the beer and food were good and cheap. The policemen, who were going off-duty, invited themselves along, too. By the time they got into their second pint, the detectives were very talkative. They had retraced the Trouts' foot- steps, talking to the B-and-B owners and a few regulars around the waterfront. Mike Neal was still missing, and the man named Gro- gan had also disappeared. There was no telephone number for the Oceanus plant. They were still trying to contact the corporation's in- ternational office, but were having little luck.
Gamay ordered another beer after the police officers left. She blew off the foamy head and, in an accusatory tone, said, 'That's the last time I take a drive in the country with you.'
'At least you didn't break any bones. I have to drink my beer with my left hand. And how am I going to tie my bow ties?'
'Heaven forbid you use snap-ons, you poor boy. Have you seen the dark circle under my eye? I believe it's what we called a mouse when I was a kid.'
Paul leaned over and lightly kissed his wife on the cheek. 'On you, it looks exotic.'
'I suppose that's better than nothing,' Gamay said, with an in- dulgent smile. 'What do we do now? We can't go back to Wash- ington with nothing to show but a few lumps and repair bills for a nonexistent boat.'
He sipped his beer. 'What was the name of that scientist Mike Neal tried to contact?'
'Throckmorton. Neal said he was at McGill University.' 'Montreal! Why not drop by and see him, as long as we're in the neighborhood?'
'Brilliant idea!' Gamay said. 'Enjoy your beer, Lefty. I'll update Kurt on our plans.'
Gamay took her cell phone to a relatively quiet corner of the pub and called NUMA. Austin was out, so she left a message saying they were following the Oceanus trail to Quebec and would be in contact. She asked Austin's secretary to track down a telephone number for Throckmorton and to see if she could put together a flight to Mon- treal. Several minutes later, the secretary called back with the phone number and two reservations on a flight leaving later that day.
Gamay called Throckmorton. She said she was a NUMA marine biologist and wondered if he had any time to talk about his work. He was delighted and flattered, he said, and would be free after his last class. Their Air Canada flight landed at Dorval Airport around midafternoon. They dropped their baggage off at the Queen Eliza- beth Hotel and caught a cab to the McGill University campus, a clus- ter of gray granite older buildings along with more modern structures on the side of Mont Royal.
Professor Throckmorton was wrapping up his lecture as the Trouts arrived, and emerged from his classroom surrounded by a flock of chattering students. Throckmorton's eye caught Gamay's stunning red hair and took in Paul's tall figure. He shooed away the students and came over to greet the newcomers.
'The Doctors Trout, I presume,' he said, pumping their hands. 'Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,' Gamay said. 'Not at all,' he said warmly. 'It's an honor to meet scientists from NUMA. I'm flattered that you're interested in my work.'
Paul said, 'We were traveling in Canada, and when Gamay learned about your research, she insisted that we make a detour.'
'Hope I'm not the source of marital discord,' he said, bushy eye- brows jumping like startled caterpillars.
'Not at all,' Gamay said. 'Montreal is one of our favorite cities.'
'Well, then, now that we've got that settled, why don't you come up to the lab and see what's on the slab, as they say.'
'Didn't they say that in The Rocy Horror Picture ShowY Gamay said.
'Correct! Some of my colleagues have taken to calling me the mad scientist Frank N. Furter.'
Throckmorton was ofshorter-than-average height, chubby rather than plump, and the roundness of his body was repeated in his moon- shaped face and his circular eyeglasses. Yet he moved with the quick- ness of an athlete, as he led the way to the lab.
He ushered the Trouts through a door and into a large, brightly lit space and motioned for them to sit down at a lab table. Comput- ers were scattered at stations around the room. Aerators bubbled in a series of tanks on the far side of the lab, and a briny smell of fish filled the room. Throckmorton poured three lab beakers of iced tea and sat down at the table.
'How did you hear about my work?' he said, after a sip from his beaker. 'Something in a scientific journal?'
The Trouts exchanged glances. 'To be honest,' Gamay said, 'we don't know what you're working on.'
Seeing Throckmorton's puzzled expression, Paul jumped in and said, 'We got your name from a fisherman by the name of Mike Neal. He said he had contacted you on behalf of the men in his fleet. Their catches were off, and they thought it might have something to do with an odd type of fish he and the other fishermen in his town were landing.'
'Oh, yes, Mr. Neal! His call was directed to my office, but I never talked to him. I was out of the country when he called, and I've been too busy to get back to him. Sounded quite intriguing. Something about a 'devilfish.' Maybe I can give him a call later today.'
'I hope you get good long-distance rates,' Paul said. 'Neal is dead.'
'I don't understand.' 'He was killed in a boat explosion,' Gamay said. 'The police don't know what caused it.'
A stunned expression crossed Throckmorton's face. 'Poor man.' He paused, then said, 'I hope this doesn't seem callous, but I suppose now I'll never know about this strange devilfish.'
'We'll be glad to tell you what we know,' Gamay said. Throckmorton listened intently as Gamay and Paul took turns describing their trip with Neal. As each detail unfolded, the cheer- fulness drained from Throckmorton's rosy- cheeked face. He gazed solemnly from Gamay to Paul. 'Are you absolutely certain of every- thing you told me? You're quite sure of the size of the fish and the strange white color. And its aggressiveness?'
'See for yourself,' Paul said, producing the videotape shot on Neal's boat.
After viewing the tape, Throckmorton rose, solemn-faced, from his chair and paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. Over and over, he muttered, 'This is not good, not good at all.' Gamay had a disarming way of cutting to the chase. 'Please tell us what's going on, Professor.'
He stopped his pacing and sat down again. 'As a marine biologist, you must know about transgenic fish,' he said. 'The first one was de- veloped practically in your backyard, at the University of Maryland Biotechnology Institute.'
'I've read a number of papers, but I can't say I'm an expert on the subject. From what I understand, genes are spliced into fish eggs to make them grow faster.'
'That's right. The genes come from other species, even from in- sects and humans.'
'Humans?' 'I don't use human genes in my experiments. I agree with the Chinese, who are heavily into biofish research, that using human genes in this manner is unethical.'
'How are the genes used?' 'They produce unusually high levels of growth hormones and stimulate the fish's appetite. I've been developing transgenic fish with the Federal Department of Fisheries and Oceans lab in Vancouver. The salmon grown there are fed twenty times a day. The constant feeding is essential. These super- salmon are programmed to grow eight times faster, forty times larger than normal in the first year. You can see what a boon this is for a fish farmer. He brings a fatter fish to market in a fraction of the time.'
'Thus ensuring a larger profit.' 'To be sure. Those pushing to bring biofish to market call it the
'Blue Revolution.' They admit they'd like to increase profits, but they say they have an altruistic motive as well. DNA-altered fish will pro- vide a cheap and plentiful source of food for the poorer nations of the world.'
'I think I heard the same arguments in favor of DNA-modified crops,' Gamay said.
'With good reason. Genetically modified fish were a logical out- growth of the biotech food trend. If you can engineer corn, why not do the same for higher living organisms? This is likely to be far more controversial, though. The protests have already started. The oppo- nents say transgenic fish could mess up the environment, wipe out the wild fishery and put the small fisherman out of business. They're call- ing these biotech creations 'Frankenfish.' '
'Catchy name,' said Paul, who had been listening with interest to the conversation. 'Can't see it selling too many fish.' 'Where do you stand on this issue?' Gamay said. 'Since I created some of these fish, I have a special responsibility. I want to see more study before we start raising these creatures on fish farms. The push to commercialize what we've been doing worries me. We need extensive risk assessment before we trigger what could be a disaster.'
