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d the sailors; fishermen; and auto racers who knew Ensenada when it was the last outpost of civilization on the eight…hundred…mile…long Baja peninsula before La Paz。 Hussong's was one of those legendary bars; like Foxy's in the Virgin Islands or Capt'n Tony's in Key West; where every body in the world had been。 As they stepped inside Austin was heartened to see a few scruffy barflies who might remember the good old days when tequila flowed like a river and the police ran a shuttle service back and forth between the cantina and the local hoosegow。
They sat at a table and ordered huevos rancheros。 〃Ah; pure soul food;〃 Zavala said; savoring a bite of scrambled eggs and salsa。 Austin had been studying the sad expression on the moose head that had been over the bar for as long as he could recall。 Still wondering how a moose got to Mexico; he turned his attention back to the map of the Baja that was spread out on the table in front of him next to the satellite photo showing water temperature。
〃This is where we're going;〃 he said; pointing to the map。 〃The temperature anomaly is in the vicinity of this cove。〃
Zavala finished his meal with a smile of pleasure and opened a Baedecker's guide to Mexico。 〃It says here that the ballena gris or gray whale arrives off the Baja from December to March to mate and give birth to its young。 The whales weigh up to twenty…five tons and run between ten and forty…nine feet long。 During mating; one male will keep the female in position while another male…〃 He winced。 〃Think I'll skip that part。 The gray was almost exterminated by mercial whaling but was made a protected species in 1947。〃 He paused in his reading。 〃Let me ask you something。 I know you've got a lot of respect for any thing that swims in the sea; but I've never thought of you as a whale hugger。 Why the big interest? Why not leave this up to the EPA or Fish and Wildlife?〃
〃Fair question。 I could say I want to find out what started the chain of events that ended up with the sinking of Pop's boat。 But there's another reason that I can't put my finger on。〃 A thoughtful expression came into Austin's eyes。 〃It reminds me of some scary dives I've made。 You know the kind。 You're swimming along; everything seemingly fine; when the hair rises on the back of your neck; your gut goes ice…cold; and you've got a bad feeling you're not alone; that something is watching you。 Something hung7y。 〃
〃Sure;〃 Zavala said contemplatively。 〃But it usually goes be yond that。 I imagine that the biggest; baddest; hungriest shark in the ocean is behind me; and he's thinking how it's been a long time since he's had authentic Mexican food。〃 He took another bite of his huevos。 〃But when I look around there's nothing there; or maybe there's a minnow the size of my finger who's been giving me the evil eye。〃
〃The sea is wrapped in mystery;〃 Austin said with a faraway look in his eyes。
〃Is that a riddle?〃
〃In a way。 It's a quote from Joseph Conrad。 'The sea never changes and its works; for all the talk of men; are wrapped in mystery。'〃 Austin tapped the map with his fingertip。 〃Whales die every day。 We lose some to natural causes。 Others get tangled in fishing nets and starve to death; or they get nailed by a ship; or we poison them with pollution because some people think it's okay to use the sea for a toxic waste dump。〃 He paused。 〃But this doesn't fit any of those categories。 Even with out interference from humans; nature is always out of kilter; constantly adjusting and readjusting。 But it's not a cacophony。 It's like the improvisation you see with a good jazz group; Ahmad Jamal doing a piano solo; going off on his own; catching up with his rhythm section later。〃 He let out a deep laugh。 〃Hell; I'm not making sense。〃
〃Don't forget I've seen your jazz collection; Kurt。 You're saying there's a sour note here。〃
〃More a universal dissonance。〃 He thought about it some more。 〃I like your analogy better。 I've got the feeling that there's a big bad…ass shark lurking just out of sight and it's hungry as hell。〃
Zavala pushed his empty plate away。 〃As they say back home; the best time to fish is when the fish are hungry。〃
〃I happen to know you grew up in the desert; amigo;〃 Austin said; rising。 〃But I agree with what you're saying。 Let's go fishing。〃
From Ensenada they got back on the highway and headed south。 As in Tijuana; the mercial sprawl thinned out and vanished and the highway went down to two lanes。 They turned off the highway past Maneadero and followed back roads past agricultural fields; scattered farm houses; and old missions; eventually ing into rugged; lonely country with fog…shrouded rolling hills that dropped down to the sea。 Zavala; who was navigating; checked the map。 〃We're almost there。 Just around the corner;〃 he said。
Austin didn't know what he was expecting。 Even so he was surprised when they rounded the curve and he saw a neatly lettered sign in Spanish and English announcing they were at the home of the Baja Tortilla pany。 He pulled over to the side of the road。 The sign was at the beginning of a long; clay drive bordered with planted trees。 They could see a large building at the end of the driveway。
Austin leaned on the steering wheel and pushed his Foster Grants up onto his forehead。 〃You're sure this is the right spot?〃
Zavala handed the map over for Austin's examination。 〃This is the place;〃 he said。
〃Looks like we drove all this way for nothing。〃
〃Maybe not;〃 Zavala said。 〃The huevos rancheros were excel lent; and I've got a new Hussong's Cantina T…shirt。〃
Austin's eyes narrowed。 〃Coincidence makes me suspicious。 The sign says 'Visitors Wele。' As long as we're here; let's take them at their word。〃
He turned the truck off the highway and drove a few hundred yards to a neatly tended gravel parking lot marked with spaces for visitors。 Several cars with California plates and a couple of tour buses were parked in front of the building; a corrugated aluminum structure with a portaled adobe facade and tiled roof in the Spanish style。 The smell of baking corn wafted through the pickup's open windows。
〃Diabolically clever disguise;〃 Zavala said。
〃I hardly expected to see a neon sign that said; 'Wele from the guys who killed the whales。' 〃
〃I wish we were toting our guns;〃 Zavala said with mock gravity。 〃You never know when a wild tortilla will attack you。 I once heard about someone being mauled by a burrito in No gales…〃
〃Save it for the drive back。〃 Austin got out of the car and led the way to the ornately carved front door of dark wood。
They stepped into a whitewashed reception area。 A smiling young Mexican woman greeted them from behind a desk。 〃Buenos dias;〃 she said。 〃You are in luck。 The tour of the tortilla factory is just starting。 You're not with a group from a cruise boat?〃
Austin suppressed a smile。 〃We're on our own。 We were driving by and saw the sign。〃
She smiled again and asked them to join a group of senior citizens; mostly Americans and mostly from the Midwest from the sounds of their accents。 The receptionist; who also acted as guide; ushered them into the bakery。
〃Corn was life in Mexico; and tortillas have been the staple food in Mexico for centuries with both the Indians and the Spanish settlers。〃 She led the way past where sacks of corn were being emptied into grinding machines。 〃For many years people made their tortillas at home。 The corn was ground into meal; mixed with water to produce masa; then rolled; cut; pressed; and baked by hand。 With the growth of demand in Mexico and especially in the United States; the tortilla industry has bee more centralized。 This has allowed us to modernize our production facilities providing for more efficient and sanitary operation。〃
Speaking in low tones as they trailed behind the others; Austin said; 〃If the market for Mexican flapjacks is in the U。S。; why isn't this place closer to the border? Why make them down here and ship them up the highway?〃
〃Good question;〃 Zavala said。 〃The tortilla business in Mexico is a tightly held monopoly run by guys with close government connections。 It's a billion…dollar industry。 Even if you did have a good reason to locate this far south; why build overlooking the ocean? Nice place for a luxury hotel; but an operation like this?〃
The tour went past the dough mixers which fed into machines that produced hundreds of tortillas a minute; the thin flat pies ing out on conveyor belts; all tended by workers in laundry…white coats and plastic caps。 The guide was ushering the group to the packaging and shipping department when Austin spied a door with words written in Spanish on it。 〃Employees only?〃 he asked Zavala。 Joe nodded。
〃I've learned all I want to know about burritos and enchiladas。〃 Austin stepped aside and tried the door。 It was unlocked。 〃I'm going to look around。〃
Eyeing Austin's imposing physique and blazing white hair; Zavala said; 〃With due respect for your talents as a snoop; you don't exactly blend in with the people working around here。 I might be less conspicuous than a giant gringo stalking the hall ways。〃
Zavala had a good point。 〃Okay; snoop away。 Be careful。 I'll meet you at the end of the tour。 If the guide asks; I'll say you had to go to the restroom。〃
Zavala winked and slipped through the door。 He was confident he could charm his way out of practically any situation and had already prepared a story saying he'd bee lost looking for the bano。 He found himself in a long hallway with no windows or other openings except for a steel door at the far end。 He walked the length of the hallway and put his ear against the door。 Not hearing anything; he tried the knob。 The door was locked。
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a modified Swiss Army knife that would have got him arrested in places where possession of burglar tools is illegal。 The standard attachments such as scissors; nail file; and can opener had been replaced with picks for the most mon locks。 On the fourth try he heard the latch click open。 Behind the door another corridor slanted down。 Unlike the first; this passage had several doors。 All were locked except one that opened into a locker room。
The lockers were secure; and he could have opened them with his picks if he had time。 He glanced at his watch。 The tour would wind up soon。 On the opposite wall were shelves piled with neatly folded white coats。 He found one that fit and slipped it on。 In a supply cabinet he discovered a clipboard。 He stepped out into the corridor and continued on to yet a third door。 This; too; was locked; but he managed to open it after a few tries。
The door opened onto an elevated platform that overlooked a big room。 The platform led to a series of walkways that crossed through a web of linking horizontal and vertical pipes。 The low hum of machinery seemed to e from everywhere; and he couldn't trace its source。 He descended a set of stairs。 The pipes came out of the floor; then disappeared at right angles into the wall。 Plumbing for the tortilla factory; he surmised。 At one end of the room was another door。 It was unlocked。 When he cautiously opened it; a cool ocean breeze hit him in the face。
He gasped with surprise。 He was standing on a small plat form perched high on the side of a cliff; facing out onto a lagoon about two hundred feet below him。 It was a beautiful vista; and again he wondered why somebody hadn't built a hotel rather than a factory there。 He assumed the factory was behind the edge of the cliff; but he couldn't see it from his angle。 He looked down again。 The water washed up against the jagged rocks along the shore in foamy ripples。 The platform had a gate at one end that led to empty space with no steps going down or up。 Odd。 A few feet from the gate a metal rail ran down the side of the cliff and disappeared into the water。
He followed the rail down to the lagoon with his eye。 A section of water appeared to be darker than that surrounding it。 It might have been kelp and other seaweed washing against the rocks。 As he watched; there was an intense bubbling at the base of the cliff; and a large; shiny; egg…shaped object suddenly appeared