Dante was obviously very impressed by his surroundings, because he was firing off pictures of every shrimp and minnow. Six minutes into the dive, the photographer was officially out of film.
Even through his mask and a cloud of bubbles, English’s disgust was plain. Impatiently, he grabbed the two novices each by a wrist and began to swim them toward the reef. Off to the side, they could see the girls moving in the same direction.
As the reef loomed up, the detail of the coral formations began to come into spectacular focus. The colors were unbelievable, almost unreal, like the product of some Hollywood special effects department. The shapes were positively extra-terrestriaclass="underline" huge plumes of lettuce coral; branched spikes of staghorn; mounds of brain coral the size of dump trucks, all stacked upon each other in a mountain that rose to a summit that was perhaps ten feet below the glittering surface.
Kaz checked the gauge on his diver’s watch and realized with some surprise that they had descended to forty feet, which was twice as deep as he’d ever ventured before.
Adriana reached out to touch the coral. In a flash, Star’s hand shot forward and grabbed her wrist. The experienced diver gestured with a scolding finger.
I knew that, Kaz thought to himself. The reef was a living organism, composed of uncounted millions of tiny animals called polyps. Even the slightest touch would kill the outermost layer of creatures, damaging the reef. Not to mention that the polyps would sting you.
English flashed the hand signal for descent and led them down to sixty feet, to the base of the coral edifice. Kaz adjusted his B.C. to neutral buoyancy to stop the descent. I could get good at this, he reflected, pleased to be developing a talent that had nothing to do with skating, shooting, and attempted murder.
Here the coral formations gave way to a variety of sea flora growing out of a firm sandy bottom — the Hidden Shoals proper. Life was everywhere, although not quite as colorful as higher up on the reef. At this depth, the sun’s rays could not fully penetrate the water. It was a land of twilight.
Kaz’s attention was drawn to a small hurried movement below. At first, it seemed as if the sand itself was boiling up into little aquatic dust devils. He angled his body so that his face mask was positioned just above the disturbance and took a closer look.
All at once, the swirling sand was gone, and a large eye was looking back at him.
“Hey!” His cry of shock spit the regulator clear out of his mouth.
It was amazing how loud his voice sounded underwater. And not just to himself, either, because Dante headed straight for him.
A dark slithering blob exploded out of the seabed, leaving a thick cloud of black ink in its wake.
“Octopus!” cried Dante, losing his own regulator in the process.
The identification was unnecessary. Kaz could see the eight undulating arms trailing behind the fleeing body. It was so fluid that the size was hard to guess — maybe a baby pumpkin at the center of a two-foot wingspan.
English flashed out of nowhere, placed himself in the creature’s escape path, and allowed it to come to him. He grabbed it by two flailing tentacles. Instantly, the thing turned an angry orange before cloaking itself and the dive guide in a second, much larger emission of ink.
Fumbling for his mouthpiece, Kaz lost sight of them, but caught a glimpse of English, much higher up, carrying his prize to the surface.
Dante pulled a five-by-seven underwater slate out of his B.C. pocket. With the tethered pencil, he scribbled a quick message on the rigid plastic, and showed it to Kaz. It read: DINNER?
Kaz just shrugged.
The dive guide was back almost immediately, but the dark face inside his mask yielded no clue as to the octopus’s fate.
At that point, the team had been down for half an hour. English directed them to another section of reef — a gradual upward slope where they could be closer to the surface when their air began to run low. It was important to ascend slowly to avoid decompression sickness. If a diver went up too quickly, the sudden lowering of water pressure was like popping the top on a soda can. Nitrogen gas in the bloodstream could fizz up like a Pepsi. It was no joke — the bends could cripple you for life or kill you.
As he watched the sunlit surface draw closer and closer, Kaz was growing increasingly comfortable. With every passing minute, technique and mechanics became more automatic, allowing him to enjoy the reef and its many inhabitants. If this keeps up, he thought, semi-amused, I could get to like scuba.
The thought had barely crossed his mind when he saw the silhouette. Alien, yet at the same time familiar, it was approaching from dead ahead — the triangular dorsal fin, the black emotionless eyes, the pointed snout.
Shark.
CHAPTER FOUR
In a split second, his mind sifted through thousands of pictures and diagrams, the nightmare images of a personal library of shark books. A nurse shark, probably. Maybe a reef shark. About four feet long — puny by Jaws standards.
But when you come across one, the real thing, with all the fearsome features, all the weapons in the right places —
It never occurred to him to try to swim away or to scramble for the surface. He just hung there, turned to stone, watching the big fish’s unhurried approach.
Go away, he pleaded silently. Don’t come near me.
He could see the teeth now. And he knew, in the absolute core of his being, that this predator was coming for him and him alone.
He would never have believed himself capable of such panic. Before he knew what he was doing, the dive knife was in his hand, and he leaped at the shark, plunging the blade into the soft underside. Strong arms grabbed him from behind, but nothing could stop him now. With a vicious slash, he slit the shark’s belly open from stem to stern.
The creature convulsed once, jaws snapping. Then it began to sink, leaving a cloudy trail of blood.
Kaz was spun around, and found himself staring into the furious eyes of Menasce Gérard. The guide gestured emphatically for the surface.
Kaz shook his head. Couldn’t he see? The danger was over; the shark was dead.
English did not waste a second command. He placed an iron grip on Kaz’s arm, inflated his B.C., and dragged the boy to the surface. They broke to the air thirty yards astern of the Cortés.
“Get on the boat!”
Kaz was bewildered. “But it’s okay! I got him!”
The guide was in a towering rage. “The boat! Vite!”
The five divers moved toward the ship, swimming through the light chop.
As he stroked along, Kaz was still shaking from the excitement of his shark encounter. He felt terrified and pumped up at the same time. He had spent years playing a sport at the very highest level, and yet nothing could have prepared him for the raw exhilaration of a life-and-death struggle. The world had never seemed so vividly alive.
English pulled ahead, his flippers kicking up foam like a paddlewheel. He scrambled onto the dive platform, shed his gear with a single motion, and began hauling his charges out of the water, bellowing like a madman.
Captain Vanover appeared on the deck above them. “What happened?”
English turned blazing eyes on Kaz. “Why do you do this idiot thing? You are maybe crazy? Fou?”
Kaz gawked at him. “I was protecting myself!”