Medusa

He had been amused but not surprised at his wife’s effective, if unorthodox, attention-getting technique. It was typical of her resourcefulness and her fearlessness. Her open personality was the opposite of Trout’s New England reserve, but they had been immediately attracted to each other from the time they first met at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla, California. Paul was studying for his Ph.D. in ocean science, while Gamay had changed her field of interest from marine archaeology to marine biology and was working toward her doctorate also.

They had met on a Scripps field trip to La Paz, Mexico, and were married after graduation the following year. NUMA’s former director, James Sandecker, had recognized their unique talents and asked them to join the Special Assignments Team under Austin’s leadership. After their last assignment, they had been invited to come back to Scripps and had jumped at the chance. Between their seminars and dives, they had spent their time revisiting familiar haunts and hooking up with old friends.

Trout ignored the grins that greeted his return to the seminar room and ran through the rest of his presentation. Gamay was waiting for him in the cafeteria when he was done. He was relieved to see that she had put her shift back on.

Gamay was a fitness nut and a fanatic about eating nutritious foods, but she had given up trying to fight the high-starch diet found on campus. She dipped a long French fry into a puddle of ketchup and popped it in her mouth.

“It’s a good thing I’m leaving this place,” she complained. “I must have put on twenty pounds since we got here. I’m blowing up like a tick.”

Paul rolled his eyes. Gamay was up at six every day for her five-mile run that burned off any possible trace of culinary excess. Although she was only two inches short of six feet tall, she carried no more than one hundred thirty pounds on her small-hipped frame, most of it muscle from her active lifestyle.

Paul eyed a tall glass that contained a frothy strawberry concoction.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have the frappe,” he said.

Gamay brushed a strand of dark red hair out of her eyes and flashed a dazzling smile that showed the slight gap between her two front teeth.

“Last one . . . promise.”

Her eyes had a dreamy expression as she took a long sip.

“Easy promise to keep, now that you’re leaving town. What do you know about Bonefish Key?”

Gamay dabbed the pink mustache off her upper lip with a napkin.

“Only what I’ve read in scientific journals or come across on the Internet. It’s on the west coast of Florida. They’ve made some discoveries that have led to patents in the field of biomedicine. There’s a great deal of interest in finding something in the wild that could be used to cure disease.”

“I remember the bioprospectors we met a while back in the Amazon rain forest.”

Gamay nodded.

“Same concept, but there’s a growing consensus that the ocean’s potential for pharmaceuticals and medicines dwarfs that of the rain forest. The organisms that grow in the ocean are far more dynamic, biologically speaking, than anything on land.”

Furrowing his brow, Paul said, “If Kurt is interested in the marine center, why not go through Kane?”

“I asked him the same question. He said not to expect help from Kane. That we’re on our own and that-”

“He’ll explain later,” Paul finished the sentence.

Gamay feigned a look of astonishment.

“You’re positively psychic at times.”

He put his index finger to his temple.

“My mystic powers are telling me that you are about to offer me the rest of your strawberry frappe.”

Gamay pushed the glass across the table.

“How do you think we should approach this thing with Kane out of the picture?”

“You could try using your NUMA bona fides to leverage a tour of the place.”

“I thought of that. The NUMA co

Paul nodded in agreement.

“You’d get the VIP treatment, a quick tour by a PR flack, a ham sandwich, and a fond good-bye. Kurt apparently wants us to take a look behind the scenes.”

“That was my impression. I need an edge, and I think I know where I can find one.”

“While you work on that edge, I’ll see if I can get you on a flight to Florida.”

Paul stopped by his office to make travel arrangements. Gamay went to the boat dock to tell her dive crew that she was leaving Scripps. She hauled her scuba gear to the dormitory room that had been provided for their stay. She called an ocean chemist colleague at the Scripps Center for Marine Biotechnology and Biomedicine. In her usual Gamay fashion, she got right to the point.

“I’m trying to wrangle an overnight stay at Bonefish Key. I remember you saying that your center has worked with them on oceanborne treatments for asthma and arthritis.”

“That’s right,” said Stu Simpson, an ocean biologist. “Most of the institutions working on this stuff share information. Bonefish Key is pretty tight, though. Have you contacted the director, Dr. Kane?”

“He’s a hard guy to track down.”

“Out in the field a lot, I’ve heard, and the place is being run by a Dr. Mayhew. I’ve met him at conferences. Not exactly Mr. Personality, but I may be able to help. Kane used to be with the Harbor Branch Oceanographic Institute, in Fort Pierce, Florida, before he got some money and set up the lab at Bonefish Key. I’ve got a friend at Harbor Branch who’s a pal of Mayhew’s. He owes me. I’ll see if I can call in that marker for you.”

While Gamay waited for Simpson to call back, she turned her laptop on and called up all the information she could find on Bonefish Key. She had been reading for only a few minutes when Dr. Mayhew called. Gamay explained her interest in Bonefish Key, said she was at Scripps but would be in Florida visiting friends and wondered if she could visit the lab. He said he appreciated the interest of someone from NUMA in the marine center’s work, but their visitor schedule was full up.

“That’s too bad,” Gamay said. “NUMA had no problem finding accommodations for your director on the B3 project. Why don’t you talk to Dr. Kane? I’m sure he would love to reciprocate NUMA’s hospitality if you asked him.”

“That’s not possible.” Pause. “We have a guest room free, but only for tomorrow night. Too bad you’re on the other side of the country.”

Gamay saw the opening and struck with the speed of a cobra.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” she said.

“I wouldn’t want you to come all this way for just one night.”

“No problem, I can revise my schedule. So let’s make it two nights, then. How do I get out to the key?”

There was a stu

Mayhew almost hung up without giving her Greene’s phone number. Cute, she thought as she jotted down the information. When Paul returned a few minutes later, she already was packing her duffel bag.

“Are you in?” he asked.

“Just barely.”

She told him how she arm-twisted Mayhew.

“Slick,” Paul said. “You’d make a deadly telemarketer. You’re in luck, by the way. The travel bureau at NUMA has booked you on an early-morning flight to Fort Myers. I’ll come out after I wrap up my seminar.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon walking and riding around the campus, visiting spots from their grad-student days. After a late di

THE PLANE LIFTED OFF the ground and leveled out at thirty-five thousand feet. Gamay settled back in her seat and read about Bonefish Key on her laptop. It was a narrow strip of land near Pine Island on the Gulf of Mexico. Indians inhabited the island before the Spaniards turned it into a combination fort and trading post. Later, it became a fishing center named after the bonefish that abounded in nearby waters.