by Eric Douglas Douglas’ previous stories, including Cayman Cowboys, Flooding Hollywood and Guardian’s Keep are available on his website at, www.booksbyeric.com .

Chapter 2

About an hour later, the three of them were on board Jackson’s cruiser Daydreamer heading for the location of the suspected conch poaching. The tip from the mystery caller had actually included precise GPS coordinates. That extra bit of information made Sarah believe the tip came from someone on the inside. On the other hand, it almost made it seem like the tip was too good to be true. She knew that fishermen are a tight community and for one of them to rat out the others was pretty unlikely. But she also knew she couldn’t not investigate, just in case it was real. Jackson and Mike were still skeptical, but they were curious enough to take a look around. Mike’s journalist sense was working overtime, but he wasn’t sure if it was Sarah, the potential story, or the residual effects of his last one. “So, what’s your story?” Sarah asked Mike as they cruised toward the dive site. Jackson was at the boat’s wheel, following the GPS navigator, so Mike and Sarah were on the stern readying their gear. “What do you mean? I’m just along for the ride on this one,” Mike replied with a grin. “I don’t buy that for a second. Jackson sort of deferred to you back at the house boat,” Sarah pressed. “We’re old friends. Worked together on a couple projects back a few years ago. He only deferred to me because I had already called him up about going diving,” Mike said. “He wanted to see what I thought of your story and if I was willing to change our plans and come along.” “Oh. Sorry,” Sarah said, hanging her head for a second. “Look, you probably think I’m a total wing-nut, and I don’t blame you if you do, but the ocean is important to me. I think of it like a friend. And we abuse it so much, I get frustrated. When I feel like other people aren’t paying attention, I get a little worked up. You’re both being very nice helping me out with this. Thank you.” Mike watched her for a minute before he answered. “You’re all right. Too many people don’t get worked up, or passionate, about anything. It’s nice to meet someone who believes in something so much they’ll go out on a limb to protect it.” Sarah beamed in response, but didn’t say anything. “Now, let’s finish getting this gear together and get in the water,” Mike finished. Just then they felt the boat slow down as Jackson pulled back on the throttles of the big twin four-strokes. He was approaching the spot given to Sarah. “We’re here. I checked with a couple friends on the radio and they all said this area had quite a few queen conchs the last time they were out here, but that it had been a while,” Jackson explained. “I guess you guys will know in a few minutes.” There was a gentle current running through the area, so Jackson planned to follow their bubbles and pick Mike and Sarah up wherever they surfaced. He didn’t want to drop an anchor since that would tear up the coral bottom. “That’s a pretty interesting gear configuration you’re wearing there,” Mike commented as he scanned Sarah from head to toe. “I like to keep things as simple as possible. The water is so warm, I don’t need a wetsuit. I took the wings off my BC and just use it as a harness to hold the tank in place, not for lift. I used to swim competitively, so I don’t need the help and I definitely don’t need the extra drag,” Sarah explained matter-of-factly. “I don’t like to have anything more than a swimsuit between me and my ocean.” “Very old school, but I like it,” Mike agreed. “Come on, let’s go for a swim.” Both divers moved into position on the opposite sides of the boat. They back rolled into the water, falling into the warm, clear water. “You ready to go?” Mike asked Sarah as they bobbed to the surface and joined up behind the boat. She didn’t speak, but gave him a smile behind her reg and an OK hand signal with her right hand. She exhaled and began to descend. Mike laughed as he let the air from his BC and followed right behind her. It had been several months since Mike had been diving. He had been on the road, covering several different assignments and hadn’t gotten a chance to get wet. As his head dropped below the surface, he remembered how much he missed it. The warm, clear water of the Gulf of Mexico surrounded his body; he was just wearing a swimsuit and a T-shirt. Mike’s mind began drifting as he dropped toward the bottom, about 40 feet away. He wasn’t even paying attention to the coral below, although he could see it very clearly from the surface. Visibility was at least 70-80 feet in any direction. He could see Sarah in front of him descending slightly faster. Mike’s attention quickly turned to the shapely legs in front of him. His eyes scanned her body, appreciating the confident kick and her skill in the water, along with the bikini she chose to wear underneath her minimal gear. He smiled as he realized it wasn’t just diving that he had missed. His reverie stopped short, though, when Sarah whirled around to face him. For half a second he wondered if she knew where his thoughts were going. Then he realized she was upset, but not at him. She was spinning around near the bottom, pointing in frustration. When Mike looked down, he realized why. The bottom was littered with torn up coral heads. It was like a tornado had blown through. None of the familiar elkhorn or brain coral formations were standing. They had all been knocked down or torn out. Mike immediately brought his Nikon D3 camera up to his eye and began shooting. Mike did his best to capture images of the entire area. Sarah began swimming in front of him, pointing out things she saw and he dutifully followed—gone were the other thoughts on his mind. Something was definitely going on. No matter how much he needed a break, he was still a photojournalist and a story was a story. The devastation was clearly man-made. After about 20 minutes of following the debris trail, it suddenly came to an end. Everything returned to normal. The coral actually looked healthy and alive. Sarah looked at Mike and they agreed to ascend. “What the hell happened down there?” Sarah asked as soon as her head broke the surface. “It looks like a war zone.” Mike was slightly behind her so he didn’t hear the first question, but he did hear the follow-up comment. “It’s a mess down there,” Mike agreed as he signaled for Jackson to pick them up. “What could tear the bottom up like that?” “It looked like someone ran a bulldozer over the reef,” Sarah said. “How could they do that? It’ll take decades for that coral to regrow.” “I didn’t see any conchs down there, either,” Mike said as he handed his camera up to Jackson. “What? What happened down there? What did you see?” Jackson asked, confused by what they were saying. “The whole place had been flattened,” Mike said, knowing that Sarah was too upset to talk. “And all the conchs were gone. I don’t know how many would normally be in an area like this, but they were all gone.” “That’s nuts! They took them all?” Jackson asked. “This area was actually part of a research project to restock them.” “Yeah, the entire area was stripped clean and turned into rubble,” Mike said as he grabbed a towel to dry. Sarah finished climbing on board the boat and dropped her gear into the slot Jackson had shown her. She was calmer, but still upset. “You don’t even harvest conch that way. It doesn’t make any sense. It looked like someone drug their fishing nets across the reef,” she explained. “You dive and pick the conch up by hand.” “You’re right. That doesn’t make sense,” Jackson agreed, handing her a bottle of water. “So, who would do it that way? There’s no way to cover up all that damage either.” “I don’t know. This just has me completely confused,” Sarah said. “Let’s think about this logically for a second. The technique doesn’t make sense, but who has the ability to do it anyway,” Mike asked and then he continued on to answer his own question. “Commercial fishing boats. Jackson, where is that commercial marina? I thought I saw the signs when I drove onto the island.” “Its a couple miles that direction,” Jackson said, pointing to a heavily wooded point jutting out into the water from the end of the island. “It’s around on the back side of the island a bit, not too far from here.” “Let’s go over there and see if we can figure out what’s going on,” Sarah said, the fire back in her eyes. “I just can’t believe that mess back there. There has to be an answer around here somewhere.” They were quiet as Jackson steered the boat past the end of the island and made his way toward the fishing vessels. They were approaching the mouth of the marina when Sarah suddenly broke the silence. “Stop the boat!” she shouted. “Look at that!” Both men looked where she was pointing. From a distance they saw what looked like a rubble pile from a construction site. “What is it, Sarah?” Mike asked. “Looks like a pile of conch shells to me,” she explained. “Jackson, can you head in there?” “Sure,” he said. “I can get you pretty close, actually.” Jackson spun the wheel and eased the boat toward land, pulling the twin outboards to barely above an idle and trimming them up so the prop was just barely in the water, but keeping enough water flowing to keep the engines cool. He got them as close as he could but finally he had to stop. Sarah didn’t hesitate before jumping over the side of the boat, so she could slog her way toward the pile on the beach. By that time, it was apparent that the pile was broken conch shells and torn-up coral. Mike had his camera out of the underwater housing and photographed the pile and Sarah while she looked at the rubble. He thought they might need the images for court, if it came to that. “This doesn’t make sense,” Sarah yelled over her shoulder while she sorted through the shells. “What is it, Sarah?” Jackson asked. She turned around holding two huge shells up in her hands. “If they were going to go to all the trouble to do this, don’t you think they would hide the shells? Why just leave them out here on the shore?” “Doesn’t make sense,” Mike agreed. “Your tip described a huge smuggling operation. If they’re going to all that expense, why do something this careless. Something doesn’t smell right.” Sarah waded back into the water holding up a couple prime shells. “You’re telling me,” she said. “These shells are really ripe, and I’ll tell you why. They haven’t even been holed. T T The conchs are still inside. Whoever did this didn’t even bother to take the meat to sell. They simply dredged the coral bottom, killed hundreds of conch and left them to rot on the beach.” “Why would commercial fishermen do something stupid like that?” Mike asked. “They wouldn’t,” Sarah replied.

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