“It was on a transponder attached to the fin of a female whale.”

“Oh dear, that was Daisy. It was her pod. I've been tracking her for three years. She's almost like a relative.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. There were fourteen whales in all. She was one of those picked at random.”

She sighed loudly. “This is terrible news. We've tried so hard to protect the grays, and they've really been making a comeback. We're waiting for a forensics report on cause of death.”

“I came from the necropsy a little while ago. Apparently there was no sign of a virus or pollutant. The whales died from lung damage caused by intense heat. Have you ever heard of such a thing happening?”

“No. Never. Does anyone know the source of this heat?”

“Not yet. I thought it might shed some light on the incident if we knew where the whales had been recently.”

“I'm pretty familiar with Daisy's pod. Their migration is really quite remarkable. They make a ten-thousand-mile round trip. They feed all summer in the Arctic seas, then head south along the Pacific Coast to the breeding lagoons in Baja California, Mexico. They start moving around November and December and get there early the following year. The pregnant females lead the way, then the mature adults and the juveniles, in single file or in pairs. They go pretty close to the shoreline. They start back north in March. The whales with calves may wait until April. Again they follow the coastline closely on the way north. They go real slow, about ten miles an hour on the average.”

“There was a briefing before the boat race. We were told to keep a watch for whales, but the race had been scheduled after the last pod had passed. As far as anyone knew there were no whales in the vicinity.”

“The only thing I can think of is that they were stragglers. Maybe one of the calves became sick and they dallied some where until the calves were well.”

“The pathologist had the same theory. Would you have kept track of their migration?”

“Yes. Do you have access to a laptop computer?”

“Wouldn't be without it.”

“Good. Give me your e-mail address. I'll tap into the data base and get the information to you at light speed.”

“Thank you. Can't ask for better service than that.”

“You might get the chance to pay me back if we call on NUMA for help.”

“Call me personally, and we'll do what we can.”

“Thanks. Oh, God, I still can't believe it about Daisy.”

Austin hung up, opened his IBM laptop computer, and hooked it up to the telephone. After fifteen minutes passed he opened his e-mail file. A map of the western U.S., Canada, and Alaska appeared. A dotted line ran down from the Chukchi Sea, through the Bering Sea, then along the coast of North America to the tip of the fingerlike Baja Peninsula. The map was labeled “General Whale Migration Route.”