Chapter 1
Late spring, and the beaches of St. Paul bustled with activity. A cool gentle breeze blew across the sands of the tiny island in the Pacific Northwest off the coast of Alaska. At the foot of the dark gray basaltic cliffs skirting the island, Northern fur seals, actually a species of sea lion, noisily courted, mated, and cared for their young. The pugnacious females fought among themselves and vied for the attention of the seemingly apathetic bulls. One of the bulls came to life for a moment and charged a nearby neighbor, ostensibly without provocation, and then abruptly broke off the fight. Elegantly, he lifted one of his long front flippers to his head and stroked the vibrissae on his snout.
Nearby, a small colony of California sea lions engaged in similar activity but with greater passion. A cacophony of barks, roars and growls filled the air like an angry mob about to rumble. On another beach not far away, a colony of Steller sea lions inhabited the rookery of a rocky shoreline. The male Stellers are about three times the size of the California variety popularized in zoos and aquariums around the world, but every bit as agile.
As in the other colonies, the males fought to establish dominance. The biggest and most aggressive bull on the rookery became the beachmaster. The beachmaster ruled the colony. All of the other males aspired to the position. The benefits of the beachmaster were worth the fight. Only the beachmaster could breed with all of the females that season.
Today, a young bull challenged the throne. He approached with his head turned sideways to avoid a blow to the eyes and, opening his jaw to reveal the four, six-inch long, thick, sharp canines, let out a deep, thunderous roar louder than any lion in Africa. The beachmaster immediately recognized the threat, and charged the young bull with his full weight of twenty-four hundred pounds. There had never been an animal as big and agile. He fathered over a thousand pups in the three years since he killed his own father in a rare battle to the death.
One lunge with his massive neck, he struck the challenger and sunk his interlocking canines into the chest of the young bull. The sound reverberated across the water, frightening a flock of gulls into the brilliant blue sky. The battle was over. Protected by a half foot of blubber, the injury was minor, but the result the same. The young bull scampered back to the rest of the wannabees and cleaned his flippers, feigning indifference.
The beachmaster remained in position for a few minutes, as if daring any of the other males to challenge him. He raised himself up, pushing out his enormous chest that bristled with dense, course brown hair. The beachmaster roared a long, loud warning to any other would-be challengers, turned, and looked for his next amorous encounter. As he did, a semi-circular scar near the base of his rear left flipper was visible—the result of an attack by a Great White when he was a pup. Many of his siblings were less fortunate.
A three-day-old pup rolled out from under its mother as the huge beachmaster strode past; completely oblivious to the baying animal he just crushed out of existence. Only one thought drove his behavior.
Down by the edge of the shore, several month-old pups ventured into the shallows for their first taste of saltwater. Just beyond the protective shoals of the beach, a lone Great White, over eighteen feet long, patrolled the territory looking for its next meal.
Farther out, several humpbacks playfully erupted from the water and splashed down with a loud thud on the surface. Scientists thought they were ridding themselves of parasites on the surface of their rubbery skin when they breached, while the more romantic types felt they were doing it because it was fun. All at once, they were gone.
The pups playfully chased each other in the water, then splashed and leaped back onto the beach where they engaged in mock battles. The play behavior was a precursor for the future. One day they would challenge their own father for the supremacy of the rookery. The winner inherited the harem.
Suddenly, there was a pall over the beach. All the animals froze.
Chapter 2
The skies were clear except for an occasional puffy white cloud that drifted across the periwinkle-blue expanse. It was 10:00 in the morning on the East Coast. The sun erupted off the horizon like a giant, red bubble bursting in slow motion and sent slivers of silver and orange in every direction as it glistened off the putrid waters of Cape May. Ben Harrington reached over the side and dragged his hand through the water leaving a small wake. The water was a dark amber color. This disturbed him. He scooped up a handful and could scarcely see the bottom of his hand. The obstacle of dirty water was going to make it that much more difficult.
Ben was five foot ten, weighed one-sixty five, muscular with soft brown hair, a well-trimmed beard and mustache. His mother was Italian, his father Hispanic. The combination gave Ben a perpetual tan. He also possessed a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy and he demanded the same from his new staff. Ben was the Curator of the new Ocean Beach Aquarium in New London, Connecticut and he was there to capture live sharks for the grand opening.
The captain told Ben that the local anglers had reported catches of relatively small, four- or five-foot, browns, duskies and an occasional sand tiger shark. In particular, Ben desired the sand tiger. He knew these magnificent creatures had impressive dentures with long sharp teeth sticking out in every direction making them look like a man-eater. Attacks by sand tigers were rare, however.
Ben and Jack Caldwell, his assistant, had been out all night taking in the nightlife in Wildwood, New Jersey. Jack was twenty-one, also of Italian descent but with a head of black curly hair and ghostly white skin. Too long in the sun, and Jack was a boiled lobster. He graduated from a small local college with honors, but refused to continue his studies because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He didn’t want to be stuck in a classroom for the best years of his life. Adventure and excitement—that is what he desired. Jack loved the ocean and said he would do anything, even clean the outhouses, just to work at the new aquarium. Ben tested his mettle by giving him his first assignment: cleaning the outhouses. Jack had them spotless in less than half an hour and showed up covered in blue slime looking for more work. Ben hired him as an aquarist on the spot.
Wildwood, they discovered, was an appropriate name. The small city had a bar on every corner in between blocks of other bars and they were determined, “…in the interest of scientific exploration,” according to Ben, to investigate every one of them before sunrise. That morning Ben’s head felt like it was inside a giant bell as he nursed a cruel hangover.
“Come on, you numbskulls,” yelled Captain Billy to his two young mates. “Get the tackle out. Come on. Bait ‘em! What a’ya waitin’ for?”
Captain Billy continuously bombarded the two teenagers he hired for the summer with a plethora of expletives. They spewed forth from the grungy, old captain like spit. Ben thought Captain Billy looked and acted like the captain from Jaws and wondered if he had seen the movie one too many times. His breath smelled of old liquor—whiskey—and nearly cost Ben his breakfast.
The two boys were both around seventeen and recently graduated from high school. Both Ray and Tommy planned to attend college in the fall and needed the work. They put up with the harassment because Captain Billy paid them well, at least better than working in fast food.
“Come on! Get a move on. These people ain’t got all day, ya know. Here,” he said yanking one of the fishing rods from Tommy’s hands. “I’ll do it myself. What’d they teach you in school anyway? How to sleep? Ya ain’t no good for nothin’ else. What ‘em I payin’ you for anyhow?”
Ben tried to diffuse the tension offering to take the rod, only to draw the captain’s ire. The captain looked at Ben with one eyebrow raised and snarled through his mangy white beard, “S’cuse me, Mr. Fancy pants. I’m captain of this boat. Sit down and wait. I’ll give you the tackle when I’m good and ready!”
Ben threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, Cap. Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
“Look. Jus’ cause ya got money don’t mean you can boss me around none. Now take the tackle and get yourself a shark.” Under his breath, the captain cursed everyone and everything.
Ben sat down on the chair while the captain set Jack up with a rig nearby. Ben enjoyed every minute of Jack’s discomfort as Jack tried desperately, and not very successfully, to avoid the captain’s breath. He bolted to the side of the boat and threw up breakfast.
Ben chided, “That’s not going to attract the sharks, ya know.”
Jack scowled. Captain Billy shoved the rod into Jack’s hands and strode off. With both men ready to fish, the captain adjusted the boat to trawling speed. Tommy threw a cup full of fish blood and guts overboard every minute or so to attract sharks to the bait.
Ten minutes passed in silence when Ben felt the line become heavy. The pole bent down to the deck. Ben thought he had snagged bottom.
“Get the other line in! Quick! Or we’ll tangle!” yelled the captain. Jack quickly reeled in. Ben’s line slowly disappeared as the drag reached its maximum capacity. He looked over at the captain questioningly, as he tried to lift the tip of the rod; it didn’t budge. Captain Billy growled, “Well? Reel ‘em in! What’a’ya waiting for? Come on! I ain’t got all day.”
After several minutes, the run stopped and the line went slack. Ben was crushed. He reeled the slack line back in. The bait was almost to the boat when, without warning, the pole snapped back down to the deck and yanked Ben out of the chair, slamming him into the transom. He planted both his feet against the stern and leaned back against the pull of the rod. The veins in Ben’s arms appeared ready to burst; his muscles strained and trembled. Ray scrambled over and held on to Ben’s belt so he wouldn’t go overboard.
The captain, convinced it was just a small shark, ridiculed Ben. “Come on, ya little sissy. That all ya got? What a’ya, a weakling? We ain’t got all day, ya know!”
Ben was incensed at the condescending remarks and defiantly tightened the drag to increase resistance on the reel. He was determined not to let whatever it was get away. Incensed, Captain Billy yelled, “What’ a’ya doing? Yer gonna break my reel!”
Ben ignored the outburst and stream of expletives that spewed from his mouth like a venomous serpent poisoning its prey. He felt like the old man and the sea from Hemingway’s novel and wondered if he, too, might fight the shark for days on end. After forty-five minutes, Ben was ready to quit. He reached down for a knife to cut the line. As he did, he caught a look from the photographer, Sam, an older man with sad eyes. Sam was along for a newspaper story. Clearly, he was disappointed.
“I take it you were hoping for a photo op?”
“Well, yeah. It would be great for the Aquarium to have a front-page picture of a man-eater. Don’t you think?”
Ben’s pride was hurt and now the photographer made him feel guilty. How would that look in the paper?
Ben put the knife down. The shark stopped fighting a few minutes later. Ben’s muscles twitched and his hands hurt. As he reeled the spent animal up to the boat, he was flabbergasted. The shark was twelve-feet long and weighed over eight hundred pounds. The sand tiger was every bit as ferocious looking as the pictures he had seen. Ben’s heart beat wildly—the exhaustion evaporated. What a fabulous addition to the collection this will make. Then he realized the boxes were too small.
“What if we folded him in half?” asked Jack.
“Funny. Maybe you can clean the outhouses again when we get back.”
“Just kiddin’, boss. He’s really something!”
“She.”
“What?”
“He’s a she. See?” said Ben pointing just below the belly. “No claspers. And she’s pregnant. I couldn’t take her if I wanted to.”
Tommy was standing nearby ready to gaff the animal. Ben waved him off.
“You can put that thing away. Even if I were to pull her aboard, we can’t use a gaff. I don’t want the animals damaged.”
“Oh. Sorry. What difference does it make if she’s pregnant anyway?”
“To let her go back and have her babies.”
“They’re only sharks. What’s the big deal?”
“Respect for the ocean. It doesn’t belong to man. If all of the sharks were killed off, what do you think would happen to the ecological balance of the sea?”
“I don’t know. Don’t care much either,” he said snickering.
Whap! Captain Billy came up and slapped Tommy across the ear with the back of his hand. “Listen for a change instead of wise-mouthing. The man’s a biologist, for cryin’ out loud. Shut your yap and learn something for once in your life.”
Ben was incredulous. He never expected the old man to take his side. The photographer took a few photos, the captain cut the line, and they all watched as the shark disappeared slowly into the dark depths of the bay.
After a few minutes rest, Jack and Ben recast their lines. Ben looked at Jack.
“Your turn.”
As he said this, Ben hooked another shark. He was tempted to give the rod to Jack. However, to preserve his fragile ego, he accepted the new challenge. Twenty minutes later he landed a six foot Brown shark—a beautiful, sleek animal.
“Grab the noose!” yelled Ben. “Jack, fill the box.”
Jack threw a sump pump into the water and attached it to a car battery. He directed the stream of water into the box.
The captain dropped a nylon noose over the shark and heaved it aboard. His intention was to drop it directly into the box. He missed. Suddenly, the shark went ballistic, writhing and snapping at legs and feet. Jack slammed into Ben trying to get away, while Ben tried to assist the captain. They fell down in a heap.
Tommy jumped into the live box, but realized that was where they were trying to put the shark. Ray jumped out of the boat and into the water before he realized his mistake. The blood they tossed in the water all morning was attracting a number of sharks and they instantly responded to the splash.
“Help!” screamed Ray as he desperately grabbed at the transom only to slide back in. A shark fin cut a path through the water directly at Ray. He kicked and caught the animal in the snout while still yelling and screaming. He was on the cusp of panic.
Ben managed to extricate himself from entanglement with Jack, reached over, grabbed Ray’s arm, and yanked him into the boat in one swift motion moments before two more sharks hit the side of the boat — exactly where Ray had been a second earlier.
“Grab the tail!” screamed the captain as he struggled to control the lethal end of the shark. Tommy made his way cautiously over to the writhing shark and tried in vain to grab the perpetually moving caudal fin. He lunged and the fin slapped him across the face, leaving a streak of blood from the sandpaper-like skin. Jack let go of Ray and jumped on the tail, and together he and the captain heaved the animal back into the water.
The animal continued to fight the rope, drawing the attention of the other sharks. Ben reached over and cut the rope, but it was too late. The other sharks tore into the animal and ripped it to shreds. Ben felt terribly guilty.
***
Ben and Jack resumed fishing and landed several smaller sharks—one of them a sand tiger only four feet long. After the fifth animal, Ben decided to stop.
“What’s wrong with them?” asked Jack as he observed the scowl on Ben’s forehead.
“They’re not getting any oxygen from the water. Look how dirty it is. I knew this was going to be a problem.”
“Uh oh. Looks like trouble,” remarked Jack directing Ben’s attention to the back of the boat. Anglers from another boat fifty yards off the port were shouting at one another, as one of them fought with his pole. Jack stood up and watched.
“It’s the ‘Barry’s Teats.’ Charter out of New York,” said Tommy. “Real jerks. Watch.”
One of the mates reached over the side as the shark came up to the boat and jammed a gaff into the animal’s gills. He yanked it halfway up the side of the boat while the proud fisherman took out a large Bowie knife and plunged it into the shark’s anus. He ripped the flesh of the animal clean open from anus to jaw in one motion. Then he let the shark slide back into the water, where it quickly became a red, boiling broth of shark stew, to the cheers of the fishermen.
“What are you doing?” yelled Ben as loud as he could. He was furious. “Knock it off! What’s wrong with you idiots?”
They all laughed and flipped Ben off. Ben looked at the sharks struggling to survive in the live boxes and wondered if what they were doing was any better.
The captain fired up the inboards and headed back toward the docks. Ben showed Jack and Tommy how to press down on the caudal peduncle, an area just behind the second dorsal fin, to stimulate the shark to swim and keep the animal breathing. They netted out bits of mucous from the buildup of acid in the box caused by the animal’s secretions reacting with the dirty water. By the time they reached the docks, two of the sharks stopped breathing.
“Get fresh water in the boxes! Quick!” ordered Ben. He was frantic. “Is there an aquarium or pet store around here?”
“Yeah. There’s one downtown. ‘Bout ten minutes away,” remarked the captain. He was uncharacteristically quiet.
“Can you send one of your mates for as many bags of artificial sea salt as you can find?”
“Yeah. Tommy, get a move on it.”
“But…what about my face?”
“Looks good. Made a man outta ya. Probably get a date out of it. Don’t be a sissy now.”
Ben gave him a wad of $20s. “How about a place where I can get some oxygen tanks? I’ll need at least a couple of them with valves.”
“That’d be the welding store on Cedar. Ray.”
Ben gave Ray another wad of $20s. “Jack, take the truck over to the grocery store across the street from the hotel and get me a bunch of boxes of Arm and Hammer baking soda.”
“How many?”
“As many as they have. And hurry. We have very little time.”
Ben ran back and forth between the sharks trying to keep the mucous off the gills and kept them swimming. He placed a foam pad at the intake of each of the recirculating pumps. That helped clear the water, but the pH was still dropping. Last reading it was 5.8. He pumped new seawater into the boxes and drained them, while waiting for Tommy to show up with 600 pounds of Instant Ocean sea salts. Ben had him fill a 30-gallon barrel and mix the salts with fresh water from the hose. Once mixed, Ben drained the tanks, moved them into the truck, refilled each one with the new artificial mixture and then checked the concentration with a hydrometer.
Billy came back with six large oxygen tanks with valves. Ben hooked these up to the aerators and opened the valves slightly. None of the sharks were breathing.
“Move the aerator in front of the sharks. Everyone grab one. Put the recirculating pump right near the mouth.”
Ben added the baking soda and brought the pH back up to 8.4, normal for seawater.
Ben pushed gently on the caudal peduncle and stimulated the swimming reflex on one of the sharks. It began to move. He instructed the others to do the same. All but one responded. Ben and Jack dumped the dead animal off the docks for the scavengers to reclaim.
“Look on the bright side, boss. We still have five left.”
“I don’t like to see animals die because of me. Remember that, Jack.”
Jack was surprised at the depth of pain visible in Ben’s eyes. Ben turned back to the living animals. The captain came over and kneeled down next to him.
“Can I borrow your mates overnight, Cap?”
“What? How can I do that? I need to get the boat out again tomorrow.”
“I’ll pay double what you’d get from the charter. I need them to help me keep the sharks alive until we get to New London. I’ll put them back on a plane first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll even pay their salaries for tomorrow.”
To everyone’s surprise, the captain said, “Give them each a hundred dollar bonus and you got a deal.”
***
A year earlier, Ben heard a lecture about the so-called “sleeping sharks of Borneo.” Dr. Eugenie Clark discovered a cave of inactive sharks. Prior to her discovery, it was thought that all Requiem sharks, without exception, needed to swim continuously in order to survive. She described the phenomenon as a narcoleptic effect most likely due to the water conditions in the cave. The low specific gravity or concentration of salt in the water, coupled with an increase in oxygen put the sharks to sleep by slowing their breathing. Ben hoped to duplicate those conditions in the box in the back of the truck, for the ride back to New London. He purposely adjusted the specific gravity below that of seawater to 1.020. By injecting the oxygen and saturating the water, he kept the sharks alive.
They arrived at the Aquarium early the next morning after driving through the night. Once the animals were swimming on their own in the Olympic size swimming pool they were using as a temporary holding tank, Ben and Jack collapsed in the back of the van until late that afternoon.
Chapter 3
One hundred miles south of the Pribilof Islands, the tsunami raced northward at 500 miles an hour. The powerful wave struck the shelf of the Bering Sea, throwing the bottom into a tumult. Flounder and crabs were torn from their resting and hiding places. Schools of fish burst chaotically in every direction to avoid the force of the approaching wave. In its path sat the small fishing boat, Katura.
“Start the winch! She’s full!” yelled the second mate.
The captain, George Johansen, turned the wheel and brought the boat about encircling a school of Pollack. He and his crew were dependent on this catch—the loan company was going to repossess his boat if he missed another payment. With six mouths to feed, that was not an option. He intended to fish until he caught his quota or ran out of gas; whichever came first.
d the lever to the winch down as the net slowly inched closer to the side of the boat. The second mate and two deck hands stood ready to divert the catch into the hold.
For the first time in months, George was excited. As long as the winch didn’t quit, he knew they could reach their quota. His good feeling vanished in an instant when the vessel lurched and threw him forward over the wheel. He landed head first into the windshield. The crew sprawled across the deck. The first mate snapped the handle off the winch as he tried in vane to keep from sailing over the edge.
George pulled himself up to see what happened, when the entire boat submerged and then snapped back to the surface as if being shot from a catapult. The boat spun 360 degrees three times before settling. They fought the centrifugal force threatening to suck them off the deck and out to sea like a giant vacuum.
“Is everyone okay?” screamed George.
The second mate helped the deck hands to their feet. “We’re here, but I don’t see Frank. Where’s Frank?”
George scrambled around the deck, looking over the side for his first mate. Frantically, he ran from one side to the otgain, he stopped in mid sentence as something in the distance caught his attention. “Look!”
As George pointed northeast toward the Islands, he watched what looked like a giant sea monster emerging from the ocean, as it raised its long, powerful neck.
Chapter 4
“It’s two in the morning. You can’t expect me…”
“I know it’s two in the morning. I haven’t had any sleep either. Now wake the inspector up now!”
Ben was functioning on little sleep, and in no mood for any attitude from the security guard. Sitting on the floor behind the officer were two large Styrofoam boxes, over four feet long and two feet wide. The precious and rare cargo spent forty-eight hours in transit already, and Ben was not about to tolerate any delays.
“Wait here,” demanded the officer as he disappeared behind the counter and picked up the phone. Two minutes later, two security officers came strutting down Concourse B at Kennedy Airport. When they arrived, the original officer came back out from behind the counter.
“Like I said. Either sit quietly until the customs official gets here or I’ll have you thrown out of the airport and we’ll eat your fish. Do I make myself clear?”
Ben was so angry he couldn’t speak. The other officers stood with their hands on their hips and dared Ben to try something. Instead, he pulled out a cell phone and punched in a number. Puzzled, the officers looked at one another.
“Channel 8 newsroom, please. Yes, I’ll hold.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“If I wait here all night, two very valuable animals are going to die. I want the TV cameras here when I open the boxes…Officer…Smith? Just want to make sure I get the names right. And yours is…Crandall and…”
“Now wait a minute. You can’t do that.”
“Watch me. How do you think your kids will feel when they find out Daddy was responsible for the death of two endangered animals?”
Ben held the phone to his ear, while the three discussed their options.
“Wait a minute. I’ll call. I’ll call. Hang up the phone.”
Ben cancelled the call he never placed.
***
It was 6:00 AM on Tuesday morning, when Ben pulled into the parking lot at Ocean Beach with his cargo of two, live Australian lungfish. The Aquarium was situated where the Gam building used to be, before it collapsed one night without warning due to age and neglect. Times had been tough for the city, and it lacked the funds to repair the building. Even the beautiful boardwalk disintegrated from shoddy construction—a result of awarding the contract to the lowest bidder. Ben’s dream, and an old man’s money, changed all that.
Ben worked at the New England Aquarium in Boston for several years as Senior Aquarist, and dreamed of opening his own aquarium. Having grown up in New London, Ben thought Ocean Beach would be an ideal location for a public aquarium. Every evening for three years, he worked diligently on plans for a quality attraction that displayed with dignity the animals of the world’s oceans. Pure chance led to a conversation with an older man in his eighties at an aquarium function in Boston that made his dream a reality.
Jack came out to assist Ben, followed by Ronnie Semanski, the other Aquarist. Ronnie was a thin, petite redhead, a tireless worker and determined to prove herself the equal of a man twice her size. Ben was impressed with her knowledge of the sea, even though she had no formal education. She was also a certified diver and a superb swimmer.
“Can I see them?” asked Ronnie as she tried to lift the corner of the lid.
Ben smacked her hand playfully. “Get outta there. You can wait like the rest of us. Besides, you want to give the poor animals a heart attack? They’ve been in that box for over two days.”
“Are you sure they’re alive?”
“Yeah, I checked on them before we…”
“Aha! I caught you. You peeked and now you won’t let me. Is it because I’m a woman? You don’t like women, do you?”
“Give me a break, will ya? I’m exhausted. I just need to lie down and grab a few winks.”
“Sorry, boss,” Jack piped in. “The truck with the gravel just showed up and they can’t get near the building because of the construction. They need you over there right away. Why don’t you let Ronnie and me handle the lungfish? We’ll be fine.”
Ben let out a long sigh. “Okay. Just let me get a coffee and tell them I’ll be right there.”
Ben dragged his tired body into the staff lounge and poured a large, black coffee. He took a long, deep sip before spitting it out in the sink. “Tastes like it’s been in there since last night.”
Ben found the pace of opening a public aquarium physically and mentally exhausting. One hundred hours per week was the norm for the last two months, but it would all come to a screeching halt in three weeks. Unloading twenty thousand pounds of coral gravel was just one of the many problems he faced along the way.
Six hours later, Ben staggered back into the staff lounge and collapsed on a chair. The coffee pot was still on and a blackened lump of pulsating tar clung to the bottom. He was not up to cleaning it and making another pot, and he wanted to find out who was responsible for the mess and yell at them, but he was too tired.
“Ben Harrington, line two. Ben Harrington, pick up on line two. Long distance.” The intercom was the one thing he wished did not work so well.
“This is Ben. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Harrington, this is the National Marine Fisheries Service main office in Seattle. I was asked to call you in regard to your application for twelve Northern fur seals…” Ben held his breath. “I’m sorry to inform you, but the application was denied.”
“What? Why? I need those animals. We open in three weeks and I was promised we could have them.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I was told you could apply again in six months…”
“I don’t need them in six months. I need them now! Hello? Hello?” Ben chastised himself for yelling at the woman. He didn’t blame her for hanging up on him, but now he didn’t know what to do.
The phone call snapped the tiredness from his mind and he paced back and forth. He decided to focus on the positive, and went for a walk through the building. The aquarium building was a marvel of design. Ben rejected dozens of ostentatious drawings looking for something classy. The drawing had to be fresh and exciting, but regal and slightly academic—like a museum. When he visited other aquariums, the carnival-like atmosphere struck Ben the wrong way. He hated the way majestic marine animals were denigrated to circus clowns for the amusement of visitors. Ben was sure he could entertain and teach at the same time, without resorting to theatrics. Respect for life in the oceans was his first priority.
The Ocean Beach Aquarium was an impressive structure; with walls seven stories high and a glass atrium at the main entrance overlooking the beach. Fisher’s Island and Block Island were visible on clear days, and looked like an easy swim. On the top floor of the atrium was a small restaurant that featured seafood. A full-scale model of a humpback whale, cast from fiberglass, hung from the ceiling of the atrium. The ceiling lighting gave the illusion of the water’s surface, and the stunning black creature with pendulous white pectoral fins dove perpetually into the abyss.
The main attraction inside was the Open Seas exhibit. The monolithic exhibit, situated in the center, jutted up the entire height of the building. Ben was impressed with the large aquarium in Boston, and decided that his aquarium would be more awe-inspiring. He designed and fabricated most of the artificial coral from fiberglass and epoxy, techniques he had learned while at the New England Aquarium, and a few of his own. Giant floating gorgonians, for example, cast from clay models that Ben made personally, looked and moved just like the real thing. Thick bunches provided shelter to hundreds of small, colorful fish from Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. The diverse life in that region of the world was unparalleled for its variety of shapes and gaudy colors. Since New England had a Caribbean reef, Ben decided to be different.
Additional floors housed numerous smaller aquariums with themes that taught visitors about every facet of life in the ocean. There were classrooms and small movie theaters on almost every floor. The obligatory Omni-Max Theater faced the parking lot.
Outside, another large exhibit with massive gray cliff walls abutted the building. A clear, green pool of cold water swirled inside the glass walls on the visitors’ side. These were buttressed with other large walls of gray rock made from gunnite, a form of sprayed cement that had been hand sculpted by Ben and his crew. He stopped at the exhibit and wondered what he was going to do without the fur seals. He knew there would be something there for opening day; he just did not know what.
Chapter 5
Moving at over four hundred miles an hour, the tsunami bore down on the island of St. Paul with the force of a nuclear explosion. Thirsty for power, it sucked water away from the shore miles before it slammed into the island, leaving fish, kelp, crabs and sponges exposed to the air. Barking and screeching the pups ascended the wave and then tumbled into the sea below, only to be picked up and thrown down again, crushing the life from their young bodies.
Like some evil entity, the tsunami swelled up over the island and swallowed it. Without stopping, the wave swept over the island of St. Paul at a height of fifty-five feet and flattened trees, walls, villages and homes. Thousands of people, along with the sea lions, were swept across the island and out to sea.
A monster over eighteen feet long cruised just beneath the surface in pursuit of victims. An opportunistic feeder, the vicious eating machine was oblivious to the plight of the baby sea lions. Instinct drove the efficient killer as it snapped up the young animals in its powerful jaws, tossed them in the air like toys, and cut them to shreds with razor sharp rows of triangular, serrated teeth. One young sea lion managed to struggle to the surface after the wave spared him, only to find himself in another struggle for his life.
The creature’s dorsal fin cut the surface of the water, leaving a small wake as it homed in on the struggling sea lion. The young animal panicked and spun around as it dove; the huge Great White missed as it lunged, and bit down on a mouthful of water. Undeterred, the Great White sensed the movement and tenaciously chased the animal, driving it to fatigue and, ultimately, death.
***
George stood at the helm of the Katura and looked like a man devoid of soul. Emptily, he stared off in the distance, driving the boat back to shore for what he knew was the last time. Thoughts of scuttling the Katura raced through his mind, thoughts that came and went with the tide. Sinking deep into despair, George thought it might be the right thing to do. If he scuttled her properly, his family could survive on the insurance money, he reasoned.
“May Day! May Day!” crackled the radio. George snapped out of his stupor and picked up the COM.
“This is the Katura. What is the nature of your emergency? Over.”
“May Day! May Day! Going down! Can anyone hear me! Please respond. Please!”
Frank came over and looked at George. “She’s going down. It’s the St. Pauli. I recognize Captain Sanders’ voice.”
“I know.” George pushed the button on the radio and tried to make contact again. “This is the Katura. Where are you? Come in. Over. Captain Sanders. Captain Sanders…John, come in. John.” Static.
“Do you see anything on radar?”
“Lots of stuff. Blips all over the place, but nothing big enough to be a boat. Probably floundering already. I doubt there’s anything we can do.”
George looked at the blips on the radar screen, as it scanned 360 degrees. Most of them were directly in his path. He looked at Frank with fear in his eyes. “Bodies?”
The blood drained from Frank’s face. “Geeze, I hope not. I’m not up to this.”
“It’s not like we have a choice. The least we can do is look for survivors on the way in.” George throttled back. They heard something hit the boat.
“Oh, man. Oh, no. How we gonna do this, Cap?”
“Here. Take the helm. Take it slow and easy. I’ll look for survivors. We’ve got no room for dead people on board, so don’t worry. I’m not gonna do that.”
To George’s surprise, there were no bodies in the water—no human bodies. There were dead sea lions and fur seals everywhere. Some had chunks missing. Others were half eaten.
“The sharks had a feast, anyway,” said his second mate. “Bodies probably went out the other side of the island, don’t ya think, Cap?”
“I’m afraid so. I don’t see how anyone could have survived. I’ve never seen anything like it, and we’ve had tsunamis before.”
“Do you think it hit the mainland as hard?”
“Nah. We would’ve heard something on the radio, but it’s been pretty quiet. Look!” George pointed to the fin cutting through the water and heading for the boat. The Great White bore down on a small sea lion pup. George grabbed a net off the side of the cabin.
“What are you doing, Cap?”
“I have an idea.”
The sea lion was heading right for the boat. “Cut the engine!”
George hung over the side and waited. Frank grabbed him by the belt to keep him from falling over. The shark was almost on top of the sea lion; its head came out of the water with eyes closed and mouth open. George was going to miss.
He threw the net in the air, holding the handle as far near the end as possible, pulled the net down behind the sea lion, and yanked. The small animal was heavier than expected, and George’s belt threatened to break. The second mate came over and grabbed the handle, and together they pulled against the weight of the animal and drag of the water.
The shark thrust forward, jaws unhinged, rows of teeth completely exposed, and snapped down with an audible thud. George and his second mate pulled the sea lion clear of the water. The shark caught a small section of the net, and ripped it open in its teeth with a sawing motion. The sea lion’s flippers hung out through the tear, and the ends of the net began to fray open.
George, Frank and the second mate flew back, as the sea lion launched across the deck and fell out of the back of the net. Blood streamed from a wound on the pup’s rear flipper, mixed with water on the deck, pooled and trickled over the side.
“Grab ‘em!” yelled George. One of the two deck hands reached out for the pup, but it whirled around and bit him in the hand. He screamed.
George jumped up, grabbed a length of rope, and deftly tied a noose. Cautiously he approached the pup. The young sea lion took a defensive stance and growled at George.
“Tough little guy, aren’t ya?”
The sea lion responded by lunging at George, as he dropped the noose over the animal’s head. The pup responded by pulling against the noose.
“Grab his flippers and hold him!” No one moved. “Come on, you sissies! I’ve got him.”
Frank ran around behind the pup and grabbed him. The pup was strong and whipped Frank around on the wet surface. The noose slipped off the pup’s head, as it thrashed around and looked Frank right in the face. Frank closed his eyes and waited for the pain, but it never came. The pup passed out cold on the deck.
“Wow! That’s one tough little pup. Quick, let’s get him in the hold before he comes to.”
George, Frank and the second mate grabbed the sea lion pup, dragged him over to the hold, and carefully lowered him through the opening. As they did, something hit the boat and sent everyone flying. The pup hit the bottom of the hold with a thud. George turned to see the snout of the white shark, as it bit down on the transom and tried to take off a section of boat where the blood had pooled and dripped into the water. He responded by kicking the shark in the snout. He kicked again—hard. The shark let go.
“Frank, get us under way. Full throttle!”
Frank ran to the helm and pushed the throttle forward. The boat lurched as the shark made another run, and missed.
George looked at the wound of his deck hand. “Get some iodine on that right away. We’ll get you to a doctor as soon as we pull in.”
“It’s okay. I don’t need no doc.”
“Yeah, you do. I’ve seen guys lose an entire arm from infection because they waited. Lot of good you’ll do that young wife of yours with one arm.”
The deck hand blanched. “Okay. Guess I better go then?”
“Yeah. Guess you better go.”
“So…we aren’t getting paid, are we?”
“Not necessarily. The animal that bit you. Know what it is?”
“A sea lion.”
“Not just any sea lion. That’s a baby Steller. I know a guy that will pay plenty for a stranded pup.”
“But…it wasn’t stranded.”
“Technically. But if we didn’t rescue him, he would be in the stomach of a Great White right now.”
Frank was listening. “What you think we’ll get for ‘im?”
“At least as much as the fish would have brought.”
“Really? That’s great.”
A growling sound came out of the hollow hold.
George went over and looked down into the dark hold. “You are one little tough guy, aren’t you?”
The animal lunged at the opening and then put his head down. “Who do you think you are, taking on a white shark? Goliath? Yeah, that’s what we’ll call you. Goliath, the beachmaster!”
