Polar Shift

was now headed toward the other kayakers. A few people had seen Austin go over, but they had not been close enough to witness the attack. With Austin gone, the racers were in a state of confusion. Some continued to paddle slowly. Most had simply stopped dead in the water, where they sat like rubber ducks in a bathtub.

The orcas were closing in fast on the bewildered racers. Even more frightening, other pods of whales had appeared around the kayak flotilla and were gathering around for the kill. The racers were unaware of the sharp- toothed danger headed their way. Many of them had paddled the sound and knew that the orcas were harmless.

Austin grabbed the boat's steering wheel. 'Hope you don't mind,' he said as he punched up the throttle.

The man's reply was lost in the roar of twin outboard motors. The boat quickly got up on plane. Austin pointed the bow at the narrowing gap between the kayakers and the moving fins. He hoped that the noise of the engines and hull would disrupt the orcas. His heart sank when the whales split into two groups and went around him, still intent on their targets. He knew orcas communicated with each other to coordinate their attacks. Within seconds, the pod hit the kayak fleet like a spread of torpedoes. They rammed the light boats with their huge bodies. Several kayaks went over and their passengers were thrown into the water.

Austin slowed the boat's speed and steered between the bobbing heads of children and their parents and the knifelike orca fins. The White Lightning had moved closer to some capsized kayaks, but the situation was too chaotic for it to be of any help. Austin saw one of the tallest fins bearing down on a man who was floating in the water holding his young daughter in his arms. Austin would have to run over the other kayakers to get to them. He turned to the boat's owner.

'Do you have a rifle speargun on board?'

The bald man was fiddling frantically with an instrument box that was connected to the framework by a cable. He looked up from what he was doing and shook his head.

'It's okay,' he said. 'Look!' He pointed toward the mass of overturned kayaks.

The big fin had stopped moving. It remained stationary, playfully wobbling in place, only feet from the man and his daughter. Then it began to move away from the broken kayaks and their hapless paddlers.

The other fins followed. The surrounding pods that had been closing in broke off their attack and meandered back into the open waters. The big bull breached in a high, playful leap. Within minutes, none of the orcas was in sight.

A young boy had become separated from his parent. His flotation vest must have been donned improperly, because his head was slipping below the surface. Austin climbed up on the gunwale and launched his body into the air. He hit the water in a shallow racing dive and stroked his way to the boy. He reached him just before he went under.

Austin treaded water, holding the youngster's head above the surface. He only had to wait a few moments. The White Lightning had launched its inflatable life rafts, and racers were being plucked from the water. Austin handed the boy up to his rescuers and pivoted in the water. The bald man and his boat had disappeared.

Kurt Austin Senior was an older mirror image of his son. His broad shoulders had a slight sag, but they still looked fully capable of battering their way through a wall. His thick, platinum-silver hair was worn shorter than that of his son, who tended to be away from barbers for long periods of time.

Although he was in his mid-seventies, a strict regimen of exercise and diet had kept him trim and fit. He could still put in a workday that would have exhausted men half his age. His face was tanned from sun and sea, and his bronze skin was laced with a fine network of wrinkles. His coral, blue-green eyes could blaze with lionlike ferocity, but, like those of his son, they usually looked out at the world with gentle amusement.

The two Austins were seated in plush chairs in the White Lightnings luxurious main cabin, nursing oversize shots of Jack Daniel's. Kurt had borrowed a tailored sweat suit from his father. The waters of Puget Sound had been like a bathtub filled with ice cubes, and the liquor trickling down Kurt's throat was replacing the chill in his outer extremities with pleasing warmth.

The cabin was furnished in leather and brass and decorated with polo and horse racing prints. Kurt felt as if he were in one of those exclusive English men's clubs where a member could die in his overstuffed chair and not be discovered for days. His hard-driving father was not exactly the English gentleman type, and Kurt guessed that the atmosphere was designed to smooth the rough edges brought on by his hardscrabble fight to get to the top in a competitive business.

The old man replenished their glasses and offered Kurt a Cuban Cohiba Lanceros cigar, which he politely refused. Austin lit up, and puffed out a purple cloud that enveloped his head.

'What the hell went on out there today?'

Kurt's mind was still a blur. He reconsidered the cigar offer, and as he went through the manly ritual of lighting up he ordered his thoughts. He took another sip from his glass, and laid out the story.

'Crazy!' Austin said, summing up his reaction. 'Hell, those whales never hurt anyone. You know that. You've sailed the sound since you were a kid. You ever hear of anything like that happening?'

'Nope,' Kurt said. 'Orcas seem to like being around humans, which has always puzzled me.'

Austin replied with a loud guffaw. 'That's no mystery. They're smart, and they know that we're badass predators just like them.'

'The only difference is that they kill mainly for food.'

'Good point,' Austin said. He went to pour another shot, which Kurt waved off. He knew better than to try keeping up with his father.

'You know everyone in Seattle. Ever come across a bald guy with a spider tattoo on his head? Probably in his thirties. Dresses like a Hell's Angel, in black leather.'

'The only one who meets that description is Spiderman Barrett.'

'Didn't know you were into the comics, Pop.'

Austin's face crinkled in laughter. 'Barrett's a whiz kid computer geek who made it big out here. Sort of a minor-league Bill Gates. Only worth three billion bucks, maybe. He's got a big house overlooking the sound.'

'I feel for him. Do you know him personally?'

'Only by sight. He was a fixture on the local nightclub circuit. Then he dropped out of circulation.'

'What's with the head art?'

'Story I heard is that when he was a kid, he was a big Spiderman fan. Cut his hair, had his scalp tattooed and let his hair grow back; As he got older and started to go bald, the tattoo showed, so he shaved his head. Hell, with the kind of money Barrett has he could decorate his body with the Sunday funnies and nobody would blink an eye.'

'Eccentric or not, he saved me from becoming whale bait. I'd like to thank him, and apologize for commandeering his boat.'

Austin was about to tell his father about the metal structure on Barrett's boat, but a crewman came into the cabin and announced, 'Someone from Fish and Wildlife is here.'

A moment later, a petite, young, dark-haired woman dressed in the green uniform of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service entered the cabin. She was in her mid-twenties, although her black-rimmed glasses and serious expression made her look more mature. She identified herself as Sheila Rowland, and said she wanted to ask Kurt about his whale encounter.

'Sorry to barge in on you,' she said in apology. 'We've closed off further kayak expeditions in Puget Sound until we can get to the bottom of this incident. Whale watching is a big part of the local economy, so we've put the investigation on the fast track. The vendors are starting to scream about the ban, but we can't take chances.'

Austin told her to take a seat, and Kurt went through his story for a second time.

'That's so strange,' she said with a shake of her head. 'I've never known orcas to hurt anyone.'

'What about attacks in marine parks?' Kurt said.

'Those are whales that are held in captivity and put under pressure to perform. They get angry at being cooped up and overworked, and sometimes they take out their frustrations on the trainers. There have been a few cases in the wild where an orca has grabbed a surfboard, thinking it's a seal. Once they discover their mistake, they've spit the surfer out.'

'I guess the whale I encountered didn't like my face,' Austin said with dry humor.