Chapter 16 The Tail
The Tail
Kahuna: priest, sorcerer, wizard, expert in any profession
There were lights on the water late last night or early in the morning—Minnow couldn’t quite be sure. They could belong to
anyone, she knew, since night fishing was a thing, but she wondered what was going on out there. After lying in bed for a
while listening to the pulse of the rising sun, she rose and left Woody a note. She half walked, half ran to the Kiawe to
get the kayak. The sun had just come up over Mauna Kea, and there was still a chill to the morning air.
As she walked, she stared down at the ground so as not to trip on the shadowed lava rocks. The movement felt somewhat hypnotic,
and soon she was lulled into a trance.
There is a metallic, fishy residue in her mouth. She feels buoyant as she swims in the middle of a bait ball, looking for
a way out. But it’s hard to tell which way is up through all the fish. Every now and then, she feels herself bump up against
something solid and large, and she backs away. But no matter which way she goes, she hits it again.
Then as quickly as it came on, the vision faded and she was back on the lava path.
The experience had been like watching a slow-motion, black-and-white movie that she’d had a part in.
When she got home later, she would write it down in her journal.
Whether memory or dream, she couldn’t be sure.
It felt like a memory, only she couldn’t remember ever having it happen. She shook it off and kept walking.
When she crossed over onto resort property, she saw several rental cars parked off to the side of the road just before the
entrance. There were men in suits milling about and a guy with a huge camera zeroing in on the Kiawe sign. She pulled down
her straw hat and ran the other way, hoping not to encounter any more of them.
On the way to the beach, she passed through the Saltwater Bar, led there by dreams of the mouthwatering mango muffins and
hot dark roast coffee. Mr. Sawyer stood off to the side, almost in the bushes, talking to a man in a suit. Sawyer looked tired,
and Minnow ducked past them and up to the bar.
George’s eyes lit up when he saw her. “Aloha. You here alone this morning?” He glanced around as though he expected someone
else.
“Yes, Woody was still asleep in his hammock.”
“What can I get you?”
“Black coffee and a mango muffin, please.”
“For here or to go?” he asked, eyes then moving to someone behind her. “Actually, you may want it to go.”
Minnow couldn’t help but turn around. The guy who’d been talking to Sawyer was walking right toward her, looking slightly
disheveled but also familiar somehow. Wavy brown hair, scrunched brow. Was he a scientist? And then it hit her.
Josh Brown from CNN.
Immediately, she turned her back to him. Why wasn’t he off chasing Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky?
“Yes, to go is a good idea,” she said to George.
A moment later, she sensed a presence next to her, but she refused to look. She was in no way prepared to be on national television,
especially in her hipster shorts and halter bikini top. Maybe later but not now.
“My sources tell me you’re someone I should talk to,” he said, smelling of chewing gum.
Minnow ignored him.
“Hello? You are Minnow Gray, aren’t you?”
She winked at George, then half turned. “Oh, you’re talking to me, sorry. What if I am?”
He dropped a card on the bar in front of her. “I’m Josh Brown, journalist with CNN. I’m covering the Angela Crawford shark
story. Can we talk?”
When she thought about it, turning him down would be stupid. “I have a few minutes to talk, but no cameras right now, okay?”
He glanced down at her chest, then caught himself. He pulled out a notebook. “Fine. So tell me, have you seen Angela Crawford’s
injuries in person?”
Was that all he cared about? “No comment. Ask me about the sharks.”
“Three attacks in a short period of time, same stretch of coast. All by a great white shark. Coincidence?” he said.
“That I can’t tell you, but for future reference, we refer to them as incidents, since the shark bit and released the victims. Had it actually attacked, there wouldn’t be anything left of either of them.
And the third case, we have no evidence that says he was killed by a shark.”
He scribbled, then said, “But we do know that two of them were white sharks, correct?”
“Correct.”
“How big exactly?”
The size of this animal was going to wreak havoc in the American psyche, but she had to be honest. “Between eighteen and twenty
feet.”
Josh slowly looked up at her. “Jesus Christ. A monster.”
She shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Not a monster. It’s not uncommon for mature female white sharks to get that large.”
A bit of a stretch but not entirely wrong.
“Is it normal for a great white shark to be hunting in Hawaiian waters?” he asked.
George produced her cup of coffee, and she took a sip before answering. “White sharks are seasonal visitors to the islands,
so it’s not unusual at all. But we can’t say for sure if they come here to hunt.”
“Aren’t they always hunting? I mean, they have to eat, don’t they?” he asked.
“We believe they can store food, so if they’ve recently had a seal or part of a whale carcass, say, they may not need to eat
for a while.”
“You see any seals or whale carcasses around here?”
“No.”
“So the shark is hungry.”
“I’m not going to bother guessing.”
“So, as a shark expert, what is your recommendation on holding an international swimming race in these very waters in less
than two weeks? Will the shark hunt make it safe enough?”
“The shark hunt is still on the table, but I strongly discourage it.”
She told him why, in detail.
“Why so willing to go to bat for these killing machines, Miss Gray?” he asked.
A term she intensely disliked. All predators were designed to kill efficiently, but the killing did not define them. “Because
I’ve seen a different side to them and know they have been grossly misrepresented by the media. When a man in a neighborhood
shoots someone, do we then go hunt and kill all the men in the area? It’s a senseless and outdated way of handling the situation.”
He stared at her for a moment and she thought he was going to counter her, but he said, “Point made. So if not a hunt, then
what? You’re here investigating, but to what end?”
“I still believe there’s a reason the sharks—or shark—is hanging out here, and once we find that reason, we can act accordingly.
In the meantime, I’m collecting data to further our understanding of them and the conditions surrounding these incidents.
The more we know, the more we may be able to prevent future tragedies from happening. And to quote me, please use Dr. Gray.”
He nodded. “I’m curious, what got a young woman such as yourself so interested in sharks?”
Minnow knew from past experience to say as little as possible to the press and to keep her personal life out of it. “I grew
up in California.”
A small laugh, exposing his famous dimples. “So did millions of other people. It just strikes me as a very specialized field
of study, and not for the faint of heart. You must be tough as nails under that cute exterior.”
Was he flirting with her? Josh fucking Brown.
“I’m good with a dive knife,” she said.
“I’d like to see that.”
“Not likely,” she said, unable to help herself.
He smiled. “Look, I have to run, Dr. Gray, but are you staying here at the Kiawe? I’d love to continue this conversation,
maybe even do a piece on you. I sense there’s a lot more to your story.”
“I’m staying elsewhere, but I’ll be here later for the meeting. I’m sure Mr. Sawyer mentioned it.”
“Affirmative. I look forward to being a fly on the wall.”
The added media scrutiny felt like a screw in her chest being tightened inch by inch. “If nothing else, it should be interesting,”
Minnow said, grabbing her now lukewarm coffee and muffin and walking off toward the beach, feeling the burn of his eyes on
her back. Why did men have to be so predictable?
Luke’s boat was still there, and she paddled past it, then decided to loop around and do a little recon.
Surprising that he wasn’t already out on the water since she hadn’t seen him in the hotel.
In all honesty, she had been hoping to run into him at the Saltwater Bar, but she cut off that line of thinking.
Spending more time with Luke would lead to nothing good.
Unfortunately, she was below gunwale level, so she would have to actually lean on the boat and stand up if she wanted to see
anything. Which she did. She glanced around. The only people in sight were lying on beach chairs under umbrellas, reading
books or magazines. She went to the far side and pulled herself up.
Nothing looked any different from the other day, but the tangy smell of blood clung to the surfaces of the boat and caused
her to wobble. She almost fell backward into the water. She ran her finger along the edge of the gunwale and it came away
fish scented. He’s a fisherman, Minnow; don’t jump to conclusions, she told herself. With a gravelly feeling in the pit of her stomach, she sat back down and paddled off.
The water glowed turquoise, magnifying coral heads and fish below. It was looking to be a stunning day, and yet she felt the
weight of everything pressing down on her shoulders. She wanted so badly to solve this thing that, in many ways, was unsolvable.
Because even if she did figure out what caused the shark to keep coming around, the truth of the matter was, you couldn’t
bring back the dead. Talking to Stuart Callahan’s dad was not something she was looking forward to, but she had to hear his
story. It was part of the job.
The Global Shark Attack File was maintained by the Shark Research Institute, and all of her data would be sent there once
she could get back on her computer. The goal was to understand the factors that led to every shark encounter around the world—including
boat and airplane disasters—with the hopes of minimizing future incidents, thus helping humans and sharks. Surfers made up
the highest percentage of victims, though the percentage of surfers bit by a shark was minuscule.
With so much to do today, Minnow paddled a straight line back to the house rather than hug the shoreline and go in and out of coves.
She was out beyond the drop-off, and she peered down but could no longer see the bottom, only rays of sun.
She passed through several current lines, went off on a daydream about relocating to Hawai?i and was making good time when an electric sensation swept across her skin.
That feeling she had when she knew she wasn’t alone.
Moments later, behind her there was a whoosh and the familiar sound of water displacement. Trying to calm her heart, she slowly, so as not to rock the tiny kayak, turned.
Thirty yards back or so, a tall fin sliced through the water, directly in her wake.
Oh fuck.
She altered her course, veering in toward land, and immediately began talking to herself—and talking to the shark. Time turned
to molasses.
Curiosity, that’s all it is. If she wanted you, you would have been hit already.
Deep breaths.
Hey, beautiful shark, I promise I’m not what you want.
Because of the angle, she couldn’t tell whether it was a white shark or a tiger, but whatever it was, it was big. When she
listened, she could almost hear its tail swishing from side to side, lazily, methodically. Nonaggressive but interested. If
she picked up the pace, it would sense her fear, so she kept her strokes even. In her mind she willed it to turn and head
back in the other direction. It didn’t.
Minnow half turned again and saw that the shark was closer now, the fin even higher out of the water. It was hunting her,
she could feel it. Her senses were on high alert now, and the smell of deep sea floated around her, brought forward by a light
side shore wind. In light of recent events, paddling this far out in a tiny kayak by herself had probably been careless, but
in the balmy blue seas it was easy to get lulled into complacency.
Now her arms burned and a voice inside mused that it would only be fitting to go out this way, the same way as her father.
To be taken by something you love so much. The irony stung. In this line of work, the chance had always been there, looming.
Now death was swimming after her with a tall fin and rows of sharp teeth.
Get ahold of yourself, Minnow!
These thoughts were so out of sync with how she usually felt when swimming with sharks, she wondered where they were coming
from. Most likely it was all the hype and the collective fear out there in the world, beating down her defenses. She turned
again and saw the fin get lower and lower in the water until it was gone, leaving a swirling boil in its place. At the same
time, a cloud passed over the sun and the water turned from vibrant blue to gray.
If the shark was going to do something, it would be soon. Two frigate birds flew by overhead, hovering on the wind. Big, dark
shadows in the sky. They flew on and left her alone but then circled around once more. It was eerie, as though they knew what
might be coming, majestic scavengers that they were.
“What are you guys waiting for?” she said quietly.
Floating atop the surface of the ocean, she was now the sitting duck. The sitting woman who should know better. She thought
for a long while about that and then felt a bump against the kayak, hard enough to send lightning through her but light enough
to know this was not an outright assault. A long shady thing sailed past her, just beneath the surface. The shark’s stripes
were unmistakable, a signature of nature to camouflage the tiger against ripples of sunlight underwater. Galeocerdo. Thirteen million years in the making.
All tingly from adrenaline, she let her body and mind settle as the animal disappeared and sank into the deep. She somehow
felt sure that it wouldn’t be coming back.