The Shark Whisperer (15 page)

Sam either muttered something back to Hugh or was snoring.

“Okay, we're going to start slowly, with some small waves. First order of business is to make sure you can all swim comfortably through them. Later we'll do a little wave riding and surfing.”

Coach Fred took out what looked like a souped-up TV remote control with silver buttons and of course, red sequin bedazzling. “Let's begin with maybe a foot-high wave.”

With undue flair, he pressed a button on the sparkly remote. At the other end of the pool, tiny waves began to appear. They rolled toward the beach and grew to about a foot in height before beginning to break.

“Okay, Hunt. Have you had some Sea Camp water this morning?”

Tristan groaned, fiddling with the top of his water bottle. He took a big gulp of the pinkish liquid. This early, even he made a face at the water's tartness.

“Walk on out and when you get to where the waves are breaking, dive under and swim through.”

Tristan got up agonizingly slowly, wrestled off his shirt, and paused at the water's edge. A swim was not at the top of his things-I-like-to-do-first-thing-in-the-morning list.

Coach Fred came up from behind and gave him a friendly shove into the water. “There you go, it will feel good once you're in. I'm telling you, a swim first thing is a great way to start the day.”

Then maybe you should be the one going in
, thought Tristan as he stumbled forward. The cold water lapped against his legs and the fog of sleep began to lift—at least a little. He walked slowly out into the pool. When he got to where the small waves were breaking Tristan stopped. He jumped up as the next wave curled over and rolled by.

“Okay, that's it, now dive under and through on the next one,” Coach shouted.

As the next roller approached and steepened, Tristan took a deep breath, ducked down, and dove into the wave. With just a few kicks, he shot forward, popping up nearly halfway across the pool. He'd forgotten how powerful his new webbed feet were.

“Excellent,” Coach shouted. “Head back and let's see that again. But this time, let's go a little bigger.”

He waited for Tristan to get back to the beach then pressed another button on the remote control. The waves in the pool grew larger. By the time they crested, they were at least four feet high. Spray from the now crashing waves woke the other campers from their early morning stupor. The teens got to their feet and moved closer to watch Tristan.

“Whoa, dude. That's rad. Can I try?” Ryder asked.

“You can go next. Okay, Hunt . . . let's see it.”

Tristan stared at the mountains of water racing toward him. Midway across the pool, the waves were now breaking with enough force to easily knock him over and, with his luck, probably crush his skull. Tristan nervously walked into the pool and the churning
whitewater from the breaking waves. It pulled and pushed him, like a five-armed monster trying to drag him under. He stumbled.

Just do it
, Tristan thought to himself.

He eased into the water then swam a little way out. Tristan popped up, took a big breath and as the next wave began to curl over he dove through. In an instant, he popped out the other side. As another wave approached, he plunged into it. Tristan then treaded water, riding the next few rollers up and down as they passed. He turned and saw Coach Fred signaling him back to shore. As the next wave approached and began to steepen, Tristan kicked hard. His webbed feet made him feel like a boogey-boarder with fins on. He zoomed across the face of the wave and then slid fast and steep over the break. It was so much fun that Tristan swam back out to do it again, ignoring Coach's yells to come back in. The last wave Tristan caught brought him right to where Coach Fred stood in knee-deep water, hands on his hips.

Avoiding Coach's steely stare, Tristan happily jogged over to the other teens.

“Jones, you're up,” Coach instructed, looking down at his glittery wave controller. “Let's start small and work up.”

“No way Coach. If the stumbler here can do this, I'm, like, all over it dude.” Ryder grabbed his water bottle, swigged half of it, and ran into the pool. He dove in and did several porpoising leaps through the waves.

Tristan and the others rolled their eyes at Ryder's bravado, but at the same time watched enviously as he fearlessly attacked the waves.

“A natural—excellent,” Coach Fred shouted. “Now careful coming back, watch your jumping where it gets shallow.”

Ryder leapt his way back, jumping gracefully like a dolphin out of each wave. But on his last leap, the water was in fact just a little too shallow. He came down hard, bounced several times, and then skidded forward plowing through the sand right into Coach's legs.

“Does anyone around here listen to me?” Coach Fred questioned, shaking his head. He gave Ryder a hand up and then pushed another button on the remote. “Let's begin a little smaller for now. Who wants to go next?”

Before anyone could volunteer, Director Davis interrupted the session. His hair was a mess and his clothes disheveled, like he'd slept in them all night. “Coach Fred, I'm sorry to interrupt. But I need to speak to you immediately.”

“Okay campers, I've got the waves on small. Hop in and give it a go.”

Tristan followed Sam and Hugh into the water. Passing the director, he heard him say, “We've got a problem.”

While Tristan helped Sam and Hugh get comfortable diving under and through the small waves, he also kept an eye on the two camp leaders talking quietly. He got the feeling they were discussing something serious
and didn't want to be overheard. He wondered if it had anything to do with what was going on in the Bahamas.

“Okay, back here now,” Coach Fred shouted.

When the Seasquirts were all back on the beach, Coach Fred passed out towels. “Unfortunately, we have to cut the session short today. Good start everyone. Head over to the Conch Café for breakfast. You've got free time till ocean geography with Director Davis. Be at the library by ten o'clock and do not be late.”

Just then, Julie and Jillian walked up, literally pushing Rosina ahead of them. She did not look happy, nor did the twins.

“Nice of you to show up, Gonzales,” Coach Fred said sternly. “We'll talk about this later young lady. Lucky for you, I have more important things to deal with right now.”

The other Seasquirts filled the three girls in on what they'd missed in the Wave Pool. The group then left to get something to eat.

Tristan, Sam, and Hugh hung back a bit from the rest.

“Did you hear what the director said? Something's gone wrong,” Tristan told them. “Wonder if it has to do with the sharks in the Bahamas? I didn't see Jade or the others after dinner last night, did you?”

Hugh and Sam shook their heads.

On their way into the Conch Café, Tristan saw Ms. Sanchez hurriedly following Coach Fred through the fake rock door into the Situation Room.

Director Davis, Doc Jordan, and Flash were already in the Situation Room when Coach Fred and Ms. Sanchez arrived.

“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Director Davis said. “Here's what we know so far. Not surprisingly, Jade has done exactly what we told her not to do. Good skills, but headstrong that one. She used her scarily strong powers of persuasion to get the helicopter pilot to land in Nassau to refuel on their way back, saying it would give them an opportunity to fly over and look for the yacht. They spotted a ship that matched the description we have and while the pilot was refueling, she, Rory, and Rusty went to check it out. They planned to just confirm the red letter on the ship and then return. Problem is, they never came back. The pilot's been out looking and I've made a few calls, but no one has seen any of them.”

Flash brought up the satellite image of the area on one of the screens. Only one flashing red dot appeared on the island of Nassau. “The tracking device in the helicopter is working fine, but the wristband trackers have malfunctioned or were somehow shut off.”

“Where were they last located?” Coach Fred asked.

Flash tapped on the keyboard. The image on the screen zoomed in and a dotted blue line appeared. “The last signal came in last night from a marina for private yachts—the one where we think the ship in question was tied up.”

“What are our options?” Ms. Sanchez asked.

“Normally, I'd send one of you over with a few senior campers or call in some outside help. But things are so sensitive with Washington right now; I can't risk making them worse. Part of our deal with the folks in D.C. is that they see our tracking signals. If we use outside help or put another team in and monitor their progress, our Ms. Kent will undoubtedly find out. We've got to handle this very carefully, but at the same time we need to find those campers.”

“Coach and I'll go to Nassau,” Ms. Sanchez offered. “If they're on that yacht or in the marina somewhere, we'll find them.”

“I've got someone I can trust checking out the marina, but unfortunately, my sources in Nassau report that the yacht in question left early this morning, heading south.”

Coach Fred cleared his throat, running his hand over his slicked-back ponytailed hair. “You know, the marine lab where we bring our young campers on their first field trip is in the Exuma Islands. The lab is pretty close to where some of those first blasts occurred and where that yacht may be headed, if it is returning to the same area.”

“Yes, that's true,” Director Davis noted.

“We could let Washington think that Jade and the others are back and then tell them we are going on our usual field trip to the Bahamas with the new recruits—while our contacts keep looking in Nassau, of course. At least we could confirm if they are or aren't aboard
the yacht. And then, if necessary, we can call in outside help.”

“I hope to avoid that last part,” the director said. “But it would mean bringing the Seasquirts on a field trip awfully early in their first summer session and potentially putting them into a situation we don't fully understand yet.”

“True,” Coach responded. “But you could keep them safe at the lab, while myself and Sanchez do a little nighttime reconnaissance of that yacht with one of the lab's boats—no tracking on us or those.”

“We'd have to get permission quickly from the parents for a short field trip and they are so new,” Director Davis mused.

“Do you have a better idea?” Coach asked. “This would fit close to our normal routine with young campers. Washington might not suspect that anything unusual is going on.”

“Might work. Coach, get a hold of the marine lab and see if they can accommodate us. Flash, find out all you can about the owner of that yacht. Let me make a few calls and think about it.”

“Don't think too long,” Coach Fred urged. “We need to act fast.”

10

A FIB AND A FIELD TRIP