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A husband and wife battle whalers in a seagoing adventure of international intrigue and murder.
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Divers Terry Hunter and her husband, ex-NYPD detective Joe Manetta, are busy running their Cozumel dive operation and starting a family. But a chance encounter with a female diver from Holland leads them on a globetrotting adventure, from the balmy Caribbean to the frigid North Atlantic. While diving with humpback whales in the Dominican Republic, they learn a rogue sea captain is illegally hunting whales and killing activists attempting to stop the hunt.
Far more dangerous for the whales is a conspiracy led by Japan, Iceland, Finland and Norway, to overturn the International Whaling Commission’s whaling ban at the Commission’s upcoming meeting in Iceland.
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Terry and Joe travel to Iceland, offering their assistance to save the whales and solve a cover-up reaching the highest levels of government. Their involvement entangles them in a dangerous world of international politics, intrigue and murder, where fate has a surprise in store for them.
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Excerpt
The North Atlantic
Ulf Swenson maneuvered the Arctic Wind through sleet and rolling ocean swells as he followed a large finback whale. Finally, he was in position for the kill when his first mate interrupted him. “You must take this call, Captain.”
“Damn it! Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I’m sorry Captain but it’s urgent, from the capitol.”
“Give me the goddamn phone,” he snarled, grabbing the receiver from the mate. “Swenson here!” He listened for a minute, while watching the harpooner aiming for a shot. “Fire the cannon! What the hell’s wrong with you?” he shouted to the gunner, while listening to the angry tirade coming through the phone. “So, what the hell do I care if Andresson got his ass reamed at a meeting?” he said to the caller. After listening for a few more minutes he slammed the receiver down in disgust. “Political ass holes,” he hissed. “Gudmund, I have the ship in perfect position! What’s the problem out there?”
“I can’t shoot, Captain,” replied his harpooner “A Zodiac is in the way,”. Swenson looked ahead and saw Lara Schalken’s long blonde hair blowing in the salt spray. She was expertly piloting the Zodiac, keeping herself and two fellow crew members between the deadly harpoon gun and the whale, essentially acting as human shields. On the back of her orange slicker, Swenson recognized a familiar emblem he hated: an angel holding a shield riding on a whale’s back. After weaving between the Arctic Wind and the targeted whale for twenty minutes, Lara and the crew aboard the Zodiac wondered if the harpooner would recklessly fire his weapon in frustration. Finally, they watched, relieved, as the Arctic Wind broke off the chase. Swenson turned the rudder sharply to port, glaring at the Zodiac’s crew as they whooped and cheered. Lara looked back over her shoulder. She saw Swenson watching her. She smiled, defiantly thrusting her fist high in triumph. No whale would be killed this day. Watching the action through his binoculars from a mile away, Jan Shalken slammed his fist on the helm in a burst of emotion. “Way to go, Lara!” he shouted.
“We’ll see what happens next time we meet,” muttered Swenson.
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