The state can’t pay for science, so the money comes from industry.
Could any institute, these days, afford to be truly independent?
If Bohrmann was right that research was kept alive by industry, there was scarcely an institute that wasn’t working for a company. They raised their funds through sponsorship - it was either that or risk closing their labs. Even Geomar would soon be in receipt of a grant from the energy firm Ruhrgas, which had endowed a new chair in hydrates. Corporate sponsorship sounded tempting, but sooner or later companies expected the research they funded to be converted into profit.
Johanson returned to Bauer’s message.
His own approach had been all wrong. Instead of contacting as many people as possible, he should have scrutinised the unofficial links between science and business. While Skaugen broached the topic in the companies’ boardrooms, he could question the scientists they worked with. Sooner or later someone was bound to talk.
The problem lay in trying to unravel the connections.
But it wasn’t a problem. It was just a lot of hard work.
He stood up and went to find Lund.
24 April
Vancouver Island and Clayoquot Sound, Canada
Anawak rocked impatiently on the balls of his feet. He rolled forwards on to his toes, then back on to his heels. Toes, heels. Toes, heels. It was early morning and the sky was lit in vivid shades of azure; a day straight out of a holiday brochure.
At the end of the wooden jetty, a seaplane was waiting. Its white fuselage shone in the deep blue water of the lagoon, contours creased by rippling waves. It was one of the legendary DHC-2 Beavers first manufactured by the Canadian firm De Havilland over fifty years ago. Engineers had yet to come up with a better design, so the planes were still in use. Beavers had made it to both poles: they were dependable, robust and safe.
Perfect for what Anawak was planning.
He glanced across at the red-and-white terminal. Tofino airbase was situated a few minutes out of town by car, and had little in common with other airports. It was reminiscent of a traditional hunting or fishing village, just a few low-lying timber buildings on the edge of a sweeping bay, fringed by forested hills with mountaintops in the distance. His eyes swept the road leading from the main highway through the towering trees towards the lagoon. Any moment now the others would arrive.
His brow furrowed as he listened to the voice on his mobile. ‘But that was two weeks ago,’ he said. ‘Two weeks without Mr Roberts being available, even though he specifically asked me to keep him informed.’
The secretary reminded him that Mr Roberts was a very busy man.
‘So am I,’ barked Anawak. He stood still and tried to sound friendlier. ‘Look, the situation on the west coast is spiralling out of control. There are clear parallels between the trouble we’ve got here and the incident at Inglewood. I’m sure Mr Roberts would agree.’
There was a short pause. ‘What parallels would those be?’
‘Well, whales, of course. I should have thought that was obvious.’
‘The Barrier Queen suffered damage to her rudder.’
‘Sure. But the tugs were attacked.’
‘One tug was sunk, if that’s what you mean,’ said the woman, politely uninterested. ‘No one’s said anything about whales, but I’ll tell Mr Roberts you called.’
‘Tell him it’s in his interest.’
‘He’ll call you in the next few weeks.’
‘Weeks?’
‘Mr Roberts is out of town.’
What the hell is going on? thought Anawak. He tried again.
‘Mr Roberts also promised to send further samples of organic matter from the Barrier Queen to the lab in Nanaimo. Now, please don’t tell me you know nothing about that either. I’ve seen the infestation. I even took a bunch of mussels from the hull.’
‘Mr Roberts would have told me if—’
‘The lab needs those samples!’
‘Mr Roberts will deal with it on his return.’
‘It’ll be too late by then! Oh, forget it. I’ll call back later.’
Annoyed, he jammed his mobile into his pocket. Shoemaker was trundling down the access road in his Land Cruiser, then turned into the car park in front of the terminal. Anawak headed over to him. ‘You’re not exactly a model of punctuality, are you?’ he called grumpily.
‘For heaven’s sake, Leon! We’re ten minutes late.’ Shoemaker came to meet him with Delaware in tow. A young powerfully built black guy with dark glasses and a shaved head followed behind. ‘Loosen up, will you? We had to wait for Danny.’
Anawak shook hands with the other man, who flashed him a smile. He was a marksman in the Canadian army and had been placed at Anawak’s disposal. He was carrying his weapon, a state-of-the-art, high-precision crossbow. ‘Nice island you got here,’ he drawled. A piece of gum travelled across his mouth as he spoke. ‘You need me to take care of something?’
‘Didn’t they tell you?’ asked Anawak.
‘Sure - that I needed my bow to shoot at some whales. Kind of surprised me, though. Never thought it was legal.’
‘It isn’t. I’ll tell you all about it in the plane. Let’s go.’
‘Hang on.’ Shoemaker held up a newspaper. ‘Have you seen this?’
Anawak scanned the headline. ‘“The Hero of Tofino”?’
‘Greywolf sure knows how to sell himself. He’s all modest in the interview, but see what he says further down. It’ll make you want to puke.’
‘“…did my duty as a Canadian citizen, that’s all,”’ muttered Anawak. ‘“Sure, we could have died - but I had to do something to make up for the damage caused by irresponsible whale-watching. My organisation has been warning for years of the dangerous levels of stress that whale-watchers inflict on the animals, which leads them to behave in unpredictable ways.” My God, he’s crazy!’
‘Read on.’
‘“Davie’s Whaling Station can’t be accused of dishonesty, but it hasn’t been completely honest either. In dressing up a money-making tourist business as an environmental research project, the whale-watchers are as bad as the Japanese, whose flotillas prey on endangered species in the Arctic. The Japanese also talk about the scientific value of their activities, even though in 2002 over four hundred tonnes of whale meat went on sale as a delicacy in wholesale markets. DNA tests traced the flesh to the objects of their so-called scientific study.”’
Anawak lowered the paper. ‘That bastard.’
‘But he’s right, isn’t he?’ Delaware demanded. ‘The Japanese really are spouting all that crap about their research. At least, that’s what I heard.’
‘Of course he’s right,’ snorted Anawak. ‘That’s why it’s so damn cunning. He’s trying to implicate us too.’
‘God knows what he hopes to achieve by it,’ said Shoemaker.
‘He’s just attention-seeking.’
‘Well, he…’ Delaware’s hands waved in gesture of appeasement. ‘I guess, he is a hero in a way.’
Anawak glared at her. ‘Oh, really?’
‘Without him people would have died. It’s not fair of him to lay into you like that but he was brave and he—’
‘Greywolf isn’t brave,’ growled Shoemaker. ‘That shit only ever does anything for effect. But he’s screwed up big-time now. The Makah won’t like it. I can’t imagine they’ll thank their self-elected blood-brother for his impassioned speech against whaling - right, Leon?’
Anawak didn’t reply.
Danny pushed his gum from one cheek to the other. ‘All set?’ he said.
At that moment the pilot called to them through the open door of the plane, and waved. Anawak knew what that meant. Ford had made contact. It was time. Instead of responding to Shoemaker’s comment he put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Could you do me a favour when you’re back at the Station?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’m not exactly rushed off my feet.’
‘Find out whether there’s been anything in the papers ov
er the last few weeks about the Barrier Queen and her accident. Maybe check the Internet too - and the TV.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve a feeling it wasn’t reported.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, I can’t remember hearing anything about it, can you?’
Shoemaker squinted up at the sun. ‘No. Just some vague stuff about shipping accidents in Asia. But that’s not to say it wasn’t mentioned. I haven’t read the papers since things kicked off round here. But it’s a good point. Come to think of it, not much has been said about the whole damn mess.’
‘Exactly,’ said Anawak.
As the plane took off, Anawak turned to Danny. ‘Your job is to fire the tag into the blubber. The whale won’t feel a thing. Scientists have been trying for years to get tags to stick to whaleskin, but a biologist in Kiel came up with the solution - a crossbow with tags and time-depth recorders that are fitted to the darts. The tip pierces the fat, and the whale carries the device for a few weeks. It doesn’t even know it’s there.’
Danny looked at him. ‘A biologist from Kiel?’
‘You don’t think it’ll work?’
‘Oh, sure. Just seems to me he should have asked the whale about it hurtin’. Jeez, you gotta be pretty darned accurate. How you gonna know it won’t go deeper than the fat?’
‘They used pork to test the darts and kept going until they knew exactly how far the tips would penetrate. It’s all a question of math.’
‘I’ll be darned,’ said Danny. His eyebrows appeared above his dark glasses.
‘What happens if you fire it at a human?’ Delaware piped up from the seat behind them. ‘Would the dart go in part-way?’
Anawak turned to face her.
‘Yes, - but deep enough to kill you.’
The DHC-2 banked, the lagoon glittering beneath them.
‘It wasn’t the only option available,’ said Anawak, ‘but the key thing was to make sure we could track the whale over a significant period. The crossbow method seemed the most reliable. The tag records information on heartbeat, body temperature, water temperature, depth, speed and other variables. Fitting the whale with a camera is more of a problem.’
‘Why not use the crossbow?’ asked Danny. ‘Save yourself a lot of hassle.’
‘There’d be no means of ensuring which way up the camera would land. In any case, I’d like to see the whale. I want to be able to watch it, and that’s only possible if the camera is further away and not mounted on top of it.’
‘Which is why we’re deploying a URA,’ explained Delaware. ‘It’s a new type of robot from Japan.’
Anawak’s lips twitched. From the way Delaware talked, you’d think she’d invented it.
‘What robot?’ Danny looked around.
‘We didn’t bring it.’
The plane was out of the lagoon, flying close to the swell. The water off Vancouver Island was usually full of pleasure-boats, Zodiacs and kayaks, but no one was brave enough to venture out now. In the distance a few freighters and ferries passed, too big for the whales to be a problem. The coastal waters were deserted, apart from a single mighty ship. The plane headed away from the rugged coastline, straight for it.
‘The URA is on the Whistler - down there,’ said Anawak. ‘First we need to find and tag our whale, then the robot gets its turn.’
John Ford stood aft on the Whistler, shielding his eyes with his hand. He saw the DHC-2 approaching at speed. A few seconds later the plane swooped over the boat and swung round in a gentle curve.
He held his radio to his mouth and called Anawak on a tap-proof frequency. A host of channels was reserved for military and scientific purposes. ‘Leon? Everything OK?’
‘Receiving you, John. Where did you see them?’
‘To the north-west, less than two hundred metres from the ship. Five minutes ago we had a cluster of sightings, but they’re keeping their distance. There must be eight or ten. We identified two. One was involved in the attack on the Lady Wexham; the other sank a fishing trawler last week in Ucluelet.’
‘They haven’t tried to attack?’
‘We’re too big for them.’
‘How are they behaving as a group?’
‘No signs of aggression.’
‘Good. They’re probably one big gang, but let’s stick to the whales we’ve identified.’
Ford watched as the DHC-2 disappeared into the distance, then banked and flew back in a loop. His gaze shifted to the Whistler’s bridge. The deep-sea rescue tug was sixty-three metres long, fifteen metres wide and belonged to a private company in Vancouver. With a bollard pull of 160 tonnes, she was one of the strongest tugs in the world, and far too heavy to be threatened by a whale. Ford guessed that a breaching humpback would cause the ship to rock but no more.
He still felt uneasy, though. At first the whales had attacked anything that floated, but now they seemed to know what they could and couldn’t harm. Boats had been attacked by fin and sperm whales, as well as the omnipresent orcas, greys and humpbacks. And there had been a marked refinement in technique. Ford was certain that they wouldn’t attack the tug–and that was what disturbed him. The idea that the whales were suffering from a rabies-like illness didn’t fit with their growing ability to size up their targets. There was intelligence in their behaviour, and he wasn’t sure how they’d react to the robot.
He radioed the bridge. ‘We’re off,’ he said.
The DHC-2 circled overhead.
They’d started looking actively for the whales as soon as they’d identified some of the aggressors on the camcorder footage. For three days the tug had cruised up and down the coast and that morning they’d finally struck lucky. Among a pack of greys they’d seen two flukes they recognised from the pictures.
Ford wasn’t sure if they stood any chance of getting to the truth in time. He shuddered when he thought of the increasingly militant calls from fishing unions and shipping lines who didn’t like the scientists’ non-aggression policy. They wanted military action - a few dead whales to show the herds what was what and to scare them into staying away from humans. The scheme was as dangerous as it was naïve, but it had found plenty of supporters. The whales were doing an excellent job of gambling away all the credit that environmentalists and animal-rights groups had worked so hard to raise for them. For the time being, the emergency committee was still taking the line that killing the whales wouldn’t resolve anything since no one knew what was causing their behaviour. The only option was to fight the symptoms, or so they’d said. Ford didn’t know what the government was planning in the long-run. Either way, there were clear indications that individual fishermen and rogue whalers were preparing to take matters into their own hands. While no one could offer a solution to the problem, everyone was certain that the others were wrong. It was fertile ground for mavericks.
Ford glanced at the robot in the stern. He was curious to see what it could do. They’d got it from Japan remarkably quickly and with almost no red tape. The technology was only a few years old. According to the Japanese, it was designed for research, not whaling, but few were convinced. Western environmentalists saw the three-metre-long cylindrical device, studded with sensors and highly sensitive cameras, as an invention from hell, intended to hunt down entire herds of whales as soon as the moratorium on whaling was rescinded. After the URA had tracked and followed humpbacks among the Japanese Kerama Islands, it had found favour at an international symposium for marine mammals in Vancouver. But the distrust remained. It was no secret that Japan had systematically bought the support of poorer countries with the aim of putting an end to the 1986 whaling moratorium: the government had called its machinations and horse-trading ‘legitimate diplomacy’, while providing the bulk of the funding to the University of Tokyo, to which the inventors of the robot, Tamaki Ura and his Underwater Robotics and Application Laboratory team, belonged.
‘Maybe today you’ll do something worthwhile,’ said Ford, softly, to the robot. ‘Salvage your reputation.’
The URA glinted in the sun. Ford went over to the rails and gazed out at the ocean. Finding the whales was easier from the plane, but identification had to be done from the ship. After a while a group of greys appeared, surfacing one after another and ploughing through the waves.
The voice of the lookout sounded through the radio. ‘Look back and to the right. There’s Lucy.’
Ford spun and raised his binoculars in time to see a ragged, slate-grey fluke disappear beneath the water.
Lucy was one of the two whales they’d identified. A fine specimen of a grey, measuring a full fourteen metres, she’d hurled herself against the Lady Wexham. For all he knew, she might have been responsible for splitting the vessel’s thin hull.
‘ID authenticated,’ said Ford. ‘Leon?’ He squinted up at the sun and saw the plane dip towards the place where the flukes had been seen. ‘Well, I guess this is it,’ he said to himself. ‘Happy hunting.’
From their vantage-point a hundred metres above the water, even the enormous tug looked like a toy, though the whales seemed to grow by comparison. Anawak watched a pod of greys swimming just under the surface, moving leisurely and peacefully. Refracted rays of sunlight danced on their colossal backs. The full length of each whale was visible through the water. They were only a quarter the size of the Whistler, but they still seemed absurdly large. ‘We need to get closer,’ he said.
The DHC-2 descended. They flew over the pod towards the spot where Lucy had dived. Anawak hoped to God that she hadn’t gone in search of food, since that would mean a lengthy wait. With any luck the water would be too deep for her here. Greys, like humpbacks, had their own feeding technique: they dived to the seabed and grazed on the sediment, rolling on to their sides and vacuuming up the bottom-dwelling organisms, such as small crustaceans, plankton and, their favourites, tube worms. The seabed near Vancouver Island was furrowed with trenches from their feeding orgies, but the giant greys seldom ventured into deeper water.
The Swarm: A Novel Page 26