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stepped out onto the deck. He found the crewman pointing to a half dozen shapes floating in the water. The objects were about fifteen feet in length, roughly torpedo-shaped and colored a dark charcoal gray.
    “Pilot whales,” the crewman said, recognizing the species. “Four adults. Two calves.”
    “And floating the wrong side up,” Kurt noted. The whales were actually lolling on their sides, surrounded by seaweed, dead fish and squid. “Whatever happened on that island it’s affecting the water too.”
    “It’s got to be that freighter,” someone else said.
    Kurt agreed, but he didn’t speak. He was busy studying the inanimate cluster of sea life drifting by. He could hear Joe talking to the Italian authorities over the radio, reporting their latest find. He noticed that not all the squid were dead. Some were clinging to each other, wrapping their short little tentacles around the other in a spasmlike embrace.
    “Maybe we should get out of here,” the crewman suggested, pulling the top of his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth as if that would stop whatever poison might be floating through the air.
    Kurt knew they were fine where they were because they were a quarter mile upwind of the freighter and there wasn’t the slightest scent of smoke in the air. Then again, he had the safety of the crew to think about.
    He ducked back into the cabin. “Take us out another mile,” he said. “And keep an eye on that smoke. If the wind shifts, we need to be gone before it reaches us.”
    Reynolds nodded, bumped the throttle and spun the wheel. As the boat accelerated, Joe put the radio microphone back in its cradle.
    “What’s the word?”
    “I told them what we’ve found,” Joe said. “Based on AIS data from last night, they’re guessing the freighter is the M.V.
Torino
.”
    “What’s she carrying?”
    “Machine parts and textiles, mostly. Nothing dangerous.”
    “Textiles, my eye,” Kurt said. “What’s the ETA on those helicopters?”
    “Two, maybe three hours.”
    “What happened to getting airborne in thirty minutes?”
    “They took off,” Joe said. “But based on our report, they’re returning to Sicily to refuel while a hazardous-materials crew is rounded up.”
    “Can’t say I blame them,” Kurt replied. Still, his mind was on the fate of the doctor who’d radioed them and the NUMA team members who were still not responding to calls, not to mention the five thousand other men, women and children who lived on Lampedusa. He made a quick decision. The only decision his conscience would allow.
    “Let’s get the Zodiac ready, I’m going in to look for our friends.”
    Reynolds overheard this and responded instantly. “Are you out of your mind?”
    “Possibly,” Kurt said. “But if I wait around for three hours to find out whether our people are living or dead, there’ll be no doubt I’ll end up losing my marbles for sure. Especially if it turns out we could have helped them but sat on our hands instead.”
    “I’m with you,” Joe said.
    Reynolds shot them a stern gaze. “And how do you propose to not die of whatever it is that apparently affected the rest of the people on that island?”
    “We have full-face helmets and plenty of pure oxygen. If we wear them, we should be fine.”
    “Some nerve toxins react with the skin,” Reynolds pointed out.
    “We have dry suits that are waterproof,” Kurt shot back. “That ought to do the trick.”
    “And we can wear gloves and tape up every gap,” Joe added.
    “Duct tape?” Reynolds said. “You’re going to bet your lives on the integrity of duct tape?”
    “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Joe admitted. “I used it to tape the wing of an airplane back together once. Although that didn’t work out the way we planned.”
    “This is serious,” Reynolds said, baffled at what the two seemed intent on doing. “You’re talking about risking your lives for nothing. You have no reason to think anyone is even still alive on that