“An invasive parasitic fly called Philornis downsi. It lays eggs in the finches’ nests and when the larvae hatch, they suck the blood from the baby birds, killing them. The finches, many of which are highly endangered, have no defense.” He shakes his head sadly. “We’re currently studying the best methods to eradicate the flies.”

“Any promising results?”

“Some. But the funding isn’t there yet.”

“So you’re looking for donations?”

He nods heavily. “Always.” He flashes a sideways smile at me and a dimple appears on his rough cheek. “It’s too bad we can’t solicit donations from your cruise-goers. After experiencing the natural treasures the Galápagos have to offer, they might like to support our conservation work.”

Every muscle in my body freezes. I don’t even breathe.

That’s it.

The hazy kernel of an idea that had formed during Xiavera’s early-morning hike on Floreana pops into existence like a flood of hot, buttery kettle corn. Her words from earlier today echo through my brain like a bell.

People are the problem. But they can also be the solution.

I suddenly know exactly what I’m pitching for my proposal. Except it’s more than a marketing scheme. So much more. It’s a total realignment. My heartbeat ticks upward like an accelerating metronome and I whip off my daypack and dig for my notepad.

“Ready to go?” chirps Analisa. “You still have a few hours left to explore Puerto Ayora. There’s a fantastic recycled art gallery in town, and of course you must visit the fish market—”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I pull Analisa into the hallway.

Less than ten minutes later, I have a plan. A wonderful, crazy, pie-in-the-sky plan. But there’s no time to waste. I’ll need every available second between now and when the last Zodiac returns to the ship to get the initial details ironed out.

“Ready?” Graeme asks, hooking his thumbs under the straps of his backpack.

“I’m going to stay here. I have some things I need to talk over with Analisa. Doug too. You go on ahead.”

“I know that gleam in your eye. You’re onto something, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Ehh. Maybe just a little bit.”

Concern flashes across Graeme’s features before it melts into resignation. He offers me a small but genuine smile. “Good luck. Not that you need it.”

“Graeme, I need all the luck I can get.”

My lungs tighten as I watch him murmur his goodbyes to Doug and Analisa and push through the lab’s swinging door and out of sight, but I shove any longing I feel deep down and lock it away.

It’s go time.

Turning to Analisa, I square my shoulders. “First things first. Can I borrow your office?”

21