The Shark Whisperer (21 page)

“Wicked,” Tristan said, thinking he'd love to use it on his sister.

“Okay, everyone get ready,” Director Davis instructed. “Campers: if things get messy, I want you back here as soon as possible. And no matter what, stay away from that ship and those men.”

15

CRABS ON RECON

W
HILE THE CAMPERS WERE CONFERRING IN THE
cave, in the lee of Glover's Cay aboard the yacht
Bigger is Better
, the crew began their daily routine. The captain and first mate were checking their position and anchor. The steward was preparing breakfast and laying out the table exactly as the ship's owner, Mr. J.P. Rickerton, required. Only the finest china and most valuable crystal were used.

The yacht was luxurious by any standards. No expense had been spared in its design, construction, and outfitting. The decks were made of hand-polished teak, the carpeting was fine Persian, and the bathrooms were made of marble with solid gold faucets. Even the toilets were an experience in luxury, engineered for temperature control to warm or cool
as desired. Priceless works of art hung on the walls, mainly oil paintings of ships in stormy seas and old ports of call.

The spoils of Rickerton's hobbies were also on display. Endangered black rhino and rare antelope heads hung on the walls along with an eight-foot blue marlin. A polar bear rug in the main salon lay beneath a glass coffee table with a base made from the jaws of a great white shark. And everywhere anyone looked there were trinkets or artifacts from the shipwrecks Rickerton had discovered and looted. There were jewel-encrusted knives and cups, ceramic plates and vases with elaborate designs, and a captain's log bound in ancient, well-worn leather. The entire ship was designed to pay homage to Rickerton's wealth, power, and personal obsessions.

Below decks, the ship was replete with some of Rickerton's more practical toys, including Jet Skis, underwater scooters, scuba gear, a remotely operated vehicle with high-definition cameras, and a magnetometer.

On one of the yacht's upper decks, two security men were having a cigarette outside, relaxing before Rickerton was fully awake and ordering them around.

“What's the plan for the kids?” one man asked the other.

“Nosy brats. Once we've found the wreck we'll dump them in the Tongue of the Ocean. Nobody will ever find what's left after the sharks get through.”

“I still don't buy their story about being on the dock
because they wanted to see the inside of a fancy yacht. Not sure I believe them about those wristband things either—though parents do seem pretty paranoid these days. Lucky we scanned 'em for tracking devices.”

“Yeah, well they saw too much for their own good. Knew we should have waited to unload the shark fins.”

“Hey, maybe we can get more fins using them as bait. A nice payday for a little sport fishing with some teenager chum.”

“Yeah, especially if we can't find this wreck. Rickerton's going crazy searching for it. It's been days and still nothing. The man's in an even fouler mood than usual.”

While the two security guards continued to grouse over their boss's growing ill temper, there was some unusual activity going on unseen at the back of the ship. Two dolphins approached the yacht, swimming silently below the surface. One dolphin popped its head up and looked around. It then propped its beak up onto the wooden dive platform at the yacht's stern, flicking numerous round objects from its mouth. They sailed over the steps to the next deck up, bounced, and rolled out of sight. The second dolphin swam to a ramp used to deploy equipment. The dolphin snapped its tail and a soft tan ball flew off. There was a quiet thud as it hit the ramp. The two dolphins then sped away beneath the surface.

On the ramp, an octopus unfurled its eight suckered arms and shook its head as if clearing the stars from its eyes. Within seconds its camouflage kicked
in. The supple creature turned as smooth and white as the ramp. Keeping itself flat, the octopus pulled and slithered its way up the incline. If anyone had been watching it would have appeared as if the ramp itself was bulging strangely and surging into the ship.

Back on board, the steward was nearly ready to serve Rickerton his daily breakfast of two eggs sunny-side up, five pieces of bacon, and exactly two and a half slices of freshly baked sourdough bread toasted to a perfect golden brown. He had just enough time to feed their unwanted guests before his demanding boss would undoubtedly ring his totally annoying bell for service. “Breakfast guys. Don't try anything funny or I'll get one of the security goons to come in.”

“We won't try anything,” Jade called out with exaggerated sweetness. “But we really need a bathroom break.”

The steward unlocked the door, passing in a tray with three bowls of lumpy oatmeal and a few bottles of water. “Yeah, yeah, okay. One at a time.”

Jade helped Rory to his feet, both he and Rusty were bruised and sore from being dragged aboard the ship. They had put up a pretty good fight. The teens took turns leaving the cabin to walk the short distance down the passageway to the bathroom. The steward watched each of them closely, locking the door as
quickly as possible behind. The campers made a point to look weak and disoriented, but each was carefully observing the layout of the yacht, searching for any bit of information that could help them get out of their current predicament.

After their trips to the bathroom, the three seventeen-year-olds sat in the cabin trying again to come up with a plan to get off the ship. So far nothing they'd thought of seemed realistic, given the security guards, the guns they carried, and the locked door.

Jade abruptly stopped talking, peering at the crack under the door. “What in the world?”

They all stared at the space between the bottom of the door and the deck. At the moment it appeared as if the brown teak floor was bulging up and moving toward them. Jade rubbed her eyes, leaning in closer for a better look.

The moving floor suddenly sprouted suckered arms, two eyes, and a bulbous head. A mottled brown octopus had slithered through the crack under the door, proving that it was not only an expert in camouflage, but a limbo champion as well. They quietly cheered the octopus's arrival and dexterity. The creature crawled to Jade and climbed up her leg.

Jade hadn't had any Sea Camp water since they'd let the helicopter so it took longer than usual to communicate with the octopus. But after about fifteen minutes or so, the stealthy creature waved an arm, a rainbow of colors passed over its body, and it jumped to the floor, morphing to exactly match the teak deck.
It slithered under the door. A few seconds later they heard something fiddling with the door lock. Then silence.

As the campers cautiously tried the door, the octopus slowly crawled and slithered its way back through the ship. Whenever the underlying surface changed, it transformed its color, shape, and texture to match. Its mimicry was perfection—nature's own invisibility cloak. As soon as the octopus got to an open railing, it did an eight-arm pull up and jumped overboard.

Meanwhile, on the deck below, three divers prepared for another day of searching for Rickerton's missing wreck. One of the men was checking out the undersea scooters, making sure the batteries were fully charged. Another man was readying three sets of scuba gear, ensuring that the tanks were topped off with air. The third diver went to get his wetsuit from a drying rack. His foot struck something hard and small. It rolled, skirted across the deck and bounced off the side of the ship. He bent down to pick it up.

“What is it?” one of the other men asked.

“A hermit crab. Must have gotten caught up in the gear yesterday on the day's last dive.”

He walked to the ship's stern and tossed the creature unceremoniously into the sea. Little did he know, at that very moment there were four other hermit crabs aboard the yacht. The small armored crustaceans were on recon. Their hard shells provided protection while their rotating stalked eyes were excellent for 360-degree spying. And their claws could be used to climb or rappel as needed.

The hermit crab assigned to investigate the main salon was just crawling past the coffee table made from the great white shark jaws. The crab stopped abruptly and stared at the predator's disembodied teeth. It rotated its stalked eyes around to observe what else was in the room. A man appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the lower decks. He walked toward the crab. It withdrew inside its shell and quickly rolled under a nearby chair. A few minutes later the crab emerged to see if the coast was clear. It then continued its investigation of the room, scampering about on its numerous jointed walking legs. When the hermit crab had completed its appointed task, like the others that had been aboard, it tucked into its shell, rolled to the outer deck and into the yacht's scuppers. The deep grooves in the deck built to funnel water overboard made an excellent escape route for the crustacean spies.

“Sir, sorry to disturb your breakfast,” the captain said to the yacht's owner. “But we've got a small boat approaching off the stern.”

Rickerton glared up at the captain from a small lacquered dining table in his spacious stateroom. A jiggly piece of yellow egg was stuck on his full wet lips and coffee had dripped onto his dark goatee. The straggly little beard and his bushy eyebrows were the only hair on his head, which sort of resembled a slightly hairy
bowling ball. He had olive-colored skin and his eyes were beady and black as night. Beneath Rickerton's crimson silk robe, his squat body was not thin, nor was it bulging with fat, it was just sort of thick and round. The captain stood staring at his boss, his face showing no emotion as he looked at the man.