The Shark Rider (14 page)

“I didn't know you saved a whale,” Tristan said to Sam. “Very cool.”

Sam beamed.

“And what about you?” Meg asked Tristan.

“I can communicate with sharks and rays, and I'm a pretty fast swimmer. Unfortunately, I didn't get to practice much like Sam. My folks are scared someone will find out about me, and, well, I did have a little
incident
with a shark some fishermen were going to kill.”

“Yeah, and you saved it,” Sam said.

Tristan nodded, while Coach shook his head and gave him the what-were-you-thinking look.

“Well, how about that,” Meg said. “What about the others?”

Coach jumped in. “Jones is an excellent jumper, and Gonzales has good bird communication skills and mucus deployment.”

“Mucus? You don't say.”

Just then, the steward strode into the salon. She took the chart off the table. “Sorry, we'll be anchoring soon. I need to get ready for dinner.” She turned to Sam and Tristan. “You two can help.”

“I'll go see how our friends outside are doing,” Meg offered.

“I'll join you,” Coach said.

As they left, Meg grabbed a packet of saltines sitting near the window looking into the galley.

As the ship rolled, the deck continued to seesaw. Tristan wasn't sure how much help he could offer given that he could barely stand up. He prayed there was nothing breakable involved. The steward brought in a stack of heavy plastic plates, looking to pass them to Tristan. She pointed to a plate-size space surrounded by inch-high walls on the ledge in front of the galley window. Tristan stood up to grab the plates, and the deck tipped especially steeply. He wavered drunkenly, bounced off the table, and then smashed into the ledge, smacking his elbow hard.

Sarah smiled kindly and looked to Sam. “How about you help, and—Tristan, is it? Why don't you just take a seat for now. Seems a little safer that way.”

Tristan rubbed his aching funny bone and dropped
onto a bench. He wondered how long it took to get one's sea legs. On the bright side, he wasn't puking his guts out.

A little while later, the ship slowed and made another turn. Within minutes, the rolling eased. Tristan heard the captain calling to the first mate. The engine quieted, and the heavy rattling of the anchor chain echoed through the ship. Tristan got up and peeked out through one of the side doors; it was pitch black. There were no lights anywhere. He guessed they were in Deadman's Cove and that it was deserted.

The steward announced that dinner was ready. Coach Fred ate with Captain Hank, Meg, and Charlie. Ryder reappeared from below and joined Sam and Tristan at the other table. Hugh and Rosina stuck their heads in, seemed to get one whiff of food, and then disappeared back outside. The meal was served family style. Bowls filled with Caesar salad and string beans were passed around along with a platter of hamburgers and cheesy pasta. Tristan noticed that Sam kept glancing toward the other table.

They ate quietly. Tristan hoped his food would stay down, having no desire to join the hurling club outside. Plus he was still nervous, thinking about all the ways he could screw up on their first real mission, especially given his parents' warning regarding any more
incidents
. At least he hadn't broken or spilled anything, yet.

After dinner, Meg and Coach Fred sat drinking coffee and talking quietly. The teens decided to turn
in early. A combination of excitement, nerves, travel, and, for some, seasickness had worn them out.

When Hugh stumbled into their cabin, Tristan told him what Meg had said about the die-offs. But Hugh hardly seemed to hear. Within minutes of lying down, he was asleep. Tristan had taken the top bunk. If Hugh got sick during the night, he definitely did not want to be lying below on the receiving end. With the now gentle sway of the ship, Tristan soon fell asleep as well.

12

TREASURE CAVES

T
HE OUTRAGEOUSLY LOUD CLANGING OF POTS AND
pans in the galley one deck up was the worst wake-up call ever, like an enormous church bell rung right over Tristan's head. He woke up with such a start that, for a moment, he had no clue where he was. Nearly falling out of the top bunk quickly set him straight. Tristan leaned over and looked down at Hugh. “Hey, how ya feeling?”

Hugh licked his dry lips. “Wonder what's for breakfast?”

Tristan smiled. That was a good sign. After a decent night's sleep, Tristan felt better. He was still worried about messing up, but he was less anxious now and more excited to see what the day ahead would bring. He sat up and climbed down from the top bunk without falling. It was a good start.

The boys threw on T-shirts and shorts, and then took turns in the head, which was about the size of a broom closet with a toilet, sink, and shower all crammed inside. They climbed up the steep stairway to breakfast. Plastic tubs set out on the table held an assortment of cereals. Tristan decided to try a couple of baked eggs from a cupcake tin also on the table. He tipped the pan to scoop two eggs onto his plate. They slid out faster than a greased pig, skated straight across his plate, and slid to the deck.

Cereal sounds good
, Tristan thought.

After breakfast, Coach Fred stood up to address the group. “Rise and shine, Snappers. First day of the mission. Swimsuits on, then go see Charlie on the stern for snorkeling gear.” He nodded at Charlie and then winked at the teens. “We're heading out on the inflatable to reconnoiter several sites on Peter and Norman Islands. I'll bring the water.”

Again, he winked overtly to the teens. Tristan thought the captain, steward, and first mate would have to be seriously dense not to have noticed. Also, he had no idea what
reconnoiter
meant.

The teens met Charlie on the back deck. It was a hot, sunny day in the British Virgin Islands. A few puffy, white clouds drifted by overhead, bringing short periods of shady relief in the already humid heat.

Sam nodded toward the snorkeling gear and whispered, “Guess it's for appearances.”

Tristan stepped up to the first mate.

“What size fin?”

“Not sure.”

“Really? Well, try these to see if they fit.” Charlie handed him a pair of short, black fins. “And see if this mask fits.”

The fins fit Tristan fine and he started pulling the mask's strap over his head.

“No, not like that. Just stick it on your face without the strap and suck in through your nose. If it stays on, it's a good fit. Man, I thought y'all were supposed to be some sort of teen wonders in the water.”

Tristan just shrugged and tried the mask on the way Charlie suggested.

The first mate stared at him curiously. “You know how this works, don't you?” He was holding up a snorkel.

“
Yes
.” Tristan took it from him.

Meg pulled up alongside the ship in the small, gray, inflatable boat that had been stored on deck. She was at the back operating the outboard engine. She took the campers' snorkeling bags and piled them out of the way. Coach then handed her a backpack full of Sea Camp water bottles and helped each of the teens into the boat.

“Be back by noon,” the scientist called out to the first mate. “We'll check the radio on the way out.”

Sitting on the side of the rubber inflatable, Tristan got his first good look at Deadman's Cove and Peter Island. The small cove was horseshoe-shaped and surrounded
by steep, rocky cliffs. The water was calm, clear, and dark bluish-green in color. The island seemed to be just a few uninhabited, plant-covered hills. He didn't think they were tall enough to be called mountains, but certainly higher than anything back home in Sarasota.

“We'll head to the site farthest south then work our way back,” Meg told them. “We've had one confirmed fish kill in the area and a few anecdotal reports.”

She sped the inflatable south toward the far end of Deadman's Cove, where a group of dark, pointed rocks sloped into the water like the humps down a dragon's back. As they passed, the flat water of the cove turned to small, choppy waves. The inflatable sped over the little waves. Tristan and the others bounced, not unpleasantly, on the boat's rubber sides.

Soon they came to another small embayment. Several boats were tied up to mooring balls within the inlet. A fancy yacht sat beside a dock in front of a few small wooden buildings. People waved from the dock.

Meg waved back. “That's Peter Island Yacht Club. They've passed on some of the reports from boaters in the area.”

They continued south. Large catamarans and several big powerboats cruised by, going in the opposite direction.

“Along with its history of pirates . . .
arr
, matey,” Coach said. “The BVIs are well known as one of the best places for bareboating.”

The teens rolled their eyes at the man's attempt at pirate humor.

“What's bareboating?” Hugh asked.

Tristan thought maybe it meant that people here liked to go boating naked or something.

“That's when you rent or charter a boat to cruise on vacation,” Meg explained. “Here it takes little time to sail or motor from one island to the next. And the islands are full of beautiful little bays and beach bars for boaters to enjoy. Along with a few luxury resorts and exclusive hangouts for the rich and famous, of course.”

“Hey, doesn't some rich dude, like a mega-billionaire, have his own island around here somewhere?” Ryder asked.

Meg smiled. “Yes, Ryder. I believe you are talking about Necker Island to the north.”

“Do other, like, famous people have homes here? Will we see them?”

“Doubt we'll see any really famous people. I believe there is someone associated with Google on one of the other privately owned islands, and a big-time venture capitalist on another—I hear he invests mainly in hotels, oil, and the pharmaceutical industry—and, once, the Queen of England visited on her yacht, the
Britannia
. It is a British territory after all.”

They skirted a couple of jagged, dark rocks sticking out of the water. It was the westernmost tip of Peter Island.

“Hang on,” Meg instructed. “Till we reach Norman Island up ahead, the ride's going to be a bit bumpy.”

Minutes later, the inflatable hit the first more sizable
wave. Both the boat and the teens went momentarily airborne. When the boat landed, they bounced. Tristan grabbed for the rope running along the side of the inflatable, thinking that getting tossed out would not be good and could constitute an
incident
. Then he heard giggling. Seated across from him, Sam was enjoying the boat bounce-house. Tristan decided her oh-so-happy, boat-loving attitude was going to get annoying very soon. They hit another wave.

“Look, no hands!” Ryder shouted as he raised both arms over his head.

When the boat landed, they again bounced, and Ryder grabbed for the rope—that made Tristan feel better. Hugh and Rosina were both grimacing and had a white-knuckle death grip on the side ropes.

Something silvery then jumped out of the water right in front of the inflatable. The fish spread its fins out like wings and glided effortlessly over the water.

“Look, flying fish,” Meg shouted over the whine of the outboard engine.

Several more silver missiles leapt from the water, skimmed over the sea surface, and then disappeared. Tristan smiled, thinking of the flying fish that were part of the attack squad last summer. He'd since read somewhere that they leap out of the water to avoid predators and can cruise up to 40 miles per hour over the sea surface. And, as he saw in the Bahamas, they can also knock a man right off a jet ski.

Tristan gazed farther ahead. He could see Norman Island. It was smaller than Peter, hilly, and from what he could tell, also mostly uninhabited. The side of
the island looked as if giant bites had been taken out of it, creating several semicircular coves. In the distance, something large and dark leapt out of the water. It twirled, flashed white, and landed with a terrific splash. “Did you see that? Something big just jumped.”

“Probably an eagle ray or manta ray,” Meg told them. “They jump out of the water all the time around here.”