LITMIR.BIZ

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two rows of cylindrical tanks in various shades of green, red, and yellow-brown, fifteen or more feet in diameter. Water boiled up inside the tanks. Some spilled over the sides, running onto the pier.

      Inside each tank lived millions of cells of a single species of algae—microscopic plants at the bottom of the marine food chain. The algae that grew the fastest, providing the greatest amount of mass in the shortest time, would be the winner. The so-called super-seaweed.

      I spotted the likely candidate. On the leftmost pier, four tanks looked remarkably green. Wizard of Oz green. They were a vibrant emerald, almost glowing. Super indeed—and bizarre. I couldn’t wait to see the tanks up close.

      Beyond the piers, odd-looking white pods bounced in the waves.

      “My, an impressive operation,” I said.

      Hamilton looked down. “Indeed.” This was clearly a favorite spot for him.

      “Tell me what you do here. The algae you grow, nature of your work. That kind of thing.”

      He gave the pencil another toss, catching it in his right hand. “Come. Show you the lab.”

      Back downstairs, Hamilton led me into a bright, well-equipped laboratory. Expensive scientific equipment—large microscopes, instruments for aquatic chemical analyses, an array of glassware—lined three sides of the expansive room. He directed me to sizeable walk-in incubators on the fourth wall, pulled a handle, and ushered me in.

      “Here we experiment with algal cultures.”

      Glass vats six feet tall sat neatly side by side—some bright red, others shades of green and rusty brown. Banks of bright lights hung over the vats, which bubbled with air delivered by intertwining arrays of plastic tubes.

      The room was alive with light, gurgling water, and color.

      I whistled. “This is amazing. In this chamber alone, you’re growing what, six algal species?”

      “More. And there’s two other growth chambers.”

      “John, if you spoke to my oceanography students about growing algae, what would you say?”

      He explained the basics of algal aquaculture—that algae needed a good deal of light, the right nutrients, and well-circulated water. I knew all of this but nodded encouragement to be polite.

      When he finished, I said, “Ah, this is pretty expensive. Do you have grants? Investors?”

      “Both.”

      I waited for more, but he only led me back into the lab. He gestured toward the lab equipment. “You need no introduction to this.”

      Hamilton headed toward the door leading to the lobby.

      I pointed toward the bay. “But what about the piers? The tanks outside look fascinating.”

      He stopped and turned around. “Outside? Off limits to visitors now.”

      “Off-limit algae? Why?”

      “Let’s go back to my office—we can talk there.”

      I followed him up the wide tile stairs, trying to keep my disappointment and irritation in check. Voicing either would get me nowhere. As I trailed my host, the oddest feeling came over me. Something weird was going on at the facility. I didn’t have a clue what was off, but my sixth sense had served me well in the past. I shelved the impression for later.

      I returned to the picture window in Hamilton’s office with its view of the tanks—the closest view I could get. He gestured to a plush leather chair, and I sat down opposite him. He looked down at his hands.

      “Sorry we couldn’t go on the piers.” He glanced at me. “Frank’s worried about security.”

      “Frank?”

      “Frank Lamark. Brains behind the research. Guy’s a genius and likes to tinker. Great combination for us.”

      “So it’s important to keep him happy.”

      He nodded.

      “I’m guessing you’re experimenting with growing algae for biomass,” I said. “Local energy source. So the military, for one, doesn’t rely on foreign oil?”

      He perked up. “That’s right. Air Force especially.”

      “Tell me more about that. It’ll really interest my students.”

      Hamilton’s eyes sparkled. “Algae’s a great choice for biomass fuel. The cells grow quickly anywhere there’s enough light and water. You don’t need expensive farmland.”

      Again, I nodded encouragement. As he talked, Hamilton’s face turned from pale to flushed, and his words spilled out in an excited rush. The man came alive.

      “I’m convinced we need alternative sources of fuel for a sustainable future. Algal aquaculture is my contribution to that future. Sustainability, climate change, all that, interests me. That’s why Seymour—we’ve been friends for a long time—why he told me about the Intrepid trip.”

      I blinked. It surprised me that Seymour was anyone’s friend.

      “I was thrilled to go on your research cruise. Until what happened, of course.”

      Time to switch gears. “You were on deck when the buoy dropped on Peter?”

      Hamilton shook his head. “Lord, yes. I’ll never, ever forget.”

      “I’m just wondering. Did you happen see anything, ah, odd?”

      “It happened so fast, you know.”

      I nodded.

      “There was one thing. That photographer.”

      “Cyril?”

      “Never caught his name. He was on deck taking pictures with that big camera. Right before the accident he disappeared. I noticed because a crew member moved over to the spot where he, ah, Cyril, had been.”

      “Huh.” I tried not to sound too interested in this intriguing bit of information.

      I stood and looked out at the piers again. I counted four massive cylindrical tanks on each pier—twenty tanks in all. A man on his knees fiddled with a pump beside a tank, his blond hair wet from the squirting water. The whole thing was an impressive, expensive setup. I couldn’t imagine what the maintenance alone entailed or cost.

      The emerald tanks caught my eye once more.

      “Those green tanks at the end. Is that what you’re calling the super-seaweed?”

      “Yes. The name was Frank’s idea. You know, get publicity and more backers.”

      I pointed to the rows of white pods bobbing a quarter mile beyond the piers. “What are those?”

      “Frank calls them flootles. Floating noodles, ’cause they’re like pasta tubes. Silly name. Something he’s experimenting with—growing algae in floating containers. White to reflect light and lined up in a row so they don’t bang into each other when it’s rough.”

      I slid into the leather chair again. I wanted more details about this operation.

      “What type of growing media do you use for the algae?”

      Hamilton shook his head. “Sorry. Don’t know that type of thing.”

      “What about the total number of species you’re growing?”

      “You’d have to ask Frank.”

      He couldn’t answer my other questions about growing algae either. After all, I decided, he was a businessman and not a scientist.

      I stood up to leave. A voice behind me rang out. “John. We go in five minutes.”

      He leapt to his feet. “Yes, Georgina. Oh, and this is Dr. Mara Tusconi. She’s interested in aquaculture. Dr.

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