Ben wondered about Glaucus, the octopus that, in addition to the broken seawater pump, inhabited the marine pen. Glaucus was the world’s largest-known North Pacific octopus. Ben had named him after a fisherman in Greek myth who had eaten magic sea grass, becoming a sea god and gaining eternal life.

Ben admired the creature. Glaucus had a leg span of more than thirty eight feet from tentacle tip to tentacle tip and weighed more than 700 pounds. Octopi of Glaucus’s species only had a five-year life span, Glaucus was now seven. That made him the rough equivalent of a 92-year-old human with a 30-year-old body. Only Ben Anderson knew how and why.

Before leaving, Ben had a few important things to do.

First, notify the police.

After a dozen or so rings someone answered at the sheriff’s office.

Ben asked, “Is the Sheriff in?”

 

“I’m sorry he’s on vacation.”

Of course. Ben knew that. “Can I speak to a deputy?”

“This is the dispatcher. There are two cars on patrol, both at Roche Harbor.”

“I have a situation over at the Sanker Foundation. This is Ben Anderson.”

“Are you in trouble?” The dispatcher’s tone had gone from bored to slightly concerned.

“Someone just tried to kill me,” Ben said.

Real concern now. “Are you safe?”

“I don’t know.” Ben looked out his window and down the hillside. He couldn’t see the walkway along Glaucus’s pen. Somehow he doubted the diver was still there. Ben explained the events of the last few minutes as best he could.

“Okay,” the dispatcher said. “Where are you in the compound?”

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