Fight Fire With Fire. Amy J. Fetzer

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       Sonsoral Islands, Philippine Sea

      The barrier islands scattered like strings of torn white lace mixed with plots of lush green. This one looked like a Chia Pet growing in the middle of the ocean, Riley thought. Storms had eroded the shore till there was little more than a small stretch of beach maybe seventy-five yards wide, but it dropped off into deep water. The rubber motorboat floated on the outer rim of the reef, and with his hand on the rudder, he idled as he watched the men emerge on shore. At high tide, they could swim over the jagged reef and while Jim Clatt wanted to go alone, Riley was on board the research ship to make sure the boatload of geeks didn’t do anything stupid.

      It was a surprisingly easy job.

      Walking alongside Jim was his twenty-year-old research assistant, Derek. The kid was having a blast sailing on the high seas before his senior year and facing the real world. When the pair turned to wave, Riley tapped his dive watch as a reminder. One hour and the tides would rapidly change. The rip current wasn’t too bad, but getting across the barrier reef would be nearly impossible until high tide. He didn’t think the bone diggers wanted to be stuck there all night. He heeled the rubber boat around on a swell of white water and headed back to the research ship.

      Two hundred miles east of the Philippines and about a hundred south of Palau, the islands were small, mostly uninhabited, a couple acres at best, and during the rainy season, they were a few feet underwater. Riley didn’t know what the pair thought they’d find, but he doubted much of anything could have survived the last round of typhoons.

      Cabin fever, he figured. They needed to be on land. Riley knew if he set foot on solid ground, it would take him another day to regain his sea legs again. He’d rather skip shoving his face in the commode any day. At Derek’s age, it was the reason he’d joined the Marines and not the Navy. Years ago and too old to look back, he thought as he steered the boat alongside the 180-foot white research vessel.

      From the deck of The Traveler , a technician waved acknowledgment, then swung the rail gate aside. After he secured the rubber boat, Riley slung a small duffle across his body, then climbed the steel ladder forged into the hull of the ship. He stepped through the opened gate in time to see his older sister give orders, her Irish accent a wee heavier. It seemed to charm the lads. He wasn’t fooled. Of his four sisters, she was the tyrant of the lot.

      Yet he smiled just the same. Bridget was in her glory. A marine biologist with her doctorate in marine archaeology, she was the head of an expedition to gather data on the effects of the 2006 tsunami on the Pacific marine life. Her fully funded gig came with equipment, technicians, a botanist, an archaeologist, a climatologist, and a ship’s staff. Partnered with her was his brother-in-law, Travis McFadden, an oceanographer. The man smiled an awful lot for someone who stared at weather patterns most of the time, but Trav and his sister had raised three boys, all in college, and from the looks of them lately, they were reviving their twenty-three-year-old marriage like honeymooners. Best not go there, he thought and looked back toward the shore.

      Because of the depth, the ship was anchored a quarter mile from the reef. Standing at the prow out of the way of activity, he unzipped his waterproof duffle and drew out binoculars, sighting in on the two men. The pair was still inspecting the shore of sea-battered coral less than ten yards deep. A storm had raged across this area only two days ago, what did they think was left?

      He followed them as they strolled toward a towering rock formation half shrouded in palms and betel nut trees and he didn’t lower the glasses until they walked into the forest. Their steps were awkwardly high over the untouched vegetation as Jim swung a machete.

      Then they were gone, swallowed into the darkness.