The Swarm

'Dr Anawak.' The journalist cleared his throat. 'What happens when humans eat the flesh of these whales?'

'They absorb some of the toxin.'

'Does it kill them?'

'It might in the long-term.'

'In that case, aren't businesses that dump their chemicals in the water – like the timber industry – indirectly responsible for death and disease among humans?'

Anawak hesitated. The reporter was right, of course, but Vancouver Aquarium was keen to avoid direct confrontations with local businesses, preferring to try for a diplomatic solution. Painting British Columbia's economic and political elite as a bunch of near-murderers would increase the existing tensions. 'There's no doubt that eating contaminated meat would pose a risk to human health,' he said evasively.

'Meat that our businesses have knowingly contaminated.'

'That's something we're working on with those responsible.'

'I get it.' The reporter made a note of something. 'I was thinking in particular of the people where you come from, Dr…'

'I come from round here,' said Anawak curtly.

The journalist stared at him in surprise.

No wonder, thought Anawak. The poor guy had been snapped at for doing his homework.

'That's not what I meant,' the man responded. 'I meant where you came from originally-'

'Very little whale or seal flesh is consumed in British Columbia,' Anawak interrupted. 'By contrast, relatively high levels of toxins have been recorded among inhabitants of the Arctic Circle, in Greenland, Iceland, Alaska and further north in Nunavut, but also in Siberia, the Kamchatka peninsula and the Aleutian Islands. In other words, everywhere that marine mammals are part of the staple diet. It doesn't matter where the mammals pick up the toxins because they migrate.'

'Do you think the whales know they're being poisoned?' asked a student.

'No.'

'But in your books you say that they're intelligent. If only they realised there was a problem with their food…'

'Humans carry on smoking until they need an amputation or die of lung cancer. They're aware of the problem but it doesn't stop them. And humans are a good deal smarter than whales.'

'How can you be sure? It might be the other way round.'

Anawak made an effort to answer politely. 'You have to see whales as whales. They're highly specialised, but specialisation brings with it certain limitations. An orca is a streamlined living torpedo, but that comes at the expense of legs, hands, facial expressions and stereoscopic vision. They're not like humans. Orcas are probably cleverer than dogs. Belugas are intelligent enough to know who they are, and dolphins certainly have a unique brain. But take a moment to think about what they achieve with all that. Whales and dolphins share a habitat with fish and have a similar way of life, but fish get by with only a few neurons.'

Anawak was almost relieved to hear his mobile buzz. He signalled to Fenwick to carry on with the autopsy and took a few paces away from the group.

'Leon,' said Shoemaker, 'Can you prise yourself away?'

'Maybe. What's wrong?'

'He's back.'

THIS TIME ANAWAK was so angry he could barely contain himself A few days ago, when he'd been called back to Vancouver Island in a hurry, Jack Greywolf and his Seaguards had disappeared, leaving two boatfuls of disgruntled tourists in their wake. Shoemaker had been besieged by people complaining at being filmed and stared at like animals, and had only just succeeded in calming them down, in some cases by handing out free tickets. After that, things had seemed to return to normal. But Jack Greywolf had caused an upset, exactly as he'd hoped.

Back at the station they'd gone over all the options. Was it better to ignore the protesters or take action against them? If they made an official complaint they would give Greywolf a forum. People like him were as much of an irritation to serious environmental organisations as they were to the whale-watching business, but in the media uproar, an unsuspecting public would receive distorted information. Many would sympathise with Greywolf, without knowing the facts.

They'd decided to ignore him.

Perhaps, thought Anawak, as he steered the motorboat along the coast through Clayoquot Sound, that was a mistake. Maybe a simple letter of complaint would have satisfied Greywolf's need for acknowledgement. Anything to show he'd made an impact.

He scanned the surface of the ocean. The Zodiac was racing through the water and he didn't want to risk scaring or hurting a whale. Several times he spotted flukes in the distance, and once he saw glistening black fins cutting through the water not far from the boat. He kept in radio-contact with Susan Stringer on the Blue Shark. 'What are they doing?' he asked. 'They're not getting physical, are they?'

The walkie-talkie crackled. 'No,' came Stringer's voice. 'They're taking photos like last time, and yelling at us.'

'How many?'

'Two boatfuls – Greywolf and another guy in one boat, and three in the second. Oh, God, they've started to sing.'

Anawak heard a faint rhythmic sound above the radio interference.

'They're drumming,' Stringer bellowed. 'Greywolf's beating a rhythm and the others are chanting Indian songs.'

'Keep calm. Don't let yourself be provoked. I'll be with you in a moment.'

'Leon? What kind of Indian is this asshole?'

'He's a con artist,' said Anawak, 'not an Indian.'

'But I thought-'

'His mother's half Indian, but that's as far as it goes. His real name is Jack O'Bannon.'

Anawak sped on towards the boats. The noise of the drum floated over the water.

'Jack O'Bannon,' said Stringer slowly. I've got a good mind to-'

'You'll do no such thing. Can you see me now?'

'Yes.'

'Sit tight.'

Anawak stowed his radio and turned the boat towards the open water. At last he could see what was happening. The Blue Shark and the Lady Wexham were in the middle of a group of humpbacks that had spread out across the sea. From time to time flukes disappeared under the waves or a cloud of droplets rose into the air. The Lady Wexham's white hull shimmered in the sunlight. Two small, dilapidated sport-fishing boats with red-painted hulls were circling the Blue Shark tightly.

If Greywolf had noticed Anawak approaching, he didn't let on. He was standing in the boat, banging a drum and chanting. The people on the other boat, two men and a woman, were shouting insults and curses. Every now and then they took pictures of the Blue Shark's passengers and pelted them with something that sparkled. Fish scraps, Anawak realised. The people on the Blue Shark ducked. Anawak felt like ramming Greywolf's boat and watching as the man toppled overboard, but he restrained himself.

He pulled up close to the boats and shouted, 'Quit drumming, Jack. Let's talk.'

Greywolf ignored him.

A male voice came over the radio: 'Hello, Leon. Good to see you.'

It was the Lady Wexham's skipper. The boat was about a hundred metres away. The people on the top deck were leaning over the rails, staring at the beleaguered Zodiac. Some were taking photos.

'Everything OK at your end?' asked Anawak.

'Fine. What are we going to do about the bastards?'

'I'll try the peaceful approach.'

'If you want me to run them down for you, just say the word.'

The Blue Shark was being jostled by the Seaguards' motorboats. Greywolf swayed as his boat hit the inflatable, but he carried on drumming. The feathers on his hat quivered in the wind. Behind the boats a fluke rose into the air and disappeared again, but no one had eyes for the whales.