Jeremy Robinson - Island 731

“Hi, Kam,” Joliet said, sounding happy to see the kid.

Drake craned his head toward Kam. “How long have you been here?”

“Since before you came in,” Kam replied. His voice held just a trace of a Japanese accent, and his English was better than Bray’s. “I’m updating the video chat software. Mr. Bray said his last classroom conference call was glitchy. I won’t be long. Just pretend I’m not here.”

“You going to be up for another round of fishing when we clear the Garbage Patch?” Hawkins asked. He strolled up to Kam and held up his hand like he wanted to arm wrestle. Kam took his hand and they performed a complicated handshake that ended in failure and a laugh from both of them. Hawkins wasn’t a fan of practiced handshakes. In his opinion, only people who thought they were cool, or really wanted to be cool, practiced the adult male version of patty-cake. But Kam got such a kick out of it, in a very noncool way, that Hawkins overcame his dislike and had fun with it. Every time they perfected the shake, they added a new element. In a way, it had become a mind game between the two, to see who would forget the new step first. Kam enjoyed it because he never forgot. Kid had a brain like quantum computer.

Right now, the handshake was a delaying tactic, but the invitation to fish was an honest question. Long before the handshake challenge, Hawkins had been slow to get to know Kam, but their mutual love of fishing had eventually bridged the gap. Before entering the thickest part of the Garbage Patch a few days previous, he, Kam, Bray, and Joliet had gone fishing off the aft deck. The long day melted into evening and by the time the sun hit the horizon, Kam was one of the gang, despite being fifteen years younger.

“So,” Hawkins said when Kam was done laughing. “Fishing?”

Kam’s eyes all but disappeared when he smiled. “Definitely.”

“Maybe you’ll let the rest of us catch a few next time,” Joliet said with a smile.

Kam waved her away. “If that shark comes back, it’s all yours. Otherwise, not a chance.”

Drake cleared his throat. “Speaking of the shark…”

Kam’s smile fell. “Right. Sorry. I’m not here.” He slipped a pair of earbuds into his ears and lowered his head back down behind the screen.

Drake shook his head. “Kid’s ancestors must have been ninjas. Been here for ten minutes. Didn’t hear a sound.”

“Sir, about the shark, and the turtle,” Hawkins said. “The whole thing. I take full responsibility for it.”

Joliet’s head snapped toward Hawkins. “You do?”

“And here I thought chivalry was dead,” Drake said. “Truth is, both of you acted impulsively. I saw this one”—he motioned to Joliet—“swan dive into a milk jug. Then not ten seconds later, the Ranger here takes a twenty-five-foot plunge to rescue the damsel in distress.”

“I didn’t know who was in the water,” Hawkins corrected.

“You didn’t?” Joliet asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Drake said. “What matters is that two of the smartest people currently serving aboard my ship threw themselves in the Pacific Ocean, which at our current location is mired with trash so thick you’re lucky you didn’t become trapped beneath it.”

Hawkins remembered the rope around his leg. If he didn’t have his knife, escape wouldn’t have been so easy. The Garbage Patch frequently trapped seals, dolphins, sharks, and turtles.

Drake continued. “Not to mention that these waters teem with sharks, a fact you two are now intimately familiar with. And for what? To save a turtle. A dead turtle.”

Joliet stepped forward. “Captain, with all due—”

“Stow it, Joliet.” Drake turned back toward the view. “I actually think you two did a fine job.”

Hawkins and Joliet glanced at each other. The words coming out of Drake’s mouth were as strange as the deformed loggerhead waiting for them in the biolab.

Drake crossed his arms. “There could have been a bit more communication and a lot more coordination, but you got the job done. That turtle of yours is going to get a lot of news coverage and raise a lot of eyebrows. We’re here to collect evidence that this swath of shit is harming the environment, but all the data in the world isn’t going to change a thing. But you can’t ignore that turtle. A few more finds like that and maybe we’ll get someone to come out here and clean this mess up. And maybe I’ll get to enjoy this view again.”

Drake turned toward the stunned pair. “But I didn’t ask you here to pat your backs, either.” He paused, rubbing his bearded chin.

“What is it?” Joliet asked.

“I want you to know,” Drake began, but paused again. “The point is, you two are capable. You can do what we came here to do. But… you’re going to have to keep doing it on your own.”

“What are you talking about?” Joliet asked, her voice getting tense.

“The Darwin isn’t going to make it.”

The Darwin was the second of three ships in the privately funded science fleet. The ship, coming from Hawaii with supplies and ten more scientists, was scheduled to rendezvous with them in two days. The Magellan currently operated with a fourteen-person skeleton crew and Joliet was the only real scientist on board. Hawkins knew more than an average amount about wildlife and the natural world, and Bray, despite being a wiseass high school teacher and author, was a decent biologist, but neither of them were published in scientific journals, and neither had Ph.D.s—Bray didn’t even believe in them. Hawkins could write all the articles in the world, and Bray could Skype with high schools across the country, but without the collective minds of professional oceanographers, biologists, microbiologists, climatologists, and a slew of other experts, their discoveries might not be taken seriously.

“Before either of you can complain, you should know the reason the Darwin isn’t going to make it. There’s a storm, a big one, coming up from the South. High winds. Twenty-foot swells. Real rough seas. The Darwin sustained significant damage and—”

“God, is everyone okay?” Joliet’s brewing agitation disappeared. A lot of the scientists on board were her colleagues, if not friends.

“A lot of injuries,” Drake said. “No souls lost. But they were forced to return to port. Going to be at least another month before they can get underway again and three weeks after that before they reach us.”

“We’re scheduled to head back before then,” Hawkins observed.

Drake nodded. “Which is why I want you two to find as much compelling evidence as you can. Photograph it. Document it. Everything by the books. Maybe we can still make a difference.”

Joliet was nodding when Drake finished talking. “We can do this. Public opinion shapes policy, right? We’ll focus on the big picture. On what’s most shocking.”

“Glad to see you rolling with the punches, Joliet,” Drake said. “Now, you two best get to that turtle. Do what you need to do and secure the body in the freezer by twenty-two hundred.”

Hawkins took a step toward the door. While the Darwin ’s return to port was a blow to their mandate, he appreciated the bold approach it required they take. It was more his style. But then he paused and asked, “Why so fast?”

Drake frowned. “That storm I mentioned? It’ll be here tonight.”

The loggerhead’s plastron—the underbelly—came free with a slurp. Joliet had drawn a scalpel around the turtle’s soft flesh that divided its top and bottom shells. The cut on a healthy turtle would have been shaped like a stingray, but this specimen, pinched at the midsection, had a figure eight-shaped body.