Chapter 58
It was a bureaucratic nightmare.
We looped in the FWC, and their marine unit provided support. We needed a permit from NOAA Fisheries and authorization from the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service. The Coast Guard, the FDA Center for Veterinary Medicine, and the DOJ all got involved.
Since the modified shark was considered a new animal drug, the FDA CVM reviewed the situation, and the USFWS oversaw Lacey Act compliance. Capturing and transporting the shark wouldn’t be classified as illegal trafficking, in their view.
The USCG issued a Certificate of Compliance for the transport vessel.
It was a miracle that anything ever got done once the government got involved. But within 36 hours, we had all the necessary approvals. It took a lot of phone calls and favors and was enough to make your head spin, but we got it accomplished.
BMFS Marine was kind enough to donate the use of two heavy transport vessels, including a 72,000 DWT semisubmersible with a length overall of 218 meters. The Mighty Marlin was massive and had a submerged draft of 26 meters. It was like a giant flatbed truck for the sea.
The Maxlift 2 was a 231-meter lift boat with a towering crane capable of hoisting 4,000 tons.
More than overkill for the massive shark.
With a haze-gray hull, an arctic white superstructure, a helipad, and a yellow monster of a crane that towered like a sky scraper, the Maxlift 2 was an impressive sight.
The behemoths dwarfed our 27-foot HDPE Raptor 2.
Tango One circled overhead, the rotors thumping the hair.
This whole adventure was insane.
Isabella had tracked the leviathan, and we ran a chum line of blood and fish guts. We left a crimson slurry in the teal water as we idled forward. With a quarter of beef on a tow line amidships, we had a tasty morsel for the shark.
Jay had rigged up several pole spears with his special cocktail of shark dreams. He knew better than to tag along in the Raptor 2.
Nobody in their right mind would be aboard this boat.
I couldn’t talk Ariel out of it. She wanted to be in the thick of it.
Of course, she insisted her cameraman, Nick, tag along to capture video for her social media presence.
Defender-class patrol boats and Coast Guard cutters trailed in the distance.
News helicopters and MH60 Jayhawks circled overhead.
The briny air swirled, mixing with the putrid stench of fish guts. The sun beamed bright, sparkling the water. It was as good a day as any to go head-to-head with a massive hybrid shark. Besides, we were in the boat. I planned on staying on the boat. What could go wrong?
An FWC dive team was ready to deploy with the sling once we had sedated the shark—once it was no longer a threat. Or, at least, that was the plan.
The bloody slop worked. Before long, a massive dorsal fin surfaced, cutting through the teal swells like a razor.
I'm not going to lie, my heartbeat elevated. Even standing on the deck of the boat in relative safety, it was enough to make the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand tall.
The shark raced toward the Raptor at an incredible speed, then dove deep. It launched up from below like a Trident missile. Its snout pierced the water, its jaws wide, its massive teeth ready to devour anything and everything in its path.
It chomped down on the quarter of beef and ripped it away like it was nothing.
I stabbed the harpoon at it, but the shark crashed back into the water, unscathed.
That's okay. We had brought plenty of beef with us. Jack tied up another morsel, then tossed it over the side of the boat.
My heart pounded my chest, my nerves alive.
“Did you get that?” Ariel said to her cameraman.
He nodded with round eyes.
We lost sight of the shark. Surely it wouldn't be satisfied with just an appetizer. We kept idling forward, and Jack kept tossing fish guts and blood into the water.
I stood ready with the harpoon.
A nerve-racking few moments went by. I kept my head on a swivel.
There was an eerie stillness for a moment.
The monster launched up from the depths and slammed into the Raptor. I don't know if the toothy bastard thought it was a seal or if it was just being an asshole.
The impact launched the boat into the air, and we became airborne. The boat capsized, and the four of us splashed into the water.
Not exactly the place I wanted to be.
I managed to hang on to the spear, but the rest of them sank to the depths. We had one shot left at this.
The engines growled and gurgled.
I glanced around to check on the team bobbing in the swells. "Everybody okay?"
There were nods all around.
With the camera in a waterproof housing, Nick kept filming.
The dorsal fin of the shark pierced the surface of the water and circled.
We swam back to the stern of the boat. The deep V hull was too steep at the bow to climb. The engines growled like chainsaws, the blades slicing the air. They’d chew through flesh as easily as the shark.
I grabbed the stern corner and climbed up onto the capsized hull as the engines sputtered out. Then I helped Ariel out of the water.
The dorsal fin approached as Jack treaded water at the transom. I grabbed his hand and pulled him up. He cleared the water just as the shark’s dorsal fin submerged.
The shark swam under the boat, the current rocking the Raptor.
Nick was still in the water, filming the three of us climbing onto the hull.
Something happens to camera operators in the heat of the moment.
They get so caught up in getting the shot, they begin to forget the danger.
Like the camera imparts some kind of immunity.
The allure, the glory of getting a breathtaking, death-defying image is often too great.
Maybe it’s the sense of detachment—looking at life through a lens.
“Nick, come on!” Ariel shouted.
The sheriff pulled his patrol boat alongside us. With a mix of anger and concern, he shouted, "I think this little exercise is over.”
In the choppy water, the sheriff kept his boat about six to eight feet from the Raptor. It was too risky to get closer.
The water was filled with the chum of the capsized boat. The shark still lurked in the depths.
The leviathan made another approach as Nick swam toward the Raptor. He slapped and splashed the water, clinging to the camera, doing a one-arm sidestroke.
The shark attacked from underneath again, its jaws wide, teeth sparkling in the sun as it emerged. The meat grinder clamped down, and blood bloomed the water. White water splashed, and Nick’s shrieks of terror filled the air for a moment until the shark pulled him under.
A bloody swirl remained at the surface.
Ariel screamed, her face twisted with sorrow, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The capsized boat pitched and rolled with the swells. It was not the best place to be. A large wave or a nudge would have us in the water again.
I scanned the area, looking for signs of the shark.
The sheriff shouted, “Tango One’s got a visual on the shark. It’s 100 yards out.”
A shark that size could close a 100-yard gap in no time, but it was enough time to get across the channel between the boats.
“Go. Now,” I urged Ariel.
“Fuck that.” Fear drenched her eyes. In all her shark experience, she’d never seen anything like this.
“Hurry!”
After a reluctant beat, Ariel dove into the water and swam across to the patrol boat.
Deputies pulled her aboard.
Jack followed and swam toward the patrol boat.
The dorsal fin surfaced, closer than I would have liked. The shark approached, barreling toward the two boats.