The Shark Whisperer (16 page)

L
ATER THAT MORNING
, T
RISTAN AND THE OTHER
Seasquirts arrived at the library for their ocean geography session with Director Davis. A note on the door said to go to the director's office instead.

The teens walked back through the park to the offices near the entrance. The door to the director's office was ajar. As Tristan approached, he heard the director talking. “Okay, thanks Flash. Got it. J.P. Rickerton. Find out as much as you can. Hopefully, we'll be on our way in a few hours.”

Sam knocked on the office door, but was nearly bowled over by Ryder and Rosina who pushed their way in. The director was sitting behind a desk just putting down a phone. He waved them in. Tristan hung back a little, looking around. One whole wall was
covered with photographs of past campers. Candid shots showed them swimming, jumping, and playing in the park—nothing out of the ordinary for what was supposed to be an ocean-themed summer camp. A brightly colored model sat on a nearby table, catching Tristan's eye. The dome-shaped buildings, yellow submersibles, and underwater scooters were all built out of interlocking multicolored plastic squares. Placed around the undersea community were LEGO stingrays, sharks, and dolphins, along with narrow wavy stacks of tiny green pieces made to look like floating strands of algae. Tristan wanted to get a closer look, but then noticed the opposite wall. A huge map of the world's oceans was painted on it. Small flags sat like push pins over specific locations. The map appeared to be color-coded for depth. Dark blue showed the ocean's deepest areas and orangey-yellow the shallowest. A yellow zigzag line ran up the middle of the Pacific, Atlantic, and Indian Oceans.

“Good morning again, campers,” Director Davis said. He had changed his clothes from earlier that morning and seemed calmer. “Hope you had a good session in the Wave Pool. So what day of the week do fish hate the most?”

The Seasquirts looked at the camp leader blankly.

“Why
Fry-day
of course!”

They smiled. A few even chuckled.

“We've had a little change in plans. Each summer we bring our new campers on a two-day field trip to a marine lab in the Bahamas. There we can explore the
waters around the lab and give you some practice in a remote location free from outside attention. Usually, we do it later in the summer, but there's been a conflict in scheduling. The only time open for us is right away.”

At the mention of the Bahamas, Tristan, Sam, and Hugh exchanged a questioning glance.

The director continued, “In order for you to go, however, we need permission from your parents. And we'd like to leave as soon as possible.”

The Seasquirts all began talking at once.

“Why would they want
us
to go to the Bahamas?” Sam whispered to Tristan and Hugh.

“Sounds like they go every year,” Hugh answered.

“Yeah, but the other team was supposed to come back because the camp needed to
lay low
. Remember?” Sam said quietly.

“Okay, okay, settle down,” Director Davis shouted. “I've already called each of your parents. Everyone's, except Julie and Jillian that is. Sorry girls. We were unable to reach your folks being that they are on a cruise in the Galapagos Islands. The rest of you have permission to go though.”

The twins' faces fell with disappointment. Tristan, on the other hand, looked shocked. His parents had given their permission? Mostly he was surprised that his mother had agreed. He thought Director Davis must be one persuasive man or it really wasn't too big of an adventure.

“Julie and Jillian, report to Ms. Sanchez after lunch and she'll give you a revised schedule for the next few
days. Here's a list of what to pack for the rest of you. A backpack should do it. Have lunch and meet me in front of the Poseidon Theater at two o'clock, ready to go.

On the way out, Tristan looked to Hugh and Sam. “It seems kinda weird that we're going after what that lady said. Wonder if we'll be near where those sharks were killed?”

While the campers were getting ready, Director Davis, Coach Fred, and Ms. Sanchez were also preparing. Doc Jordan would be left in charge of the camp with the help of a few of the more senior campers, several of whom argued fiercely that they should be the ones going to the Bahamas.

Entering the Situation Room, the director found Flash poring over files on the computer. Pages spilled from the printer and lay scattered over the floor as if a windstorm had just blown through the room.

“Any word from Jade or the others? Any sign of them in Nassau?” the director asked hopefully.

“Nothing, sorry.”

“So what have you found out about this yacht owner—J.P. Rickerton?”

“From what I've read he's mega-rich, pretty powerful, and willing to do just about anything to make a buck. He builds stuff, mainly shopping malls and casinos, and often does it by destroying parks and wilderness
areas. He's also into big game hunting and here's an interesting one—finding shipwrecks. One blog I read says he's obsessed with finding sunken wrecks and treasure. Spends tons of money going all over the world looking for them. Rumor is that he'll do whatever it takes to find and salvage treasure—even if it isn't quite legal. He's supposed to have an impressive collection of artifacts from the wrecks he's found and has lent some to museums.”

“Good work. I think we can guess what he's doing in the Bahamas. Let's hope that if Jade and the others somehow got on that ship, this Rickerton fellow doesn't know it yet. And let's hope that our not-so-friendly Ms. Kent buys our story.”

The director brought up the most recent call from the government lawyer and hit return call.

“Maybe she won't answer,” Flash said.

“One can only dream.”

“Hello, this is Kent,” the voice on the phone said.

Director Davis took a deep breath. “Ms. Kent, Director Davis here from Sea Camp. How are you?”

“Yes, Mr. Davis. Are those children back at camp? And what happened to their trackers?”

“I haven't seen them yet, but I heard the helicopter land earlier. As for the trackers, as you know, we deactivate them once the campers return. I just wanted to let you know that we'll be taking our new recruits on our regular two-day field trip to the marine lab at Lee Stocking Island. Something we do every summer, nothing unusual.”

“Where is that exactly?”

“Oh, it's a very small island about six miles north of Great Exuma.”

“Exuma—as in the Exuma Islands, Bahamas?”

“Yes, but this is just a routine visit. The remote, private nature of the place allows the campers a freedom they don't really have in Florida.”

“This is not some kind of follow-up mission is it?”

“Absolutely not, we would never send new recruits on a mission Ms. Kent, just a short field trip. And Coach Fred, Ms. Sanchez, and myself will be there every step of the way. I'll send you the schedule.”

“That's all it better be. I want those other three that just got back to file a report on what they did and you'd better give the new recruits trackers while they're on their little field trip. I want to see where they are at all times. Is that clear?”

“No problem. Done. We'll be back soon and I'll check in then. Hopefully, we can have this mess all straightened out by the time we get back.”

After the call, he looked to Flash. “I didn't lie exactly. I just didn't quite tell her
everything
.”

11

LOOPS AND ROLLS

D
IRECTOR
D
AVIS MET THE GROUP OF YOUNG
campers in front of the Poseidon Theater. He then led them to Sea Camp's secret runway. Coach Fred and Ms. Sanchez were already there, standing beside a small airplane.

Tristan had never flown in such a small plane. “Awesome!”

Ryder was also excited, but Hugh, Sam, and Rosina didn't look quite as eager. They approached the twin turboprop slowly, eyeing it nervously. Seeing their uncomfortable stares, Director Davis assured the group they'd be safe. He loaded a few jugs of Sea Camp water onto the airplane and then helped the teens climb aboard. Once the campers were seated, he handed them each a stretchy black rubber bracelet and map.

“Okay everyone, buckle up,” he instructed. “The bracelet I just gave you is a tracking device that will be monitored back at camp. It is critical for your safety and the camp's future that you wear it at all times. In other words, don't mess with it. Got it?”

Everyone nodded.

“It's a short flight—about forty-five minutes or so. And we've got a great pilot.”

“That's me!” Coach Fred shouted, leaning back through the open cockpit door.

Ms. Sanchez was in the copilot's seat. “Don't worry kids, he's flown
a few
times before.”

The Seasquirts glanced uneasily at one another.

“Just kidding,” Ms. Sanchez added. “Coach here has years of experience flying airplanes and helicopters for the Navy.”

There was just one row of seats on each side of the plane. Tristan was seated behind Sam and across the aisle from Hugh. He leaned toward his bunkmate. “Hope Coach knows what he's doing and doesn't decide to go into some showbiz routine while flying.”

Hugh cinched his seatbelt tighter.

Over the intercom Ms. Sanchez described the airplane's safety features, including the location of the exit door, where the life vests could be found, and that the motion sickness bags were tucked inside the seatback pockets.

“Maybe we should have taken a boat,” Hugh muttered.

“Campers, we're ready to depart,” Coach announced.
“Enjoy the flight and let me know if you want to do a loop or a roll.
I've got skills
.”

The Seasquirts vigorously shook their heads. “NO!”

“Okay, but just let me know if you change your minds. A loop, a roll, I'm ready when you are.”

“NO!”

As the engines revved up, the plane vibrated. The noise level drowned out what little conversation there was—not that Hugh or Rosina appeared very chatty. Each had a death grip on the arms of their seats and had tightened their seatbelts enough to cut off circulation to the lower halves of their bodies. Coach Fred taxied the airplane slowly to one end of the runway and then powered up for takeoff. The plane sped down the pavement. Within minutes they were in the air, climbing steeply.