The bottom flowed by beneath, smooth and ever closer as the water became shallower.
Twisting and turning in flight, the grey light of the surface appeared and disappeared with each roll that was orchestrated by a powerful maneuver of the flippers. The glitter of silver as a small school of fish flickered by and then the chase was on.
The cluster of silver bodies scattered and wove, disappearing, into the waving strands of kelp. Powerful thrusts of the hind flippers pushed the sleek form into the kelp forest, the long fronds caressing the spotted coat in passage.
Just ahead a flash of silver, jaws opened as the distance closed…
The jangling voice of the phone woke Mike with a start. He put one hand to his head to try to find his bearings even as his other arm reached out to make an ineffectual grab for the receiver. He succeeded only in knocking the handset to the floor and then spent a couple of frustrating seconds trying to reel it in by the coiled cord.
"Hello?" he croaked when he finally held it to his mouth, the images of the dream still vivid in the front of his consciousness.
"Good Morning Sir, eight o'clock wake-up call," the too chipper male voice said on the other end of the line.
"What? Oh, yeah. Th-thanks," Mike said, dropping the phone back on the receiver. He rolled over onto his back and with a loud exhalation he flopped his arms out at his sides.
The dream was fading now, though if he closed his eyes he could still feel the sense of powerful exhilaration of those rolls through the water and the silver grey of the dawn air above….
Mike scrubbed a hand over his face and then sat up, swinging his legs out of the bed. He crossed to the sun blocking curtains and opened one corner to view with blinking eyes the high cloud of a hazy grey sky.
Victoria was awake and there were the sounds of traffic going by on the street and he could see a couple of cars pulling out of the hotel parking lot.
Seeing those seals behind the ferry yesterday really made an impression on me I guess, he thought, as dropping the curtain he made his way to the bathroom.
***
I am not really sure how the guys that work undercover do it, he thought. I purposefully dressed casual today, what is it about me that says COP? No one knows me in this town and yet hadn't the waitress at the Denny's just asked me, "More coffee, officer?"
More than his authoritative demeanor and direct and competent approach, there was something in Michael Celluci's eyes which gave him away as law enforcement. Some intimate desire to protect the weak, some need to bring order to chaos.
He picked up the check and carried it to the front cash register. It was almost 10 A.M. now; he was going to head back to the RCMP station for a joint meeting with the local P.D. and then following that he would head over to Oak Bay and the Victoria Aquatic Mammal Protection Society offices. He was confident that there would be someone there by then.
***
Mike pulled down past Beacon Hill Park and the turned left on to Dallas Road. He glanced down at the tourist map of Victoria spread out on the seat beside him. He just had to follow Dallas Road across a ways and then head into Oak Bay.
As he drove along Dallas, there was a flat grassy area to his right spotted with yellow blooming broom bushes; their sharp scent hung in the moist air. Then there was a small paved footpath, on which joggers and walkers moved back and forth with an impressive regularity.
Beyond the footpath the grass ended abruptly in a steep downward slope to the rocky, log strewn beach below. In some places the slope was eroded away to a cliff face.
Dallas Road sloped gently downwards for about five blocks to where Clover Point pushed its circular shape out into the strait perhaps fifteen feet above sea level.
Mike took the cutoff, just for the hell of it, and drove once around the paved loop that circled the grassy field, his eyes on the quiescent grey green water. He didn't get out of the car, though he parked for a moment and watched a group of four men launch a gigantic box kite into the air. He watched as the kite finally took to the wind and then drove back up onto Dallas Road and turned right, continuing along by the water's edge.
Twenty minutes later he was pulling into the Oak Bay Marina parking lot. He was still following the same little old man who had been driving 20 kph in front of him for the last ten minutes.
I wonder how the old geezer manages to stay on the road; he is spending so much time frowning at me in his rear view mirror. The old gentleman finally pulled achingly slowly into a parking spot outside the Marina restaurant, and Mike drove past to the far end of the long lot.
The asphalt at this end of the lot had seen better days and was cracked and eroded. In faded letters the signage painted on the surface read, "Sea World Parking Only." Though the Victoria Aquatic Mammal Protection Society had removed or covered the rest of the signage from the building they now occupied, they had apparently drawn the line at resurfacing the parking lot.
As he exited his car Mike checked the location out visually. Aquatic Mammal rescue couldn't have gotten a better location than the defunct Sea World building.
A late seventies style, wood frame cedar structure, it was all angles and plate glass, though it was weathered to the peculiar gentle blue grey color that cedar adopts when exposed to sun and wind.
It was multileveled with two private docks stretching out behind, and beyond the main building he could glimpse a series of various sized pools and outbuildings.
There were several cars and two yellow school buses parked in the lot, and beyond the building Mike could see people moving about in small groups by two of the pools.
He approached the main entrance and descended three bleached, railroad tie steps to the long walkway to the glass double doors.
The wooden walkway echoed hollowly under his feet and he realized that while one half of the building rested on a concrete foundation on dry land, the other half perched out over the water on concrete pilings.
Mike glanced over the thick rope railings and realized that it must be low tide. Below, he could see the golden algae covered rocks of the bottom through perhaps three feet of clear water. He looked outward to the docks extending behind the building into the ocean. He wondered if they had to dredge to keep it deep enough for moorage.
As he laid his hand on the push bar of the door, he noted the blocked windows of the old ticket booth and the sign that read, "We are solely supported by public contribution."
As he walked through into the echoing main area of the building he dropped a ten dollar bill into the large bottle that was labeled, "Admission by Donation Only."
There was a woman behind the desk and her head came up as he entered and for a moment his eyes met hers.
He saw her register the thought, "cop" and saw the subtle shift in her body language as she went on guard. He tried for the direct approach, and walking to the desk asked, "Is there a tour, or do I just look around by myself?"
The woman was perhaps fifty-five, thin to the point of emaciation, and her skin had the weathered and tanned, brown tone of a life that had been spent out of doors in the salt and the wind.
She looked him up and down and then responding to his open and honest gaze she said, not unkindly, "That really depends what it is you want to know, Officer."
Mike answered with a smile, "It's Detective actually, Detective Michael Celluci, and I really would like to understand what you do here."
"Well then Detective Michael Celluci, in that case I think you will require the tour."
She smiled slightly, "My name is Becky, Doctor Becky Anderson. I am one of the veterinary marine biologists on call here, and as it appears that the regular tour guides are busy with the kids in from Sooke today, I will be happy to show you around and answer your questions."
She called a young man out of a back office and said. "Ben, keep an eye on the front desk, can you, while I show the detective around?"
"Sure thing, Beck's," Ben said, leaning against the desk and giving Mike an unfriendly stare.
She came out from behind the desk and shook his hand firmly. "I think we will start in the Gallery and then work our way through the displays and then I'll take you out to the clinic and the pools so you can see firsthand why we do as we do."
The Gallery proved to be a long series of switchback photographic displays, commencing with studies of the natural life cycle of the seal and then moving on to stark black and white images of the seals in the water and on the ice flows. The credits for many of the photographs bore the name Orion Gaelan.
Mike lifted a finger to touch the Plexiglas covering the close up shot of an adult seal's face, the glow of curiosity and intelligence captured by the camera's lens.
"Mr. Gaelan is a very fine photographer," Mike said, the admiration in his voice genuine.
"Yes," Doctor Anderson agreed, "his work is among the best. He's based out of Toronto I believe, but he provides us with all these shots for the Gallery and for the displays, without charge, as a contribution to the Society."
Towards the end of the Gallery the images became more graphic and depicted angry confrontations between the seal hunters on the ice and the protesters who challenged them.
They came to a small enclosed viewing room, the sign on the door said, "Fourteen and Older Only!" Mike raised an eyebrow to the doctor.
"We screen a short series of pieces of candid footage shot by protesters during the spring hunt. Also clips from random confrontations with poachers. It's not really for the faint of heart," Becky said. There was no challenge in the comment, just a sad statement of fact.
Mike opened the door and moved to take a seat in the small screening room and Becky flicked off the light switch which started the play of the video footage.
She slipped into the chair beside him to sit stiff backed with her hands folded in her lap.
When he emerged from the room at the end of fifteen minutes his mind was full of the images of blood on the ice, the rising and falling of the sealing clubs, the piteous barking of the dying seals.
His memory held the image of the black eyes and noses of the infant white coats and the slow spread of their blood in the trampled pink slush underfoot.
His ears were full of the roar of the engines of the zodiacs, the sharp retort of the rifles and the angry shouts and curses of the protesters. He could hear the creaking of the lines and fittings of the tall ship the Lila where the protesters retreated.
His stomach churned and he was repulsed by what he had just seen. He suddenly shuddered with a creeping sense of revulsion as he remembered the fur vault in Jimmy Parker's house and the zippered body bags full of….
I've seen much worse than this, he told himself, much worse. And yet he found himself profoundly affected by the casual cruelty and the sheer magnitude of the slaughter of the seal population and of the pitiless clubbing of the newborn white coats in particular.
He felt Doctor Andersen's callused hand on his arm, "It never gets any easier to watch," she said sympathetically. "Why don't we go out to the clinic and the pools?"
Following Doctor Anderson, he emerged into the water grey light of the overcast afternoon and down a long wide flight of stairs to the level of the water. They passed by a small concrete amphitheater surrounding a deep pool where Mike could see several dolphins swimming in lazy circles.
"There used to be a killer whale show here," Becky said as they passed by, "but that was years ago, so the seats really only get occupied for lectures or tours now. Now we use this as our dolphin rescue pool." Mike could hear the distinctive chatter of the dolphins behind his back and then the raucous voice of a very disgruntled seagull.
They toured two small veterinary buildings that Becky referred to as 'clinics' and then she walked Mike out to the foot of one of the docks.
There were the cordoned off charred remains of a boathouse there and Mike could see the new lumber of a repaired section of the dock contrasted against the smoke blackened tops of the log pilings of one of the slips.
"Fire?" he questioned, with a nod of his head, towards the burnt out building.
"Arson," Becky responded bitterly as she walked out onto the dock. "They set fire to one of our larger sailboats and burned her to the waterline, and then they fired the boathouse where we stored the zodiacs just for good measure. They think that will stop us, but they are wrong," she said resolutely."
Mike looked down through the water to see the burnt hull of the wreck on the bottom. "Who are they?" Mike asked in a low voice.
"Oh, you know, they…whichever business interest or profitable venture or criminal low-life organization that we inconvenienced recently." She smiled grimly. "It goes with the territory. It's not the first time and it won't be the last; we are just lucky that we caught it before the whole facility went up. We do try to keep a couple of people on site all the time now though."
"It's under investigation?" he asked, wondering why he hadn't seen any mention in the files.
She nodded as she waved to two young men on the opposite dock who stood coiling some ropes on the deck of the small sailing vessel; their eyes were watchful and wary as they looked at Mike. "Yes, by Arsons." She said.
Mike followed her back to the main building, past a battered tan colored pickup truck. There was a hoist welded in place on sliding rails in the back. A large canvas sling hung from the hoist, poised over a shallow plastic liner that could be used as a portable pool. Becky saw the direction of his gaze. "It's kind of a jerry-rigged animal ambulance and transport-rescue vehicle," she said. "We send it all over the island and mainland when we get emergency call outs."
"Aside from the fires, were there any other problems?" Mike asked as he reached past her to hold open the door of the Society Gift Shop that they were entering on the lower level.
As she passed through in front of him Becky said, "There were two separate 'random' muggings of Society members last month," the sarcasm was plain in her voice. "Both young men were beaten badly enough to be hospitalized for days."
"If you are really interested Detective, take a look around," she said, indicating the small shop with a wave of her arm. "There are plenty of books, pamphlets, CDs and such. I'll just nip into the lunch room and grab us a couple of coffees and then you can ask me whatever other questions you have. I really should get back up to the front desk."
Mike perused the racks of books and pamphlets and a picture on a CD cover jumped out. Liath Roane, "Songs of the Sea" the title read. There she was, her smiling face and deep brown gaze staring off the cover. When he turned it over he saw the inscription on the liner notes, "All proceeds of the sale of this CD go to the Victoria Aquatic Mammal Protection Society." Nothing is ever as simple as it seems, he thought to himself.
He decided to purchase a copy, and then as he raised his eyes to a display of T-shirts on the wall, he laughed aloud.
When Becky returned with a mug of coffee in either hand he said, "I'd like to buy this CD and I need at least a couple of those T-shirts. I have a 'friend' who will get quite a kick out of them I think."
"Oh, you will love Liath's music," Becky said. "She does a lot of work for the Society; she has done so many benefit concerts with her friends to raise money as well as awareness. Liath has a way with words and the articles she writes are compelling. She is gone so often though, on the road with the group, but when she is in town she comes by to volunteer in the clinics. She has an incredible touch with the sick and injured seals, it's almost magical," she continued as Mike followed her up the stairs to the main area of the building again.
The two young men from the boat were now tending the desk and they glanced up with a certain amount of hostility in their eyes as Mike and Becky entered. Mike could see Ben, in an office having a heated conversation on the telephone; the door was closed but he could see him gesture angrily.
Mike asked Becky a few more questions as he sipped his coffee, and just to upset Tweedley-dee and Tweedley-dum behind the counter, he pulled out his notebook and made a few quick entries.
Mike paid for the CD and T-shirts that Becky wrapped for him and then made good his escape just as he saw what appeared to be a group of thirty grade school students approaching from the clinic.
He unlocked his car and decided that he would take a drive down to the Inner Harbor. Liath had said she would be busking down there today. He had some questions he wanted to ask her and more than that, he wanted to see her.
…