Rogue justice, p.10
Rogue Justice, page 10
"Okay, let's talk specifically about these mega-creatures, if we can. First, their coloring. The killer whales we've grown to know and love have distinctive black and white markings, with some touches of gray. These giants are jet black except for what appears to be a metallic gold slash running down the sides of their bodies. Any explanation?"
"Not really," Katrina said. "Except that there are albino orcas. So why not solid black orcas? Think about it. The animals could approach prey without being heard or seen, so it probably has something to do with their eating habits."
"Makes sense. So, why show up now?"
"That's an easy one. Food! It stands to reason they came down from the polar region. Killer whales thrive in cold water, tough for anything to penetrate those three-to-four-inch-thick coats of blubber. My colleagues and I have identified several pods living close to the polar ice cap. Maybe the rogues were up there too, perhaps even beyond the limits of the fast ice."
"But they have to breathe, right? How could they survive in that environment?"
"It's just a theory," Katrina replied. "Even in the coldest regions there are patches of ocean that never freeze, but the truth is, I just can't say. Nobody can. And considering the size of their dorsal fins, it's especially baffling. The thing is, there's so much we don't know about killer whales. But this much we do: they're on the move because their prey is moving. Look, I've been to that region on research expeditions three times over the past five years, and what I saw was downright scary. The climate is on steroids."
"Can you give us some examples?" Jia-li asked.
"Sure. Glaciers are shrinking and flexing and creeping in completely unpredictable ways. You'd swear they're almost alive. And the signs are everywhere up there. Longer summers, warmer winters, more intense storms, thinning salmon runs, bears that have stopped hibernating. I could go on and on. And it's getting worse." Katrina leaned forward, formed a steeple with her fingers. "You know, there are scientists who will tell you that nature is fragile. Well, that's flat out wrong. Nature is strong and packs an enormous counter-punch."
Jia-li nodded, glanced down at her notes. "But not everyone agrees, right? I recently read a report from an eminent scientist who claims the sun is the root of our climate problems, not man. He says if you really want to know what will happen when CO2 rises or temperatures change, look at the history of the planet. How do you respond, Dr. Kincaid?"
"I say nature's calling the bet. Look, man has been tampering with the terrestrial thermostat for far too long. But don't take my word for it. Ask the natives. Climate change is happening before their very eyes, in real time. What scientists see from satellites, they see up close. As one elder told me during my last trip, 'The Arctic is screaming, and no one is listening.'"
Jia-li let that sink in, then said, "Okay, final question, doctor, one I'm sure is on the minds of every person in our viewing audience. What about the sheer size of these creatures?"
"Well, the blue whale is still larger—some weigh as much as 150 tons—but when it comes to pure predators, nothing else in the history of the planet even comes close."
"Right," Jia-li said. "Let's do a few comparisons then." She glanced quickly in the direction of the stage manager. He gave her the thumbs up, meaning they were ready in the control booth. "First, what I'll call a 'normal' killer whale."
The picture cut to dramatic footage of an orca exploding out of the water, cleanly snagging an unsuspecting seal right off the shore. The speed and power were almost incomprehensible. Then a tight shot and freeze frame on the whale, its dimensions graphically displayed on the screen. Length: 22-24 feet. Weight: 4-5 tons.
"What you're looking at here is a mature male," Katrina added. "Females are somewhat smaller. Awesome, isn't it?"
Jia-li nodded.
Another cut. This time to an artist's rendition of megalodon, a fierce looking shark with razor-like teeth, fossils of which had been discovered by scientists just decades earlier. Its stats were also listed. Length: 50 feet. Weight: 52 tons.
"Now this is probably the most infamous carnivore of all," Katrina said. "The tyrant lizard known as Tyrannosaurus Rex." A movie clip from Jurassic Park showed T-Rex in all its ferocious might. Again a graphic flashed on the screen. Length: 40 feet. Weight: 6-7 tons.
Finally, the picture cut to an image taken just hours earlier by the couple in the boat on Puget Sound. Jia-li's heart began to race, the terror of her ordeal still raw and deeply intense. The sleek, glossy black giant had been captured in a spectacular breach, its immense body soaring out of the water like a solid booster rocket lifting off from Cape Canaveral. In the brilliant sunshine the metallic gold slash that ran from its eye to beyond its dorsal fin seemed to glow.
"This is leviathan," Katrina exclaimed. "The largest predator the world has ever known."
An instant later the mind-numbing stats appeared on the monitor.
Length: 120 feet. Weight: 100 tons.
Chapter 17
30 March, 7:15 PM PDT
Olympia, Washington
That same evening, Mitchell Chandler sat alone in his study, perusing a thick black binder. The room was large but comfortable, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases along the north wall. Two of the shelves were filled with first editions, many of them among the world's most treasured works of non-fiction. The more contemporary manuscripts were also first editions, every one of them signed. There was an ornately carved cherrywood desk in one corner and opposite it, an impressive ivory sculpture framed by two Van Goghs. Cantilevered bay windows looked out on a diamond-shaped swimming pool bathed in soft underground lighting. Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 played quietly in the background.
Several hours earlier, Chandler had ordered a member of his inner circle to dig up everything she could find on killer whales, and it had nothing to do with the colossal creatures raising hell in Puget Sound. He reviewed those materials now, zeroing in on the history and controversy surrounding live captures of killer whales, back when such activities were legal. He'd heard of the two main players, of course, but knew almost nothing about them.
Their names were Ted Griffin and Don Goldsberry and their controversial tale began in the mid-sixties with the capture of an orca Griffin named Namu. He'd purchased the whale for $8,000 from a British Columbia fisherman after the animal became trapped in his nets. The whale was then dragged in a floating cage for public display at a Seattle aquarium, long before KOS appeared on the scene. Griffin trained Namu, rode him, and sold plenty of tickets to audiences anxious to see him perform. Almost overnight, the reputation of the killer whale changed from feared and hated "man-eater" into goodwill ambassador.
Chandler flipped through a series of newspaper headlines and photos. The story had made front page news around the world. So did Namu's death a year later. According to several articles, Griffin and Goldsberry had then gone into the whale hunting business full time, plying the waters of Puget Sound and the coast of British Columbia. Reportedly, they'd paid $1,000 for each permit with no limit on the number of captures. And there appeared to be no shortage of buyers. Turning the page, Chandler landed on another photo. This one featured a crowd of well-dressed men standing on a floating dock literally waving bundles of cash in the air. The going rate for each whale, the caption read, was between $20,000 and $30,000.
Jesus, what a gold mine.
Reading on, Chandler discovered that, over the next several years, the two men had captured and sold more than thirty whales, many purchased by SeaWorld. By the early seventies, however, the partnership had soured and Griffin got out, reportedly because of death threats from animal rights groups.
The activists had denied the charges, yet made no bones about their position. They accused Griffin and Goldsberry of employing cruel and inhumane tactics by playing on the whales' weak points, mostly the family instinct. The thinking went that if one whale was captured, the others would stick around to lend support. Simply put, that meant there were a lot more animals to choose from. Perhaps most damning of all, however, were claims that many of the whales had become trapped during capture. Some drowned, others died in transport, or from improper care and handling. Most within two years. Those that lived longer, the activists had alleged, lasted only about eight or nine years on average as opposed to at least three times that long in the wild.
Chandler scanned one last story about how Don Goldsberry had moved his act to Iceland following the passage of the U.S. Marine Mammal Protection Act in 1972. The article went on to say that, over the next several years, demand by SeaWorld and other aquariums around the globe had increased exponentially, with the price for a healthy killer whale soaring to between $150,000 and $300,000.
Hell, if it was legal today that number would be well north of a million.
Chandler closed the binder and clamped his arms across his chest, thinking about all this. He was about to step outside for some fresh air when his cell phone burred.
It was one of his assistants at the office.
* * *
Preston Tradd's phone vibrated at precisely the same moment, waking him with a start. He'd fallen asleep soon after being picked up at Sea-Tac airport, the return trip from Sitka every bit as brutal as getting there. It took a moment for him to orient himself, but he quickly recognized his surroundings as the plush leather and teak interior of a hand-crafted Rolls-Royce Phantom. His father drove the same model and swore by these whisper-quiet, half-million-dollar driving machines. For a just a second, Tradd was a kid again headed to lacrosse practice in Laguna Beach, not far from where he and his family now resided.
He checked the caller ID, picked up, and was instantly transported back to real time by the voice of his exasperated wife. She wasn't happy about the stop-over in Seattle, and it took some doing to convince her that he would be home later that evening. He said they'd leave the following morning for their long-overdue ski vacation. After a brief exchange, she calmed down. He told her he loved her, clicked off, and pocketed the phone.
A few minutes later, the driver turned onto a smooth ribbon of asphalt that snaked up to a spectacular hilltop manor. Tradd had seen some lofty estates in his day, but this was the Holy Grail. The gates were huge, the walls high, the setting breathtaking. The compound sat gloriously on fifty manicured acres, with drop-dead views of Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains. Even through a gray mist, the dome of the Washington state capitol building glowed in the distance.
"Nice digs," Tradd said.
The driver nodded. "Yes sir, the boss does it right. Helipad's over there behind the waterfall. Par-three golf course down the hill. Tennis courts out back. 'Wimbledon-inspired,' I'm told, whatever that means."
"I didn't think the boss even played tennis. Golf either, for that matter."
"True, but many of our visitors do. The guest house can accommodate a dozen people, give or take, and the garage holds enough cars for every one of 'em to drive their own vehicle."
"And what's your story?" Tradd asked. "I take it you weren't a mall cop in a former life."
The driver laughed. "No, sir, special ops, Marine Force Recon, same as the other guys in the unit here. Actually I'm filling in for Mr. Chandler's regular driver tonight. It's his day off."
"Well, I appreciate the lift. Feel safer already."
"You're in good hands, sir. Just like the commercial says."
Moments later, the Rolls pulled in front of the mansion. The driver explained that the main house was thirty-five thousand square feet. It included a climate-control wine cellar, art deco 3-D home theater with Dolby Surround Sound, yoga studio, fitness center, nine bedrooms... and more bathrooms than he could count.
"Like I said, quite the pad," Tradd noted. "Listen, thanks for the ride. This shouldn't take long. I need to catch the last flight out of Sea-Tac tonight for LA, leaves a little after nine."
And this time tomorrow night, I'll be relaxing in a comfy chateau at Mammoth Mountain.
Tradd couldn't remember his last vacation, something his wife constantly reminded him of. Maybe this time away, this escape from the kids, would help mend a marriage badly frayed around the edges.
"Yes, sir, no problem. Standing by."
Tradd slid out of the vehicle and was greeted at the front door by a polished-looking older gent wearing a crisp white shirt and dark slacks.
"Mr. Chandler is expecting you, sir. He's in his study. Right this way."
They walked down a long, wide marble-floored corridor, their footsteps echoing off the fortress-like walls. Mitchell Chandler was dressed casually, stretched out in a recliner, speaking into a cell phone. He was bigger than Tradd had expected and everything about him communicated a single message: absolute and total control. Tradd took a deep breath, reminded himself of something he already knew.
This is not a man you want to disappoint.
Chandler looked up, waved Tradd in, and covered the phone. "Have a seat. I'll just be a minute." He then motioned him to a heavy burgundy sofa.
Tradd strolled across the room and, as he sat down, he adjusted the knot on his $300 tie, unbuttoned the jacket of his $4,000 Armani suit. Despite his overall uneasiness with this assignment, he felt much more at ease in these surroundings than in some honky-tonk bar in the Land of the Midnight Sun.
Chandler's phone conversation was brief, less than a minute. "Hello, Tradd," he said, after clicking off. He didn't bother to stand or shake hands. "Listen, I got your message earlier, about the flight delays. A real bitch. I'd rather walk through a snake-infested swamp than fly commercial." He then reached for a crystal Waterford decanter sitting on the oak table next to his chair, poured three fingers of Hennessy X.O into a pair of snifters, handed a glass to Tradd. "Here, this will take the edge off."
"Thank you," Tradd said, glancing outside. He repeated the remark he'd made to the driver about the estate.
Chandler nodded, sipped his brandy. "Well, it's home, my one and only these days. Fortunately, I was able to keep my ex-wife's mitts off the property. You married, Tradd?"
"Yes, sir, seventeen years."
Chandler raised his glass. "Well, here's to seventeen more. Listen, I have a conference call in twenty minutes, so why don't you tell me what you've got, starting with the infamous Ms. Flynn. I'm guessing she's a Hall of Fame ball-buster. Am I right?"
Tradd sat up straight. He felt good about what he'd accomplished up in Alaska, though he regretted having to resort to the unseemly tactics. "Well, let's just say the woman's alpha all the way, sir, a real man-eater."
"Can't say as I'm surprised, not after reading the dossier your people put together. The most thorough goddamn piece of work I've ever seen, especially on such short notice. Good job."
"I'm just the messenger. You can thank our team of investigators for that. All former big-city homicide cops, as you know. L.A., mostly. Hollywood Division."
Chandler nodded. "Well, now, Hollywood is precisely where our talented captain belongs one day. If she plays her cards right, that is. I understand she's on board."
"Yes," Tradd said, his neck flushing hot. "But, umm, things didn't go exactly as planned."
"You said. What happened?"
"For starters, she refused your generous cash offer, didn't bat an eye in fact."
Chandler shifted in his chair. "No surprise there, either, right? What about the charity angle?"
"I'm afraid the response was the same, and believe me, I pushed her hard. She left me no choice but to go with the backup plan."
"Shit! The mother," Chandler barked. "I was hoping to avoid that unpleasant bit of business. How did she react?"
"Not well, sir." Beads of perspiration the size of tiny pearls now formed on Tradd's brow. And the room was cool. "To be honest with you, I thought she was going to come across the table and break my neck. She could've done it, too, in a heartbeat. Anyway... I managed to calm her down. Assured her no one would hurt her mother if our terms were met."
"And no one will hurt dear old mom, assuming our captain gets the job done. And keeps her mouth shut, of course."
"I made that very clear."
And God help me if I didn't.
"What about the money transfers?" Chandler asked.
Tradd finished his drink with one gulp, set it down on the table in front of him. "The account is under one of our corporate shells. No way can it be traced back to us, or you. But here's the thing—Ms. Flynn's only taking enough cash to cover expenses. She refused the rest, even for her girls' home in Nepal."
"Well, now, that's interesting, isn't it?"
Tradd smiled. He thought he might score a few points with that one.
"So at this juncture, she knows nothing about the dead whale?"
"No, sir," Tradd said. "I explained that further instructions would be forthcoming as soon as she put everything in place. I checked in with her an hour ago, right after my plane landed. She said things are already in motion. Some bush pilot friend is flying her down to Port Angeles. She plans to rent a big fishing boat there. I had to Google the place, it's–"
"I know where it is, Tradd. When is she leaving Sitka?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Okay, good. Did she say anything else?"
"Like what, sir?"
"Like how she intends to pull this off."
"No, but then I don't see how we could expect her to—"
"Look," Chandler interrupted. "Obviously, this is not going to be easy, but what I don't want is a repeat of the goddamn tactics used back in the day when it was legal to capture killer whales."
"In the early sixties to mid-seventies, you mean?" Tradd had downloaded and absorbed reams of information on killer whales while biding his time in that miserable little motel room in Sitka. He'd known almost nothing about the powerful creatures before making the trip. Now he qualified as a quasi-expert.
"Precisely," Chandler said. He leaned down, picked up the binder sitting on the floor, and tapped the hard plastic cover repeatedly. "Inside this file is everything you need to know about two enterprising characters named Ted Griffin and Don Goldsberry. These guys essentially created the entire killer whale industry and made a bundle doing it. They also made a lot of enemies along the way."
