But these sharks all but ignored Cole, as he treaded water thirty feet below the surface of the warm, crystal clear Caribbean Sea. He had no mask, no oxygen tank — in fact, no equipment at all, using merely the volume of his lungs and his own mental strength to stay submerged. He had learnt to free dive whilst in the SEALs, the elite naval special forces group of the US military, and still practised regularly. There was nothing better for developing concentration and willpower.
Part of his daily training involved swimming amongst the sharks, whilst trying to control his heart rate. Sometimes they approached him, bumping and nudging him. He put his mind elsewhere, in order to help retain his presence of mind while under stress.
But the shark that now approached him was not a reef shark. Those four were still swimming nearby, attacking the bright, multi-coloured coral. This shark had come from the other side, directly towards him. It was bigger — at least twelve feet in length — and heavier, more powerful. It was also considerably more dangerous. It was a tiger shark, a species known for its voracious appetite. There was nothing that it would not eat.
And yet as the huge fish swam towards him, Cole knew that he would be safe if he remained still and calm. That was the conflict — his inner voice, the deep, instinctive, untrained side of his psyche, told him to flee, to get out of there at once, as quickly as he could, while his hormones tried to raise his heart rate, to prepare it for action. Normally he could use breathing techniques to control his heart rate and his emotions; under the water, this was not an option.
His eyes still closed, he had to concentrate even harder to regulate himself, until his heart rate dropped low, and he relaxed.
He opened his eyes, seeing the gigantic head right in front of him, the lifeless eyes staring right at him. His heart rate didn’t increase at all. The two predators just stared at each other.
Cole could feel his breath finally running out, but he knew that he couldn’t swim up yet — the tiger shark would react to the sudden movement. He knew that if he didn’t get oxygen soon, panic would start to creep up on him, until he would be unable to stop opening his mouth to breath; the seawater would then rush in, drowning him.
His mind focused harder, and he held the gaze of the shark in front of him, its massive jaws open, teeth inches from his face. He could feel himself starting to black out, but still he held its gaze until finally, mercifully, the fish just turned around and swam away, retreating back out into the depths.
Cole had been submerged for over five minutes now, but still didn’t panic; he simply watched the fish swim away and then slowly let himself drift to the surface.
Breaking out of the waves into the brilliant sunshine, he looked across the azure waters to the nearby beach, and his house that sat upon it. Breathing deeply, he started back for home.
2
Cole walked out of the warm water and onto the private beach of his Colonial-style manor house, situated in a small cove of Cayman Brac. The island was situated just short of ninety miles north-east of the much larger Grand Cayman, and was a lot quieter than the main island, which suited Cole perfectly.
As he walked through the fine white sand, he heard laughs and shouting off to the right hand side. His head turning, he saw his wife Sarah and his two young children standing and staring into the line of palm trees that bordered the house.
Sarah was looking beautiful as always, her long brown hair — much lighter now, after years in the Caribbean sun, than when they had first met — cascading down her tanned back, the firm muscles of her long legs visible underneath her denim shorts.
She was teaching Ben and Amy how to shoot a bow and arrow, Cole saw, and couldn’t help but smile. A scuba diving instructor by profession, she was as physical as he was — indeed, this was one of the first things that had attracted him to her, and they both now ran a small diving school on the island.
He looked into the tree-line and saw a circular target hidden amongst the palm trees that swayed gently in the breeze. Cole held back as she gave the bow to Ben, helping him to get into position. She knelt at his side, angling his arms to get a better aim.
Ben was six years old now and Amy was four, and Cole’s heart filled with warmth as he looked at them with their mother, Ben allowing her to position himself correctly whilst Amy looked on in fascination.
Eventually Sarah backed away, and Cole saw Ben take a deep breath — hold it — and then release the arrow.
Cole monitored the flight of the arrow as it sailed through the air, its path true. It missed the bulls-eye by a mere inch, and his wife and children squealed with delight, Sarah doing a little victory dance for them.
Cole started to clap, and their heads twisted round immediately. ‘Daddy!’ cried Amy, rushing towards him across the beach. Ben ran over too, and they both hugged him, Amy’s arms around his legs, Ben’s around his waist.
‘Did you see me, Dad?’ Ben asked excitedly as Sarah joined them, kissing Mark on the lips. ‘Did you see me?’
‘I sure did!’ Cole told him. ‘What a shot! Fantastic!’
‘Do you want to have a go?’ Ben asked. He loved watching his father shooting; he never seemed to miss.
‘Sure!’ Cole said. ‘But I don’t think I’ll be able to beat that.’
Ben laughed, and then Sarah turned to him. ‘I’m glad you’re back; the turkey’s not going to baste itself. Can you stay with them while I bob inside?’
Cole smiled. He knew his wife could kill a turkey as easily as baste it. Her father was a wealthy financier based out of New York, but much of Sarah’s formative life had been spent on her father’s sporting estate up in the Catskills, where she had often shot what she ate — but she was equally proud of her ability in the kitchen, and allowed nobody else to cook there. They could easily have afforded a live-in chef, but Sarah simply wouldn’t hear of it.
‘You try and stop me!’ Cole replied, racing off towards the bow and arrows lying on the sand, Ben and Amy giggling as they tried to catch him.
‘But don’t stay out too long!’ Sarah called after him. ‘You don’t want them to get sunburnt!’
Sarah sighed as he merely gave her a thumbs up and blew her a little kiss, knowing she would probably have to go back out before long to drag them inside.
3
Eventually, Cole and his children did come back inside, and Cole decided to carry on his training routine with some callisthenics as he put the television on to catch up with the news — today was the day of the treaty signing, after all. His profession meant that he had to be constantly up-to-date with world affairs — his life sometimes depended on it.
As he stretched deep into a wrestler’s bridge, he thought the image on the television set was rather strange; it was upside down though, he conceded, as he rolled onto his forehead, feet flat on the floor and back arched like a bow.
In all his years of active military service and preparation, he had found the bridge to be the best single overall exercise for his body, helping to strengthen and protect his neck and his back, which he appreciated all the more now that he was approaching the age of forty. The exercise was made even more strenuous by the weight of his two young children, who giggled excitedly as they attempted to balance on his flexed abdomen.
As the tip of his nose touched the floor, he let his eyes close as he relaxed into the position fully.
A sudden piercing shriek from the television made him open his eyes just instants later, but the screen was now eerily blank and silent.