Chapter 25.
Chile
Several Hours Later
Luca Tommasi is swimming off the southern tip of Chile toward the island known as El Fin del Mundo, trying to keep as much distance as possible from the sharks, who don’t seem much interested in him for the time being.
It is Friday afternoon in Chile. Saturday morning in Antarctica, where the first test is ending on Ross Island, in the subzero temperature of McMurdo Sound.
Here off the southernmost coast of Chile, on a beautiful and cloudless Friday, Luca is in much warmer water—warm enough to fool you into forgetting what’s under it.
The potential for danger from the sharks might be greater if they decide to change direction.
But Luca Tommasi chose the long way on purpose.
Most of the swimmers go straight, because straight feels like courage. Luca has spent his whole career watching men confuse courage with stupidity.
He angles wide, away from the tight cluster near the ship where fins circle the boat. He keeps his stroke quiet. No splashing. No panic. He’s not racing anyone, yet. He’s positioning.
Ahead, the island dares them. Dark green tree line. And above it, the mountain—La Montana Serpiente—rising steep.
Luca breathes every third stroke. In through the mouth, out through the nose. The rhythm steadies his head. The rhythm is something he can control, and right now control is everything.
He risks a glance back.
Out there to the west, the pack has stalled. People tread water, argue with each other, debate like the sharks are open to debate.
Luca pushes harder.
He has always considered himself a strong swimmer, from the time he was a boy.
He never loved it enough to compete on the high school team.
But as an adult his favorite form of exercise, even more than going to the gym, was swimming every morning at the pool at YMCA Italia—or every morning he could around his schedule with the police.
He liked being first into the water in the morning, and he was one of the first in the water off the ship today.
He has no idea how this competition will be scored, how much ingenuity will be rewarded in situations like this. No one knows. But Luca believes he has made the right play by swimming as far away from the sharks as possible.
Unless confronting them was somehow part of the test.
No point in worrying about that now.
He hits shallows and stands, water streaming off him, the sand bright under his feet.
He starts running before he’s even fully stable, because running is simple and fear is not.
He can clearly see the hut where The Host has told them their clothes, backpacks, and hiking gear would be waiting for them.
Luca doesn’t know what the rules are, if getting to the island first will win him more points in the eyes of the judges, whoever and wherever they are.
He tells himself it can’t hurt.
No one else is close.
Maybe his wide route wasn’t just safer.
Maybe it was smarter.
He sprints toward the hut now, like back when he was a street cop chasing a perp.
Luca runs even harder through sand almost white enough to be the color of snow, staring up at the mountain as if the pot of gold is waiting for him up there.
I can win this.
I can make my son proud of me again.