Island 731

4.

The loggerhead’s plastron—the underbelly—came free with a slurp. Joliet had drawn a scalpel around the turtle’s soft flesh that divided its top and bottom shells. The cut on a healthy turtle would have been shaped like a stingray, but this specimen, pinched at the midsection, had a figure eight-shaped body.

“Slowly,” Joliet said, pulling on the top half of the plastron.

Hawkins held the lower half, lifting up so the entire shell could come free at once. Bray stood behind a video camera, documenting the dissection. All three wore blue surgical aprons over their shorts and T-shirts, but only Hawkins and Joliet wore bright blue, elbow-length rubber gloves.

The turtle lay on a table at the center of the biolab, a four hundred-square-foot space on the port side of the Magellan’s main deck. Foam blocks had been wedged under the sides of the turtle’s shell, keeping it from wobbling, or from slipping off the table. Bright fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling illuminated the body. The only other source of light came from a single porthole, through which the sun—now heading for the horizon—shone brightly.

As the plastron lifted away from the body, the tangy scent of turtle insides wafted into the sterile-smelling “clean” lab, which normally smelled like bleach. Hawkins nearly gagged. He wasn’t sure which smell was worse—guts or bleach—but combined, they sent a wave of revulsion through his body and made him wince.

Bray lowered the camera and said, “Good God, that reeks.”

Joliet paused and looked at Bray. “Keep the camera up.”

Bray lifted his shirt collar over his nose and continued recording the scene.

“The plastron came free after cutting along the seam between the marginal and inframarginal scutes, and then along the posterior margin,” Joliet said, describing the work she’d completed. She tilted her end up so that it was facing the camera. “As you can see, the subject’s body is quite deformed.”

“What was the cause of this deformity?” Bray asked.

Joliet appeared annoyed for a moment, but then nodded. They hadn’t recorded that portion of the dissection. Hawkins and Joliet placed the underbelly on an adjacent workbench.

“The deformity of this specimen was caused by a thick band of red plastic, which we cut away.” Joliet picked up the hard plastic ring and held it up for the camera to see. “I’m not sure what its original purpose was, but there is some faint Japanese script, here on the side.”

She turned the band around so that all the text could be captured by the lens. “It seems likely that the turtle, still very young, swam through the plastic band, which then became stuck around its midsection. As the specimen grew, the ring restricted its growth, resulting in this severe abnormality. That it survived into adulthood is something of a miracle.”

Joliet moved back to the table and Hawkins followed, hoping he wouldn’t puke on camera. He’d been hunting several times in his life, but quickly cleaning out a freshly killed deer wasn’t quite the same as slowly poking around the insides of a decomposing sea turtle.

The inside of the turtle was bright red and pink mixed with bits of dull gray. Hawkins swallowed and turned his eyes toward Joliet, hoping her words would distract him. They didn’t.

“The ventral surface of the specimen is covered by three muscle groups.” She pointed to the exposed neck. “The longitudinal.” She pointed to the upper body, where a pair of feather-shaped muscles had been exposed. “The large pinnate, which power the turtle’s front flippers.” She moved to the lower extremity. “And the pelvic muscles, which we already separated from the plastron. Despite the upper and lower portions of the body being separated by the deformation, the muscles appear whole and healthy. There is no disease present.” She looked at Hawkins. “Hand me the knife.”

A metal tray next to Hawkins held three large metal bowls, sliding calipers, metal snips, scissors, hemostatic forceps, toothless forceps, tweezers, three scalpels of various sizes, a turkey baster, a pair of pliers, a hacksaw, and a razor-sharp knife that looked rather like a fishing blade. He picked up the knife, pinching the flat side of the blade between his fingers, and handed it to Joliet, handle first.

Knife in hand, Joliet made quick work of the large muscles, cutting them free from the shell, ligaments, and bone where they were attached. “Bowl,” she said.

Hawkins held out the largest bowl and Joliet placed all six slabs of turtle meat inside. When she was done, the bowl weighed quite a lot and Hawkins grunted as he carried it to the corner of the room and placed it in the large metal sink.

“This is where it gets interesting,” Bray said, raising his eyebrows at Hawkins.

Joliet spoke quickly, keeping them on task. “The peritoneal cavity is now exposed. It should be noted that I would normally now separate the flippers and shoulder girdles, but they were… removed prior to recovery by a large Carcharodon carcharias—”

“A great white shark to the layman,” Bray added.

“—that has learned to feed on creatures that become entangled in the Garbage Patch.”

Joliet motioned for Bray to move closer. He moved to the end of the table, where he had a clear view of the loggerhead’s exposed organs.

Hawkins took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. The smell had worsened significantly. The sight of the organs didn’t help, nor did the guacamole-like green mush oozing around the cavity’s perimeter. Man up, he told himself. This is important.

“The heart is here, in the center, and is hugged by the large tan liver on either side. The intestines, however, are severely out of place, running down the core of the turtle’s body, to the posterior.” She moved to the lower half of the disfigured subject and pointed out the jumble of pink intestines. “The intestines, normally bunched up just beneath the liver, have been elongated through the pinched midsection. It’s likely that this resulted in poor digestion and nutritional health.”

Hawkins frowned. This wasn’t the slam-dunk revelation they were hoping for—most of America suffered from poor digestion—but it was a start.

“Let’s take a look at the heart, before moving to the stomach,” Joliet said and then reached a hand out to Hawkins. “Baster.”

Hawkins handed her the turkey baster. “What’s this for?”

Joliet moved over the heart, scalpel in one hand, baster in the other. “The pericardial cavity often contains liquid.” She slowly made an incision and put the tip of the baster inside. After pushing it as far as it would go, she gave the baster a couple of squeezes, each one sucking up pink fluid. “Bowl.”

Hawkins held out a fresh bowl, but leaned his head away from it. The baster burped as Joliet squirted the liquid in the bowl, and then repeated the process two more times until the cavity was empty. Hawkins quickly brought the bowl to the sink. He placed it down a little quickly and some of the fluid splashed out. He glanced down and saw small globs of green, some white stringy fibers, and a swirl of nearly clear and deep red fluids.

He moved away from the sink and took a deep breath, once again regretting it.

“You okay, Ranger?” Bray asked.

When he looked up, Hawkins found the camera turned toward him. He put on a brave face and gave Bray a thumbs-up. “Never better.”

“If you’re not feeling well, Mr. Hawkins, I can help.”

The three of them turned toward the voice. Kam stood in the doorway, staring at the turtle. He looked simultaneously interested and disgusted, sentiments Hawkins shared.

Hawkins was glad for the respite, but wasn’t sure if Kam could do the job. He spent most of his time in front of computers, not dissecting animals. Still, it beat puking on camera, so he swept his arm toward the turtle. “Be my guest.”

Kam stepped up next to Joliet and nodded at her. “Umm, okay. I’m ready.”

Bray gave Hawkins a look that asked, Is he for real?

Hawkins just shrugged.

“You’re sure?” Joliet asked. “It’s pretty bad.”

Kam gave a semiconfident nod. “I’ve seen my mother gut fish. I should be okay.”

“All right. If you say so,” Joliet said. “Hey, while you’re here, can you read this for us?” She handed him the red plastic band that had been removed from the turtle’s midsection.

Kam turned the ring around in his hand, squinting at the text. “Uh, broccoli. It says ‘broccoli.’ Must have been used to hold stocks together.”

“Don’t they usually use rubber bands for that?” Bray asked.

Kam shrugged. “I’m not a farmer.”

“Either way,” Hawkins said, “we know it’s trash and had no business being in the Pacific Ocean. Can we finish? There’s still a storm coming.”

Hawkins wasn’t worried about the storm. It was still a few hours away. But it made for a handy excuse to press forward and get this business finished.

“Right,” Joliet said. She pulled open the pericardium and looked inside. “The heart, aorta, and pulmonary arteries all appear healthy. There are no signs of heart disease. But it is a little small for a specimen this size.”

Kam’s hand went to his mouth, his face barely containing revulsion. When all three turned toward him, he took a deep breath, held it, and then removed his hand. “Please. Continue.”

Joliet made quick work of the rest of the major organs, describing the health and state of the lungs, liver, spleen, cloaca, and mesenteries as she removed them from the body and placed them in a bowl held by the unflinching Kam. When the stomach was revealed, her eyes went wide. “The, ahh, stomach appears to be distended. It’s at least twice the size as expected.” She poked the stomach with her index finger. “It’s quite firm.” She looked at Hawkins. “Come feel this.”

“I’ll pass,” Hawkins said, gloved hands raised.

She turned to Kam. “How about you?”

Kam quickly shook his head. The kid looked like he was a hiccup away from puking.

The door to the lab swung open. Phil Bennett stepped inside. “Hey,” he said, looking apologetic for intruding.

The lanky kid had tussled brown hair and pale skin, but enough freckles to almost make his face look tan. He looked too young to be an engineer, even a junior engineer, but then again, Kam looked even younger and he was in charge of the ship’s computers. Hawkins thought neither could be over twenty, but also knew that the older he got, the more twenty-somethings looked like teenagers to him.

“Captain Drake asked me to let you guys know the storm will be here soon. Says to wrap it up ASAP.” A flash of confusion crossed Bennett’s face when he saw Kam. “What are you doing here?”

“Just helping,” Kam said.

“He’s manning up, that’s what,” Bray said with a grin. “You want to give it a try?”

Bennett looked unsure, but walked closer. Kam stepped aside as Bennett got closer, revealing the opened turtle and its mottled organs. Bennett stopped at the sight. He winced. “That’s… gross.”

“Sure you don’t want to lend a hand?” Bray asked.

“I think I prefer engines, but it’s really not that different, I guess,” Bennett said.

“How do you figure?” Bray asked.

Bennett stepped closer, eyeing the carved, open body. “Well, for starters, the Magellan has an inner steel framework and hull—the bones and skin. The bridge is like the head.” He wandered around the table and tapped the turtle’s head with his finger. Then suddenly, as though realizing what he’d just done, he winced and wiped the finger on his oil-stained pants. “The bridge contains the high-tech computer system, which is really like a brain. It can perceive the outside world through radar, satellite data, and an array of on-board sensors that measure temperature, wind speed, and even the visual spectrum. The computers are also connected to every area of the ship. The engine, the doors, the hull, air-conditioning, the boiler, everything. It’s really a fairly complex nervous system. The ship can’t technically feel pain, but when something goes wrong, and those alarms go off, it sure sounds like a scream.”

Bennett wandered around the turtle, looking at the insides with less disgust.

Is he really looking at it like it’s just a machine now? Hawkins wondered.

“This turtle and the Magellan both need chemical fuel to operate. The fuel gets processed and turned into kinetic energy. Both need a continuous supply of oxygen. When the engines are used, they get hot and are cooled with liquid.”

He looked down at the array of organs on display. “It’s really nothing more than an open car hood.” He pointed to one organ at a time, naming them. “Gas tank. Carburetor. Air pump. Exhaust.” He pointed to the heart. “Just one piston, though.”

The look on his face had changed from repulsion to full-on interest.

“That’s kind of messed-up thinking,” Bray said, snapping Bennett’s attention back up. “Historically speaking, it’s when people start seeing each other as nonhuman, or machinelike that the worst atrocities are committed.”

“It’s a turtle,” Bennett said. “Not a person.”

Bray rolled his eyes. “Flesh and blood is flesh and blood. The same logic applies.”

“Actually,” Joliet said, “everything he said is correct and fairly insightful.”

“For a mechanic?” Bennett said, sounding a little defensive now.

“For anyone,” she said.

Bennett shrugged like it was nothing. “I’m interested in engines of all kinds.”

“All kinds,” Bray said. “All kinds.”

Hawkins knew that Bray was just messing with Bennett, but he wasn’t sure the kid knew that. Actually, he was sure of it when Bennett grew suddenly serious.

“My father died of a heart attack when he was forty,” Bennett said. “My mother and I had to move in with her parents. Heart disease is genetic. Figured I better know how my engine works so I can service it right and not join him in fifteen years.” He dipped his head toward Bray’s stomach. “You should probably start thinking about that, too.”

“I’m a high school teacher,” Bray said. “You’ll have to do better than that if you’re trying to insult me.”

The pair stared at each other for a moment. Bennett looked like he was ready to say something and Hawkins knew Bray would already have thirty different one-liners lined up. He was about to say they didn’t have time to argue, but Bennett beat him to the punch.

“Just forget it, okay?” Bennett took a step back toward the door, looking wounded. Before anyone could apologize, he paused. “Have you found anything interesting? I mean, for why we’re out here. The Garbage Patch.”

“We’re getting there,” Joliet said.

Bennett backed toward the door. “Right. Okay. So yeah. Drake says to make it snappy.” He stopped at the door. “Hey, Kam—good luck with the turtle, buddy.” And with that, he stepped out of the room and closed the door.

“I knew he wouldn’t stay,” Bray said.

“Not sure pissing off the guy who controls the air-conditioning in our room is a good idea,” Hawkins said. “Could make our lives hell.”

Bray grunted, but didn’t argue the point.

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Joliet said to Kam.

Kam shrugged, still looking queasy. “Neither did I.”

“Right.” With a reassuring smile, Joliet turned back to the turtle’s stomach and placed a scalpel against the organ. “I’m going to open the stomach now. Ready?”

Kam took a breath, swallowed, and nodded.

She made the cut as she spoke. “If the turtle ate anything—oh my God.”

Hawkins stepped closer, interest overriding revulsion. “What is it?”

“Get this,” she said to Bray, waving him closer. She finished the cut and spread the organ open. A rainbow of colors greeted them. She reached in and scooped out a handful of the undigested meal. “Plastic. It’s all plastic.”

She dug out two more handfuls. Most of the plastic chips were unidentifiable globs, stuck together by gelatinous goo and undigested fish parts, but Hawkins saw a bottle cap, a scissor handle, and what looked like a full spool’s worth of dental floss. The items seemed random, unconnected, but all had one thing in common: They were trash, either thrown into the ocean intentionally or lost by some sunken cargo ship.

“Likely cause of death is starvation,” Joliet said, reaching into the open cavity once more. “The stomach filled with debris over time and eventually became so packed with indigestible particles that food could no longer fit. The disfigured body was bad enough, but this is…” Joliet’s forehead scrunched up. “Hold on. Something’s stuck in here.” She tugged at something, but couldn’t pull it free. “Can I have the pliers?”

Hawkins picked up the tool and handed it to Joliet. He leaned in closer, sour stomach all but forgotten. This is what they’d been looking for. No one could deny the damage being done to the ocean once they saw this video. That the specimen was a relatively cute creature helped, too. If this were a shark, some people might actually cheer.

“Got it,” Joliet said. She pursed her lips and pulled. “It’s really stu—”

Whatever it was came free and Joliet spilled backward. Hawkins caught her with an arm under her back. But neither of them commented on the fall, or quick save. Both sets of eyes were on the object clutched in the pliers’ grip.

“What the hell is that?” Hawkins asked, standing Joliet back up.

The object looked like a plastic cube. On its base were four stainless-steel prongs, each tipped with a bit of torn stomach lining. A thin, five-inch-long, black wire emerged from one side. And what looked like a small LED light sat on top of the device.

“I think it’s a transmitter,” Bray said. “Radio tracker. Gives off a pulsing signal.”

“Inside a turtle?” Kam said. “Is that unusual?”

Joliet raised a single eyebrow at Kam. “Are you serious?”

The kid just shrugged.

“It looks like it was designed to be ingested,” Hawkins observed. “Those hooks kept it planted to the stomach wall. But the light’s not on. Must not be working.”

“I can open it up,” Kam said. “See how it works. Maybe find some clue about who made it on a circuit board or something?”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” Bray said.

They were right. Kam was the perfect man for the job.

“Just take off the—” Kam wiggled a finger at the bits of stomach lining clinging to the barbs.

“I think Kam is asking the right thing. Who would have done this to an endangered species? Or really any species?” Joliet asked. “And why?”

“I think I know,” Hawkins said. With all eyes, and the camera, on him, he picked up the red plastic band. “Whoever put the tracker in the turtle wanted to be able find it again. For some reason, the tracker failed and the loggerhead grew to adulthood. But look at the size of the band around its waist. It’s small. And the turtle would have been small when it first got stuck in the band. The tracker wouldn’t have fit in its stomach at the time, let alone down its throat. I think the turtle was kept in captivity until it was large enough for someone to shove that tracker down its throat and attach it to the stomach lining. The turtle might have been killed by the plastic it ate, but the deformation was done on purpose.” He looked Joliet in the eyes. “This turtle was an experiment.”