Free Eye of the Whale by Douglas Carlton Abrams Page B

for him, some kind of final exam of her love—and she had failed.
    What had he done wrong? What hadn’t he done to make Elizabeth love him or want to be with him as much as she wanted to be with her whales? He had known that she would never be like his mother; he had purposefully married her because she was strong and independent. His mother had never taken care of herself or her health, giving everything to her husband and children. He knew he didn’t want a wife who was committing such slow suicide under the guise of love. He wanted a woman who would challenge him andbe a true equal, but something had gone wrong. Their careers, certainly his as well as hers, had dragged them out of each other’s arms, and now they could not find their way back. But maybe he had to face the truth—perhaps Elizabeth did not want a family or a marriage like he did. Maybe her science and her whales really were more important to her.
    He looked at the box of brightly colored birthday candles languishing on the table. Pulling out a red one, he took up the lighter that had been waiting expectantly on the table. The wick ignited and glowed gold, the red wax starting to drip onto his finger. The burn cut through his numbness and his grief. After another few moments and a few more drops of sharp hot wax, he threw the snub candle into his wineglass. It hissed as it drowned, and gray smoke spiraled out of the glass.
    He lit a green candle, watched it burn and drip onto his fingers, and then flicked it into the wineglass. The smoke snaked up, folding over itself until it was gone.
    He lit another and drowned it, too. And another. And another.
    Frank pushed his chair back and walked to the phone in the kitchen. He started to dial the number for Elizabeth’s office. Then he hung up. He really did not want to know what the excuse was this time. Instead, he called the back line of the neonatal intensive care unit.
    “NICU.” Dorothy’s voice made him smile, even in its brusqueness and impatience. There was always work to be done for Dorothy—and for him. There was no time to waste when babies were sick.
    “How’s the Bradley baby?” Frank asked. He was relieved to remember that there was so much greater suffering in the world than his—suffering he knew how to treat.

TEN
    11:55 P.M.
Semple Cay, Bequia
    T HE MOON HUNG like a searchlight in the sky, its glare rippling a path across the water. The fishing boat kept its engines quiet and slow. The factory ship could not get close enough to the cay, so Kazumi had dispatched one of the small catcher boats.
    The rocks were treacherous and the currents around the island unpredictable. Kazumi had chosen a captain he could trust not only to steer clear of the shore but also to leave the expedition out of the ship’s log.
    There were still four hours of darkness in which to operate before the first fishermen would start to go out. They needed to accomplish their goal before they were seen. This would not be easy. Semple Cay was close to the island, and there might be curious eyes stumbling back from one of the rum shops. They would need to work without the benefit of floodlights. But nothing could be done about the full moon.
    Pirates had once hidden among these islands and their innumerable cays because they were hard to patrol. Kazumi knew that the whole country had only two or three Coast Guard boats, and these would be docked back in St. Vincent at this hour. He had heard that drug dealers sometimes dropped shipments into the water at night near here, but what he needed to retrieve was more valuable to them than any cocaine shipment.

    As they approached the cay, they saw the shine of an oily slick on the surface. Even at night, birds were feeding and fighting for pieces of the decomposing carcass. Small scraps of blubber and flesh were floating to the surface, dislodged by the fish that had come to feast. He could hear the birds squawking and flapping their wings at one another. The noise would