Kusanagi (5 page)

Brandon could not relax till they had cleared the harbour. When the gentle swell lifted the boat as they left the protection of the walls, he felt a surge of relief. The Japanese had fussed over the craft and gone to excessive lengths to explain everything in minute detail. It had taken an infuriating two hours to get them on their way. Now that the wind was blowing in his face and Reece had opened up the engine, he felt like a gull flying across the tips of the waves. By the afternoon they would be on site.

‘It looks like it could get rough,' shouted Reece to him, as the boat ploughed ahead at full speed. ‘There's a storm front out to the east, and if it comes this way it could get nasty.'

‘What's the plan?'

‘We get to the target, and if the storm moves in, we'll head back out to sea. If there's no let-up, we'll have to scrub the mission.'

Brandon nodded. He loved the sea, but not enough to go sailing in a typhoon.

The other guys were below, catching some sleep. Last night had been a long one of beers that only Reece had resisted. Brandon certainly could have used some shuteye himself, but the sea braced him like breaths of pure oxygen. He looked across the horizon at the perfect blue skies, punctuated by fluffy white cumulus clouds. It seemed impossible that a storm could suddenly sweep over the horizon, but he knew that the ocean was the most fickle of landscapes. Now as they drove through the waters, a large pod of dolphins broke the surface around them; they were hunting tuna. He watched, mesmerised, for a few happy moments. When he looked up, a wall of black stormclouds had darkened the heavens.

Around the boat, the dolphins were leaping, arcing and diving in their chase. The graceful mammals filled the sea for hundreds of yards in every direction, shimmering against the black backdrop.

‘No wonder the old sailors were such a superstitious crew,' shouted Reece, over the pounding roar of the engines. ‘The ocean's full of omens.'

‘Omens?' queried Brandon, as he was jolted by a wave. ‘Dolphins are a good one, right?'

‘I should think so,' shouted Reece. ‘Unless you're a fish.'

Brandon was in his wet suit already and Casey and Danny were kitting up below. The wind was blowing hard and purple-black clouds made an ugly contusion in the sky. The calm swell was now a rolling frenzy. Small fizzing crests broke at the tip of each wave. They were about an hour away from the bay and its cove of gold. The barometer was falling fast.

Reece was listening to the radio. He was scowling.

Casey came up from below and looked around. ‘Crap,' he stated.

‘We're going to go in and see if we have time for a quick dive,' said Brandon, his voice raised enough for Casey to hear him.

Reece had heard too. ‘If it gets much worse we're going to high-tail it back. Looks like we're heading for a force eight and I don't think the bay can give us enough protection once we get into the sevens.'

Brandon loved the spray as it blew on his face. He would have been looking forward to the storm if it hadn't been about to screw up the dive.

Danny came up. ‘Are we sailing into a freakin' hurricane here?' he said, his eyes on the far horizon. ‘It's like fourteen hundred hours, right, not sunset?'

Reece grinned. ‘Let's just say it isn't looking pretty.'

‘All right,' said Danny. ‘Bring it on.'

The boat was riding the waves, rearing up and slamming down again in a rollercoaster fashion. Brandon looked towards the faraway headland. This wasn't going to be some leisurely sports dive. This was shaping up to be a real dangerous mission. It was going to be a race against the clock.

Soon enough they were in the bay, heading straight for the cove. Reece weighed anchor and ran back to the cockpit. ‘You got about an hour, boys. I'll keep you posted on the weather. Get going.'

They rolled off the boat's shallow side into the sea.

‘Look!' said Danny, over the radio. ‘What the fuck do you call
that?'

Brandon peered down to the seabed below. His eyes widened.

‘Welcome to Sharkopolis,' crackled Casey.

Hundreds of hammerheads were patrolling the seabed, their flat, elongated heads sweeping the sand, like a metal detector searches for landmines.

‘Wow,' said Danny. ‘This could make one crazy YouTube video.'

‘Didn't you bring your Android phone?' quipped Brandon. ‘The fucking fish are everywhere,' he added redundantly. If dolphins were good luck, what were hammerhead sharks? The animals were right on top of where they wanted to be. ‘Can you guys see anything?' he radioed.

‘Sharks.' That was Danny.

‘Nothing on the bottom,' called Casey. ‘Just sand and coral.'

‘We're right over the spot,' Brandon told them.

‘Casey,' radioed Danny, ‘want to accompany me down to the bottom? You can be my shark buddy.'

‘Sure,' said Casey.

Brandon stared down at the hammerheads sweeping back and forth. His heart sank. Last time the gold had been lying on the sand, twinkling up at him. This time there was nothing but sand and sealife. He had been dreaming of filling the green GI duffel he was carrying with coins but now that seemed like a foolish dream. Instead a storm was brewing upstairs and a
National Geographic
shark cluster-fuck was going on below.

Closer to shore, at the edge of his vision, a dozen hammerheads seemed to be swimming in a giant figure of eight. He propelled himself towards the formation simply because he had no other point of focus.

The hammerhead had a fierce reputation but the facts were different. It wasn't like a tiger, bull or great white shark that would eat you as soon as look at you, it was a more specialised and finicky predator. The purpose of its flat head was to sweep over the sand and sense creatures hiding just below. If you were a ray or some other hidden flat fish, it would feel you with its flattened forehead and snap you up.

That information wasn't too comforting because scalloped hammerheads were dangerous, and whatever the reason they were in that cove today, it was unlikely to make them chilled out. He was pretty sure sharks got grumpy when they were breeding – and why else would they be there in such profusion?

‘These fucking fish,' interjected Danny. ‘Good job there ain't no piles of coins to see down there – it'd be gnarly getting them up.'

‘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.