On the other hand, Ted was an absolutely terrific guy. A new hire at the Maine Oceanographic Institute, he was everything a woman would want—kind, patient, smart—and a blond, blue-eyed stud. We had a lot in common. He’d even taken an interest in Italian opera, a particular passion of mine. Besides all that, the sex was great. We made love, laughed and joked, and made love again. Easy, a joy.
It seemed pretty unlikely I’d ever meet a guy like Ted again. And now he was less than a mile away on the other side of our paddle. The knot in my stomach increased with each stroke.
Harvey slid her kayak alongside mine and matched my paddling rhythm. “Looking forward to seeing Ted?”
I hesitated. Harvey and I talked about pretty much everything, including my palpable fear of losing independence in a serious relationship. But being totally honest about her flesh and blood was awkward.
I went for neutral. “Yeah, sure.”
“Mara, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Ted. That’s your business. But working with the Haida on this iron project’s a huge challenge. The UN is counting on us. We’ve got to be a team.”
“I know that. But Ted’s your brother. I can’t—”
“I get it, Mara. Like I said, it’s your business.”
“And you know very well I’m a professional.”
“I didn’t mean…Of course, you’re professional.”
We both stopped paddling. Side-by-side, our kayaks drifted with the current.
I used my blade to point at craggy mountains to the north. “It’s gorgeous here, Harve. Let’s enjoy it.”
Harvey glanced at the mountains but didn’t say anything. She took off and caught up with the other women. I watched as she started a conversation with Gwen. Harvey was one of the most even-tempered people I’d ever known. The only thing she pestered me about was my insistence on wearing comfortable—in her words, shabby—clothes. Her comment about Ted and professionalism stung me. Naturally, I understood her desire that we work well together. As the most senior scientist, she headed up our team. Harvey was a perfectionist and born leader. An outstanding job would improve the likelihood she’d be the next biology department chair. But I’d never done anything to make her think my personal issues would undermine that goal.
On the other hand, Harvey called it as she saw it. As my best friend, she didn’t hesitate to point out my shortcomings, and she was usually right. Much as I hated to admit it, I’d have to make sure my feelings toward Ted didn’t compromise our work. There was a lot at risk—the UN assignment, my credibility as a scientist, a cherished friendship, maybe a lifetime partner. No way could I screw up.
But I had to do something about Ted. I’d been going back and forth between two options—wait and see what happened or speak with him. Waiting was too passive for me, so I’d decided on option two. At the right moment, I’d explain my need for personal time. Ted knew female oceanographers had to be fiercely independent to get anywhere. We’d talked about that a lot.
I said it aloud—“I need to spend more time alone.”
I pooched out air between my lips. The assertion might seem lame, or worse, selfish, to someone like Ted. He relished hanging out with his buddies at the Lea Side bar Friday afternoons. And he hosted barbeques—complete with volleyball, brats, and beer—so every single person from MOI, including the seagoing crew, could meet a visiting scientist. Me? Forty-five minutes into Lea Side merrymaking, I’d eye the door and try to remember my last “gotta go” excuse. And my idea of the perfect evening was six, eight at the very most, good friends around my dinner table for lobster risotto and insightful conversation.
Ted didn’t seem to mind. In the bar he’d squeeze my hand, say he’d call later, and jump right back in with a verdict on the beer he’d just sipped. Or he’d toast my culinary triumph from the head of my table with a wink and lop-sided grin.
If I owned up to what actually happened when I left the Lea Side, maybe he’d get why alone-time fed my soul. That I tried not to look at the grocery store I’d just claimed as my destination. That the magnet was always the same—outside, quiet solitude. My favorite spot was a tiny preserve on the edge of town hardly anyone visited. The single path took me to a slab of granite that plunged into the sea. On my back, eyes closed, I’d let electricity flow through me with every breath of wet, briny air. I’d step away—leave behind hoarse calls of gulls and endless replay of wave slap on rock—recharged, humming, ready to jump in again.
Could Ted understand how every single day I needed unpeopled time at the end of secret paths? Sometimes it didn’t take much—kind of like a plant left out in the sun too long. Just a hit of water did the trick. Other times, I needed longer. A day, even a weekend.
Ted studied plants in college. He’d get it.
At least that’s what I told myself.
A half hour later, we beached the kayaks on Kinuk Island. I climbed out, stretched my arms overhead, and looked around. The day before had been so hectic I didn’t have time to get a feel for the place. On a rise to my right, steam drifted skyward from several hot pools I couldn’t see from down on the beach. A wooden walkway that snaked along the hillside took visitors to the pools from bathhouses half-hidden in the trees. We’d been told another walkway plunged into the woods to the longhouse where we could spend the night after our boat trip.
My gaze slid to the left, where a long pier perched on a row of stout, tall pilings. In Haida Gwaii, the difference between low and high tide reached twenty-five feet. The tide was low, and the pier hung a good thirty feet above sticky mud. Our vessel for the day bobbed gently on a float connected to the pier by a steep, skinny walkway that could move up and down with the tide.
Ted strode up that walkway with the certitude of an athlete. He pushed blond hair off his forehead. In his red and black off-shore jacket, he was ready for the inevitable wind and rough seas we’d face on the Pacific Ocean. When he reached the pier, Ted spotted me, beamed, and waved. I returned his greeting with an equally enthusiastic wave, but it was forced.
We avoided the who-hugged-first issue when Harvey sprinted down the pier to greet her brother. Ambling behind, I grinned and was swallowed into a tight bear hug that should have felt warm and welcoming. Instead, the claustrophobia nearly choked me.
My god, what a cold fish I was. Ted deserved more from me, and I hoped he didn’t sense my discomfort.
But I was pretty sure he did.
“You okay?”
Cough. “Ah, fine.”
Awkward silence. “Well, not completely. My kayak malfunctioned yesterday. I nearly drifted out to sea.”
Ted whistled. “Damn. What’s the water temp out there? High forties? Lucky you didn’t go over. Did you fix it yourself on the water?”
“No.” William and Bart trudged toward us. “See the guy on the right? That’s William. He motored up and got the rudder to work.”
Ted nodded. “Good man.” He motioned toward two canvas bags down on the float. “You’ll have to fill me in later. Our equipment’s on the boat, and I’ve been sorting through their gear. We’ve got a lot to keep us dry and warm out there—heavy fleece jackets and pants, foul-weather gear, hats, and gloves.”
Waves rocked the float. My leg muscles tensed. “Bet we’ll need all of it.”
I scanned the boat. Spots of rust poked through her hull and stained her side, but I was spoiled. Maine Oceanographic Institution’s new day vessel was equipped with scientific sonar, two winches, and three types of water samplers. One winch was wired so we could get real-time data from towed instruments. Heavy buoys were deployed with a sturdy A-frame. The ship had radar, iridium phones, depth sounders, and the latest GPS equipment.
I turned to Ted. “How’s the ship?”
He shrugged. “She’ll do. Fish survey go all right?”
“Okay. Tell you about it later.”
A sturdy, white-haired gentleman with a beard to match emerged from the ship’s cabin, strode onto the float, and called up to us. “Welcome, folks
. I’m Josh Barney, captain of the Henry George. Come on down.”
We single-filed down the walkway. As we reached the float, Captain Barney shook each of our hands in turn. When he let go of mine, it only hurt a little.
I gestured toward the boat. Close up, the rust was more evident, working deck space appeared small, and bulwark not high enough for an ocean-going ship. “She looks, ah, like a great little research vessel.”
“University of British Columbia’s outfitted for oceanographic studies close to shore. Have to say, we’re not usually this far off the coast. She’s a venerable old lady, but the Henry George is fast. You’ll get your work done and be back well before nightfall. Ah, here comes our crew for the day.”
William and Bart marched down the walkway and stopped at the bottom.
Captain Barney pointed at the canvas bags. “No need to wait, lads. Load up this gear.”
The “lads” grabbed the bags and disappeared into the cabin with their boss right behind. I stepped aboard as the ship’s engines rumbled to life. We pulled away from the float. Holding onto the ship’s railing, I watched the hot spring village of Kinuk fade into the rainforest background as the Henry George reached an impressive thirty-knot cruising speed.
Harvey came out of the ship’s cabin with two jackets over her arm. She handed me one. “Bet you need this.”
“Got that right. The temperature was, what, fifty-five on the island? Feels like it’s dropped twenty degrees in two minutes.” I held up a red foul-weather jacket with “U.B.C Marine” in bold letters down one sleeve. Unlike most friends and colleagues from Maine, I didn’t especially relish the cold. Extreme cold seemed to be hazard that followed me around.
“Ya know, Harvey, we could be marine ecologists who study warm places.”
“Like coral reefs?”
“Or waters off Mexico or Australia.”
“But we’ve got this spectacular archipelago”—Harvey waved a hand toward shore—“pretty much to ourselves. And we haven’t even seen the kelp forests yet.”
We’d booked a Haida scuba guide so we could sample kelp. Haida Gwaii brochures boasted an underwater wonderland with giant kelp one hundred fifty feet long. Naturally, we’d be diving in ice-cold water.
I’d just zipped up my jacket, secured its Velcro strips at my wrists, and buckled my life jacket when the ship left the protection of Kinuk Bay, turned west, and plowed into the Pacific’s five-foot waves.
Little waves.
Feet apart for balance, I stared back at granite boulders off Augustine Island’s tip fifty feet away.
Harvey came closer. “You’re quiet.”
I pointed at the rocks. “Right there, I slid by the island in my kayak. That’s when I really got scared. It was a miracle when William appeared out of nowhere.”
“Thank the Haida gods for that. Ah, Ted’s talking to William about our track now. You okay to go inside?”
Harvey knew, of course, that I got terribly seasick and avoided enclosed spaces on research vessels.
“You know, Mara, it’s really too bad I’ve got to keep mum about the first time you met Ted. It’d be a great cocktail story.”
“You don’t go to cocktail parties. But if you do and you tell anyone I upchucked on his rain pants day one of a research cruise in front of the whole Maine Oceanographic crew, I’ll never cook you another risotto dinner.” I waved a hand at the ocean. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. It’s not that rough. If things get worse, the seasick patch should help.”
Harvey yanked open the cabin door. Inside, the aging engine throbbed. I nearly gagged on diesel-thickened air. What looked like sonar, depth sounders, and outdated GPS technology took up most of the forward helm, along with the steering wheel. Captain Barney, at the wheel, stared straight ahead. Bart stood beside him, back to us.
William and Ted leaned over well-worn charts covering half the wooden counter that ran the length of the cabin. They stood as we approached.
Ted raised his voice above the engine noise. “William just showed me where they dumped the iron sulfate. An eddy about thirty kilometers from here.”
William stepped aside so Harvey and I could see the chart. We leaned in.
Ted ran his finger due west of Augustine Island. “Just about here.”
“So we should be on the eastern edge of the eddy in about an hour?” I asked.
“Right.”
I planted my feet apart for balance and leaned back against the counter. “Tell us details, William. Did you add the iron in one spot or spread it out? Why there? Over how many days? Who supervised the dumping?”
If he was irritated by my barrage of questions, William didn’t show it. He answered each in turn.
“Roger Grant chartered a trawler for the project. He picked that spot because salmon migrate through it. We added a hundred tons of iron over three weeks and knew it worked because the water looked bright green right away. Everyone in the villages was excited.”
“Tell us about Roger Grant. Why did you agree to work with him?”
William’s black eyes flashed. “I didn’t just agree. Some Environment Council members are old. Roger Grant’s an outsider. They didn’t trust him, couldn’t see he’s a genius. Some of us—the younger ones—argued with the council. They picked me to be their leader.” He pointed at the cabin’s window. “All those tiny phytoplankton floating around out there are starved for iron, and we fed it to them. Mr. Grant promises salmon will run heavy and long, like they used to. Besides that, the Haida will be leaders in reducing global warming with marine carbon credits.”
Ted jumped in. “How much did the Haida pay Grant?”
William thrust out his chin. “A million dollars.”
Harvey gasped. My hand flew to my lips.
Ted kept going. “And if it doesn’t work?”
“I just told you it’s working. We can see how green the water is.”
Ted opened his mouth then quickly shut it again. I guessed he was about to argue that you couldn’t just look at the water. You needed valid, scientific data.
I tried a different approach, and slipped into teacher mode to reduce the heat level. “William, it’s possible your iron enrichment created a phytoplankton bloom. It’s happened before. But Canadian oceanographers often see algal blooms out here this time of year. That’s the problem. You can’t distinguish naturally occurring blooms from iron-induced ones.”
The young man shook his head. “You don’t understand. Raven is watching over us. The iron worked.”
Did William really believe this? Clearly, he was a bright guy. And even Canada’s young Prime Minister sported a tattoo on his bicep with planet earth as Raven’s belly. Clearly, Raven was an iconic animal in the country.
Harvey brought us back to the task at hand. “William, we’ve got a plan for today. Take a look and see what you think.” She grabbed a pencil and pointed at the chart with the eraser end. “We can deploy an electronic device called a plankton sonde when we reach the eddy where you added iron and run a transect due east back to here. We should detect much higher phytoplankton densities in the locale you fertilized and progressively lower ones as we go east. Okay?”
“What’s a sonde?”
“It’s an electronic device we drag through the water to get continuous measurements of chlorophyll plus temperature and salinity.”
“More chlorophyll means more phytoplankton, right?”
“Correct.”
William ran a finger along the proposed transect. “That makes sense. Except it’s just one transect. By now, the algae bloom would have spread out many kilometers.”
“Excellent point,” I said. “We’re just getting a feel for the waters now. We’ll use satellite imagery to watch the bloom grow over time.”
“Satellites?”
“Oceanographers have used this technology for decades to measure phytoplankton in the ocean. Blooms increase light backscatter. So, basically, satellites detect light bouncing back from the ocean surface.”
William rubbed his neck and frowned. “But phytoplankton aren’t just at the surface. They float around in a three dimensional world. Can a satellite in the sky detect three-D?
I laughed. “It’s a problem, and that’s a great question. You’d make a terrific marine biologist, William.”
Just then, the Henry George rose up over a wave, slammed down with a shudder, and threw me at William. I landed against his chest with a “harrumph.” He smelled of sea, wool, and, well, maleness.
William held my shoulders before he stepped back. His touch quickened my heart.
“Um, gosh,” I said, “So sorry.” The ship climbed another wave, and I grabbed the map table to stay upright. “Seems like we’re in rougher waters. Maybe I should go outside for a bit.” Through the cabin windows, I watched gray-green sea spray spurt high into the air. “But maybe not.” I raised my voice. “Captain, are there crackers on the ship? Saltines usually help settle my stomach.”
I didn’t want to say that the vessel’s old engine flavored the cabin’s air with sickening diesel.
Captain Barney called over his shoulder, “There’s food below deck.”
William headed right for the ladder. “I’ll get them for you.”
“Follow you down,” Harvey said. “Need to use the facilities.”
William and Harvey clambered down the ladder to recesses below. That left me alone in the cabin with Captain Barney and Bart—both fixed on the messy expanse of ocean now in front of them—and Ted, who was fixed on me.
“What?” I asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You look cross.”
“Do I?” His frown eased. He put both hands out front and flipped his palms up.
He’d seen Angelo—my Italian godfather and only family—use a similar gesture.
“If you mean goodwill, the proper way includes a shrug and maybe one eyebrow raised.”
Demon Spirit, Devil Sea Page 4