“But we’ve been away for a long time.”
“Maybe you’re right. We’ve accomplished more than we set out to do, and maybe it’s time to go home, get our house finished, and start on a new project.”
Remi shook her head. “I didn’t mean right this minute. We’re heading for Baja already, and we’ll reach land at San Ignacio Lagoon. I’ve always wanted to see where the gray whales go to mate and calf.”
“Maybe after that we can keep going straight to Acapulco and get on a plane.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Let’s talk about it then.”
After another day, they anchored in San Ignacio Lagoon, then launched the plastic ocean kayaks. Remi and Sam climbed down into them, George Morales tossed their two-bladed paddles down, and they glided into the lagoon. It wasn’t long before the first of the gray whales rose to the surface before them, spouted water and steamy spray from double blowholes, and then made a rolling dive downward, its tail working to leave a roiling, bubbly trail on the surface. They were silent for a few seconds — an animal the size of a city bus had risen in front of them and sunk again, leaving their little, orange plastic kayaks alone on the lagoon.
The Fargos spent the rest of that day and the following out in their kayaks. Whenever they met a gray whale, it would come close to them, apparently curious. Sam and Remi petted each whale on its head and back and then watched it go.
In the evening, the Fargos would sit at the table on the rear deck of the yacht with the crew and share a dinner of fresh-caught fish or Mexican delicacies brought from a restaurant in the small town of San Ignacio. They would stay out until long after dark, talking about the sea and its creatures, about their lives and their friends and families, as the night sky filled with brightening stars. After Sam and Remi retired to their cabin to sleep, they could sometimes still hear the sound of the whales spouting in the darkness.
Next, they moved south along the coast, making for Acapulco. On arrival, they called Selma Wondrash, their chief researcher. They had given her and the young couple who worked under her, Pete Jeffcoat and Wendy Corden, the month off, but Selma had insisted on staying in La Jolla and supervising the construction while they were away.
Selma answered, “Hi, Remi. Zoltan is just fine.”
“It’s both of us,” said Sam. “Glad to hear that. And how’s the construction going?”
“Just remember, the cathedral at Chartres took a few hundred years to build.”
“I hope you’re joking,” said Remi.
“I am. There’s not a single piece of woodwork left with a bullet hole in it. The lower two floors are pretty much finished, and everything works. There’s still a bit of painting they’re finishing up on the third floor, but your suite on the fourth floor still needs at least two weeks of work. You know what that means.”
“That there will finally be enough closet space for my shoes?” Remi said.
“Yes,” Sam said. “And two weeks means four weeks in contractor language.”
“I love working for a pessimist. When anything goes right, you’re so surprised. Where are you, by the way?”
Sam said, “We’re through tagging sharks. We’re in Acapulco.”
“Is everything still okay?”
“It’s lovely,” said Remi. “Fresh fish, chicken mole, dancing under the stars, et cetera. It beats being shark bait. But we’re thinking of coming home soon.”
“Just let me know. The jet and crew will be waiting to bring you home. I’ll pick you up at the Orange County airport.”
“Thanks, Selma,” said Remi. “We’ll let you know. It’s time to have some more fun. Our dinner reservation is in ten minutes. Call if you need us.”
“Of course I will. Good-bye.”
They were staying in one of the two towers at the hotel, and that night, just after they got into bed, they felt a brief tremor. The building seemed to rock for a few seconds, and they heard a faint rattling, but nothing more. Remi turned over and held on to Sam, then whispered, “Another reason I love you is that you take me to hotels that have been remodeled to stand up to earthquakes.”
“It’s not a trait women usually list for the guy of their dreams, but I’ll take credit for it.”
The next day they checked out of the hotel and returned to the yacht. As soon as they reached the dock, they sensed something had changed. Captain Juan was up in the bridge listening to a Spanish-language radio station with the volume up so loud that they could hear it as soon as they were out of the taxi. George was standing at the rail watching them approach, his face a wide-eyed mask of worry. As soon as they stepped aboard, Sam heard the words
“What is it?” asked Sam. “Another earthquake?”
“It just came five or ten minutes ago. Juan might know more.”
Sam, Remi, and George all climbed to the bridge and joined Captain Juan. When he saw them, he said, “It hit down the coast in Tapachula, in Chiapas. Right near the border with Guatemala.”
“How bad?” asked Remi.
“Bad,” he said. “They’re saying eight-point-three, eight-point-five. Since then, there’s smoke coming from Tacana, the volcano north of the city. The roads are all closed by landslides for a long distance. People are hurt, maybe some killed, but they don’t know how many.” He shook his head. “I wish we could do something.”
Sam looked at Remi and she nodded. “We’ve got to make a phone call. Start getting the boat ready to move. Anything you haven’t done since we put in here, get it done now.”
Sam took out his satellite phone and went out to the foredeck. He dialed. “Selma?”
“Hi, Sam,” she said. “Coming home so soon?”
“No, there’s trouble. There’s been a major earthquake in Tapachula, down the coast from here. They need help and the roads to the city are blocked — maybe the whole area. I don’t know what sort of airport they have in Tapachula, but I’d like you to call Doc Evans. Ask him to order a standard disaster medical package to be flown in to whatever hospital there is standing — whatever they’ll need after a big quake. Tell him it’s our treat. Get him a bank credit for a hundred thousand dollars. Can you do that?”
“Yes. If I can’t reach him, I’ll get my own doctor to authorize it. The airport is a different issue, but I’ll find out if they can fly it in or if they have to drop it.”
“We’re going to head south as soon as we can get loaded.”
“I’ll stay in touch.” She hung up.
Sam hurried back to the bridge to talk to Captain Juan. He said, “We seem to be in a position to do something more important than tagging fish.”
“What do you mean?”
“The roads to Tapachula are out, right?”
“That’s what they say on the radio. They said it could take months to clear them.”
“Since we put in here, you’ve taken a lot of food and water on board already and filled the fuel tanks, right? I’d like to load up this boat with as much as we can carry and head down there. We can probably be there in a day or two.”
“Well, yes,” he said. “A little more, maybe. But the company that owns the boat won’t pay for a trip like that or for the supplies. They can’t afford it.”
“We can,” said Remi. “And we’re here. So let’s go buy the supplies.”
Sam, Remi, Captain Juan, George, and Miguel went to work. Sam rented a large van, and they all went through Acapulco together, buying bottled water, canned food, blankets and sleeping bags, professional-level first aid kits, and basic medical supplies. They loaded their purchases onto the yacht and went out for more. They bought cans of gasoline, fifteen auxiliary generators, flashlights and batteries, radios, tents, clothing of all sizes. When they had put as much as they could into the living quarters, the hold, the forecastle, and even the bridge, they crammed the decks with large containers of water, gasoline, and food and lashed them to the rails so they wouldn’t shift in rough seas.
While they were finishing the loading, Remi set George and Miguel to calling Acapulco’s hospitals to see if there were supplies and prescription medications that would be in demand in Tapachula. The hospitals sent packages of prescription painkillers and antibiotics, splints and braces for broken bones. One hospital had three emergency room doctors who wondered if they could get a ride to Tapachula on the Fargos’ chartered yacht.
