‘At least we know it’s the right co-ordinates,’ commented Casey. ‘There were quite a few hammers around last time, as I recall.’
Brandon’s face did its best to smile around the mouthpiece of the regulator. The crazy shark conga was pivoting over a lump of something, and that something had just flashed a dull golden light. He didn’t say anything – he wanted to be sure. He swam on. Sure enough, a gold lump was sticking up from the sand, like a Starbucks pound cake. He dived down and slowly approached it from above, hoping the hammerheads would amend their circuit to accommodate him.
They didn’t.
He swam lower, side on to the sharks as they soared by on their fixed path, sailing around or over the shiny golden chunk. He thought he saw the corner of a gold bar poking out of the sand.
Brandon took out his diver’s knife, waited for a gap in the shark train and swam down to the gold. He was banking on the sharks turning away from him, as sharks normally did if confronted in the right way, and the theory that the hammerhead was not a natural man-eater. A shark was coming right at him and he held out the knife to jab its nose. Then another was gliding towards him from the other lap of the figure of eight. He was going to be the jack in a shark sandwich.
He couldn’t fight two sharks with one knife.
The closest animal suddenly veered away, with a violent swish of its tail, and swung off backwards. He turned to the other fast-approaching beast and motioned at it with the knife, which flashed in the flickering light from above. It was practically in his face. It opened its mouth wide and jerked away, just inches from the tip of his blade.
Brandon glanced down at the pyramid sticking up out of the sand. It was definitely gold. The metal under the sand must be giving the sharks some kind of orgasm, he thought. He swam down and pulled at the gold bar, but it didn’t come free. Two more sharks were headed his way, intent on swimming over the gold. He pulled at the ingot again, but it held fast.
He pushed up from the bottom and let the sharks glide under him. He needed help. He started to transmit, but Reece came into his earpiece. ‘Getting a bit wild up here, guys. You’d better start thinking about coming back up.’
‘Got something,’ Brandon said. ‘Get over here, guys, and keep these fish off me while I dig it up. Just need five, Reece.’
‘You got it, but don’t be ten.’
Danny and Casey were swimming to him.
Brandon briefed them as they came. ‘Got a gold bar down there, end on.’ The two men were at his side now.
‘Let’s go,’ said Casey
Danny waved a shark away. ‘I don’t like to think of myself as bait.’
Brandon was excavating the soft sand around the gold bar. It was narrow but long and deep. It looked like a big slab of gold.
‘These fish don’t like me,’ said Casey. ‘Can you work faster?’
Brandon said nothing, but dug into the sand like a dog scrabbling in a groundhog burrow.
‘Sheeeeit!’ squealed Danny, as he fended off a giant hammerhead.
Brandon was still digging. He tried to move the slab but there was no give. He had uncovered about a foot of it.
‘Guys,’ came Reece’s voice, ‘you’ve gotta start coming up or you’ll be climbing that cliff again. We’re force eight up here now and there’s a nine coming in fast.’
‘Brandon?’ came Casey’s voice.
‘Just give me one minute.’ He dug and yanked at the slab, dug some more and yanked again.
‘We gotta go!’ said Reece.
‘Coming,’ said Danny.
Brandon yanked once more, and felt the slab move in his hand. ‘Got it,’ he said, lifting it. ‘Jesus – I’ll need help with this.’
Casey was suddenly at his side, and as the gold glittered in the sea-light, he engulfed it in his own GI duffel bag.
‘Jesus,’ cried Danny, stabbing at the nose of a hammerhead.
‘Fucking shark.’ He swam over to Casey and Brandon. ‘She tried to fucking bite me!’ he gasped, as they hauled the bag upwards.
‘No fooling now, fellas,’ crackled Reece.
‘We’re coming up the anchor as the load is real heavy. Get ready with a boat hook to haul in a heavy package.’
‘Roger that.’
‘What the fuck?’ said Danny. The hammerheads were swimming up from the bottom. They seemed to be forming a wall around them, ten metres out. A menacing grey circuit of graceful but deadly shapes was circling them.
Brandon broke the surface first and Reece was leaning over with the hook, right on cue. The chop was harsh, throwing the bow of the boat up and down in irregular lunges. Casey was supporting him on his shoulder, helping him out of the water, while Brandon struggled to hook the bag’s strap over the boathook. Reece leant out as far as he could, the rigging cutting painfully into his midriff as he stretched for the bag. The strap was just an inch out of reach. The prow lurched up, but dipped quickly.
Brandon pulled on the anchor chain and lifted himself as high as he could. The weight of the bag was almost too much for him.
‘These fucking sharks are creeping me out,’ he heard Danny say, as the prow dipped to its limit. As his arm went out to full extension, his biceps cramped and a wave washed over him.
Shit! He had dropped the bag. The sea fell again, and as the water streamed from his mask, he saw the green bag on the end of the boathook.
Reece gritted his teeth. The bag was almost too heavy to hold on the end of the pole at the full stretch of his right arm. The rigging dug deep into his flesh. He caught the pole with his other hand and let the duffel swing down the side of the boat as the hull bucked under the swell. With a focused effort he applied himself to a giant heave – and the bag was on the deck. He groaned and rubbed his burning belly. The bag’s contents had better be worth it.
‘Let’s get dry,’ said Brandon, letting go of the anchor.
‘Fuck these sharks,’ said Danny again. ‘They’re closing in.’ He was making for the dive deck at the back, which was lurching in and out of the water.
‘I’ll cover you,’ said Casey, eyeing the predators circling the boat.
Brandon grabbed the lip of the dive platform as he saw Danny’s flippers disappear from the water. A hammerhead was coming right for him. He glanced to Casey. Another shark was heading for him. He pulled out his knife. He wasn’t about to let the sharks hit his friend from both sides.
Casey and Brandon were treading water back to back.
‘Where are you?’ yelled Reece.
‘Shark attack,’ Brandon snapped.
Casey jabbed the hammerhead on the nose and the shark swam off as Brandon waved away the other. Now Brandon could see three more sharks making for him. He grabbed the lip of the dive deck, grasped Casey’s arm and hauled them both in line with the long edge of the deck.
A boathook plunged into the water from the side as he hauled himself up and he felt something grip him. It started to shake his right leg violently. A shark had him in its jaws. He fought to pull himself on board. Danny grabbed him under one arm and Casey pulled the other. A hammerhead had him yet he felt no pain, he thought dimly. This was how it felt to be eaten alive. The dive platform bucked in the swell and Reece was before him, clasping his chest and heaving him forwards against the pull of the shark.
His three buddies were fighting a tug of war with the hammerhead and Brandon was the rope.
He spat out his regulators. Why wasn’t he in agony? ‘Pull, for fuck’s sake!’ he screamed. He shot forwards and they all fell backwards. There was a crash inside the boat as Reece bounced off the bait tank. Danny threw himself into the boat and Casey rolled after him.
Brandon jumped up. The tip of his right flipper had been bitten clean off. The boat rose steeply as a giant wave washed under them and he was pitched forwards, looking down into the sea, about to fall in. He caught the side of the boat with his right hand, face angled down to the grey water. The hammerhead rose out of the water, its mouth agape. Brandon found himself staring int
o its red throat at the wicked white teeth. As the boat rose, tilting him ever forwards, he knew he was going to fall into those jaws.
Danny yanked him back. ‘Don’t fucking feed the fish, man,’ he said.
The boat slumped, a wall of water shooting up at its prow. Brandon jumped into the stern. He was laughing crazily. The engines were on and the anchor was on its way up. A great storm was rising.
‘About time,’ shouted Reece, at no one in particular. ‘This is going to get very ugly real fast. Got to clear the cove damn quick or we’ll be on the rocks in no time.’
The anchor locked in, and Reece set the engines. It rolled heavily as it got underway.
They took their tanks off quickly as the boat shook them about. Casey looked at Brandon’s ripped flipper. ‘That’s a keeper,’ he shouted, above the noise of the gale.
‘Mighty windy,’ said Danny. He picked up the duffel bag and put it on the table next to the helm, where on a calm day anglers might have a lazy beer and watch others fish or dive.
‘Want to open the bag?’ said Danny to Brandon. ‘You found it.’
‘No,’ said Brandon, his hands shaking under the table. ‘You go ahead.’
‘OK,’ said Danny. He unzipped the duffel. The gold flashed like a torch’s beam and they gasped. Reece glanced at them, then back at the mountainous seas ahead. Danny slid the slab out and turned it over.
‘Boy,’ said Casey.
On the reverse there was a picture.
Danny whistled, ‘Holy cow.’
‘Let me see that,’ said Brandon, forgetting his nerves. He took it from Danny. A giant golden sun was rising over a mountainous coastline. Engraved golden birds flew above an ancient boat, fishing by the golden shore. The sea glittered. He passed it to Casey, who marvelled at the scene.
‘What have we got?’ called Reece, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
‘Some kind of crazy carved-gold slab,’ said Danny. ‘You want to see?’
‘Later,’ said Reece. ‘Let me fight this battle first. This boat wasn’t built for a force nine. Not many are.’
Brandon took the slab back. It was heavy like only gold could be. It must weigh at least fifteen pounds, he marvelled. That was a lot of gold. ‘How much is gold an ounce?’ he asked, transfixed by the carving.
‘Fifteen hundred dollars,’ said Casey. ‘It was two thousand a while back.’
Brandon stared at him. ‘This is, like, two or three hundred ounces.’
‘Yep,’ said Casey. ‘And even if it’s nine carat that’s a fairly large amount of money just in gold.’
‘Nine carat?’ Danny laughed. ‘No way! That’s pure twenty-four-carat gold.’
‘You sure?’ said Brandon.
‘No,’ said Danny, taking the slab, ‘but this is an artwork, not a freakin’ ingot. That means it’s worth multiples of any gold price. Sheesh! Look at it! Man, it’s like the fashizzle.’
The boat jinked and slammed into a wave. They jolted in their seats.
‘Unbelievable,’ said Reece. They were riding straight into a hurricane.
Brandon took the slab back into his hands. As he did so, he looked up and through the windscreen. They were riding up the face of a gigantic wave. Unconsciously he gripped the slab tighter.
Danny and Casey followed his gaze. They looked back at each other in silence, then at Reece.
‘Hold tight!’ Reece howled – and the boat corkscrewed over the crest.
12
The doctor had a gleam in his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying his patient’s predicament a little too much. ‘You see these?’ he said. ‘I think they’re screws.’
Jim nodded.
‘Well, I suggest they’re holding a plate on – see this shadow?’
Jim nodded again.
‘I think I should take the plate out and remove what’s inside, then screw it back on again.’
Jim was wondering how Stafford had known of Dr Eric. It certainly hadn’t been Dr Eric’s plastic surgery skills that had won him the introduction. He was a small, grey-haired man in a white coat, with an excitable, enthusiastic manner. He didn’t show the shock or fear of the previous doctor. He seemed almost familiar with the idea of some guy having a GPS tracker embedded in his torso.
‘I can make an incision here and pull down the muscle and, without much disruption, get at the device. Your downtime will be minimal – a few aches and that’ll be about it. I can do it now, if you like.’
Jim sat up. ‘Now?’
‘Certainly,’ said Dr Eric, eagerly, his staring blue eyes drilling into him.
Jim fidgeted.
‘I can do it under a local, if you’re up for it.’
‘Local?’
‘A local anaesthetic. It’s not much of a procedure.’ He held out his fingers about two inches. ‘It’s a small cut and the whole thing should take no more than ten or fifteen minutes.’
‘Oh,’ said Jim, surprised that things were developing so fast. He thought about the tracking device. He really hated the idea of it, ticking away or whatever it did, inside him. All he had to do was lie down for a few minutes, still conscious, and he would be free of it. That didn’t seem so bad. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘let’s do it.’
‘Right you are.’
‘We’re heading to Higashi harbour. Over,’ shouted Reece, into the mouthpiece.
The noise blotted out the first words of the response. ‘… do you require assistance? Over.’
‘No assistance required. Over.’ He repeated the message: ‘No assistance required.’
Casey stood, braced, by his side.
Reece shook his head. ‘Yet,’ he said.
Casey had never been in such heavy seas – or not unless he was in the belly of a giant warship. A battleship could brave any seas and would barely notice a normal storm. But for them, the six miles to the nearest safe harbour would mean twenty miles of steaming because they could not travel across the giant waves. Instead they had to head into them or run with them and that meant they had to set out to sea first before they could come back to land.
They sailed into the storm, climbing up and down the mountainous rollers, blown with thick foam. It was a journey into the depths of hell.
Finally Reece shouted, ‘I’m going to turn her now and surf us into port.’
‘Let’s go,’ Casey agreed. He flicked the piece of gum he was chewing out of a gap in his teeth on the right side of his mouth. He was smiling to himself again. Even though they were nothing but a piece of floating crap adrift in the tempest, he didn’t doubt they would make the harbour. They just would. That was how it was with the team. If you were going to navigate in a typhoon then Reece was about the only guy you’d want at the helm.
Down below, Danny and Brandon were sleeping, Brandon hugging the gold slab as if it was some kind of teddy bear. Giant waves rose and fell, the wind howling like some demonic monster, its maw slathered with froth. Yet Reece was going to use the fishing boat like a surfboard and carve his way to shore. Not even the towering grey face of the wave that loomed beside them as they turned made him doubt his colleague’s ability to pull it off. The boat bucked, shook, fell and rose again.
They slid down the smooth back slope of the giant wave, the crest marbled with foam. Reece brought the boat around as hard as it would go, slowing down and around into the trough of the swell. The boat heaved heavily to starboard and rode up, its stern facing the rising wave behind it, which gathered itself into a vertical wall. Reece let the wave catch up with him, then applied the power to face down the wave. ‘Check,’ he said.
‘OK,’ said Casey, looking back at the wave, a stationary wall above.
Reece’s hand was on the throttle. He glanced forwards and to the side to make sure he had matched the speed of the wave. He would have to keep his heading and speed exact for perhaps two hours. ‘Check.’
‘Check,’ said Casey, watching the steel wall rising behind them, poised and frozen above.
Reece grinned up the right side of his face.
The next hour or two were going to be very real.
13
They were all in the wheelhouse as they approached land. The waves were gigantic, blown up into mountains by the force eleven gale. The sea was as white as if its steely cliffs were covered with snow. With their backs to the wind and the protection of the water wall behind them, they were sheltered from the worst of the hurricane.
Reece was nudging the boat to keep it in line with the harbour entrance. Behind the lip of the next wave, he was navigating on instruments alone. They would have to surf towards the shore past the edge of the harbour wall, then jink hard to starboard to get behind the breakwater. The closer to the outer edge of the concrete barrier they came, the better for the manoeuvre. The closer to the sea wall they were, the more chance there was that the boat would be driven onto it. He was going to try to thread it through the eye of a needle in the midst of the typhoon.
Brandon looked at the radar and its map overlay. Reece was cutting it close. He might come in too tight on starboard and wreck, or be driven off to port and get dashed onto the shore ahead. In his mind, they were in the hands of the Almighty.
Casey was calling, ‘Check,’ every few moments, as Reece kept the boat on the slope of the wave, continually trimming the engine to keep it in the notch.
Danny was looking out of the windscreen through the water that the wipers struggled to clear. He was grinning painfully, like someone thinking of a hurtful but funny joke.
Brandon could hear the thunder of waves breaking on the harbour wall. The white explosions were erupting into sight now, above the crest of the forward wave.
‘Hold on, guys,’ said Reece. He accelerated, turning the boat, dived down the wave and across its trough.
The wave was rising, a giant black jaw that was heading forwards to engulf them and smash the boat to pieces.
Jesus, thought Brandon. Reece was going to drive them along the wave and into the tube like some boat-sized surfer dude.
There was a monstrous explosion of water to starboard as the wave struck the edge of the harbour wall, forward of them. The rear of the fishing boat rolled, but its bow was dipping into the broken ocean. It sank and rose into the suddenly calm waters of the harbour.
Kusanagi Page 5
