Wildfire (41 page)

Henry Lightstone's head came up instantly, and he yelled out, "Justin?"

When he didn't get a response, Lightstone staggered up to his feet on the swim platform. He had to steady himself against the railing as he looked back around to his left.

"Help!"

Whirling back around to his right, Lightstone immediately spotted Justin LaGrange in the water, off the starboard beam of the boat, some fifty yards out. Then his eyes caught movement out in the distance to his far left, and he saw what had caused the youth to start screaming.

The distinctive high curved dorsal fin of the great hammerhead, about a hundred yards out off the starboard bow, circling around and coming fast.

"Justin, swim for the stern of the boat!" Lightstone screamed. Then, without stopping to think about how dazed and weak he still was, he dove off the swim platform in a flat racing dive.

The impact of the cool water had at least a minimally reviving effect. Lightstone began to stroke hard at a full-on, energy-draining, finishing-kick pace—left, right, left, right, left, right, and
then
breathe—kicking hard with the fins with every stroke, because it wasn't a question of endurance now, but rather one of distance and timing and triangulation.

He had already figured out the likely intercept points: calculating them the moment that he saw the shark coming around in a wide sweeping turn, and just before he dove off the platform. And he knew that it was going to be very close. A question of who or what got there first.

Lightstone tried several times to spot the shark when his face was down and under water, but his vision was blurred without the mask, and his increasingly heavy arms were churning up the water that was still clouded from the explosion. So he had to wait for the next breath, turning his head to the left this time, instead of to the right, to take a quick look.

That was when the frantically swimming wildlife agent realized that Justin LaGrange had thrown all his intercept calculations to the winds by turning and swimming desperately toward him—and thus back in the direction of the oncoming shark—instead of toward the more distant stern of the
Lone Granger.

Henry Lightstone had less than half a second to reestimate the new intercept points, which told him that he couldn't possibly make it in time. Refusing to accept that answer, he lunged forward in an all-out effort anyway—no breathing now, just furious stroking and kicking with every ounce of his rapidly dwindling strength—just as spouts of water began to rise around the zigzagging dorsal fin.

Lightstone never heard the heavy splash far behind him, and he was barely aware of the loud gunshots that Larry Paxton was triggering off, one by one, as the supervisory agent tried to adjust his aim and timing to the bobbing movements of the boat, while at the same time, trying to brace the 10mm pistol in his partially crippled right hand with his apparently broken left arm. Nor did Lightstone see the shark react to the two mushrooming 10mm bullets that punched ragged holes through its high dorsal fin, by pausing to slash out at this new and invisible enemy, before continuing in its aggressive charge.

All Henry Lightstone knew was that suddenly the desperately swimming form of Justin LaGrange was less than a dozen feet away to his right, and a dark blurry streamlined shape was coming in fast from his left, aiming straight for the midpoint of the youth's slender and extended body.

Thrusting himself forward with a final desperate kick of the fins, Lightstone shot his right arm out, caught the rasplike leading right edge of the shark's mallet-shaped head with his bare hand, felt himself being dragged around to his right by the irresistible strength and momentum of the nine-hundred-pound shark. He quickly brought his left hand around to double his grip, then wrenched the shark's winglike head back around—and away from the boy—with every bit of strength and energy he could muster.

Lightstone experienced a brief moment of elation when he realized that he'd succeeded in turning the shark's attention away from the boy. But then everything around him turned into a mindless series of actions and reactions as he desperately twisted his lower body away from the shark's slashing jaws, felt the rasplike surface of the shark's thrashing body tear away patches of skin from his arms and legs and hands as he gouged with his fingers at the shark's eye, and then lost his grip in the savagely churning melee as the shark's powerfully sweeping tail slammed into his hip and knocked him away.

Then, in the next instant, the shark was gone, leaving a turmoil of swirling water in its wake.

When Lightstone came up, coughing and gasping for air, the first thing he saw was the panicked face of Justin LaGrange.

"It's okay, Justin! Everything's okay," he yelled, grabbing at the youth and pulling him behind his back, knowing even as he spoke the words that everything was definitely
not
okay. He could feel the burning of the saltwater on his savagely torn and abraded skin, and could see streaks of blood in the water—his, presumably, because he knew that he hadn't made
that
much of an impact on the predatory shark with his bare hands. "Just stay behind me and you'll be fine."

Looking up, Lightstone saw the distinctive dorsal fin pop up to the surface out in the distance. He watched it for a few seconds and then breathed a temporary sigh of relief when it didn't get any closer. If the shark decided to circle them for a while, they might have a chance to get back to the boat.

But then he looked back over his shoulder and discovered to his dismay just how far he'd managed to swim from the distant
Lone Granger.

Spotting the small figure of Larry Paxton bracing himself against the railing as he struggled to reload the heavy double-action pistol one-handed, Lightstone yelled out across the water: "Hey, Larry, can you get that boat over here?"

"No, not yet! Something's wrong with the electrical system," the acting team leader yelled back, "The engine won't start. Mike's working on it."

"What about the Zodiac?"

"We're working on that too!"

"Well, tell Snoopy to get his ass . . ." Lightstone started to yell, and then flinched when he saw Paxton suddenly bring his pistol up and begin firing again.

Turning back around quickly, Lightstone looked out across the water, saw the scythelike dorsal fin cutting back and forth, spouts of water rising up all around it, and realized that the shark had turned away from its wide circling pattern and was coming back around in their direction.

Justin LaGrange saw it too.

"Oh, no," he whispered in terror. Lightstone could feel the trembling of the boy's arms and torso behind his back.

"Listen to me, Justin," Lightstone said, keeping his eyes fixed on the shark's movements, "we're going to keep moving backward, toward the boat."

"But the boat's too far away," he protested.

"It's not
that
far, and it doesn't matter anyway, because I'm going to keep fending that thing off until we get there, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure," Lightstone lied. "But listen to me, when I tell you to swim for the boat, you do it. And you don't hesitate and you
don't
stop, not for anything, no matter what. You understand?"

"I'm scared," the youth whispered, staring out wide-eyed at the approaching dorsal fin.

"Yeah, me too, but do you
understand?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Justin, we're going to be fine," Lightstone said soothingly, watching as the high dorsal fin seemed to vector in on their position. "You just be ready."

The rapidly approaching hammerhead was less than thirty feet away when Lightstone heard the start-up roar of the small outboard motor that LaGrange had purchased for his inflatable Zodiac boat.

But the shark was too close and coming too fast, and he knew it was too late for a boat rescue now. So he told the boy to get ready to swim, because he'd already made the decision to go straight in after the other eye. Either to blind the shark or at least keep it occupied long enough for Justin LaGrange to make a desperate swim back to his father's boat. He was determined to give the boy at least that much of a chance, no matter what he had to do.

But then—before he could drop down below the surface and ready himself for the final seconds of the shark's charge, and to his absolute astonishment—Henry Lightstone saw the front half of the great hammerhead suddenly rise out of the water and then go thrashing backward under the propelling force of Dwight Stoner's massive shoulders and arms.

Henry Lightstone had a moment to blink in disbelief, unable to comprehend—until he realized that Stoner was wearing a pair of scuba tanks from the
Lone Granger's
diving locker—how the huge agent had managed to get between them and the shark without being seen. But then he quickly realized that the enraged hammerhead had now shifted his predatory focus onto Stoner.

"Go for the boat, Justin, now!" he yelled, and then dove forward underwater, intending to do whatever he could to help his fearless partner. He was just in time to see the hammerhead launch itself forward in a head-on attack at Stoner with a savage sweep of its tail—and then come to a jarring halt in midlunge when the ex-Oakland Raider drove his gloved fist squarely into the center notched area of the malletlike head where a normally configured shark would have had a nose.

Seemingly more surprised than hurt by the unexpected assault, the shark immediately jerked away; started to sweep around to the left, to come at Stoner from a different direction; jerked back to avoid a straight-fingered gouge to its left eye from Lightstone; and was jarred again when Stoner put every ounce of his considerable strength into a second punishing blow that caught the shark right in the center of its now extremely sensitive "nose" area.

For a brief moment, as they all began to sink downward in the rapidly clearing water, the two humans and the shark warily faced each other. But then, before the cautious hammerhead could regather itself for another charge, the engine roar of the rapidly approaching Zodiac sent the predatory fish turning away into a full-fledged retreat.

Three minutes later, with his two agent partners on board, Mike Takahara brought the small inflatable craft alongside the swim platform of the
Lone Granger,
where a decidedly pale and unsteady Thomas Woeshack was waiting. As he did so, acting team leader Larry Paxton braced himself against the lower deck railing, holding onto the heavy Model 1076 stainless steel pistol with his one reasonably good arm as he glared down at his returning agents.

"If you two are all done playing with that goddamned fish," Paxton said, a mixture of relief and furious anger plainly visible on his bleeding face, "I'd be grateful if you'd get your sorry asses back on board so we can take care of a little unfinished business."

"Where's Bobby and Mo-Jo and Justin?" Lightstone asked in a barely audible voice. He remained sprawled out on his back in the Zodiac, blinking in confusion as Stoner first handed the borrowed scuba tanks up to Woeshack and then helped Mike Takahara tie the inflatable boat up to the stern of the
Lone Granger.

"Got 'em down in the cabins. Come on, Henry, get your ass up here before that damned thing comes back!" Paxton snapped, maintaining an uneasy watch on the surrounding water with the 10mm pistol still clenched in his poorly functioning right hand.

Moving slowly and carefully, the three agents pulled themselves out of the unstable Zodiac and onto the extended wooden swim platform.

"Paxton, are they okay?" Henry Lightstone said insistently. He had paused at the latch door that separated the swim platform from the lower deck.

"Ah don't know," Paxton said, his cold, dark eyes still searching the water surface in the futile hope that whoever it was who had gone after his team this time would pop their heads up. Just once. Just for a second.

"What do you
mean
you don't know?" Lightstone demanded as he pulled himself up to the lower deck and balanced himself unsteadily against the reinforced fiberglass railing. His leg and arm muscles were trembling uncontrollably now—from the exertion and the injuries and the overload of adrenaline that was still churning through his bloodstream.

"Means we're gonna have to get Bobby and Mo-Jo to a hospital before too long," Paxton responded in a cold, gravelly voice, ignoring Lightstone's anger because he knew it didn't mean anything. Or at least nothing personal. He and Lightstone were much alike in their personalities: easygoing and irreverent by nature, but quick to anger and protective as hell when someone went after one of their friends or partners. And right now he also knew that both of them were furious and just barely in control.

Lightstone's head came up sharply.

"Henry, they're both banged up pretty bad," Paxton said. "Kinda drifting in and out. Looks to me like they both got concussions; but they're breathing steady, and their color looks okay."

"Thank God for that," Lightstone whispered in relief as he and Stoner collapsed gratefully against the starboard side railing of the lower deck, ignoring the blood that was seeping from their numerous sharkskin abrasions. Mike Takahara and Thomas Woeshack joined them on the deck, leaning their backs against the port-side railing.

"I sent Justin down there to stay with them," Paxton went on in a calmer voice. "Told him to keep an eye on everybody till we get things figured out."

"How's he doing?" Lightstone asked after a moment.

"Who, Justin? Outside of being half-scared out of his mind, and probably needing a change of shorts, he's fine," Paxton said. "All things considered, he's probably doing a whole lot better than the rest of us put together," the supervisory agent added, looking around at the battered and bleeding remnants of his covert agent team.

Lightstone and Stoner were sprawled out on the deck, dazed, bleeding, and exhausted. Woeshack looked exactly the way Paxton would have expected someone to look who had nearly drowned and was now deathly seasick from ingesting a couple of gallons of saltwater. And the front of Mike Takahara's shirt was covered with dried blood, the result of the tech agent smashing his nose against one of the stainless steel ladders when the underwater explosion had gone off.