The Shark Rider (27 page)

“What? Without us?” Tristan blurted out angrily. “You can't send us home
now
! No way, we want to go with you.”

Sam nodded vigorously.

Coach's initial look was enough to make Tristan wish, once again, he'd kept his mouth shut, but then the man's expression softened. “Hunt, we're not sending you home. You've done well and proven that you can think on your feet. Besides, given the situation and the storm brewing, we'll need to make our move as quickly as possible, and you have intel and skills that will be critical to the operation.”

Tristan sighed with relief. He wasn't going to have to leave or even fight to stay. He had to help save Hugh and the others, and stop Marsh—permanently.

“Mr. Coach?” Mary said.

“Yes?”

“Speaking of the storm. I've already notified my guests. They've started leaving. We can't take any
chances. Boats are pulling out as well, heading to safer harbors.”

“I understand,” Coach Fred said. “However, the approaching storm could be just the distraction we need to get onto Scar Island and get our people out. Mary, if the storm does come this way, is there a safe place to ride it out?”

The woman pulled out a map of the Bitter End property. “If it's a category one or two, we should be fine; anything much stronger and no guarantees. Here, on the southwestern side of the property, we built a hurricane shelter about halfway up the hill.”

Tristan decided that was about the only good news they'd had in days.

“Roger that. Good to know. So all we need to do is find a way onto Scar Island, get into Marsh's compound undetected, and then get the three campers and Meg out, preferably without anyone noticing.”

“Is that all?” Tristan said sarcastically.

Coach gave him a withering look.

Exhausted, Tristan just shrugged. “Hey, I've had a really bad two days and my friends are stuck with a full-fledged nutcase with sleep guns.”

A wall-mounted radio then squawked to life. “Bitter End, Bitter End. Hey, Mary, got your guests. We're approaching the dock.”

Mary jumped up. “Looks like your friends have arrived. Please make yourselves comfortable. I've got to talk to the ferry captain and make sure the staff is preparing for the storm. Just let me know how I can help or what you need.” She hurried out the door.

Coach Fred got up as well, turning to Tristan and Sam. “You two stay here. Get some rest. We'll be back shortly.” He, too, ran out the door.

“Well, at least he didn't just tell us to
relax
,” Tristan said to Sam.

A short time later, Coach Fred returned to Mary's home at the Bitter End. Following him were Director Davis and two senior campers—Mia and Luis. Tristan was surprised to see the two teens. They were the campers he'd searched for spies with earlier in the summer. The director went immediately to Sam and wrapped her in a big bear hug. He then patted Tristan heartily on the back. “Well done, campers. Tell me everything.”

Sitting with the group around a small table, Tristan and Sam again recounted what had happened and everything they could remember about Scar Island and Marsh's facility. They even tried to draw a map of the place. Coach Fred and the director peppered them with questions about how many men there were, what sort of weapons they carried, how many boats they had, and where Meg, Hugh, Rosina, and Ryder were being held.

“Uh, director?” Tristan said hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Do my parents know about the storm and everything?”

“I called all of the parents personally to tell them I was coming here to ensure your safety should the
storm come this way. About the rest of it, I think it's best if we keep that to ourselves for now.”

Tristan nodded. He figured eventually it would all come out, and this would undoubtedly be his first and last mission. But right now he just wanted to get Hugh and the others off Scar Island and stop Marsh. He'd worry about his parents later.

A weather update on the television attracted the group's attention.

“The storm is intensifying. It is expected to be at least a category one or two by morning. It's tracking north-northwest. It's still unclear if the British Virgin Islands will take a direct hit, but the islands are going to get strong winds and heavy rain starting overnight.”

“Looks like it'll be a little rough out there tonight,” the director said.

“Nothing we can't handle,” Coach responded. “Right campers?”

“Right, Coach,” Luis said.

“Yup,” Mia added.

Sam and Tristan didn't say anything. They looked at Coach Fred and gave the slightest of nods. The rush of escaping from psycho pajama man Marsh and not being eaten by mind-controlled sharks had faded. Tristan was determined to help Hugh and the others, but he was also bone tired and had started thinking. Thinking about Marsh, his goons, Rickerton, and a hurricane that may be headed their way. Tristan didn't want to admit it, but he was scared. He also started to have doubts. Could they really rescue Hugh and the others? Was he good enough to be part of a rescue
team at night in a storm? What if they all got caught? What if someone got hurt?

As if reading Tristan's mind, the director calmly put his hands together and spoke in a soft but confident tone. “Campers, it's okay to be scared. Fear is perfectly normal. It can actually help us be better prepared, take caution when needed, and grow stronger. As Luis and Mia can tell you, this is something the older teens work on at camp. You'll learn to control your fear and channel it to fuel your actions. And working together as a team, we are much stronger and smarter than any individual, no matter how powerful he or she may seem.”

The director's speech made Tristan feel a little better. Besides, when he didn't think so much about what could go wrong, he did fine. Maybe that was a problem. Tristan decided he was thinking too much. He just had to believe in himself and the team.

“That's right, campers, we're a team,” Coach Fred added cockily. “Together, we'll rescue the others and do away with the bad guy. Now, enough of the mushy stuff; time to come up with a plan.” He looked at the chart they'd been using to mark the locations of the fish die-offs. Several sites on Scar Island had been highlighted. “We should leave as soon as it's fully dark.”

Director Davis stood up and began pacing. “From what you've said, they'll probably be in either the guest suite of the mansion or in the laboratory. Luis can go in through the patio to check the suite.”

“How?” Sam asked. “That cliff is wicked high and really steep.”

“No problem,” Luis answered. “I think you know
my little sister, Melissa. She's a Squid. We have similar talents.”

Tristan thought back to their challenge at the lagoon. Melissa was the tree climber who squashed their chances of winning. She had sticky hands and feet like a sea star.

“Mia, Sam, and Tristan, you'll go with Coach Fred. Get some of our friends to help and then find the entrance to that cavern. If they're launching a submersible from there, it must be connected to the sea. We'll also need another distraction to keep Marsh's security team busy beyond just storm preparations.”

Mia smiled. “I've got that one covered. Well, not really me, but, you know, one of the other
friends
we brought along.” She explained to the others.

“What about Rickerton?” Tristan asked. “And they know about our webbed feet.”

“Right now our priority is to get the others out of there safely,” the director said. “Then we'll worry about Mr. Marsh and our old friend Rickerton.”

Outside, the passing squalls became more frequent, hitting the Bitter End with strong, gusty winds and driving sheets of rain. Whitecaps topped the chop blowing across Gorda Sound. The last ferry of the evening departed, packed with guests leaving early. Boats were moved off their moorings in search of more sheltered coves, and the yacht club's staff stored or tied down anything that could become a flying projectile in hurricane-strength winds. As darkness fell at the Bitter End, another group was also preparing to depart.

23

HAMMER TIME

P
OWERED BY STRONG WINDS, THE SMALL MIDNIGHT-BLUE
catamaran cut through the waves. It sailed silently and swiftly. If a gust hit the dark sails full on, the small sailboat could turtle, flipping over. Mary expertly worked the lines and rudder to avoid just such a mishap. She maneuvered around the reef off Eustatia Island and then tacked back and forth, heading stealthily toward Scar Island. Beside her, Luis reported the weather and sea conditions on a small waterproof radio. As they got closer, he noted the activity on the island—at least, as much as he could see.

Meanwhile, Coach Fred, Tristan, Mia, and Sam were in a small, black inflatable they borrowed from the Bitter End. They skirted the edge of Gorda Sound and tucked in behind Saba Rock, where it was still relatively calm. Coach put the engine into neutral, the
teens each swallowed a red, rubbery pill, and Mia slid into the water. Mia was known at camp for two things. She could dive deep and communicate with almost any type of fish or invertebrate. Things with a shell seemed to take a particular liking to her. Tristan and Sam followed her in. Several enormous silver fish immediately surrounded them. Mary had tried to prepare them, but even so, Tristan was still unnerved. Regular happy-hour feedings at Saba Rock made for some seriously big tarpons. Each was at least five feet long and thick with muscle. They were intimidating even for a shark boy.

Mia had a quick conversation with the meaty tarpons. They agreed to act as guides in and just outside of the lagoon. But the tarpons wouldn't go too close to Scar Island. Most creatures stayed away from the place due to some ultra nasty sharks and rumors about what went on there.

The teens climbed back into the boat. Tristan was thankful for something else they'd borrowed from the Bitter End—black neoprene wetsuits. Along with providing warmth, the wetsuits would help them hide within the night's darkness. And now that they were out doing something, Tristan felt more confident. He just had to stay focused, keep busy, and remember not to think about what could go wrong.

“Okay, Coach,” Mia said. “The tarpon are ready, and the sea turtles are getting into position.”

“Excellent work, Miss Chen.” Coach responded. He then looked to Sam and Tristan.

“Sorry, Coach, no sharks or rays around,” Tristan said disappointedly.

“No dolphins, either.”

“Okay, let's deploy the distraction team and then find the entrance to that cavern with the sub.”

With the tarpons in front and a few sea turtles following behind, the black inflatable motored slowly through the lagoon. They stayed in the lee of Virgin Gorda and out of the strongest winds as much as possible. The tarpons led them to a narrow channel through a coral reef off Virgin Gorda. It was a shortcut to Scar Island. Coach steered carefully into the channel and passed the sharp coral.

Outside the reef, the rolling seas lifted, dropped, and rocked the boat. The teens held on tight and braced their legs against the boat's rubber sides. As they neared Scar Island, the tarpons departed. The wind and seas calmed. Coach slowed the boat to a quiet crawl, and they crouched down inside.

At the well-lit main dock, yellow carts wheeled back and forth from the yacht. Tristan figured they were preparing to leave because of the approaching storm.

“We need to stay out of that light,” Coach whispered, slowing the engine further and swinging the boat well to the right of the docks. The teens ducked down even lower.

As they got closer, the island protected them more fully from the wind and waves. Coach cut the engine. The black inflatable glided silently forward, its momentum taking them nearer to the shore. Mia slid into the water to confirm the plan with the sea turtles and the many-legged hitchhiker aboard one of them.

“Coach, we're pretty close to the tunnel into those
pools. Can I swim in and try to get that last shark out?” Tristan whispered. “The one without a camera on it.”

“Hunt, I know you'd like to, but it's not a good idea. Besides, how would you get the gate up?”