Black wind

engineering whiz who grew up in west Texas, Dahlgren knew his way around horses and guns, as well as every type of mechanical equipment that operated above or below the sea.
    “Is this the scenic island tour my travel agent recommended?” he asked Dirk, sticking his head through a sliding cockpit window.
    “Step right up, sonny boy, you won’t be disappointed. All the water, rocks, and sea lions your eyes can absorb.”
    “Sounds swell. I’ll give you an extra quarter if you can find me a bar with a short-skirted waitress.”
    “I’ll see what I can do,” Dirk grinned as Dahlgren climbed into the copilot’s seat.
    The two men had become fast friends years before, while studying ocean engineering at Florida Atlantic University. Avid divers, they regularly cut classes together in order to spearfish the coral reefs lying off Boca Raton, using their fresh-caught fish to woo local sorority girls with barbecues on the beach. After graduating, Jack completed his college ROTC commitment in the Navy while Dirk obtained a master’s degree from the New York Maritime College and trained at a commercial dive school. The two men were reunited when Dirk joined his father at NUMA as a special projects director and convinced his old friend to accompany him at the prestigious research agency.
    After years of diving together, there was almost an unspoken bond between the two men. They knew they could depend on each other and performed at their best when the chips were down. Dahlgren had seen the look of determination in Dirk’s eyes before and knew the dogged persistence that came with it. The mysterious events on Yunaska were weighing on his friend, Dahlgren noticed, and he wasn’t likely to let it go.
    The main rotor blade of the Sikorsky wound to a high pitch as Dirk gently eased the helicopter up and off a small landing platform mounted amidships of the Deep Endeavor. Climbing to one hundred feet, Dirk held the helicopter stationary for a moment, admiring the bird’s-eye view of the NUMA research ship. The wide-beamed, turquoise-colored survey ship had a stubby look to her 270-foot length. But the lack of a svelte streamline made for a stable work platform, ideal for operating the myriad of cranes and hoists strategically positioned about the large, open stern deck. In the middle of the deck, a bright yellow submersible sparkled like a jewel in the late afternoon sunlight as it rested on a large wooden cradle, while several technicians tinkered with its thrusters and electronics. One of the technicians stood and waved his cap toward the suspended helicopter. Dirk threw the man a quick wave, then banked the chopper and headed northeast toward the island of Yunaska, less than ten miles away.
    “Back to Yunaska?” asked Dahlgren.
    “The Coast Guard station we scouted this morning.”
    “Great,” Dahlgren moaned. “We acting as a flying hearse?”
    “No, just checking out the source of whatever killed the men and dog.”
    “And are we looking for animal, vegetable, or mineral?” Dahlgren asked through his headset, his teeth mashing a large wad of gum.
    “All three,” Dirk replied. “Carl Nash told me that a toxic cloud could be created by anything from an active volcano to an algae bloom, not to mention your garden-variety industrial pollutant.”
    “Just stop at the next walrus and I’ll ask for directions to the closest pesticide factory.”
    “That reminds me, where’s Basil?” Dirk asked, his eyes glancing about the cockpit.
    “Right here, safe and sound,” Dahlgren replied, grabbing a small cage from beneath his seat and holding it up in front of his face. Inside, a small white mouse peered back at Dahlgren, his tiny whiskers twitching back and forth.
    “Breathe deep, little friend, and don’t go to sleep on us,” Dahlgren requested of the furry rodent. He then strung the cage from an overhead lanyard, like a canary in a coal mine, so they could easily see if the mouse succumbed to any toxins in the air.
    The grassy island of Yunaska crested out of the slate green water ahead of them, a sprinkling of light cirrus clouds dancing about the larger of the island’s two extinct volcanic peaks. Dirk gradually increased the helicopter’s altitude as they approached the craggy shoreline, then banked left along the water’s edge. Flying counterclockwise around the island’s perimeter, it took only a few minutes before they spotted the yellow building of the Coast Guard station. Bringing the