Operation Dolphin Spirit Read online

  We had suspected something might be going on with the captive “swim with the dolphin” programs. But those were in Nassau, on the main island, over a hundred miles away. Here, there were only boat tours to swim with wild dolphins.

  My partner, Special Agent Dalton, had arranged for a job as a divemaster on a local boat. Because he was a Navy SEAL, certification wasn’t a problem. My other teammates, Tom and Mike, were posing as a couple of fishermen. We’d expected to ease into the operation, take a few days to get a feel for the situation, the lay of the land. I hadn’t anticipated this.

  This was as good a time as any, while we waited for the tide, to get more information about the big picture, like how this dolphin ended up here. “You said there was another stranding recently? And it was worse?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a sigh, “a few years ago. That was a mass stranding event. Now that I see this dolphin, I’m pretty sure it’s the only one.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, for one, no bleeding at the ears.”

  “Omigod, what would cause that?”

  Kerrie ended her call. “There are no other strandings reported,” she said.

  “Good, I’m so glad,” Natalie said. “Last time was too sad.”

  “What happened last time?”

  “Two minke whales, a spotted dolphin and fourteen beaked whales were stranded all at once. The Navy was testing sonar equipment not far from here. The sound literally drove the cetaceans out of the sea. They’re so sensitive to underwater sound, that—” she paused, “what am I saying? I’m sure you know about that. You’re studying marine biology.”

  “Actually, I’m an ornithology student,” I said. I figured it was safer to masquerade as a bird expert, of which I’m quite knowledgeable, who weaseled her way into an internship here, versus a marine mammal expert, which I am not, who should know stuff. My thirty minutes of speed-reading on the plane wasn’t going to carry me. Even coupled with what I’d learned in Norway from Dr. Parker. “I mean, I’m really interested, but it’s not my main subject. Cetaceans that is. So, assume I know nothing.”

  Natalie gave me a look of confusion, then turned to Kerrie.

  Kerrie managed to hold back an eyeroll. “It’s all been approved,” she muttered.

  “But—”

  “Just don’t worry about it,” she snapped.

  By Natalie’s reaction, it was clear that Kerrie wasn’t usually one to snap at her.

  “Oh-kay,” she said.

  I acted oblivious. “So, you were telling me about the mass stranding.”

  “Huh? Yeah. The U.S. Navy blasted their sonar not far from here. Fortunately, after five weeks of denial, in a rare historical event, they actually took responsibility, confirming the long held hypothesis that naval maneuvers had been causing most of the recorded stranding events over the years.”

  “How exactly does the sonar impact the whales?”

  “Well, for one, it hurts like hell. We found them with bleeding ears. The necropsies showed cranial lesions and hemorrhaging, suggesting a pressure wave, or intense acoustical energy, had caused the trauma.”

  “That sounds awful.” I winced. “Pardon the pun.”

  “It was. They were otherwise healthy.”

  Two men on two separate fishing boats pulled up to shore. Kerrie rushed over to them, pointing at something out in the water.

  “What’s that about?” I asked Natalie.

  “This dolphin will be disoriented and lethargic once we get it back into the water. It’s going to take a while, maybe an hour or more, to get it swimming again. They’ll patrol for tiger sharks and keep them away.”

  “Wow. Sharks? I wouldn’t have thought of that. So why did this dolphin get stranded? The Navy again?”

  She shook her head. “No. We don’t think so. There are other reasons that a single dolphin could get stranded. Usually with Tursiops, they strand solo only when they’re ill, although, sometimes, it’s as simple as a juvenile that doesn’t know the area, follows some fish into the harbor, and gets caught by the tide.”

  “Is that what happened here?”

  “Most likely, because this particular dolphin probably never—”

  Kerrie came up beside her. “We don’t want to speculate. Let’s get it back in the water first, then we can discuss any evidence we have.”

  Her response was a typical approach of a scientist—gather evidence first. But something wasn’t right. She knew more than she was saying about this dolphin. Both of them did. Kerrie was either involved in whatever I was sent to uncover, or already knew a lot about it. I needed to tread carefully.

  While we waited, I dug my hat out of my bag, slathered on some sunscreen, and, with a quick Google search on my phone, learned that this dolphin was a bottlenose dolphin, the genus Tursiops, as Natalie called it, one of the most common members of the family Delphinidae. This one weighed about 500 pounds. The Atlantic spotted dolphin, not the bottlenose, was most common to these waters and the subject of the communication research done here. Though some bottlenose dolphins are known to be residents, most are transient in this part of the world.

  That could explain the stranding. It was likely a dolphin who wasn’t familiar with these waters. As Natalie had said, probably following fish when it got lost. But that answer was too easy. Something else was going on here.

  I also Googled what to do for a stranded dolphin. Kerrie seemed to have it well in hand. The dolphin was shaded from the sun and being cooled by the wet towels. The document, Marine Mammals Ashore: A Field Guide for Strandings, stressed the importance of tagging the animal while ashore so that observers would have the opportunity to determine whether the animal survived the ordeal and if rescue procedures were effective. This dolphin already had a satellite transmitter mounted on a molded plastic saddle attached to its dorsal fin. So, regardless of whether it was from this area, its future travels would be documented.

  There were unique marks under the pectoral fins that seemed odd to me. I made a mental note to ask Kerrie about those, too. Or maybe Natalie because Kerrie didn’t seem to like sharing information. Odd behavior for a researcher.

  Finally, Ralph, a local craftsman, arrived with a stretcher for the dolphin made of canvas attached to two poles with holes cut for the dolphin’s flippers. The tide was coming in. Apparently, they were ready to carry the dolphin into the deeper water.

  With Kerrie giving the orders, the men gathered around the dolphin. They seemed to be trying to slide the stretcher under the animal.

  “Why don’t they roll the dolphin onto the stretcher?” I asked Natalie. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

  She shook her head. “For whatever reasons, dolphins don’t like being rolled. It might thrash and hurt someone. This way is better. If this doesn’t work, they might have to drag it by the fluke.”

  They managed to get the stretcher under it. Then they gathered, two on each end of a pole.

  “At the count of three,” Kerrie said. “One, two, three.” In one fluid movement, they carefully lifted, then, together, shuffled toward the water. Kerrie, Natalie, and I walked with them.

  A hush settled over the onlookers, which had grown into a considerable crowd, as they watched in anticipation.

  One step, then another, then another, and we were in the water. I dragged my feet, shuffling along to disturb the sand, trying to avoid catching a stingray by surprise.

  “Make sure to keep the head up,” Kerrie said. “Don’t let the blowhole go under.”

  As the dolphin started to float, I thought it would kick and buck, then swim away. But it still didn’t move much. It seemed to struggle to move at all.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked Natalie.

  “This is normal. It has to acclimate to the water again. It might take hours. Then, sometimes, they need to be towed out to sea because they’re still disoriented. This one hasn’t been beached long, so let’s hope that isn’t necessary.”

  Standing in waist-deep water, the me
n held the dolphin upright, making sure the blowhole stayed above the surface, and gently rocked the animal from side to side.

  “The rocking helps restore blood circulation,” Natalie explained.

  After about twenty minutes, the dolphin suddenly came to life, squirming against the stretcher.

  This was the critical moment, when we’d learn if all our work paid off, if the dolphin would swim away on its own, back out to sea, unharmed.

  The dolphin gave a little kick, then slapped its fluke on the water, making a big splash that doused the men. With another slap, it pushed free of the stretcher and swam away, disappearing underwater.

  We waited, watching to see if it would be all right. Natalie had said there was a chance it could seize from shock. I looked from Natalie to Kerrie. Natalie watched with anticipation. Kerrie held one hand over her mouth, hugging herself with the other. She seemed worried, like a mother watching her child be taken away in an ambulance.

  A moment later, the dolphin surfaced, blowing spray into the air.

  The crowd cheered. Kerrie let out a puff of air, her shoulders slumping in relief.

  I watched for a little longer and then headed for shore with a big smile on my face. I glanced over to see Dalton smiling back at me.

  Chapter Two

  Kerrie was exhausted. I was exhausted.

  “C’mon,” Natalie volunteered. “I’ll drop you at your room.” My suitcase was still strapped to the back of Kerrie’s golf cart. My first day on Bimini had been intense and I was ready for a shower and bed.

  “Go ahead and take her in my cart, then come back for me,” Kerrie said and we were on our way.

  The island is so narrow, for most of its seven miles, you can see water on either side—the Atlantic side on one, the bay ringed by mangroves on the other. We passed signs for Porgy Bay, Bailey Town, Alice Town—all in a short couple of miles. Along the shoreline, an occasional old boat lay on its side, thrown up on the beach by some hurricane and left there to the elements. Mounds of trash lay beside houses and restaurants amid the palm trees. Old cars were left to rust in the sun.

  On the ride earlier, I’d been struck by the dramatic difference in the north end of the island compared to the south. At the north, rows of look-alike condos with manicured landscaping surrounded a six-story building, all bright white and glistening glass.

  “Is that a Hilton?” I asked Natalie.

  “With a casino,” she responded, the words laced with fake excitement.

  “Right,” I said. “It fits on this gorgeous tropical island like a two-carat cubic zirconia ring would look on Jane Goodall’s hand.”

  That made Natalie smirk. “I guess it depends on who you ask. The high-speed ferry keeps showing up from Miami full of people. Five hundred a day. They seem to like it.”

  “I heard they destroyed acres of mangroves to build it and a golf course. That’s a tragedy.”

  “Yeah. If only that was all. But that was just the beginning. For years, well, since the days of Hemingway, the people of this beautiful island have resisted big tourism. Sure, my father made his living from the wealthy American tourists who’d come to dive the pristine reefs and big game fishermen who’d arrive by private yacht or chartered seaplanes. But he understood that his livelihood depended on the sparkling clear waters and white sand beaches.

  “Then this Malaysian company shows up one day and somehow got approval to bring 500,000 tourists a year to our tiny island. 500,000 to an island that is seven miles long. The traffic has damaged the coral reefs and the mangroves beyond repair. And they’re not stopping. Now they’re dredging channels to start bringing in cruise ships. It’s caused a big division among us islanders. My dad hasn’t spoken to my uncle in years.”

  I shook my head.

  “Some people are short-sighted. All they see are new jobs at the resort. They don’t see the big picture.” She went on. “The loss of the reef and mangroves will really hurt Bimini in the long run. It’s critical habitat for juvenile lobster, grouper, and conch, not to mention a natural storm protection for the island itself.”

  “And once it’s gone, it can never be replaced,” I said.

  “Same for the livelihood of the locals. All these small, family-owned gift shops and restaurants thought they’d get the benefit of the tourists. But that resort is an all-inclusive deal. No one leaves the property to spend any dollars. Most have had to board up their windows.”

  “That’s tragic,” I said, not sure what else to say.

  “It’s worse. And here’s where I get really fired up.” She brought the golf cart to a halt to pick up a beer bottle that had been left in the middle of the road. She tossed it in a basket on the back of the cart and continued on. “These waters are home to a huge range of marine animals. The endangered great hammerhead shark lives here. Loggerhead turtles. Queen conch and Caribbean spiny lobster. And of course, the Atlantic spotted dolphins.

  “We have to preserve this island habitat. Not just to continue to attract the right kind of tourists, but the whole ecosystem sustains local lifestyles in other ways. But that”—she gestured over her shoulder toward the resort, a scowl on her face—“has put it all at risk.”

  “I don’t understand why it was allowed.”

  “A few years ago, some local leaders, my father being one of them, wrote to the prime minister, urging him to approve a plan for a marine reserve around North Bimini. He wouldn’t do it. Said Bahamians want jobs, not some fish. Instead, the government gave the resort permission for a $150 million upgrade.” She frowned. “They just don’t get it.”

  “You’ve lived here your whole life?”

  “I grew up here. But I got to go to college in the States. A lot of my relatives have never been off the island. They’re the ones with no options.”

  “Right,” I said.

  We arrived at my temporary home—a room on the backside of an old hotel, built circa. 1965.

  I retrieved my suitcase and followed Natalie to my room.

  “Sorry to be so negative,” she said as she opened the door for me. “Not the best first impression, I suppose.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “I get it. I can’t imagine how frustrating it is.”

  “Well, this is it. It’s not much, but…”

  The fluorescent light flickered to life. On the far side of the room was a mini-fridge and a cart with a one-burner hot plate. A brown stain covered a corner of the linoleum floor. The bed, though, had what looked like a brand new cover and was crisply made. It reminded me of an apartment my dad and I had lived in for a couple months in the Philippines.

  “It’s great,” I said.

  She warned me about leaving any food out and to manage the trash or I’d get sugar ants, then said good night. “If you’re all set, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “All good,” I said, shut the door behind her, and collapsed on the bed.

  If that hotel and casino project had stirred up that much trouble, was it also somehow related to the problem with the dolphins?

  My eyes refused to stay open. I’d have to think about it some more tomorrow when the rest of the team was scheduled to arrive.

  Dawn came early. I had several hours before I was to meet Kerrie at her office, so I decided to take a walk. I needed to think, to sort out all the information I’d taken in yesterday.

  My room was on the southwest part of the island, so I strolled down the beach and rounded the tip where there were no houses and stood looking out at the sea. Waves crashed onto the beach with that familiar, primal rumble. The fresh salt air and gentle breeze coming off the ocean made me feel alive. I needed this. Especially after my recent bout with the frigid Canadian wilderness.

  But this wasn’t a vacation. I had to figure out what was going on. Go see what’s happening, if anything, with the dolphins down there. What kind of directive was that? Dalton and I had recently been assigned to the task force, and Ms. Hyland was our new supervisor. I still hadn’t quite figured her out. At first, I’d
thought maybe this assignment was her way of giving us a little time off. Tom and Mike had been on a six month sting operation and Dalton and I had come off of a couple of intense operations when we’d joined the team. We were all a little burned out. We don’t have a home base, so why not send us to the tropics for a few weeks to recharge our batteries?

  But that hadn’t seemed plausible, really.

  The mission was frustratingly vague. It reminded me of those times when my mother would use the old because-I-said-so line. So aggravating. At least parents could get away with that tactic since children were dependent, had no recourse. But this was an operation and we were professionals. Sure, fresh eyes can be important, but I felt like we were going in blind.

  All I knew for sure, was that a dolphin had stranded the day I arrived. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Somehow, it was related to whatever was happening with the dolphins here.

  If my dad was still alive, he would say I should trust my intuition. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, he used to tell me. Use it. I would. If I had somewhere to start.

  I dug my feet deep down into the sand to find the cool earth beneath as I watched a crab do that side walk-crawl thing they do along the base of a rock.

  Investigating Kerrie was as good a place to start as any. She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with information. And she’d cut off Natalie’s sentences. It could have been her stress. But maybe she had something to hide.

  Her office was as she’d described, tucked away in a tiny corner of a small research building, but I managed to find it. The six by eight foot room sported wood paneling, hung in the sixties, with one window, half the glass removed for an air conditioner.