remained in the search.

  Finally the radio crackled to life. The helicopter had spotted Keiko. Every one of us crammed into and around the outer door to the pilothouse straining to hear. Michael and Robin stood opposite each other with the radio between them looking expectantly at the receiver. Echoing like tin from within the cabin we heard the report.

  “Draupnir, Zero-Nine-Zulu. Copy.”

  “Zero-Nine-Zulu, Draupnir. Go ahead.” Michael was the boat’s captain; it was his responsibility to make the reply.

  “Take down coordinates six-three degrees two-zero minutes and four-five seconds north, repeat 63-20-45 north and one-nine degrees nine minutes four seconds west, repeat 19-9-4 west. Acknowledge.”

  “Zero-Nine-Zulu, Draupnir. Repeat coordinates 63-20-45 north by 19-9-4 west. Copy.”

  “Affirmative, Draupnir. We have visual contact. We have positive sighting … advise heading east northeast, repeatedly circling then continuing course. Be advised fuel is short … heading back to base.”

  “Copy that Zero-Nine-Zulu. We are closing on your location at twenty-six knots. Tracking equipment onboard. Draupnir out.”

  Michael penciled down the latitude and longitude readings and had Draupnir punched up to her maximum speed before the radio transmission was complete. We were making a beeline for the helicopter’s reported position. Any other time, we would never be able to hold twenty-six knots; however, on this particular evening the North Atlantic tolerated our urgency. There was a following sea, but only long shallow swells, and the Draupnir easily outpaced them.