The Shark Rider (28 page)

“I'll find a way.”

Coach shook his head.

Mia climbed back aboard. “They're off.”

“Bitter End, come in?” Coach said softly into the radio.

“Bitter End here, go ahead.” The director had stayed behind to coordinate the rescue and give them real-time updates on the weather.

“We're ready for ‘Hammer Time.'”

“Roger that. Good work. Hobie One's all set as well, and the next squall line should hit in about ten minutes.”

“Roger, standing by, Dark Star out.”

Tristan thought about their secret weapon. “How'd you get Hammer to come?”

“The mantis shrimp is from a reef around here,” Coach whispered. “He gets to come home and take his anger out in a more productive way. Besides, Chen here has helped him deal with some of his issues.” Mia nodded, acknowledging her skill in crustacean psychology.

Following Coach's lead, the teens rose up in the boat just enough to see the shore. A bouncing light was moving through the pool area.

“Must be a guard on patrol,” Coach told them. “Everyone stay down.”

The light bounced its way to the small docks and then swung toward one of the speedboats. In the reflection from the boat's white hull, they could see a man staring into the water. Tristan held his breath, hoping the guy didn't notice any unusual activity under the boat. The light swung out over the water in their direction. They ducked below the inflatable's black rubber sides. Abruptly, the light swung back, shining on another of the tied-up speedboats.

“Bet Hammer just did his thing,” Coach said. “Stay low; we'll give it a few minutes and then motor slowly out and go around the docks to find that cavern entrance.”

Just then, something big and heavy thumped into the inflatable, shoving them sideways. Tristan thought they must have hit a rock or run aground. He tentatively rose up and peered over the side. Two huge gray dorsal fins passed by, one behind the other. Tristan looked closer. Each of the sharks had a camera trailing from wires embedded in its back. They did a U-turn and nudged the inflatable with their snouts.

“What's going on?” Mia questioned nervously.

“It's the sharks that chased us earlier,” Tristan said with relief. “Don't worry, they're on our side now. I bet they want to help. Sam, hold onto my legs.”

Tristan leaned over the boat so that his head and shoulders were in the water. Sam grabbed his legs to hold him steady. He twisted around, looking for the sharks, thinking:
Hey, you guys want to help us get our friends? That psycho guy who tortured you has them.

You bloody well believe it,
a shark answered
. But our mate is still stuck in there
.

Hang on,
Tristan told the sharks. As he sat back up, Tristan happened to glance toward the dock. A bunch of lights were converging around one of the speedboats.

“Looks like Hammer was a hit,” Coach Fred told them. “A few high-speed whacks to crack the hull and that baby's going down.” He then radioed the director to say that phase one of their plan was well underway. “Okay, we'll meet up with the turtles and Hammer on the way.”

“Coach, the sharks want to help, but they want to free their mate in the pool first. Can I help them do it?”

“Me too,” Sam offered. “Then we'll come find you. It'll be quick. Besides, we still have to wait to hear from Luis.”

Coach hesitated. “Okay, you two go with the sharks, but be careful. Do not be seen and make it fast. If you can't get the gate up, leave immediately. Come find us; we'll need you two.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

Tristan slid into the water, followed by Sam.

Coach Fred started the engine, keeping it as slow and as quiet as possible. Tristan and Sam followed the two bull sharks toward the tunnel that led into Marsh's pools.

To the north, the small, dark catamaran sailed slowly past Scar Island's steep northwestern cliffs. In the rough seas, Mary couldn't bring the Hobie Cat to a complete stop, so she slowed down just enough to let Luis take a Sea Camp pill and jump off without breaking any bones. He swam close to shore and waited, treading water. His timing had to be perfect or he'd be brutally smashed against the rocks, definitely breaking bones . . . or worse. The water began to rise as a wave approached. Luis began kicking. He was lifted up with the wave and then, just before it crashed ashore, Luis jumped. He grabbed for the rocks with his sea-star-sticky hands and feet. The wave hit and water cascaded all around him. A powerful surge then tried to pull him back into the ocean. But Luis stayed put, stuck to the rocks. All that practice in the Wave Pool had paid off.

Luis crouched, waiting for the squall line to hit. The strong winds would make the precarious climb more difficult, but the rain would hide him from any prying eyes or cameras. The black wetsuit helped there as well. As the wind picked up, rain pelted his back. Luis ducked his head and began to climb. He was even better than his sister (or most mountain goats). Monkeys had nothing on him. His hands and feet clung to the rocks, held by hundreds of miniature suction cups tipped with sticky glue. In fact, if he lingered too long in any one spot, Luis had to forcefully pull himself off the rocks. Going faster was better. He swiftly scaled the sheer cliff to the edge of a patio deck. Luis began to pull himself up. From out of the dark, two giant black
birds dove for his head; each had a hooked bill, forked tail, and incredibly long, sharp talons.

Luis froze and muttered, “Hey! I'm one of the good guys.”

The birds passed just inches from his face and then hovered menacingly over his head. One bird again lunged threateningly at him. Unfortunately, Luis couldn't talk bird. He glanced around desperately. The wind pounded his body, and rain pinged off his head. The giant black birds stayed overhead, seemingly at the ready to peck his eyes out. Luis scrambled to the left, keeping a close eye on the birds. There was another patio not too far away.

He hesitantly reached to pull himself up. The birds made no move to attack. Luis hauled himself onto the deck, staying as low as possible. A bird dove. He ducked. It brushed by his ear before assaulting a fixture on the mansion's outer wall. Luis looked closer—it was a security camera. He nodded his thanks to the bird and then crept to a set of sliding glass doors. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he put his nose up against the glass and peered in. It was dark, and the room looked empty. He tried the doors; they slid open. He went inside. Nobody home.

24

THE SHARK-MOBILE

B
ACK AT THE DOCKS, MEN IN FOUL WEATHER GEAR
with flashlights swarmed around the speedboat that had inexplicably begun to take on water. Meanwhile, the dark inflatable had disappeared into the stormy night. And Sam and Tristan were heading for the tunnel into Marsh's pools.

At first, Sam hesitated. But once she saw Tristan do it, she was all in. Now each of them had hold of a shark's dorsal fin and were being pulled alongside the shark. The powerful bull sharks moved quickly, silently, and smoothly through the water. Periodically, they rose to the surface so Tristan and Sam could get a breath of air. For Tristan, it was the best mode of underwater transport ever. And with the sharks' night vision guiding them, Sam didn't even need to turn on the small dive light strapped to her wrist. At night,
without lights, under shark power, and in their black wetsuits, the teens were practically invisible as they slipped into the tunnel.

The sharks slowed. The passageway was cramped and pitch black, darker even than the night. Tristan held on tightly to the shark's fin. Entering the sweeping curve, the sharks brought them up for air. Tristan and Sam hit their heads and twisted their necks to get a breath. A few minutes later, they exited the tunnel. The sharks took them directly to the closed gate of the one occupied pool.

“Now what?” Sam asked softly.

“The sharks think the controls to the gate are in one of the cottages by the pools.”

The two teens popped up just enough to look around for any yellow-shirted ape-men guards with tranquilizer guns. Luckily, the security team was still crowded around the sabotaged speedboat. Sam took the dive light off her wrist and turned it on, using one hand to shield the beam. They quietly climbed out of the pool. Almost immediately, Tristan ran into a lounge chair. It slid, scraping loudly over the concrete. He froze, his heart once again hammering. Sam stopped and turned off the light. They stood very still, holding their breath. The security team's attention remained focused at the docks. Sam turned the light back on, and they crept more carefully to the nearest cottage. The door was unlocked. They went inside. Lying on the floor was a giant blow-up shark, a pile of buttercup-yellow pool noodles, and a matching raft
with a drink holder and little flag on it. Tristan saw a pole with a sharp, pointy end. Figuring the raft was probably Marsh's favorite pool toy, he happily used the pole to pierce it. As the raft deflated, it made a very sad and satisfying blubbering sound.

“Come look at this,” Sam whispered. She was standing next to a desk. On top of it was a large flat-screen computer monitor and keyboard. A small computer tablet lay nearby. Tristan picked up the tablet, hoping it controlled the pool's gates.

“Here, let me,” Sam said. “A friend of mine has one just like that.”

She turned on the tablet. Ten icons popped up. Sam tapped “Pools.” A list appeared that included temperature, salinity, pH, jacuzzi, lights, and finally—gates. Her finger was shaking. Carefully avoiding “lights,” she pressed “gates.” An image of four pools came up. She tapped one. They heard a metallic grinding noise. Tristan and Sam cringed at the sound and peeked out toward the pools. An open gate was closing. Sam quickly tapped again, and the gate stopped moving. She took a deep breath and tried another icon. A gate began to rise. It was the pool with the shark. But the noise was much louder, and a green light started blinking on the flat screen on the desk.

“Uh-oh,” Tristan groaned.

“C'mon,” Sam urged, grabbing his arm to make a run for the pool.

“Hold on.”

Tristan wasn't quite ready to leave. He smashed the
tablet on the ground and jumped on it several times. Then he swept the flat screen off the desk. He wasn't normally into vandalism, but, in this case, it felt really good. They sprinted for the pool.

Two bobbing flashlights raced toward them from the docks. Sam switched off her light and dove into the pool. Tristan was right behind her. The two bull sharks were leading the new escapee into the tunnel. The teens kicked hard to catch up, never looking back.

Up in the mansion, Luis informed the director about the empty guest suite using the small radio that had been strapped to his leg. He then climbed down the cliff under the watchful eyes of the frigatebirds still hovering overhead. At the water's edge, he dove in and swam away from the rocks. The rolling waves had grown to mini-mountains with white-capped peaks. Luis treaded water and turned on the tiny strobe light Mary had strapped to his arm. The bright light blinked rapidly on and off. Minutes later, the Hobie Cat was nearly on top of him. Mary tacked into the strengthening wind and threw Luis a knotted line. He struggled, but was able to pull himself in and climb aboard. She swiftly spun the watercraft around. The wind grabbed the sails, and they sped back toward the Bitter End. With the wind and sea growing, soon it would be too much for the small catamaran, even in Mary's expert hands.