Chapter 1
?
T he shark came at him, its head wide, mouth open, and teeth bared to rip into him. He reached for his dive knife, but it was gone. Fear shot adrenaline through his system, and his breathing grew ragged. He shoved his hands against its wide head, trying to hold it off, but the monster bore down on him. He lost his grip, and the rows of razor-sharp teeth opened to bite into his hip.
Tucker woke, gasping for air and covered in sweat. His legs were pumping as though he were kicking away, the movement causing his bruised hip to ache. He lay still, eyes closed, as he found his bearings and caught his breath.
He thought he’d put this to bed last night after writing his report, but the incident was going to stay with him for a while.
Denotti moved in the bunk beneath him, and his voice was thick with sleep as he asked, “You okay, Gilly?”
“Yeah, I’m going to hit the head.” He shoved off the top of the bunk, dropped to his feet, and sucked in his breath. He wished for some of the adrenaline he’d had zipping through his system during his struggle with the two-hundred-pound shark. The damn monster had packed a bigger punch than he’d realized.
A craving for a beer struck him, but being in Saudi Arabia on a Saudi-owned boat, that wasn’t going to happen. He grabbed some Ibuprofen from his ditty kit and dry swallowed them, then slipped out of the cabin to use the head. As he climbed the metal steps to the upper deck, his hip ached with every step. He entered the galley and got a soft drink, something that was allowed in their hosting country.
As he stepped out on the deck, the cool, dry breeze ruffled his hair, and he ran a hand through the curly mop, shoving it back. It flopped right back over his forehead. He needed a haircut, a stiff drink, and a woman to get him back to normal.
The odor of cigarette smoke drifted to him, and he glanced upward to find one of the crew standing on the upper deck smoking. The man flicked the cigarette over the side, then meandered down to the deck and approached him.
“Is there something you need, Petty Officer Giles?” he asked in perfect English.
“No. I’m good.” The young man in his early twenties had acted as one of the kitchen crew and translated when they ran into difficulties with the language. “It’s Ahmad, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” He dipped his head in acknowledgment. He motioned toward Tucker’s leg. “You are limping. Is it an injury from the shark that attacked you?”
“I’m just a little bruised. It bumped me pretty hard to see if I qualified as food.”
“And you fought this shark?”
“No. I was able to scare it off for a while.”
“But it returned?”
“Yes. On the way out of the ship, it came after me again. I had to cut it to dissuade it from taking a bite out of me. It swam out of the ship ahead of me.”
“How big was the shark?”
“Two meters long and about two hundred pounds. I think that’s ninety kilograms.”
“I heard the other men talking about it. They said it was very large.”
“Yes. It was in the hold with the rotting fish. There were other fish scavenging there, and I think it was picking them off, one at a time. I probably looked like a hardier meal.”
“Do you often encounter such sharks when you are underwater?”
“No. For the most part, they leave divers alone. When they get too close, a poke with a spear gun will usually discourage them.” He should have carried one with him. If he had, this encounter wouldn’t be weighing on him now. “Sharks want food, not a fight that might leave them injured. Once injured, they become prey to other sharks.”
Ahmad nodded his head. “Since you injured it, did the other sharks come after it?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t stick around to find out.”
Ahmad looked a little disappointed at that and then said, “It seems your work here is done now.”
“Yes. The shipping route is clear. Captain Abboud’s sonar sweep several hours after the charges were blown showed no debris left behind. The trawler broke into several pieces and tumbled to the bottom of the trench into deeper water.”
“I’m sure our government will be very pleased.”
“I suppose so. At least they won’t have to worry about an oil spill.”
“And the repercussion from it,” Ahmad added. “That will save the beaches, the fishing industry, and the tourism.”
The way he worded things piqued Tucker’s curiosity. “Where did you learn to speak English, Ahmad?”
“I went to school in America for a time. My parents worked for the ambassador in Washington for five years. When my parents moved back to Riyadh, I had no choice but to return with them.”
“Perhaps you’ll find a way back to the States if that’s what you want.”
“That is indeed my hope, sir.”
“Since you speak English so well, you could work as a translator, and perhaps that could pave the way.”
“That is my purpose here on this ship, sir. My boss volunteered my services during your stay here.”
“Who is your boss? If you’re allowed to tell me.”
“He is involved with one of the oil corporations.”
Great.
The team was always careful about what they said and did during deployment when hanging close to the locals. Ahmad had been there listening to every word. Even so, he couldn’t think of anything they’d discussed about the work or home that would be an issue.
“Do you need some medication for pain, Mr. Giles?”
“No thanks. I took some before coming up on deck.”
“Then I will say good night.”
“Good night, Ahmad.”
Tucker rested his uninjured hip against the metal railing surrounding the deck and looked out over the ink-black water while he finished his soft drink.
Even though the job was finished, there was no guarantee they’d be going home. The Saudis might demand something else. But damn, he could use some R&R. They all could.
He limped back down the steps to the galley, threw the can away, then moved on to the cabin. He hiked himself up on the bunk and breathed a sigh as he settled in.
He’d get past the shark thing and be back to his old self by the time they moved on to the next mission.