“It looks like a shark,” Leigh Freemark thought to herself as she stared at the Boeing 737 parked directly in front of her. “A Basker or a White. A fat body with a short nose. Not like a sleek Mako or a sharp-snouted Sandtiger.” She knew sharks. She loved them. She had worked closely with them in those special days during her first year of undergrad when she’d volunteered on a university research team, tagging the various breeds that patrolled up and down the New England coast. They would pull the smaller ones on board the boat, take some blood, weigh them, attach a tracker, and let them go. As the junior research volunteer, she always ended up perching on any surface she could find, usually a Coleman cooler wedged against the gunwale, with a toughened, waterproof laptop on her lap, entering the specs that were called out to her by the senior researchers, who carefully held and inspected the beast and equally carefully let it go again.