They sat at a table and ordered huevos rancheros. “Ah, pure soul food,” Zavala said, savoring a bite of scrambled eggs and salsa. Austin had been studying the sad expression on the moose head that had been over the bar for as long as he could recall. Still wondering how a moose got to Mexico, he turned his attention back to the map of the Baja that was spread out on the table in front of him next to the satellite photo showing water temperature.

“This is where we're going,” he said, pointing to the map. “The temperature anomaly is in the vicinity of this cove.”

Zavala finished his meal with a smile of pleasure and opened a Baedecker's guide to Mexico. “It says here that the ballena gris or gray whale arrives off the Baja from December to March to mate and give birth to its young. The whales weigh up to twenty-five tons and run between ten and forty-nine feet long. During mating, one male will keep the female in position while another male-” He winced. “Think I'll skip that part. The gray was almost exterminated by commercial whaling but was made a protected species in 1947.” He paused in his reading. “Let me ask you something. I know you've got a lot of respect for any thing that swims in the sea, but I've never thought of you as a whale hugger. Why the big interest? Why not leave this up to the EPA or Fish and Wildlife?”

“Fair question. I could say I want to find out what started the chain of events that ended up with the sinking of Pop's boat. But there's another reason that I can't put my finger on.” A thoughtful expression came into Austin's eyes. “It reminds me of some scary dives I've made. You know the kind. You're swimming along, everything seemingly fine, when the hair rises on the back of your neck, your gut goes ice-cold, and you've got a bad feeling you're not alone, that something is watching you. Something hungry.”

“Sure,” Zavala said contemplatively. “But it usually goes beyond that. I imagine that the biggest, baddest, hungriest shark in the ocean is behind me, and he's thinking how it's been a long time since he's had authentic Mexican food.” He took another bite of his huevos. “But when I look around there's nothing there, or maybe there's a minnow the size of my finger who's been giving me the evil eye.”

“The sea is wrapped in mystery,” Austin said with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Is that a riddle?”

“In a way. It's a quote from Joseph Conrad. 'The sea never changes and its works, for all the talk of men, are wrapped in mystery.'” Austin tapped the map with his fingertip. “Whales die every day. We lose some to natural causes. Others get tangled in fishing nets and starve to death, or they get nailed by a ship, or we poison them with pollution because some people think it's okay to use the sea for a toxic waste dump.” He paused. “But this doesn't fit any of those categories. Even with out interference from humans, nature is always out of kilter, constantly adjusting and readjusting. But it's not a cacophony. It's like the improvisation you see with a good jazz group, Ahmad Jamal doing a piano solo, going off on his own, catching up with his rhythm section later.” He let out a deep laugh. “Hell, I'm not making sense.”