Walter looked around the room. “And where is Oscar Flynn?”
Tolliver led us to the glass doors that opened onto a balcony.
The balcony overlooked the bay. An afternoon breeze rippled the water. I estimated the spot where I had kayaked four nights ago. I shifted my focus across the bay, to the sweep of the dunes, that long sugary white spine that separated the bay from the sea beyond. I looked for but could not spot the elephantine dune where Walter and I had found the red float this morning. That was farther south, toward the end of the bay. The field of view from the aquarium balcony did not encompass the entire bay.
Neither did the view from the balcony penetrate the murky water down below to reveal the intake and outflow pipes.
If there were Aurelia stragglers caught in some eddy down there, they were invisible from up here.
“Oscar,” Tolliver said.
Flynn stood at the far end of the balcony, gazing out over the water. I wondered if he was looking at his boat — there were quite a few big boats at anchor farther up the bay. I saw a big black boat but I could not make out the name from here. Flynn's back was to us. He wore the now-familiar outfit all in black. Black polo shirt, black jeans, black high-top sneakers.
He turned and favored us with a scowl. “Somebody's head is going to roll.”
“If you have any candidates,” Tolliver said, “speak up.”
Flynn was silent.
“Dr. Flynn,” Walter said, “we've just learned that you're a volunteer with the aquarium.”
“Docent. When the aquarium opens.”
“But you're here today.”
“I heard about the disaster with the jellyfish exhibit. I'm on a call list. I rushed here. Everybody on staff rushed here, not just full-timers but volunteers like me. This place couldn't run without us.”
Tolliver said, “Then you're familiar with the aquarium plumbing system? The pipes, and all that?”
“That's not my playground.”
Tolliver jerked a thumb, indicating the sea beyond the bay. “That your playground, out there?”
Flynn's black eyes went flat. “Are you mocking me?”
“I'm questioning you.”
“What about them?”
“Shaws and Oldfield will do the science-y talk. I'll just jump in when I feel like it.”
Flynn regarded Walter and me. “You keep barging into my life.”
Walter tipped his head. “We found something that might belong to you.”
“I didn't lose anything.”
“I fear that you did. A marine float, painted red?”
Oscar Flynn pressed back against the balcony railing.
Walter said, “Our story of the red float begins with a diver by the name of Joao Silva.”
“I didn't know him.”
“So you said, yesterday at sea.”
Flynn folded his massive arms. “Why should I care now?”
“Because he found your float.”
Flynn shrugged.
Walter continued the story, explaining the rescue of the diver, Lanny taking the float, our discovery of the float in the dunes, the mysterious paint. He concluded, “You can understand our bewilderment.”
Flynn shrugged.
“And then,” Walter said, watching Flynn closely, “Cassie and I had a breakthrough. We discovered something that could explain the puzzling use of a water-soluble glue with an iron-oxide paint in a marine environment.”
“The azalea breakthrough,” Tolliver put in. “That's what they call it. My azaleas gave them a lead.”
Flynn kept his focus on Walter. “What did you discover?”
“How to cool the climate.”
Flynn snorted.
“It's simple,” Walter said, “at least in theory. To reduce atmospheric levels of carbon dioxide, look to the plants of the sea. Phytoplankton, via photosynthesis, gobbles up large amounts of CO2. When the plankton die and sink to the seafloor all that CO2 is sequestered. If you want to remove more carbon dioxide — make more phytoplankton. One of the plant's major nutrients is iron, which is often in limited supply. Solution — fertilize the ocean with iron to make the phytoplankton bloom.”
“That's what you learned? That's called iron seeding. That's not a new thing.”
Walter cocked his head. “You're familiar with it?”
“I just said I was.”
“Well it was new to us. To continue our story, we learned that one form of iron used for the seeding is Fe203. I'm sure as a double PhD you know the formula for hematite. In fact, hematite is the form of iron in the paint on our red float. And so — with the iron seeding thing in mind — the problem of the water-soluble binder now becomes an asset. You want the paint to dissolve, to slowly release the hematite particles. To seed the water. To make the phytoplankton bloom.” Walter eyed Flynn. “When Cassie and I learned about that, it brought us to you.”
Flynn shrugged.
“The science-y bits,” Tolliver said. “Right up your alley, Oscar.”
“Just because I understand it, doesn't mean it has anything to do with me.”
“Oh indeed,” Walter said, “you'll see that it does. Let me explain. Let us back up in story-time to that morning last week on the beach. The rescue of the sea lion sickened by toxins from an algal bloom. Quite noble. And I'll remind you that Dr. Violet Russell told us of your interest in algal blooms. And then let us come to yesterday's encounter at sea. You and Jake Keasling, sampling the bloom, as part of the Marine Mammal monitoring program. Again, noble.” Walter rubbed his chin. “All of that is what brings us to you, with a question. Did you deploy that red float? Did you create that algal bloom?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
I said, “We wondered about that, ourselves.”
Flynn shrugged.
Walter said, “The iron-seeding strategy has been largely abandoned. It never really panned out.”
“Is there a question in there?”
“The question is why you chose to do it. Especially given the potential of nasty side effects. Stimulating phytoplankton growth can backfire, creating a bloom of the harmful variety. As we all saw out there.”
Flynn shrugged.
“And further,” Walter continued, “there is the problem of how to end a harmful bloom, once it gets started. So you see, I have to wonder if you know what you're doing.”
Flynn's expression hardened. “You're baiting me.”
“Answer the damn question,” Tolliver snapped.
“There isn't a question, there's an accusation.”
“Then answer it.”
Flynn straightened, abandoning his slouched perch against the railing. He loomed, big man towering over us, now looking down at us. “You're telling your story, Dr. Shaws. I am unenlightened. So I am going to tell my story.”
Walter stepped back, just enough so that he did not have to lift his chin to meet Flynn's look. “I'm all ears.”
“Yes, I created that bloom. And I know precisely what I'm doing.”
“That's good to hear.”
“To start with, your runaway bloom is preposterous. You saw the bloom — it's starting to dissipate. That's because I stopped the seeding.”
“Why?”
“Phase one of the experiment had run its course.”
“Wait a minute,” Tolliver said, “who authorized this experiment?”
Flynn waved a hand. “I have the paperwork. I'm doing a good thing.”
“Good, my ass. What we saw out there is a goddamn mess.”
“You're just looking at this bloom. Don't worry about it — it's less than ideal because I made it with the old method, dispersing the iron in the propeller wash of a boat. But I'm developing something new. It's a different dispersal method. That's the story of the red float — a slow and continuous release of particles.”