Peleliu File

Chapter 5

Wilkes Island – Wake Atoll

Tracey Davis stood knee-deep in the gently lapping surf southwest of the beach on Wilkes Island and scooped another bloated, goggle-eyed casualty into her net sample bag. About three hundred meters north of her position, up around Kuku Point, Woodrow Cheeley was on a similar mission collecting dead gooney birds, but he’d be pissed if she used that term to describe what he was doing out here on Wake Atoll. He’d show that crooked, condescending smile and point out that he was collecting specimens of black-footed albatross (Diomedea nigripes) for dissection and research into unexplained deaths among the tiny mid-Pacific atoll’s transient bird population.

Woody was like that: Cute, sensitive, intelligent and a wonky pain-in-the-ass sometimes. They’d been flirting on the cusp of a shipboard romance for three weeks but it never seemed to get quite hot enough for consummation. If Tracey hadn’t eavesdropped on a couple of Skype conversations he’d had with a cutie he kept on a loose leash in his hometown of Asheville, North Carolina, she could be convinced that Woody was gay. But Woody was straight. He was also overly-focused and often oblivious to the romantic elements of cruising—all expenses paid—through the exotic South Pacific with a young, vibrant and consistently horny crew of Navy and civilian scientists who didn’t have a care in the world beyond their various academic fields. The guy needed appropriate stimulation and Tracey was hoping the bikini she’d bought in Honolulu would provide it.

With the research vessel off tracing migration patterns to see if they could determine a nexus for whatever was killing fish and birds in a sort of ocean corridor running from somewhere in the vicinity of the Malay Peninsula across the Pacific in an easterly direction, the research team on Wake had the freedom to conduct its own research in a more relaxed manner. It was all fairly focused and tight-ass aboard the RV Seascope, so the stay-behind team of young scientists on Wake didn’t complain much despite the spartan living conditions on the tiny island.

It would be two weeks or maybe three before the ship returned to pick them up and assess the results of their wildlife research. The vessel was owned by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and carried a scientific team from Woods Hole to look into what appeared to be a new pattern of fish and sea bird deaths in the South Pacific. Wake came into the picture when scientists began to plot migration patterns among the affected fish and bird populations and discovered that casualties were piling up on the three islets of the tiny atoll. Wake seemed to be some sort of mid-Pacific cut-off as affected wildlife populations moved west to east. That movement pointed like a diseased finger at Hawaii and the U.S. West Coast, so while the international scientific community was mildly curious, the U.S. government was distressed enough to write a big check and re-direct NOAA assets.

As alarmists in the scientific communities were tuning up to start banging the drum about yet another man-made ecological disaster, certain paranoid elements in the U.S. intelligence community smelled something more rotten than dead fish and birds. They were monitoring the research closely and all reports to the NOAA and Woods Hole were being copied to the National Counter-Terrorism Center. Tracey Davis was unsure where she should stand on that issue, but her concern just now as a Navy ocean scientist on loan to the research team was to gut some fish and see if she could tell what was killing them. And that would keep her right at Woodrow Cheeley’s elbow, shoving slides under the sophisticated microscopes in the modular lab they’d set up on Wake’s main island.

Tracey plopped another specimen of Oncorhynchus into her bag and wondered once again why the dead fish they’d been finding on Wake and elsewhere in that imaginary sea corridor were almost exclusively varieties of Pacific salmon. If there was really something nefarious behind the phenomenon, it was directed at one of the world’s most-popular food fishes. On the other hand, salmon were notoriously susceptible to various naturally occurring diseases and parasites. They’d have a better feel for the situation when the dissected specimens, slides and cultures were ready for examination.

She heard her name called and turned to see Woody walking into the surf-line carrying a burlap bag bulging with what she presumed were dead gooney birds. He was waving a Motorola portable radio and eyeing her tan lines above and below the bikini.

“Janis called. She wants everyone back at the lab for a dinner meeting. Said she’s got some early data and wants opinions from all area reps.”

“Thought she said we weren’t going to start processing cultures until tomorrow.”

Woody shrugged and made a valiant attempt to unglue his gaze from Tracey’s chest. “You know the notoriously anal Dr. Janis Fielding, P-H-f*****g-D and microbiologist to the stars. Right now is too late.”

“Our fearless leader has probably whipped out Occam’s razor and sliced us off another theoretical model to work on.” Tracey started splashing through the surf-line, heading in the direction of the modular lab array they’d constructed near the end of Wake’s semi-active airfield. Woody fell in just a step behind her which gave him a good view of her butt.

“You gonna change or risk offending Doctor J with your feminine pulchritude?”

“Why would she be offended?”

“Two reasons: It may have escaped your notice but Doctor J is, how to put this delicately, built like a boy? Also she’s a bit light in the frivolity spectrum.”

“Since when is a bikini frivolous?”

“Since you stepped into that one this morning. Doctor J is unlikely to admire its subtle charm.”

“So I’ll change into my geek outfit prior to the meeting.” Tracey shrugged and pointed toward the ramshackle building on the horizon near the airfield. “You up for a beer or two at Drifters Reef tonight?”

“Long as the patio’s open. All those war toys in the bar make me nervous.”

“There’s some serious military history in those artifacts, Woody. And you’d know that if you ever read anything besides ornithology papers.”