Killing Keiko (45 page)

Finally the radio crackled to life. The helicopter had spotted Keiko. Every one of
us crammed into and around the outer door to the pilothouse straining to hear. Michael
and Robin stood opposite each other with the radio between them looking expectantly
at the receiver. Echoing like tin from within the cabin we heard the report.

“
Draupnir, Zero-Nine-Zulu
. Copy.”

“Zero-Nine-Zulu, Draupnir
. Go ahead.” Michael was the boat’s captain; it was his responsibility to make the
reply.

“Take down coordinates six-three degrees two-zero minutes and four-five seconds north,
repeat 63-20-45 north and one-nine degrees nine minutes four seconds west, repeat
19-9-4 west. Acknowledge.”

“Zero-Nine-Zulu, Draupnir
. Repeat coordinates 63-20-45 north by 19-9-4 west. Copy.”

“Affirmative,
Draupnir
. We have visual contact. We have positive sighting … advise heading east northeast,
repeatedly circling then continuing course. Be advised fuel is short … heading back
to base.”

“Copy that
Zero-Nine-Zulu
. We are closing on your location at twenty-six knots. Tracking equipment onboard.
Draupnir
out.”

Michael penciled down the latitude and longitude readings and had
Draupnir
punched up to her maximum speed before the radio transmission was complete. We were
making a beeline for the helicopter’s reported position. Any other time, we would
never be able to hold twenty-six knots; however, on this particular evening the North
Atlantic tolerated our urgency. There was a following sea, but only long shallow swells,
and the
Draupnir
easily outpaced them.

On the glassy swells the
Draupnir
rode well, allowing Robin to stay perched on the bow, one leg up on the pontoon to
steady himself, his right hand grasping a line tied off to the bow stanchion. There
was
a tapping on the pilothouse window. Michael motioned for Robin to come back to the
cabin.

Back at the hotel the crew overheard the helicopter’s report on the base radio. “Robin,
Charles on the ship-to-shore wants to talk to you.” Michael had to shout through the
cutting wind and roar of the engines.

Robin navigated his way around the pilothouse taking care to maintain a grip on the
cabin’s support rails. At this speed even a small “bump in the road” could throw him
from the boat.

Inside the pilothouse Robin took the phone from Michael. “Hello?”

“Hi, Robin, it’s Charles…. I have Jeff and Lanny here.”

“Okay,” Robin replied, adding under his breath, “This should be interesting.”

Lanny spoke first “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re going to get this whale back.”

“Why?” Lanny challenged. In his signature condescending tone, he stepped up the attack,
“That’s against the protocols that we set in place—because he didn’t go with those
whales doesn’t mean he won’t inadvertently go with other whales. He may be heading
home, and you guys are calling him back. You talk about going against the protocols.
Our protocols were always that if he decided to go off on his own to let him go!”

The conflict of interest behind Lanny’s motivation was crystal clear to Robin. He
muttered, “The bastard just wants his success fee.” In the midst of this desperate
mess, Robin’s patience with him vanished.

“Lanny, you’re wrong! That was never the protocol! From day one, in our first meeting
at the hostel, we all agreed successful reintroduction would be only in the case of
his successful integration with other killer whales. Right now he’s alone, he’s traumatized,
confused, and he doesn’t know where he’s going!”

Not willing to back down, Lanny pressed, “But we said we wouldn’t immediately intervene—that
we would allow time to observe his disposition and then make a decision whether to
recall him to the boat.”

“We are already approaching fifteen miles from the island,” Robin snapped back. “If
we allow him to go any further away, we will be too far from our base of operations
to be able to monitor his disposition and/or intervene should that become necessary.
In my opinion, the bottom line is that he is not successfully integrated. The initial
introduction was a fiasco, and Keiko is simply running scared! My intention at this
point is to find him—make an observation—recall him—and bring him back to Vestmannaeyjar.
If the final decision is to allow him to go off on his own, then that decision can
be made after we bring him back—and that’s a decision that you gentlemen will have
to make on your own … without me.”

Before Lanny could speak again, Charles interjected in a calm reassuring voice: “Robin,
we have talked to members of the board, advised them of the situation, they want us
to make the decision about what needs to be done. I think Jeff and I agree that you
should bring him back—once you locate him—you should bring him back.”

Lanny wouldn’t let it go, “Well, I think it’s wrong, and I disagree.”

Only Michael and I overheard the conversation. It didn’t matter anyway. The crew was
already decided and in unanimous agreement that Keiko could not be left alone. Despite
any varying opinions on the actual introduction to the wild pod, it was clear that
Keiko was not with the wild whales. Everyone on the project, including Lanny, knew
that he would not survive if left on his own.

It felt like almost an hour before we finally spotted the helicopter; in reality it
was probably only minutes.
Zero-Nine-Zulu
passed us overhead in an instant, roughly two-hundred feet off the deck. The helicopter’s
crew pushed the limits of its fuel reserves and were heading back to base with their
own sense of urgency. Another indeterminate while passed as
Draupnir
held her pace relentlessly. Still we saw no sign of Keiko.

According to the reports from the helicopter, Keiko appeared confused or disoriented,
swimming with the current for short spells and then turning abruptly and swimming
in a small circle. He had continued this pattern for the brief period the helicopter
was able to observe him. We could only guess at what this might indicate. At best,
he was lost and simply following the prevailing current. At worst he may have sustained
an injury from the wild whales or something else we could not have predicted.

Finally, approximately forty minutes after the aerial sighting, we approached the
stated coordinates of Keiko’s last-known position. Michael slowed the
Draupnir
roughly a quarter nautical mile from the exact location given. Brad climbed atop
the pilothouse with the tracking gear. Headphones on, he held the television-like
antenna out in front of him and aimed it ahead of the
Draupnir’s
bow. He swept the antenna side to side very slowly, listening intently. In order
to keep her steady and minimize engine noise, Michael again slowed the
Draupnir
, this time to a crawl.

Again, an eternity seemed to pass. Besides the low rumble of the engines, it was silent
as each of us looked at the horizon trying not to blink, then at Brad, searching his
expression as he listened for a signal. The sky was darkening and made it highly unlikely
that anyone would be able to actually see Keiko, but we stared at the sea just the
same and strained our ears for the familiar blow of his exhale we wanted desperately
to hear.

The Icelandic summer never really gets completely dark. Instead, evenings become blanketed
in a surreal backlight trapping the world in what feels like eternal twilight. Most
times it proves to be a curious change from the routine, but this night it only served
to augment the already ominous mood onboard
Draupnir
.

Robin motioned me to the bow where he had remained for the last hour. “Put the platform
out. I want you to try the recall.”

I jumped to the pilothouse and poked my head inside. “Michael, all stop. I’m dropping
the platform. Can you kill the engines?”

Michael grimaced and said, “I’d rather not. We’re too far out, and if she doesn’t
start back up … “He left the thought unfinished.

“Yeah, bad idea. Just go neutral then.”

Without hesitation, I untied the platform and asked Blair to grab the recall tone
transmitter. Once the platform was extended I submerged the transmitter. I looked
at Robin, and he nodded. I hit the recall tone, holding the button down longer than
usual for good measure. We waited.

Atop the pilothouse, Brad was scanning all directions for a signal from Keiko’s radio
tag.

Nothing.

The surface of the ocean was black, as the evening light had almost completely faded.
In the calm swell, we waited for Keiko to break the surface near the platform as he
always did in response to the recall tone.

Still nothing.

After ten minutes or so, we began to lose confidence. Surely he must be within hearing
distance of the recall? After all, it had not been that long between the helicopter’s
sighting and our arrival at the coordinates. Michael began motoring at about five
knots to prevent drifting in the current. We kept the platform extended, and I remained
by the recall.

“I have something!” Brad blurted from the pilothouse roof. “It was faint but in this
direction.” He was holding the antenna facing due north, one side of the headphones
behind one ear, the other he pressed tight against his head listening intently. All
eyes turned towards the direction in which Brad steadily held the antenna. In the
distance, roughly two miles off, all we could see was Iceland’s mainland shore, a
faint line on the horizon just slightly lighter in color than the black surface of
the ocean.
God, no
… Likely we all thought it, but no one dared say it aloud. Michael immediately turned
Draupnir
to port and followed Brad’s lead.

The radio tracking tag only worked when the antenna attached to Keiko’s dorsal was
above the surface of the water. Even if he was close, the signal would be intermittent,
and in order to receive it, the antenna had to be pointed almost directly at the radio
tag with “line of sight.” This meant that the rise and fall of ocean swells
could interrupt reception. It was very easy to miss an opportunity. Brad continued
to scan in the direction of the last faint beep heard through his headphones.

I couldn’t contain my worst fear any longer.

“Robin, do you think he could be on the beach?”

“I don’t know … I hope not. Try the recall again.”

Robin didn’t seem to need or want to talk about eventualities or speculation. He was
determined to work with whatever we were dealt. At least it was a good sign that Brad
wasn’t getting a constant signal from the tag. That seemed to indicate that Keiko
was unlikely to have beached.

“Michael,” I called, “can you turn the platform toward the direction of the signal?”

Michael turned the
Draupnir
to port another ninety degrees and exposed her starboard side to the distant shoreline.
I immediately hit the recall tone, this time following it with a slap on the surface
of the water with the palm of my hand as hard and flat as I could muster. We waited
… silently looking and listening, willing Keiko to appear.

Out of the black abyss and with no warning, Keiko surfaced almost within reach of
the platform. I will never forget his eyes. His eyes were bugged out of his head;
he looked out of his mind. Robin saw it too and quickly reacted.

“Mark, get off the platform. He’s wigged out. I wouldn’t get too close!” Robin’s deft
assessment was made all the more dire by the fact that he used my name. He never uses
my name.

I didn’t argue the point. The sea was an immense black oblivion granting zero visibility
beneath the surface. Even above the water everything melted together beyond just a
few feet. There was no way I was taking any chances. Keiko was a big marshmallow at
heart, but animals and people alike are capable of anything under the right circumstances.
We had never seen Keiko like this before, and it was instantly unsettling, if not
frightening.

I leapt to my feet and stepped back over the pontoon as the reality of the situation
washed over me.
Lanny could give a shit
about this animal, his only concern was getting rid of Keiko and claiming a swift
and decisive victory
. I turned and faced Robin, who by now had stern look. More prone to reaction than
Robin, I let my anger fly unfettered, “I’m sick of this shit. Keiko’s totally freaked.
And that dumbass claims he’s ‘swimming home.’ For God’s sake look at him. He has no
clue where he is!”

That moment would become pivotal, intensifying our resolve. Immediately I felt an
overwhelming need to protect him—to get the Big Man back to Klettsvik Bay and to confront
the decisions that led to this disaster. Every protocol had been broken; protocols
that were clearly outlined and all had agreed to; protocols that upheld humane animal
treatment far more than the crass dictates of Lanny and those to whom he sold his
bag of cheap talk. Lanny had blatantly disregarded everything. He had forced the exposure.

In those moments following recovery, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Keiko
had suffered a tremendous setback. Not only was first contact with his wild brethren
an enormously negative experience, it was also clearly evident to everyone onboard
Draupnir
that Keiko was completely disoriented, exhausted and unprepared to make it on his
own. As much as I was hurt by the vision of Keiko before me, I was also furious.

Dr. Lanny Cornell had just unraveled everything we spent the last sixteen months working
to build. Keiko’s first exposure should have been a process—a series of approximations,
slow and calm, positive encounters. It should have happened over time and at a pace
set by the wild whales and Keiko, not forced on each other in one staged introduction.
Again this ill-conceived Hollywood vision of release being a singular “event” derailed
the path that might have ensured his survival. This day had put cold human interests
laced with ignorance first, and once again the victim was Keiko—always Keiko.