Killing Keiko (42 page)

Though the prospect sounded reasonable, genetic data requires tissue, and that tissue
is obtained by means of a crossbow mounted biopsy dart. The device would likely render
a person hospitalized, but to a killer whale it would be the equivalent of a pinprick.
An additional objective involved the use of suction cup tags. These are very basic
recorder tags that remain only temporarily on the whales and float to the surface
for retrieval after the suction cup loses its grasp.

In either case, the concept of harassing or exciting the wild pod just before they
met Keiko was unfathomable. We knew with certainty these greedy demands were going
to upset the whole experience for Keiko as well as the wild whales.
Why couldn’t they see it?

Months of pressures and disagreements exorcised themselves before us as Robin reacted
to both the perceived deception and the invasive plan in one impassioned explosion.
Most of the fallout rained down on Jen. She sat in an overstuffed chair near the east
window wearing sweat clothes and socks with her legs folded comfortably beneath her.
In this position she had no escape from the torrent.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Robin screamed at her, standing so close
his accusatory finger was inches from Jen’s face. “You call yourself a scientist and
say all you want is what’s in Keiko’s best interest, but you have no idea what’s in
his best interest!”

Robin’s face was beet red. Veins protruded in his neck as he paced away from Jen and
then back again. “I’m so sick and tired of hearing this shit about ‘what’s in the
best interest of Keiko’ when no one here has any idea what that means!”

Robin never cursed. I had never before witnessed this version of Robin. Only seconds
had passed and the rest of us were still trying to reconcile his initial reaction.

“Robin,” I said, trying to interject.

He didn’t hear me or chose to ignore the call and continued: “I can’t believe you’re
persuaded by this Baird guy who knows nothing about what Keiko’s been through or how
we’re preparing him behaviorally! How in the world can you consider tagging the whales
as not harassment right before they meet Keiko!”

Both Jeff and Jen tried to interject but at this point Robin was not listening to
anyone. He continued, his words forced through clenched teeth as he glared at Jen.
“He is not going to swim off with those whales! You want to turn this into a circus
at the most critical time … after all we’ve tried to do here, fighting on every point
and every step … I’m so sick of your shit!” he spit the words out in utter disgust,
every other word almost unrecognizable as they were ejected with such heightened intensity
and volume.

He then turned on Jeff who was offering explanation, as much to distract Robin’s attention
from Jen. Robin momentarily peered at Jeff with a look of disbelief on his reddened
face. Nothing Jeff said offered any reprieve. “You guys have been planning this crap
for months, and I’m just now hearing about it? Right before we’re taking him out there?”
He flung his arm out, indicating the ocean in the distance. “This is complete bullshit,
Jeff, and you know it!”

At this Robin had his hands out in front of him, palms up. By his tone and his posture
he was incredulous, as if unable to accept that anyone could be so deceptive.
That anyone could be so deceptive to him
. Jen tried to respond. But through her tears and Robin’s yelling she could not string
together a complete sentence.

Behind Robin and to his left, Charles attempted to impose reason. “Robin … Robin …”
he was begging him to stop. Charles’ eyes were inflamed and red, the fervid atmosphere
overtaking his otherwise stoic composure.

Robin ignored Charles and kept after Jen, the target of his anger. Though Jen’s stance
in the debate was in stark contrast to mine and Robin’s, the resulting attack had
far more horsepower behind it than the topics on the surface necessitated. It was
indeed the outlet of every frustration, failure, debate and ongoing conflict Robin
had
buried within himself for a long time leading up to this night. A commonality we all
shared; the emotional investment, isolation and pressures conjoined bringing out the
best and the worst in us.

Months earlier, the undercurrents were already apparent. Charles sent a note to Robin
urging him to seek open dialogue between the four of us. He had suggested that we
all four meet in Seattle—outside of the project setting—and come to agreement, or
at least mutual respect, of each other’s objectives. Due to the demands of the project,
the kumbaya meeting never took place. It was unrealistic to expect the four of us
to meet off-site. At least two of us needed to be on-site at all times, and over the
past five months, that had been mostly Robin and me. In contrast to our schedules,
Jeff and Jen had been sent on increasingly frequent expeditions elsewhere on behalf
of Ocean Futures. The prolonged separation only served to expand diverging paths between
the two duos.

Above all, the nagging insistence of this first introduction as a single “event” only
continued to fan the flames of disagreement, which now became a towering inferno.

Robin went the only place left to go—to a personal affront. “You have no idea what
real research is and you call this a research project! If any of this crap was out
there among colleagues it would be a complete embarrassment!” he said.

Charles, who had been trying to diffuse the situation, now took sharp offense at the
personal attack on Jen. He sprang from his chair and was standing almost between Robin
and Jen. “That’s enough. Robin, you need to stop, walk away. I’ve had enough—it’s
enough of this.” Charles’ words came out cracked and uneven. He furrowed his brow
and with that carried off a fairly stern and menacing expression. Both Jeff and I
were still caught in the headlights and unable to form adequate responses. It had
only been a minute, maybe two. I believe each of us thought Robin just needed to “get
it out” and hoped that the conversation would return to civility.

Robin turned and stormed out of the room slamming the door with deafening force as
he crossed the hall to our shared suite. I
was suddenly aware that the space had become uncomfortably warm. Bewildered, I glanced
at Charles and Jeff without an answer to offer. Jeff was first to speak. “Mark, I
think you need to calm him down. He needs to calm down … or he’s going to have a heart
attack or something.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him,” I said, as I paced toward the door, unsure of what I could
do or say.

Charles stopped me, “Wait—just hold on. Give it a minute. I don’t think …”

But he was cut short as Robin reentered the room much as he had left. This time he
spoke with less volume. His rectitude laser-sharp, he had much frustration left to
purge. In his brief absence something resonated, some haunting realization that reignited
the fire.

“We are not going to make this into a fiasco, I will not allow you to go out there
and undo everything we’ve been trying to accomplish!” Dropping his voice to just above
a conversational volume he continued, “Charles, you and I have talked about this;
we’ve talked about keeping this first introduction to a minimum of required personnel
and boats. How can you support this?” It wasn’t a question as much as it was an accusation.
“It’s the same bullshit we have had to deal with all along—that Keiko is going to
swim off into the sunset! I expect this shit at the board level, but not here.”

The breakdown continued at the same intensity for a few moments longer still, defenses
and offenses repeating themselves. Finally Robin went back to his room, a phrase of
disgust and disappointment left lingering in the air. Stunned, we sat motionless.
Jeff turned facing the kitchenette. I had been standing, leaning against the counter
the entire time. He glanced at me as he poured a glass of red wine, casting a defeated
smile along with a raise of his eyebrows.

After a few moments, Jeff broke the silence in his distinctive soft tone. “Wow! I
don’t know what to say to that? Is he okay?” The question was addressed to me as if
I were Robin’s keeper. There was sincerity in Jeff’s questioning concern.

“I don’t know. I’ll talk to him, but I think we should leave him alone for a while.”
Even I was hesitant to go in the other room.

Among the four of us remaining, the conversation continued where it had started. This
time Jeff carried the ball in support of Baird’s wish list and in defense of research
objectives. I didn’t say much. At once I felt any continuation was a betrayal to Robin.
In fairness, it would betray my own opinions as well. I had stoked the fires sure
enough. In all of our exhaustive discussions, Robin and I played out every scenario
we could creatively dream up. With each supposition, I was vehemently opposed to any
excess activity surrounding the spotlight event of Keiko’s first encounter with wild
whales. My representation of the likely outcomes was never candy coated with Robin.
Confronted with what he viewed as indirection from those he trusted, and emboldened
by my staunch position on the conditioning goals, the disclosures laid in our lap
that night—just days before the introduction—were all it took to set him off with
such ferocity.

The four of us never truly resolved our differences. The following days came and went
with little ongoing exchange. Yet somehow we managed to work together. By and large,
our conversations were limited to project needs. The days of personal well wishes
and small talk had vanished, especially between Robin and Jen.

Jeff could not state his case then, but had defended his position in support of the
tagging and documentation that night with reason. A clear and present fear existed,
prompted by agendas and board members bent on twisting Keiko’s release to their benefit.
He suspected there was premeditated intent to leave Keiko on his own out in the ocean
regardless of the initial result. Jeff believed the only insurance that would protect
Keiko was complete documentation of the introduction on every conceivable level.

Had the four of us trusted each other, so much would have turned out differently in
days and months that followed. We were the front line. In defiance of any misaligned
objectives of the board or Charles or anyone in between, to a person and each in our
own
way, not one of us would have allowed negligence to reach Keiko. Our experiences and
our roles were very different, but we all shared a common vision of Keiko as the priority.
Nevertheless, we had failed to recognize the one true antagonist in Keiko’s venture
to freedom. With a long-standing influence over the project, the antagonist would
become readily apparent soon enough.

June 18, 2000. At morning’s first full light, the harbor was already bustling with
activity. Boats and crews were assigned. The meeting of boat captains was under way.
The last-minute communication protocols reviewed. Walk formation maps were set out
and boat and helicopter positions acknowledged. Everything was carefully and meticulously
laid out, checked and triple checked. Equipment was staged on each vessel—from cameras,
batteries, and film to the all-important sat-tag, charged and ready for a potentially
record-breaking journey across unknown distance and time.

The entire release team was on-site, pushing the envelope on the allowed days in-country.
Even the risk of overdrawing on the bank of expatriate days did not matter to project
management; they considered the prospect of this being many a person’s last rotation
a very real consequence of the day’s intended activity. Even so, the full compliment
of staff proved manageable. At least every one of the regular cast was familiar with
the mandates surrounding Keiko. His walk formations now fell into sync with ease.
But it wasn’t that simple. Heimaey was now host to a variety of newcomers, all there
to be a part of history, intent on witnessing the glorious finale to a world-renowned
animal welfare event.

On this day, arguably the most delicate of any venture to sea yet, we prepared to
escort Keiko to his own kind under the attached scrutiny of five waterborne vessels
and one aloft; a veritable floating and flying parade around the waters of Vestmannaeyjar.

Assessing the scene in the harbor, I could almost taste the same feverish hostility
that Robin had vented just a handful of days
before.
Give an inch, and they’ll take a mile
, I had thought. The detailed progression we painstakingly erected and fought to protect
was becoming a circus, a show for spectators everywhere I looked. At the back of the
line behind every ego and agenda stood Keiko, the featured act.

It was Tom who revealed the first in a series of ruinous impacts that painted the
slippery slope already unfolding. During the loading of boats, he had seen crossbows
among the assorted equipment stowed onboard the
Viking II
, the tracking vessel charged with locating and identifying the ideal pod for introduction.
They intended to either attach suction cup-tags or biopsy dart the wild whales—or
both.

Beyond the already overbearing presence of the
Viking II
tailing their every move, the idea of harassing the wild whales with forceful attachments
was beyond comprehension. It was the treacherous result of a clear divergence within
the project’s leadership, an ironic twist of fate.

Jacques Cousteau himself set up many a vivid camera shot that drew the world’s attention,
cultivating an insatiable fascination with the ocean and her inhabitants, myself included.
When I grew older, it saddened me to learn that many of the famous explorations and
purportedly candid encounters were staged, orchestrated for film, many times at the
expense of the starring animal.

Ocean Futures, the organization on the frontlines of Keiko’s release, was a documentary
filmmaker as well. By its nature, the organization was predisposed to “getting the
shot.” So it would be that the very subject of their interest and his needs would
likewise be dismissed in the heat of the moment. They protested animal captivity,
likening it to abuse and genocide. They saw themselves as great protectors; their
mission without reproach, but they were in fact the first and worst offenders.