Hammock realized he was humming the tune to "Rhinestone Cowboy," another Glen Campbell song. "You had to mention cowboys, didn’t you," he hissed at Natalie.

Natalie gave him a quizzical look and asked, "Who are we meeting in Galveston?"

Hammock shuffled some papers in a file he had been holding. "Dr. Wallace Nichols," he said. "He is affiliated with the University of Arizona’s Renewable Natural Resources and a recognized expert on sea turtles, specifically the Loggerhead."

"Impressive," said Natalie. "I’ve read a couple of articles he has written on how sea turtles existed during the dinosaur era and are now endangered for the usual reasons: encroachment on their habitat, pollution and poaching."

"I’ve never been able to understand how the seemingly most intelligent of animals can’t live in harmony with Earth and the so-called lower animals, rather then aid in their total destruction," Hammock said.

"Just during take offs and landings," Hammock replied, as the plane started to descend.

While waiting for their luggage, Hammock and Savage were approached. "Mr. Hammock and Ms. Savage?" They turned around and responded "Yes" in unison.

"I am Dr. Wallace Nichols," he said, as Johnny held out his hand.

"I’m John Hammock and this is Natalie Savage," Johnny said.

"I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Dr. Nichols," said Natalie. "I’ve read some of your work."

"Please, call me Wally, everyone else does. I’ve come to introduce myself and see that you get settled in at your hotel. We will be meeting tomorrow with several others concerned with this problem, to determine a plan of action," he explained.

They followed Dr. Nichols to his jeep with its canvas roof. Hammock flashed back to one of the letters his brother had written while in Vietnam, describing their bivouac. Setting up camp at a moment's notice, sometimes in the line of enemy fire. His brother had been a Green Beret.

"Fighting men of the Green Berets," he heard himself humming. "Oh no, from Glen Campbell to John Wayne. I’ve got to stay focused," he said under his breath.

"What?" Natalie asked.

"Nothing, I was just thinking aloud," Johnny answered.

"That’s one of the things we are attempting to determine," he answered. "Turtles, rather than the languid creatures they appear to be, are truly amazing, capable of traveling great distances." 

"How do you track sea turtles?" Johnny asked.

"We use satellites. In 1996 we tracked a female adult Loggerhead we named Adelita," Dr. Nichols said.

By the time they arrived at their hotel, Johnny and Natalie had heard how Adelita journeyed over 12,000 kilometers that year.  Starting from her nesting ground in Japan, Adelita traveled to Baja to feed and mature, and then returned back to Japan where she was hatched to nest. They learned that most turtles, by instinct perhaps, travel far distances only to return to where they were hatched so they too could nest.

As they checked in at the Holiday Inn where they would be staying for the duration, Natalie asked Dr. Nichols if any laws had been enacted to specifically address sea turtles.

"Yes, Loggerheads nest in many states. Broward County in Florida comes to mind. Many Loggerheads have nested there. Since 1973, the Florida law has provided for civil and criminal penalties of up to $50,000," Dr. Nichols said. "Many states have such laws, but the laws are often ignored."

"In one of your articles, you stated it is estimated that only 1 in 1,000 to 10,000 hatchlings survive.  Is that correct?" Natalie asked.

In the Holiday Inn on Seawall Street, in adjoining rooms, two very special agents lay sleeping. The only movement in either room was the steady rise and fall of their chests as they breathed the cool, highly processed hotel-chain air – that, and their rapidly twitching eyes. 

Special Agent Natalie Savage was dreaming about World War II. Roiling black clouds of smoke, lit from beneath by burning buildings, filled the sky over the French village. The streets were a quagmire of stinking mud. In the distance, German tanks growled, closing off the last escape route for the exhausted American battalion. 

"Sarge," she said. "Me and Reb can take out them crummy panzers." 

"That’s suicide, Savage, ya blasted ham head," growled the Sarge. "We’re supposed ta be a team. Looks like we git ta be heroes, Howlers." 

The Sarge led his commandos through the village streets, firing at Nazis all the way. Suddenly, a heavy barrage of mortar fire forced them into an alley. It was a dead end, a trap. The only way out was to slip one-by-one through a narrow passage between two buildings, and they still had to get to the panzers and save the battalion. 

"I’ll cover you Sarge!" cried Savage over the machine gun fire that was now raking the alley. "You’ve gotta get the men to safety!" 

"Yer a good man, Savage! We won’t forget ya!" rasped the Sarge as he clasped Savage’s shoulder and then dove for safety between the buildings. 

Special Agent Johnny Hammock’s interior landscape was somewhat different. He was dreaming of a bar. A beautiful, dark bar with rich-toned woodwork, leather chairs, and a black grand piano set on a marble floor. The piano player was carefully picking out some soft jazz. No lyrics, thank God. 

A beautiful lady turtle walked up to him. "Hey, sailor, new in town?" 

Johnny coughed his martini out onto the floor. "What?"  

The lady turtle didn’t seem to notice. She sat down in the chair next to him and pulled a flopping fish out of her handbag. She began to gnaw on it. Between bites she said, "Peanuts just don’t do it for me." 

"Uh…" said Johnny. 

"My name’s Adelita. Adelita Caretta Caretta, actually. Quite a mouthful, isn’t it? It’s Latin. What’s yours?" 

"J-Johnny." 

"That’s a nice name. Johnny. I like it. Do you know what I wanna do?" 

He was saved from replying when the bar smoothly morphed into a seedier version of itself. Peanut shells littered the concrete floor. Leather chairs were replaced by battered bar stools. Adelita was standing next to him singing. She sounded remarkably like Sheryl Crow. 

Johnny looked out the front window. There was a giant car wash across the street with a giant turtle going in. The turtle screwed its eyes shut. Johnny shut his eyes, too. 

When he opened them, he was surrounded by tiny people in skirts and slacks, dangerously close to one another, scrubbing him as best they could. It was very annoying. I’m the turtle, he thought, not very surprised. 

The tiny people started singing, "All I wanna do is have some fun…" and Johnny stretched his neck out to bite one of them in half. 

BANG! BANG BANG BANG! Someone was pounding on his door. 

"Johnny, wake up! Let me in!" Natalie shouted through the door. "I’ve got something!" 

Johnny struggled out of bed. It seemed his limbs weren’t working properly. He grabbed his pants and fumbled them on, slightly surprised to see legs instead of flippers. The pounding started again. Instinctively he tried to hide, but his head was no longer retractable. "Just a minute," he mumbled. 

"Oh, good, you’re alive," came Natalie’s muffled voice. "Hurry up!" 

Johnny opened the door and immediately went into the bathroom, snapping on the light. He winced. Way too bright. 

Natalie followed him in. "I was having this great dream – don’t remember it now – when a scraping noise woke me. Someone slipped something under my door." 

Ignoring her for the moment, Johnny grabbed a tiny plastic bottle of clear green liquid off the counter, screwed off the cap, and drank it. When he lowered the bottle, he no longer saw his unshaven self in the mirror, but a note that Natalie was holding in front of him. 

"It’s handwritten," she said. 

More like hand scrawled, he thought. 

"Did you just drink what I think you drank?" Natalie held up the bottle of hotel-chain mouthwash. 

"Yeah." He shook his head. "I’m awake now. Let me see that note." 

The note was written with purple crayon on the back of a wrinkled place mat. Near as Johnny could figure, it said, "Go home kops! Dont spy! Dont poke your noses around! Or else H. H. will get you!" The place mat was from a cafe called "Kiki’s Koffee Haus" on Galveston’s Gallery Row. 

Johnny recalled that those were his brother’s initials. Sometimes he really missed Hamish. He missed Hamish’s laughter, their shared affliction, Old McDonald’s Syndrome, and how they looked so much alike that people immediately knew they were brothers. It was still hard to accept that Hamish was really gone. Accidentally vaporized by a 500 pound American bomb, 10,000 miles from home. 

Natalie interrupted his reverie, "Hello? Fall asleep again?" 

Johnny looked up. "Show me where you found it." 

In Natalie’s room, Johnny crawled around near the door, looking for clues. 

Natalie sat on the bed. "There’s nothing there. I looked." 

"Well, I’m looking again, if you don’t mind." He scowled over at her, then spotted something under the bed. "What’s that?" he said, pointing. 

"What? Nothing." 

Johnny grabbed the thing before Natalie could stop him. It was an old comic book: "Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos." Johnny was incredulous. Natalie was such a serious, critical woman. "You read comic books?" 

Natalie grabbed for the comic. "Give me that!" 

Johnny held it higher. This has got to be worth something, he thought. "How much is it worth to…" he started to say. 

"John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt!" shouted Natalie. 

"No!" cried Johnny. She knew! 

"I say ‘Whip it’! ‘Like a Virgin’! ‘867-5309’!" 

Johnny screamed and clamped his hands over his ears. The comic book fluttered to the floor. Natalie pounced on it and leapt away. 

She backed further away. "Truce?" 

"Fine," groaned Johnny. "Truce." Relentless numbers were still pounding through his head when the phone rang. 

Natalie picked it up and spoke quietly for a few minutes while Johnny tried to regain control of his mind, chanting under his breath, "Eight six seven five three oh ni-ee-i-ine." 

Natalie hung up the phone. "That was Dr. Nichols. He needs us at the NOAA Command Center right away. They’ve got a situation." 

"What is it?" 

"Something about a turtle, but he wasn’t comfortable talking over a non-secure line. Says he’ll fill us in when we get there." 

Johnny grinned at her. "Should we call the Sarge?" 

Natalie shot a dangerous look at him. "Let it go, Hammock. We’ve got work to do." 

Dr. Nichols met them at the entrance to NOAA Headquarters and escorted them up to the Command Center. It was impressive. Dozens of people busily worked flashing consoles and scribbled on clip boards. It looked like NASA’s Space Flight Command Center. Johnny had no idea how NOAA managed to get budgeting for all this equipment. Dan Archer, his boss, would be green with envy. The U. S. Fish & Wildlife Service certainly couldn’t afford toys like this. "Wow," he said. 

"Quite a setup," agreed Natalie. 

"Thank you," Dr. Nichols said, looking pleased. "The conference room is right this way." 

A single technician waited for them in the conference room. At least Johnny hoped she was single. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had a face like an angel, long, golden brown hair, and a lab coat hiding everything else. He stopped in the doorway. 

Natalie was behind him. "Are we going in, or what?" 

Johnny got out of the way. Gotta be cool. 

Dr. Nichols shut the door. Johnny and Natalie glanced at each other. They had been expecting a larger group. 

Their host cleared his throat. "Agents Hammock and Savage, this is my daughter, Candy. She’s interning with us for the summer." 

The agents murmured greetings. Johnny couldn’t take his eyes off her. Candy. She blushed. 

Natalie elbowed him in the ribs and whispered, "Down, boy." 

Dr. Nichols was oblivious. "I’ll get right to the point." He nodded to Candy who turned on a high-tech view screen that took up most of one wall. It showed a map of the Gulf of Mexico. She pressed a button and a straight dotted line appeared, starting in the middle of the Gulf and ending at Galveston.

Dr. Nichols continued, "You know that we track certain animals using satellite technology, right?" 

Johnny and Natalie nodded. 

"One of the turtles we’ve been tracking has been moving in an unusual pattern. First of all, this turtle has always lived in the Pacific Ocean – it’s Adelita. Loggerheads have never been known to move to a different ocean, or travel through a canal. We were all very excited. But as time went on, we began to suspect that something was very wrong. We watched her move through the Gulf of Mexico, from the direction of the Panama Canal, in a perfectly straight line for three days. We began to suspect she was on a boat. That changed early this morning." 

"Changed how?" said Johnny. 

Dr. Nichols nodded to Candy and a new line appeared on the map. "For the last hour and twenty minutes, Adelita has been travelling on land. She’s going about 75 miles per hour up Interstate 45, heading toward Dallas." 

Johnny rubbed his chin. "Damn." 

"Do you know if she’s alive?" said Natalie. 

"Oh yes, the transponder transmits her heart rate and temperature. She’s stressed, but she should be okay if we can get to her soon." 

Johnny got up and grimly moved toward the door. "Come on, Natalie, let’s go save a turtle. The world doesn’t need any more endangered banjos." 

"You said it, Johnny." 

The parking ramp was cool and damp. Agents Hammock and Savage approached the enormous, government blue NOAA van they had been issued. It came equipped with a ramp and a small forklift. Dr. Nichols said they would need it, pointing out that adult loggerheads can weigh nearly 500 pounds. 

Johnny walked around the van. "I hope they don’t expect us to use this vehicle in a high-speed chase." 

"It shouldn’t come to that." Natalie was reaching for the driver’s side door when a strange figure leapt out of the shadows. It was a filthy man with stringy hair, ragged clothing, and a highly offensive odor. He had a purple waxy substance under his fingernails and in his teeth. 

"Ga ‘way bad woman!" His Scottish accent made him hard to understand. 

"What the …?" Natalie turned, startled, and got a whiff. "Eew!" 

Johnny was on the other side of the van. "What is it?" 

"Bad, nosey woman. Ye spy on my boss!" The man waved his arms at her. 

A fresh wave of aroma hit Natalie like a two-by-four. She leaned against the van. "I think we found the author of our note." 

Johnny came around to her side of the van. 

The strange little man backed up a step. "You!" His voice quavered. "I dinna know you were here with this nasty, thrawn woman." 

"Thrawn?" Natalie said. "Should I be offended?" 

"I have no idea," said Johnny. "Who are you?" 

"Good, good," muttered the man. "Nobody. I go now. Bye." He skittered over to an abused Ford Fiesta, jumped in, and rattled away. 

"He’s faster than he looks," said Johnny, racing around to his side of the van. "Go!" 

"Shouldn’t we be going after the turtle?" 

"Trust me, Natalie, I have a feeling we’re on to something big and this guy and the turtle are both part of it." 

Natalie stared at him. 

"C’mon Natalie, please? We’re in hot pursuit. How often do we get to do that?" 

Natalie started the engine, put it in gear … and the van lumbered forward. "This is ridiculous." 

"Just do the best you can." Johnny unfolded the note. "Besides, I think I know where he’s going." 

She glanced at Johnny. "You think he’s going to Kiki’s Koffee Haus? Oh, come on, nobody’s that dumb. Wait, he’s still in the ramp." 

The man was stopped at the pay booth, animatedly arguing with the attendant. He finally handed some crumpled bills over and the attendant raised the barrier. Johnny and Natalie pulled up, flashed their badges, and were waved through. 

Natalie was embarrassed. This was, without a doubt, the slowest hot pursuit in the history of Texas, neither vehicle going over 35 miles per hour. The bright red Fiesta was ludicrously easy to spot in the heavy morning traffic. After five minutes, she no longer wished for a siren and flashing lights. 

The Fiesta turned a corner and disappeared from view. Within seconds, Natalie swung the van around the same corner. The Fiesta was parked halfway down the block, directly in front of Kiki’s Koffee Haus. 

Natalie whistled. "I’ve got to trust your hunches more often." She stopped the van directly behind the Fiesta. 

Johnny was already climbing out. "Let’s go." 

He and Natalie entered the café, badges out, clearly looking for someone. The customers, all looking slightly nauseated, pointed to the back. Cautiously, the agents approached the back room, guns ready, listening hard. 

Johnny heard the little man’s voice saying, "I think we’re alone now." Then an oddly familiar voice, "Argh! Mac, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that?" The familiar voice continued, singing a song Tiffany covered in the 80’s. 

Johnny, frozen, helplessly joined in, "…and we’re running just as fast as we can, holding onto one another’s hand, trying to get away…" 

Natalie charged into the room by herself. There was a terrible crash. 

Johnny forced himself to move, still singing, "…into the night…" A door swung open and shut, briefly illuminating the room with bright sunlight as their prey escaped. 

Natalie was down. Johnny found the light switch and rushed to her side. "…you put your arms around me and we hold each other tight…" He paused to shout for someone to call an ambulance. 

Johnny held her in his arms. "Hang on, Natalie." 

She looked up at him, her head bleeding from a terrible gash. "Don’t worry, Sarge," she said dreamily. "I’ll be okay. Did you get the panzers?"