“Basically,” Gerry laughed. “Everyone wants the next thrill. People swim with sharks in Australia and South Africa, they dive with moray eels in Cancún. Now they don't even have to leave the Northeast. Instead of paying their hard-earned money to go on whale-watch cruises, they can actually swim with them.”

“This place cost a lot to stay at?”

“It's a luxury resort,” Gerry said. “As fancy as it gets. That's why I just paid you twenty-five grand. Sea Canyon thanks you.”

Captain Nick grunted. He glanced over at Mar IV. He wondered how long the dolphins could last out of water. He wondered whether they'd catch the beluga, and if they did, what kind of drugs they'd give it to keep it calm for the voyage up the coast.

“Seriously,” Lafarge said. “If you hadn't used your contacts to figure out where the thing was, we'd never have known where to start trailing her. It's perfect—swimming right in front of Neill's house. That know-it-all idiot. Treating me like shit since we were kids.”

“Huh,” Nick said. He had seen that look of derision in oceanographers' eyes before. They always thought they were the good guys, while Nick and Gerry were just fishermen trying to make a living. He tried to tell himself that now—so why did he feel so bad?

“Look,” Gerry said. “My brother fucked up the seals we were supposed to deliver, so I'd better get going, catch the damn thing.”

“Fine,” Nick said, stowing the bag of money under his seat. “See you round.”

“Yeah,” Gerry said. “Call me next time Ghost Hills appear. This was great—we wouldn't have had a chance at the whale up home, that's for sure. She was the biggest tourist attraction Cape Hawk ever had, and if things go right, she'll do the same for Sea Canyon. And we'll be the richer for it.”

Nick didn't even reply to that. He was remembering a time thirty years ago, when he was a boy. Whales had been rare in Rhode Island waters, then as now, but one winter a humpback whale had swum up Narragansett Bay, all the way north of the Newport Bridge. His grandfather had taken Nick on board his sturdy lobster boat, and they had followed the whale, trying to get it to turn around and swim out to sea.

“Why are we doing this, Grandpa?” Nick had asked, his fingers frozen inside his gloves.

“Because whales are mammals,” his grandfather said, standing at the helm. “They are warm-blooded and breathe air, just like people.”

“They're not like fish?”

“They swim like fish,” his grandfather said. “But that's all. When whales lose their mates, they sing underwater until they find them again. If we don't help this one turn around, there might be another whale out there, singing and searching.”