‘And they don’t give a damn about it,’ said one of the fishermen, referring to the ferries, freighters, factory trawlers and warships. He was drinking his beer with the bitterness of one who was convinced he’d found the guilty party, and nothing was going to stop him laying the blame at their door. He looked at Anawak, as though expecting confirmation.
But that’s where you’re wrong, Anawak felt like saying. The big ships weren’t faring any better. He kept quiet. He wasn’t allowed to mention the other incidents, and the residents of Tofino saw only their corner of the world.
‘They’re probably laughing up their sleeves,’ the old man grumbled. ‘Those big fishing companies had the monopoly already. First they gobble up our stocks, and now they mop up what’s left, while regular fishermen like me have to sit and watch.’ He took a swig of his beer. ‘We should shoot those damn whales. We need to show them who’s boss.’
It was the universal refrain. Ever since he’d arrived in Tofino, Anawak had been confronted with the same demand: kill the whales. The frustrated fisherman had hit the nail on the head - the fishing grounds were only accessible to the largest factory trawlers, which gave ammunition to those who’d always agitated against the International Whaling Commission, fishing quotas and hunting bans.
Anawak paid for his coffee and went back to the station. The office was empty. He settled down behind the counter, switched on the computer and started to search the web for military applications of marine-mammal research. It was a tedious process. Back at the Chateau, they had access to all the information they needed, but the public network kept crashing, thanks to the problems with deep-sea cables.
He soon found the official website of the US Navy Marine Mammal Program. It couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know - every half-decent investigative journalist had written dozens of articles on the subject - but before long he had found information on a military programme in the former Soviet Union. During the Cold War, a large number of dolphins, sea-lions and belugas had been taught to find mines and retrieve lost torpedoes. According to the Internet, they’d been deployed to defend Soviet warships in the Black Sea. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, they had been transferred to an oceanarium in Sebastopol on the Crimean peninsula, where they’d performed tricks until their new owners ran out of cash for the vet bills and food. Some of the dolphins had ended up in therapy centres for children with autism. Others were sold to Iran, where the trail went dead, prompting the suspicion that their military career had continued elsewhere.
Marine mammals seemed to be making a comeback in strategic warfare. During the Cold War, the arms race had taken a new direction, with America and the Soviet Union each trying to create the most efficient sea-mammal fleet. After the dissolution of the USSR, the world was no safer; already the conflict between Israel and Palestine was spinning out of control and a new generation of terrorists was emerging, capable of sabotaging American warships. Underwater mines were being laid, projectiles went missing, and expensive weaponry sank to the bottom of the ocean and had to be retrieved. It was a job at which dolphins, sealions and belugas proved far more adept than any human or robot: tests showed that a dolphin could find a mine twelve times faster than a diver. Sealions at naval bases in Charleston and San Diego had a ninety-five per cent success rate at detecting torpedoes. Humans operating underwater couldn’t see where they were going and had to spend hours in a decompression chamber afterwards, but marine mammals were working in their element. Sea-lions had good vision even when the light was weak. Dolphins could navigate in total darkness by using sonar, giving off a volley of clicks, whose echo they measured with amazing precision to detect the location and shape of any object. Marine mammals could dive dozens of times a day to depths of several hundred metres without tiring. Millions of dollars’ worth of divers, vessels, crews and equipment could be replaced by a small fleet of dolphins. And the animals nearly always came back. In thirty years, the US Navy had lost just seven dolphins.
The American marine-mammal training programme was still going strong and there were indications that animals were being used again in Russia for military purposes. The Indian Army had begun a breeding and training programme. Similar initiatives had been launched in the Middle East.
Did that mean Vanderbilt was right?
Anawak was convinced that scouring the depths of the web would turn up details that went unmentioned on the US Navy’s website. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard of military attempts to subjugate whales and dolphins to full human control. The programme was based on neural research of the kind conducted by John Lilly. Armed forces all over the world were interested in echo-location, a sonar system that outperformed anything man had invented and that still hadn’t been fully understood. There were indications that experiments had taken place in recent years that went beyond the bounds of what was publicly acceptable.
But the web refused to tell him anything. For three full hours it maintained its silence until Anawak was on the point of giving up. His eyes hurt, and his enthusiasm and concentration had sunk so low that he almost missed the short article by Earth Island Journal when it appeared on the screen: ‘Did US Navy Order Dolphin Deaths?’ The quarterly journal was published by Earth Island Institute, an environmental organisation committed to bringing new ideas to the conservation movement. It ran a variety of campaigns. The journal’s staff were heavily involved in the climate debate and had uncovered some serious environmental scandals. A large part of their work was focused on preserving life in the oceans and protecting whales.
The article referred back to an incident that had occurred in the early 1990s when sixteen dead dolphins had been washed ashore in the French Mediterranean. The corpses were all marked with the same mysterious wound - a fist-sized hole on the underside of the neck, through which the lower cranium was exposed. At the time, investigators were unable to explain the presence of the marks, but there was no doubt that the injuries had caused the dolphins’ deaths. The episode had taken place against the backdrop of the first crisis in the Gulf, when fleets of American warships were crossing the Mediterranean. The Earth Island article suggested a link to a classified programme of experiments that was rumoured to have been carried out by the US Navy at around the same time. By all accounts, the experiments had failed to achieve their expected success, forcing those involved to conceal the programme’s existence. ‘Something had gone badly wrong,’ an expert had told the journal.
Anawak printed the article and searched through the journal’s archive, hoping to find more leads. He was so immersed in what he was doing that he barely heard the Station door opening. It was only when a shadow fell over the screen that he looked up.
‘I heard you wanted to talk to me,’ said Greywolf.
His suede outfit was as greasy and scruffy as ever, but his hair was tied back in a long shiny plait. His teeth and eyes glinted. It was only a few days since Anawak had last spoken to him, but suddenly he saw Greywolf through different eyes. He exuded strength, charisma and natural charm. No wonder Delaware had fallen for him. ‘I thought you were in Ucluelet,’ he said.
‘I was.’ Greywolf pulled up a chair. It creaked as he sat down. ‘Licia said you needed me.’
‘Needed you?’ Anawak smiled. ‘I said it would be good to see you.’
‘Same difference. Well, I’m here now.’
‘How’re things?’
‘A drink would improve them.’
Anawak went over to the fridge, pulled out a beer and a Coke, and put them on the counter. Greywolf drank half of the Heineken in a single gulp.
‘Did I call you away from anything important?’
‘Nothing worth mentioning. I was fishing with a few rich pricks from Beverly Hills. All the jerks from your whale-watching have come over to my side. It seems no one’s afraid of being attacked by a trout, so I branched out into angling. I’m doing fishing tours of our beloved island’s lakes and rivers.’
‘I see your attitude to whale-watching
hasn’t changed.’
‘Why should it? I’m not going to cause you any trouble, though.’
‘Why, thank you,’ said Anawak, sarcastically. ‘But right now it wouldn’t much matter. I mean, it’s pretty handy that you’re still on your mission to get vengeance for nature. Tell me again what you used to do for the navy.’
Greywolf looked at him blankly. ‘You know what I did.’
‘Well, tell me again.’
‘I was a dolphin-handler. We trained dolphins for military purposes.’
‘In San Diego?’
‘Yes, among other places.’
‘And you were pensioned off because of a heart defect or whatever. Honourably discharged.’
‘Exactly,’ said Greywolf.
‘That’s not true, Jack. You weren’t discharged. You walked.’
Greywolf set down the can almost cautiously on the counter. ‘Where did you hear that bullshit?’
‘The files at the Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center in San Diego seemed pretty clear to me,’ said Anawak. ‘Just so you know I’m in the picture: SSC San Diego took over from the Naval Command, Control and Ocean Surveillance Center, also of Point Loma, San Diego. The funding came from an organisation that now finances the US Navy’s Marine Mammal Program. Each of those organisations is always mentioned in any account of marine-mammal training, and there’s always the implication that they were involved in dubious experiments that allegedly never took place.’ Anawak decided to call Greywolf’s bluff. ‘Experiments that were conducted in Point Loma, where you were stationed.’
Greywolf watched him warily as he paced round the room. ‘Why are you telling me this crap?’
‘The current research programme in San Diego looks at dolphin feeding habits, hunting, communication, training potential, possible ways of returning dolphins to the wild, and so on. But what really interests the military is the brain. Dolphin brains have fascinated the navy since the sixties, but around the time of the first Gulf War there was an upsurge of interest. You’d signed up a few years previously. By the time you left, you were a lieutenant, responsible for MK6 and MK7, two out of a total of four dolphin fleets.’
Greywolf frowned. ‘So what? Haven’t you got other things to worry about in your committee? Like Europe, for example.’
‘One more step up the ladder, and you’d have been in charge of the entire dolphin programme. But you quit.’
‘I didn’t quit. They discharged me.’
Anawak shook his head. ‘Jack, I’ve been given a few privileges lately, and that includes access to sources that are one hundred per cent reliable. You left of your own accord, and I’d like to know why.’
He picked up the Earth Island article and passed it to Greywolf, who glanced at it and put it down.
For a while there was silence.
‘Jack,’ said Anawak, softly, ‘you were right. I am pleased to see you, but I do need your help.’
Greywolf didn’t respond.
‘Tell me what happened back then. Why did you leave?’
Greywolf leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because there’s a chance we’ll be able to figure out what’s happened to our whales.’
‘They’re not your whales, Leon - or your dolphins either. You don’t own them. Do you really want to know what’s wrong with them? They’re fighting back. It’s payback time. We treated them like our playthings, hurt them, abused them, gawked at them and they’re fed up with us.’
‘You don’t really believe they’re doing this of their own free will?’
Greywolf shook his head. ‘I’m not interested in why they do stuff. We shouldn’t have taken such an interest in the first place. I don’t want to understand them, Leon. I just want them to be left in peace.’
‘Jack,’ Anawak said slowly, ‘they’re being forced to behave like this.’
‘That’s bull. Who the hell—’
‘They’re being forced! I’ve got proof. I’m not even supposed to tell you this much, but I need your help. You want to stop them suffering, well, go on, then. They’re suffering more than you could imagine—’
‘Than I can imagine?’ Greywolf was on his feet. ‘What the hell do you know about their suffering? You don’t know a darned thing.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘I—’ He seemed to be fighting an inner battle. Then he relaxed. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘We’re going for a walk.’
For a while they strolled along in silence. Greywolf took a path through the forest and down to the sea. A rickety jetty led away from the shore, looking out across the austere beauty of the bay. Greywolf walked along the ramshackle planks and sat down, legs dangling over the edge. Anawak followed him. All that could be seen of Tofino were a few houses on stilts peeping out beyond the headland to the right and the Station on the wharf. They gazed up at the mountains, resplendent in the late-afternoon sun.
‘There are a few things your sources didn’t tell you,’ Greywolf said finally. ‘Officially there were four fleets of marine mammals: MK4 through to MK7. But there was a fifth in existence too, known as MKO. The navy calls them systems, not fleets, by the way. Each system is entrusted with a particular set of operational activities. The systems’ centre is in San Diego, true, but I spent most of my time in Coronado, California, where the majority of the animals are trained. They’re cared for in their natural habitat - creeks and ocean pens. And they have a pretty decent life there: they’re well fed and they get excellent medical care - which is more than you can say for most people.’
‘So you were in charge of this fifth system.’
‘No, it wasn’t like that. MKO is different. A regular system is made up of four to eight mammals with a specific objective. MK4, for instance, is assigned to finding mines on the seabed and marking their location. It’s a dolphin-only system, and the animals are also trained to alert their handlers to the presence of saboteurs. MK5 is a sealion system. MK6 and MK7 are also used for mine-hunting, but their main purpose is to guard naval facilities against enemy divers.’
‘By attacking them?’
‘By nudging up against them. They affix a coiled rope to the suit of the diver, which connects the intruder to a float. The float is linked to a strobe, so it’s easy to determine the diver’s position, and the guys can take care of the rest. It works the same way with mine-sweeping. The dolphin alerts its handler as soon as it finds the mine. In some cases it dives down with a rope and a magnet - the magnet stays on the mine, and the end of the rope is returned to the boat. Provided the mine isn’t anchored too firmly, it only takes a tug on the rope to get the job over and done with. You know, killer whales and belugas can even retrieve torpedoes from a depth of one kilometre. It’s pretty darned impressive. What you have to realise is that mine-hunting is a dangerous business for humans. First, there’s the risk of the thing exploding in your face, but worse, nine times out of ten you’re searching the seabed at the heart of the conflict, right next to the shore - you get fired at all the time.’
‘But don’t the mines kill the dolphins?’
‘According to the navy, no dolphin has ever been killed by a mine. In fact, a few have, but it’s relatively rare. At any rate, when I started out, I didn’t have anything to do with MKO, and I dismissed the stories as rumours. You see, MKO isn’t a system as such: it’s the codename for a series of programmes and experiments that take place in different locations with a constant stream of new animals. MKO mammals never come into contact with other systems, although members of the regular systems are sometimes recruited for MKO. That’s the last anyone hears of them.’ Greywolf paused. ‘I was a good handler. MK6 was my first system. We participated in every major manoeuvre. In 1990 I took over MK7 as well. Eventually someone decided that maybe I should be told a bit more.’
‘About MKO.’
‘Naturally I knew all about the navy’s first big dolphin-success story - Vietnam in the early seventies. Dolphins were u
sed to guard the harbours in Cam-ranh Bay and intercept Vietcong frogmen on sabotage missions. That’s the first thing they tell you at MMS, and they’re pretty damn proud of it. What they don’t tell you are the details. Things like the Swimmer Nullification Program - you can bet you won’t hear about that. You see, it wasn’t your regular dolphin operation. Those animals were trained to tug at divers’ masks and flippers and disconnect their air-supply. Oh, and to make things really brutal, they had lance-like knives on their beaks and fins. Some even had harpoons strapped to their backs. They weren’t dolphins any more - they were killing machines. But that was harmless, compared to what came next. The navy strapped hypodermic needles to their beaks and the dolphins were ordered to ram the divers. The syringes contained carbon dioxide compressed at 3000 psi, which coursed through the divers’ bodies and expanded. The victims exploded. Our animals killed over forty Vietcong and two of our own guys by mistake.’
Anawak could feel his stomach cramping.
‘The same thing happened at the end of the eighties in Bahrain,’ Greywolf continued. ‘That was my first time on front-line duty. My system did exactly what was expected of it, and I still knew nothing about MKO. I had no idea that they were parachuting dolphins into enemy territory. Some were dropped from a height of three kilometres, and not all survived. Others were pushed out of helicopters without a parachute from a height of twenty metres. Dolphins were being used to attach mines to enemy warships and subs. If things looked risky, the charges would be detonated as soon as the creatures were in range. I should have quit when they told me all about it but the navy was my home. I was happy there. I’m not asking you to understand, but it’s the truth.’
Anawak was silent. He understood only too well.
The Swarm: A Novel Page 56