“So how is this crazy American safe-tuna embargo affecting your business?” the captain asked the buyer.
“There’s a good chance Congress will lift it. Free trade’s a hot item now.”
“And you have friends in the government.”
“They’re for us, but the environmental crazies are fighting to keep the embargo. If it is lifted, the boycotts will start again. If they win, we can still ship tuna in through Taiwan, Thailand, and elsewhere. Then there’s the overseas market. It’ll be business as usual.”
Gandara motioned toward the dock and asked, “And my catch, how does it get to the States?”
“The embargo is only on tuna caught with dolphins. Once it’s in the can, who’s to know where it came from?”
“And the price, will it remain the same?”
“If there’s another boycott, the market may collapse.”
“There’s always the Asian and European markets.”
“We’re getting strong resistance from the German Greens. And the French may be next.”
“Damn meddling environmentalists,” Gandara said hatefully.
The captain noticed Billy watching and ordered, “You, go down to the galley and bring back something cold to drink. Pronto,
niño
. Pronto.”
As Billy turned to leave he heard Gandara tell the buyer, “Let’s get out of the sun and begin…”
Five minutes later Billy returned to the bridge carrying a tray of iced tea and stepped inside the wheelhouse. He looked around for the captain. A seaman polishing the brass compass housing pointed to Gandara’s quarters. Billy knocked softly and announced himself. The captain opened the door and took the tray. As he stepped back to place it on the round dining table, Billy peered inside. His eyes went wide. Before Gandara slammed the door in his face, Billy saw that the table was covered with stacks of U.S. currency and euros, bundled together with wide rubber bands. On the floor stood the buyer’s open briefcases. He murmured, “There’s a fortune on that table. He must be getting paid in cash. And I bet that’s so there’s no record of the company buying from Gandara.”
He finished his varnishing and escaped to the shade of the aft deck to clean his brush. As he dried the bristles, he thought, There must have been a million dollars sitting there. If a guy could jump ship with that kind of cash…
Involuntarily he placed a hand on his throat, remembering Santos. He decided that any attempt to make off with the money would be a very risky caper. He walked to the paint locker and put his tools away. He thought about drawing, then noticed that Arnold was working on the helicopter and climbed up the ladder to help him.
As Billy handed the pilot tools, they talked about keeping the chopper flying without a licensed airframe and engine mechanic. Shoptalk eased the tension between them, and Billy decided to chance a question. “Arnold, what’s all that tuna we unloaded worth?”
“He sold a full load…sixteen hundred tons, at the current price…call it fifteen hundred a ton…you figure it out.”
He juggled numbers in his mind and came up with a rough total. “That’s almost two and a half million dollars. And all that cash was sitting on his table!”
Arnold looked surprised and put down a socket wrench. “What cash?”
“The guy from the cannery was paying the captain in euros and U.S. dollars.”
“One way to avoid taxes and keep out of government computers.”
“It’s because of the embargo. That way nobody can trace where the tuna came from, right?”
Arnold gave Billy a look of warning. “Whatever you saw, or heard, or guess, keep it to yourself. Billy, we’re sailing for Costa Rica in the morning. In a few weeks you’ll get paid and be off the ship. Remember Arnold’s rule?”
“Cover your ass and keep your mouth shut.”
“You do that and you’ll be around to surf another wave.”
He turned, opened the cockpit door, and climbed inside to begin cranking over the engine. Billy called over the noise, “It’s all about killing those dolphins to catch tuna, isn’t it?”
As the engine fired, Arnold yelled at him, “You keep asking those questions, Billy, and you’ll really become the king’s messenger.”
B
enny hated earphones. They were uncomfortable and reminded him of toilet plungers, and they cut off sounds he wanted to hear—
Salvador
’s pounding engine, the creaking and groaning of the hull—but he needed to hear what the radio might bring. It was five in the morning, and he yawned.
Despite his left ear’s impairment from two burst eardrums, the hearing in his right ear was perfect. Earphones connected to the ship’s bank of radios were Benny’s far-ranging attempt to learn
Lucky Dragon
’s sailing orders. He had been listening and scanning the bands since midnight. At night, single sideband and UHF radio transmissions bounced around between the troposphere and the sea. With any luck he might intercept a message between Gandara and Universal Brands’ Samoa cannery transmitter. It had happened before. Benny reached for his coffeepot sitting on a hot plate and poured himself another cup. He knew he should cut down on caffeine, but he had to stay awake.
He adjusted the frequency and scanned the channels. There were so many to monitor—192 in all that
Lucky Dragon
might be receiving or sending on. And the cannery could be transmitting scrambled messages. He knew the company used a code. He’d broken it before, but they had changed it again. Maybe someone would get careless and send an uncoded message. That was what Benny was waiting for: a careless mistake. An hour later he got lucky. It came as a signal bounced erratically from land to sky and down to
Salvador
’s antenna. The voice was very weak. Benny guessed the transmission came from a handheld radio announcing
Lucky Dragon
’s departure to the port captain at Pago Pago. It was a standard, curt transmission from someone on the clipper’s bridge followed by the port captain wishing
Lucky Dragon
a safe voyage to Costa Rica.
“Got you now, sucker,” Benny muttered as he ripped off the earphones and moved to the chart table.
He unrolled a map of the eastern Pacific and tried to visualize his problem as a whole. At
Lucky Dragon
’s cruising speed, she would take about twelve days to reach Costa Rica. Then Gandara would put in to port for fuel and supplies, probably at Puntarenas. So he’d be fishing somewhere off Central America in about three weeks. Benny shook his head sadly.
And we have to dock at Suva, Fiji, for repairs. How long is that going to take? Maybe a week. Do I chance sailing on with a dirty bottom and a failing generator? We have to fill the fuel tanks anyway. So we make the ship ready, then go after him.
Benny turned from the chart and spoke to a young helmsman. “I’m getting some sleep, Jamie. Keep an eye on the radar and depth sounder. We’ll be nearing the coast shortly.”
Benny entered his cabin, lay on the narrow bunk and tried to relax. Into his mind he brought a favorite image that always helped him fall asleep. He was in the water with the dolphins, somehow given the power to journey with them. His legs kicked like their flukes. Without the slightest effort he could swim at their speed, diving and surfacing, joyously chasing fish. In time, the pod come to acknowledge him as their leader and he guided them safely around the nets. He smiled and then drifted into a deep sleep.
The second day out of Samoa,
Lucky Dragon
’s mast lookout spotted birds working a school of bait and picked up the phone to alert the bridge. The helmsman spun the wheel and sent the clipper on a heading to investigate. Ten minutes later the lookout put down his binoculars and reported dolphins under the wheeling, dipping flock.
The captain studied the pod through spotting glasses. It was a large throng and the schooling yellowfin below the dolphins would number in the thousands. Gandara turned to Santos. “Unusual to find them out here so far from land. Perhaps it’s the currents, or the seas are growing warmer. Something’s changing their migration pattern.”
“It’s because we have a lucky ship,” Santos said, grinning with anticipation. “And we will find tuna with them. I can feel it, captain.”
“So can I, Santos. Shall we gamble and make a set?”
“With you, the odds are good.”
Gandara called into the wheelhouse, “Radar?”
“Nothing on the scope, captain.”
Gandara patted Santos on the back like an Englishman petting his pet Yorkshire terrier and said, “This time, Santos, you order the set.”
The mate smiled, tapped the klaxon’s button, and picked up the mike.
“Atún! Atún! Atún!”
Billy’s stomach constricted as the skiff dropped off the stern and smashed into the water. He didn’t want to be in the boat, but Rocha had grabbed him and hurled him aboard with a warning that his refusal to work would give Santos an excuse to belt him again. Remembering the mate’s hands around his throat, Billy stood numbly and watched the net spill off the clipper’s stern. He knew enough now not to ask about the sharp thump of the seal bombs exploding in front of the pod that destroyed their acute sensing capabilities. The sight of the cowboys harassing the dolphins ignited his anger.
He turned to Rocha. “It’s like we’re at war with them. There’s gotta be a better way to catch tuna!”
“Yeah, with hooks, like my grandfather used to use. In the old days, they’d throw bait in for ’em, then cast out the hooks. Tuna bite on anything. He said they caught one-, two-, and three-pole tuna.”
“What’s that mean?” Billy asked, wanting to keep the talk going.
“Small tuna…one man to one pole and a hook. Bigger tuna…two men to two poles and a line to one hook. And for the big ones, it took three guys holding three poles attached to one line and a single hook. Yeah, they’d catch a few hundred out of a school. Big deal. With the net, we get ’em by the thousands.”
They stood in the roaring skiff listening to radio chatter between the bridge and the chase boat drivers. Billy bit his lip and prayed the dolphins would not be stopped by the cowboys hurling seal bombs. The voices from the speaker were excited, anxious, and Billy heard one of the cowboys yelling, “They’re not turning. There’s a big male leading them away! We’re losing ’em!”
Then Gandara ordered, “Well then, stop him.”
“Jesus, captain, how?”
“You’re a boat driver, aren’t you? Chop him up with your propeller.”
As they raced to close the net, Billy saw one of the speedboats charge the lead dolphin. The snarling outboard was no more than thirty yards away when it rammed into the big male. An instant later the propeller sliced through the creature’s back, ripping him open to the spine. His murder stopped the old dolphin’s followers and they turned aside to group around him. Several of the pod nudged him with their beaks as if mourning his death. Rocha drove the skiff around the milling, confused dolphins, and the net sealed off their escape.
Billy turned his eyes away and peered over the side looking for sharks amid the cauldron of thrashing creatures. Maybe this time there wouldn’t be any. Maybe the captain would order a back-down. He shifted his eyes to the sea. It was oily calm, without a cloud in the sky. Rocha had said that in smooth seas American skippers always backed down, allowing almost all of the dolphins to escape the net. It was during night fishing, or when the ocean was rough, Rocha had explained, that disaster sets occurred.
Well, today, damn it to hell, it’s like a swimming pool out here.
Rocha yelled for Billy to cast off from the net. He reached over the stern and unhooked the line. Then Rocha turned the skiff away from the clipper and they idled alongside the corkline, some fifty yards off
Lucky Dragon
’s stern.
As the net drew tighter, the frenzied dolphins beat against the mesh and became entangled, drowning themselves. Billy yelled at Rocha, “We gotta cut the net!”
“Are you crazy or something?”
“Don’t you understand? We gotta save them!”
“Shut the hell up!”
Directly below the corkline a dolphin struggled in the webbing, drowning before Billy’s eyes. His rage came pouring out. He jumped on the engine cover and screamed, “Damn you, you’re killing them all, you bastard!”
On the bridge, Gandara leaned against the railing watching the seine skiff when Billy’s cry reached across the water. The captain swore and lifted the binoculars hanging around his neck. He focused on the skiff and saw the young American dive into the net. Gandara murmured, “Since you like to swim so much…”
Amid the thrashing, crazed dolphins Billy dove and untangled one. Riding it to the surface, he thrust it over the net. Another beat against the corkline, and he hurled it over the rim. He was consumed by his battle to save them and lost all sense of where he was, who he was, what he was. All that mattered was freeing them. He failed to realize that the net was shrinking around him until he heard Rocha yell that sharks were arriving.
His hands went around the body of a small female caught in the upper strands. At his touch she ceased struggling and allowed him to untangle her. She looked familiar. He thought the dolphin might be one he had saved before and began swimming her toward the corkline. As he gasped for breath, he told the dolphin, “Not so smart to get caught again.”
On the bridge, Gandara picked up a handheld radio and keyed the transmit button. “Rocha, bring the skiff back immediately, and I mean right now.”
The boatman’s astonished voice came out of the radio’s tinny speaker. “But, captain, he’s—”
“Now, Rocha! That is an order! Pronto! Pronto! Or you’re shark bait too!”
He saw the boatman hesitate, then start the engine and turn the skiff toward
Lucky Dragon
. Gandara turned to yell at the helmsman, “We’re getting under way. Give me three knots, slow and steady.”
He brought the radio to his lips, “Santos, haul the net as fast as you can. Pronto, man. Pronto!”
Santos didn’t question the command.
Billy reached the corkline and gently shoved the little female out of the net. The dolphin floated just beyond the rim, looking at him instead of swimming away. Billy called to her. “What’s a matter with you?”
He wriggled over the net and reached for the dolphin. This time she didn’t swim off. He put his hands around the dolphin’s body and began to tow her from the net. As they inched away from the corkline she drew life from his touch. He felt her quiver. Then her fluke began to beat against the water. “Go on,” he urged. “You can make it. Get out of here!”
The dolphin gathered strength. With an energetic beat of her tail, she swam on. He watched her leave and turned to look for the skiff. The boat wasn’t there. He spun toward the ship. His eyes went wide with dread. The skiff floated beside the ship and the net was being drawn aboard.
He screamed at the clipper, “No!”
On the aft deck, Rocha heard Billy’s frantic cry. He turned to see the captain on the bridge wing watching Billy. Santos moved quickly to intercept Rocha and grabbed the boatman. “Stay out of it,
niño
….”
In the water Billy sprinted after the trailing edge of the net that retreated from his grasp. He swam harder and faster, faster than when he had won the lifeguard one-mile rough water swim two years ago. But he wasn’t fast enough to seize the corkline.
He gave up and screamed at the departing ship, “Don’t leave me!”
The crew turned their backs on him and returned to work. Only Rocha remained at the railing, staring at him with a haunted expression of resignation.
Billy’s chest burned from exertion and he was forced to tread water. As the ship sailed off he saw Gandara and Santos move toward the midship railing. A splash of bright color caught his attention. The mate was carrying his surfboard, and he saw Santos throw it far over the side. A moment later he hurled Billy’s pack and getaway bag into the sea, removing the last evidence of his existence. Billy realized that by disposing of him and his things, Gandara was cleansing the ship of the guilt he had brought aboard.
Exhausted, and badly frightened, Billy watched the clipper sail away. There was nothing he could do except swim for the surfboard and climb on. As
Lucky Dragon
receded from view, the last of the dolphins caught in the net were tossed overboard leaving a bloody trail of their dead and broken bodies in the clipper’s wake.
With tears of fear, rage, and frustration streaming down his face, Billy sat up straight and bellowed his outrage, “I’ll sink you, Gandara, I swear to God I will!”
Emotionally drained and physically exhausted, Billy turned away from the ship and looked about. There was nothing to break the empty line of horizon.