Hunting the Dragon

by Peter Dixon

  He grinned at them and saw a mixture of fear and excitement on their faces. They were putting their lives in his hands. For a moment he questioned his right to put them in such danger. But knowing all twenty-three had eagerly volunteered eased his concern. Benny finished by saying, “If anyone has anything to say, now’s the time.” No one had a question. He turned, picked up the binoculars, and started climbing the mast.

  On Lucky Dragon’s bridge, Gandara sighted through the Steiner twenty-power binoculars and watched a distant flock of birds diving into the frenzied bait fish that the spouting, leaping dolphins had corralled. This one will be easy. But they’re too near the shoals. I don’t like that.

  He called to the bridge. “Radar…?”

  “The scope’s clear.”

  “Depth…?”

  “Eighty fathoms, with a rocky bottom, and shallowing.”

  Santos joined him and asked, “The shoals…?”

  “Not to worry, Santos. This set will go fast.”

  Looking concerned, Santos moved off for the aft deck.

  Billy stood by the starboard railing and hid the getaway bag under a ten-man fiberglass life-raft container. Glancing aft, he saw Santos by the seine skiff holding a walkie-talkie, talking to a group of fishermen. Rocha and his new deckhand stood in the boat waiting for the order to launch. The cowboys were already chasing dolphins, and he could hear the snarl of their outboards forward of the ship. It wouldn’t be long. Billy began taking slow, relaxed breaths, forcing himself to stay calm. He tried to focus on the sea, but the roar of chase boat engines intruded. Benny, you’d better be out there, ’cause I’m laying it all on the line this time.

  The angry sound of the speedboats diminished and the ship’s engine abruptly stopped its throbbing. Billy looked aft and saw the seine skiff drop off the stern. He reached for the radio, brought it close to his lips, and pushed the transmit button.

  “Big Ben…Big Ben…Big Ben.”

  “We read you,” came Sarah’s voice, sounding so near Billy feared someone would overhear.

  “The net’s going out right now.”

  “We’re on the way. Maybe forty minutes.”

  “Gotta go. Love you, and hurry!”

  He switched off the radio and stuffed it back into the bag. He decided to remain in the shadow of the bridge superstructure until the crew began hauling in the catch. He glanced out to sea. The skiff had the seine out and was heading back to complete the encirclement. He looked among the milling, fear-crazed dolphins, searching for Chatter. There were so many this time. Was she among them?

  From the railing beside the superstructure Billy had an unobstructed view of the skiff completing the set. He checked to see that no one was watching, took the camera out of the bag, and thought, I might as well get it all.

  He started taping with the lens wide, then slowly zoomed in on the seine skiff. He held the focus on Rocha, who was busy leaning over the side connecting the end of the net. When the shackle snapped shut, Rocha looked up and into the lens. Billy kept his finger on the trigger, sure that Rocha was staring directly at him. Then he heard the great power block beginning to draw in the net and saw the dolphins ramming their beaks into the mesh. He slowly panned the lens around the circumference of the net. His artist’s eye caught the soft colors and the subtle shading of blue. He went to a wide angle, trying to frame the whole scene, and created an overall master shot. He imagined a future painting and wondered if he would ever be good enough to capture the moment on watercolor paper. His thoughts were broken by a familiar sound. From over the sea came the whomp-whomp of the helicopter, and he watched Arnold buzzing over the water toward the ship. The pilot flew straight for the bridge, rising at the last moment to circle before setting down on the helipad. Billy tilted the camera and ran off a thirty-second shot of the helicopter landing, then zoomed in on Arnold’s face. He saw clearly that the pilot was looking directly at the camera—at him. He thought, He’s seen me, and he must have spotted Salvador. Now what?

  His worry about Arnold ended as a dolphin fell from the net and smashed on deck. Billy widened the angle for a shot of the seine being drawn up the stern and through the tall power block. As the net came aboard, the entangled dolphins and tuna either fell out of the mesh, or were freed by the fishermen. Some, ensnared in the webbing, rode the net upward, and were crushed as they passed through the power block’s giant pulley. Billy kept taping, and as his anger and frustration grew, he became more and more careless about remaining in hiding. He wanted to paint it all with the camera—every gory detail of their violent death. He was so focused on making his electronic pictures, he failed to see Arnold charging along the deck for him. The pilot put a hand over the lens and forced the camera down. Billy spun, ready to strike out, and saw Arnold staring at him as if he was in mortal danger. He sensed the pilot was more concerned than angry and stopped resisting him. Arnold grabbed Billy’s wrist, drew him back behind the life-raft container, and urgently whispered, “If Gandara sees that camera, you’re in the sea again, or worse.”

  “Arnold, they’re dying by the hundreds!”

  “Save your sympathy for our kind.”

  Billy knocked his hand away from the camera and shouted, “Leave me alone, damn it!”

  Billy sensed Arnold was holding something back. Then he realized, “You didn’t tell Gandara about Salvador. How come?”

  Arnold smiled faintly, as if embarrassed at being found out. “Ah, Billy, you ask too many questions.”

  “I want to know, Arnold. Come on.”

  Arnold glanced over the side at the dead and dying dolphins and then turned to Billy. “You and your damn do-gooder innocence kind of rubbed off on me, son.”

  Billy probed for more. “So you took a stand.”

  Arnold shook his head sadly as if no good would come of it and walked off.

  On the bridge, Gandara leaned out over the starboard wing watching the seine being drawn aboard. He sensed the net was nearly full and estimated the catch would come to twenty tons. He was pleased that it was going so smoothly, and the pod had not entered shallow water. His feeling of satisfaction was shattered by a call from the radar watch. “Contact, captain. A large vessel approaching on the port side, twelve miles out. She just popped up on the screen.”

  “Speed?” demanded Gandara.

  “Fifteen knots.”

  “Give me depth and bottom.”

  The helmsman glanced at the depth sounder. “Sixty-two fathoms with a rocky bottom and shallowing.”

  They were slowly drifting into shallower water, and Gandara knew the current had them. With the net out he had to use the engine sparingly. He glanced forward. Two and a half miles ahead the Refugio Shoals showed white water. He looked to the stern and noticed that the sea surface appeared ruffled. A breeze was picking up and blowing toward the shoals. With the force of the wind against the hull, and the current, they were drifting faster than he liked. Well, they’d have the net aboard long before there was any danger of going aground. But what about the approaching ship? He picked up the bridge phone and called the mast lookout. “There’s a vessel heading for us, somewhere off to port, twelve miles out. The moment it’s in sight, give me a description of her.”

  He considered sending Mr. Lessing aloft, but by the time he was in the air, the lookout would have a sighting, and he might need the helicopter later. He picked up a walkie-talkie and called Santos.

  “We have a vessel approaching off the port side. Bring the net aboard pronto, Mr. Santos, and to hell with the fish.”

  Gandara glanced toward the port horizon. Someone was coming for them. Who? He suspected an environmentalist group. He had heard rumors in Puntarenas that Salvador was steaming for Costa Rica. Gandara frowned and looked seaward again. The bridge phone rang and he jumped for the receiver. The lookout confirmed his suspicions.

  “Looks Navy, captain. Gray. Minesweeper type, about a hundred and ten feet long, and coming right for us. I’d guess it’s Salvador.”

  I
mpatiently he demanded, “How far out, man?”

  “Maybe ten miles.”

  Gandara slammed down the receiver, picked up the walkie-talkie, and called Santos.

  “It’s Salvador. If you can’t bring the net aboard in the next fifteen minutes, cut it free.”

  He put the radio down and keyed the klaxon horn. When the warning blare stopped, Gandara announced, “All hands not working aft, report to your emergency stations.”

  He hurried inside the wheelhouse, grabbed the second mate, and slapped keys to his quarters into the man’s hand. “Open the arms locker and issue all the rifles. Pronto, man. Pronto!”

  Gandara checked the radar screen. The oncoming vessel was rapidly narrowing the distance between them. He moved to the sonar display. The bottom was shallowing gradually, but still deep enough that the net wouldn’t snag for some time. He ran out on the bridge and lifted the walkie-talkie. “Santos, have the chase boats hauled aboard right now!”

  He grabbed binoculars and scanned the horizon. The gray vessel was now visible from the bridge. He had seen it before, but always at a distance, while they were successfully outrunning her. There was no mistake. Salvador was steaming for him. He yelled at the helmsman that he was going aft and warned the man that he would personally throw him overboard if the ship went aground on the shoals. With a last look at Salvador, Gandara ran from the bridge.

  As Billy taped the dead and dying dolphins being thrown to the waiting sharks, he failed to see Gandara racing along the superstructure for the stern. The captain noticed the open getaway bag lying by the life-raft container, slowed momentarily to glance at it, and then ran past Billy without giving him any notice.

  Billy kept taping and held the lens on Gandara. The camera’s microphone picked up the captain’s urgent bellow to hurry the net aboard. A big male spinner fell from the net and crashed on the deck beside the captain. He stepped aside to avoid being struck. Then he turned slowly in Billy’s direction and saw him holding the camera. For several seconds he looked at the young man and then walked slowly toward him. His face displayed curiosity, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. His eyes shifted to the getaway bag and he moved past Billy to pick it up. He reached inside and withdrew the handheld marine radio. In a menacing voice that caused Billy’s guts to tighten into a knot Gandara said, “You gave them my position. You brought them here. You’re one of them. And now you take pictures!”

  With a slow, deliberate movement, Gandara drew his knife from its sheath and seized a small dolphin still quivering in the net. He pulled it free and slit the creature’s throat. As its blood spurted on his white tennis shoes, he began butchering the living flesh. He sliced a long strip from the dolphin’s flank and held it out to Billy. “You want pretty pictures, niño? Here, make pictures of this.”

  The captain thrust the bloody offering at Billy. He shrank back, and Gandara whipped the strip of dolphin flesh across his face. Stung and horrified by the lashing, Billy jumped aside. Gandara put out his hand for the camera. “Give me that, niño. Right now, before I make a dead man out of you.”

  He was dazed from the blow and stood frozen with dread. As Gandara reached out for him, Billy recoiled and came alive. He turned and fled along the deck in the direction of the bow. Santos ran to stop him. As the mate made a grab for Billy, he swung the camera and it smashed into the man’s face. He dashed past Santos, retreating for the bow. He glanced over his shoulder, very much aware that the captain and his knife were right behind. He heard Gandara’s commanding yell, “Stop him!”

  Billy looked up at the bridge and saw an armed seaman rushing down the steps to intercept him. He raced on before the man could reach the deck and found himself trapped against the high, knife-edged bow. There was no place left to retreat. He spun and saw Gandara was only steps away. The knife gripped in the captain’s hand was set for a killing thrust, and the madness that clouded his face left no doubt that he would strike. Billy took the only way of escape left him. Clutching the camera to his chest, he vaulted over the bow and plummeted to the sea far below.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  As Billy fell, he tumbled and fought to turn his body upright so he would plunge into the sea feetfirst. In the microsecond before impact he thought, The camera. I can’t lose the camera.

  He hit the water sideways, and his head smashed into the sea. The violent, slapping blow knocked him unconscious, and the momentum gained during the high fall drove him deep underwater. Twenty feet below, his body’s positive buoyancy stopped the descent. For a brief moment Billy hovered between life and death. His sight came back first. What he saw was blurred. He wasn’t sure where he was or what had happened. His eyes told him that he was not in daylight. Nor was it night. With a sudden, fearful awareness, he realized he was underwater. He told himself, Real watermen don’t drown. Then he sensed he was still clutching the camera to his chest and the past few minutes of his life came back in a rush of jumbled, fearful memory images. With a stab of awareness Billy realized, He was really going to kill me.

  Now fully conscious, he stroked frantically for the surface. He gasped and looked up at the ship. Gandara was leaning over the railing staring down at him. Even at that distance, he could see the captain’s green eyes, narrowed and filled with hate, boring into him. Then he turned away, and Billy was left floating under the clipper’s bow. With a feeling of utter hopelessness he asked himself, What the hell do I do now?

  He did the only thing possible and began swimming away from Lucky Dragon as fast as he could. As his mind began to function, Billy prayed that Benny and Sarah were only minutes away. Salvador was his salvation. If they didn’t come soon he was dead. He looked across the water. The corkline and the seine skiff floated some three hundred yards away. Rocha and another man stood on the engine cover watching him. Would they help or only stare? Would Gandara order them to run over him as he had the dolphin pod leader?

  The captain bounded up the stairs for the bridge and yelled into the wheelhouse, “Where is that ship now?”

  “Six, seven miles off and still approaching.”

  Gandara forced himself to remain calm. “Depth…?”

  “Fifty-seven fathoms and holding.”

  With his frustration growing, Gandara grabbed the wheel and yelled into the bridge, “Give me five knots.”

  The captain’s eyes shifted to the water. Off the starboard side he spotted Billy swimming for the net and sent Lucky Dragon after him. The engines’ massive power spun the twin four-bladed propellers and the ship moved slowly forward. As it gained speed the knife-edged bow began to swing toward Billy. The clipper was responding sluggishly, and Gandara realized that the drag of the huge net was holding the ship back. He picked up the walkie-talkie again and ordered, “Santos, cut the net free immediately!”

  The mate acknowledged the order, and Gandara turned to yell at the radar operator, “Target and depth?”

  “Five-six miles. Depth, fifty-one fathoms and shallowing.”

  He cursed, “That kid! I’ll have his ass. Now the net’s going to snag on the rocks!”

  A moment later the handheld radio brought the mate’s report, “It’s going overboard now, captain.”

  Gandara thought quickly. There was still a way to save it. He keyed in the skiff’s radio channel. “Rocha, hook on to the net and drag it away from the reef.”

  “There’s a man in the water, captain!”

  “Do as I ordered, right now, or you’ll join him!”

  Freed of the net’s drag, Lucky Dragon began accelerating rapidly. Billy glanced over his shoulder and saw the clipper’s tall bow swinging his way. The hundred and fifty yards separation he had gained from swimming was quickly being eaten up, and the corkline was still far ahead. He asked himself if Gandara would send the clipper across the net and chance entangling the propeller. Billy thought not and sprinted for the seine.

  Five miles away, on Salvador’s bridge, Sarah leaned over the port railing watching the dolphin ride the bow wake. Chatter�
��s effortless slide down the never-ending wave of tumbling white water thrilled her. For the few seconds she had been watching the dolphin she forgot that they were racing on a collision course for a ship two and a half times larger and many tons heavier than the old minesweeper. And then there was the ship’s crew.

  Suddenly, Chatter leaped forward. With a powerful beat of her fluke, she sped ahead. In all the hours Sarah had observed the dolphin, she had never seen her swim so fast. She was racing directly for the tuna clipper, and Sarah knew by the dolphin’s frantic response that Billy must be in danger.

  At the same moment, Billy realized there was momentary safety behind the line of floats, and Gandara’s attention shifted to Salvador. The gray minesweeper was much closer now; close enough for him to see a white wake tumbling off its bow. Gandara picked up the walkie-talkie. “Santos, find Mr. Lessing and bring him to the bridge. Tell him he must be airborne immediately. You’ll be flying with him. And Santos, arm yourself.” Then he turned to search the water for the kid.

  Benny leaned against a sweat-soiled mattress propped against the bridge control wheel. It was awkward reaching around the thick pad to grip the wheel. When they rammed, he hoped the mattresses would absorb some of the shock. Benny glanced about and saw that his young crew were waiting for his decision. They were now a bit shy of four miles from Lucky Dragon and he was determined to ram. He picked up the bridge mike and switched on the public address speakers.

  “Okay, people. We’re going for it in about fifteen minutes, so get yourselves set.”