by Rick Chesler
By the time she got around to the window facing the parking area again, she saw Kane walking away from the screen van and toward his maroon pickup truck.
And that’s when she felt the shark barrel into her.
FORTY-TWO
Heather felt her head slam into the acrylic window of the tank, and for a split second, feared her neck would break. It was like being smashed into a wall by a slow-moving truck. As if through a thick fog, she heard the amplified words, “One minute left!” carry somewhere above her through the air. The pressure against her body increased, and she saw blurry forms through the plastic window—spectators come to gawk at her—until she thought her lungs would explode with the pressure.
Then, suddenly, the compression ceased, and she was floating there in the tank, gasping for breath like a fish out of water. But when she glanced through the window again, she saw a maroon pickup truck driving away, and she knew she had to get out of the tank right this instant. She had to combat the urge to break away from the pattern that had kept her alive for the last four minutes and not swim directly across the center of the tank on the surface to the ladder. One more underwater lap around the side—you can do it. It just slammed into you by accident… I think…
Heather glided along the octagon’s walls, wary of the blurred behemoth across the tank to her right. Swim faster, Kane is getting away… This thought propelled her along the octagon’s perimeter. She had almost reached the ladder when the shark returned, having abruptly changed course without her noticing, so intent on the exit her focus had been. This time, it lowered its snout and brought it up sharply from below.
Heather went flying into the air like a seal tossed by an orca. It was surreal, suddenly being above the water, above the walls of the octagon even, and looking out over a sea of stunned people, watching in awestruck horror as she was tossed skyward by the ultimate apex predator. Tumbling head over heels, she wondered if she would land in the shark’s waiting outstretched jaws. But when her eyes could see the water again, she saw the shark’s body stretched out across the whole tank, its head underwater.
At least it was not waiting for her, jaws agape. Still, she landed on its back, just ahead of the dorsal fin, which startled the white, causing it to dart off rapidly with a single stroke of its powerful tail. Heather hit the water and saw she was no more than ten feet from the ladder.
She swam for it, full speed ahead, a full-on crawl stroke with strong, splashy kicks. She wasn’t waiting around anymore, stealthy or not, to see how this shark would react next. Dimly in the back of her mind, she heard someone—not Kane—call out through the loudhailer, “Five minutes—winner, come on out!” followed by the cheers of the crowd. She could feel the stamping of feet on the ground as they celebrated her victory prematurely. Can’t they see I’m not out of here yet? I could be about to be the first person ever killed by a white shark in an artificial environment. Maybe any shark, for that matter…
Heather kicked and scratched toward the ladder, mind barely registering the outstretched hands she saw waiting there at the top of the platform. Just have to get right there… Her goal was so close, she no longer attempted to track the shark’s whereabouts; just swam toward the ladder while the water in the tank sloshed all around her, churned into a chaotic wave pool by the shark’s wild maneuvering.
And then she was reaching out and curling the fingers of her right hand around the bottom rung, pushing off the bottom of the tank with her right foot until she could get her left hand on another rung, and climbing, climbing, until she felt strong hands on her upper arms pulling her up and over the brink of the platform.
One of the guys—it was Cody—helped her to her feet, and then he started raising one of her arms in the air while Boyd picked up the megaphone—preparing to officially announce their new victor. But Heather ducked away and moved to the edge of the platform, staring in dismay at the cloud of coral dust in the parking area where Kane had sped away in his pickup.
She ran for the edge of the platform and jumped off.
“Hey, where are you going?” Cody and Boyd shouted after her. But she was already gone, hitting the ground at a sprint in the direction of the parked cars. Hers was among them, but she wasted precious seconds locating it among the others. Looking out toward the road, there were no vehicles to be seen. She told herself to be realistic, that he was gone and that the best thing she could do was to put out an alert. She reached for her cellphone out of habit and then realized with a start that she had kept it in her pocket during her match in the tank. She removed the sopping device from her pocket and tried it anyway, but it was dead.
Throwing it down on the ground in frustration, Heather recalled her other cell, the burner phone now in the hands of one of Kane’s cronies. She ran back to the tank, seeking the man out. Boyd reached her first, and she demanded to know who the guy was who had her phone.
“That’s him over there,” he said, pointing. “Why, are you okay? Do you need medical attention?” He looked her up and down, and she realized he was concerned she had been injured by the shark and that’s why she wanted her phone.
“No, I’m fine.” Then she pulled something else from her pocket, something she knew would still work even after getting wet. She held up her Fish and Wildlife badge and displayed it to Boyd, aware that many others also looked on.
“Wait,” he said in disbelief. “You’re a cop?”
“Not a police officer. Fish and Wildlife ranger. But I do have the authority to make arrests.”
Boyd’s eyes widened as he realized the implications for himself.
“Where is Kane going right now? Tell me what you know.”
“I—I—don’t know. He should be here! He always stays the whole match and then we count the money… Oh shit.” He looked over at his screen bag and then back to Heather. “Can I go check and see if the money is still there? Hey, part of it is supposed to be yours, too, since you made it five minutes.”
Heather shook her head. “I’m afraid whatever is there is all mine, to turn in as evidence, that is. But I’ll go with you and we’ll have a look together. My guess is your purse is going to come out a little light today.”
A crowd of people stood and watched them walk away toward the cars.
“Is everything okay?” Cody called out to Boyd, who turned around while still walking backwards in order to respond. “It’s cool. Need to check something and we’ll be right back.”
Heather and Boyd reached the screen van, and he pulled the keys from his pocket and used them to unlock the back double doors. “I’ll be really mad if he stiffed us,” Boyd said, opening the door. “I know I can’t keep the money anyway, but still, just the principle of it, you know?”
Heather nodded. “He was your friend, I know. You had no idea he was on the run?”
“He’s on the run? From what?” Heather thought he looked genuinely flabbergasted.
“He’s an escaped prisoner from California, a convicted felon.”
“What did he do?” Boyd asked.
“Armed robbery.”
“Geez.” She could tell he was now evaluating all of Kane’s past actions—and interactions with him—in that light.
“Just cooperate with me, and all of this will be a lot easier on you. You’re looking at jail time and lots and lots of fines, so just play ball like you’re doing and I’ll help you out. The last thing you want is for it to look like you’re helping him to escape.”
“Understood. So the money should be in a five-gallon bucket—here!” He pulled a white painters’ bucket to the edge of the van and looked inside. “Some cash is here, but this isn’t all of it. I’ll be damned,” he said, looking off toward the road where Kane had vanished.
“What?”
“I’d have to count it all to be exactly sure, but I saw the whole pot before—I’m the one who put it in here—and it looks like he just took his share and left the rest—ours and yours,” he finished.
Another man came trotting toward the
m. “That’s the guy who has your phone,” Boyd said, reading Heather’s concerned look. Heather was confused because it was a different guy than the one who had taken her phone in the field. But she didn’t care about the details at this point. She held out her hand and the guy slapped her decoy phone into it. Little had she known when she bought it that she’d need to actually use it to call in the cavalry.
But that’s exactly what she did, telling Boyd and his friend that they could go back to the tank but not to leave the property. She called dispatch, filled them in on the situation, and informed them that an APB should be put out on Kane and his maroon truck ASAP.
Then she pocketed the phone and waited while she watched the great white shark, still circling inside the tank.
FORTY-THREE
Five days later
Director Stevens stared at Heather for so long before he started speaking that she thought he was either angry with her for allowing herself to get into the tank, or that he knew something she didn’t. At length, he straightened a pile of papers he’d been looking at and then let them fall back to the desk.
“I’ve looked over your reports, Winters. Allow me to lead off by saying that you’ve done one hell of a job busting up that animal fighting ring.”
Heather blushed with pride, for she hadn’t known how anyone would take this. It seemed like so much had gone wrong. But a lot had gone right, too, she reflected. The white shark, for instance. It had been released unharmed to the ocean the very next day by a skilled team of marine biologists. The arrests and subsequent interviews of the key members of the ring, including Boyd, Boyd’s screen business partner Johnny, Cody, Felix, and Matt, as well as detailed information about how the ragtag group put the operation together and kept it running as long as they did.
Cash was recovered, animals were rescued, and a stern example was set for those thinking of running this kind of operation in the future. But for all that, one big loose end still remained. She looked across the desk at Stevens, who wrinkled his forehead as he spoke.
“I know what you’ve been waiting to hear, Winters. Kane Brooks still hasn’t been found.” Heather’s expression radiated a mask of concern, but Stevens continued before she could say anything. “All his known associates have been interviewed by police, including those at the Wildlife Rehab Center, in particular one…” He squinted at a computer monitor on his desk. “…Alicia Blackstone, an employee at the Wildlife Relocation Center in Homestead.”
“And so he still hasn’t been found?” Heather asked, genuinely surprised. She had thought he would be apprehended within the first forty-eight hours, maybe even sooner than that. In reply, Stevens shook his head slowly.
“But that’s not your fault, Winters, nor is it your concern. It’s an FBI matter now. He’s a state prison fugitive who crossed state lines, which makes it a federal case. Let them handle the manhunt, it’s their job. Your job is to continue protecting wildlife.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And to see to it that you get a chance to do that with the utmost of resources at your disposal, I’ve decided to create a new enforcement unit that will be responsible specifically for preventing and solving wildlife crimes.” He paused, smiled, and then went on. “I’ve put a lot of thought into the name, and came up with Wildlife Crimes Unit. How’s that sound?”
She grinned sheepishly. “Sounds good to me.” She wasn’t sure why he’d even ask.
“The reason I ask, Winters, is because I want you to head up this new unit. I’m making you the manager of this new initiative, which will have funding above and beyond what you’re used to, as well as a highly visible public role. It’s an important new job, Winters, and I trust you’re up to the task. After all the publicity this fighting ring received and your involvement in breaking it up, you’re the logical choice for the position.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“This comes with a change in day-to-day assignment, as well.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“I’m putting you back out on the water again.” He held up a hand as she started to grin. “Don’t get too excited. In a managerial role, you’ll have to be in the office a bit more than you’re used to, but when you are on patrol, you’ll be back in your boat.”
Heather beamed, content for a brief moment until she thought about Kane, out there somewhere, still on the run. But in that moment she knew, as Stevens had said, that her job was not to catch people like Kane, but to bring them to light, to protect the natural resources the public depended on her to oversee.
But deep down inside, it still gnawed at her. He had come into her own backyard all the way from California, messed around with her animals, and then skipped away, free, for the moment, anyway, as the animals he had captured and exploited for his own benefit had been before they came into contact with him.
Where was he?
EPILOGUE
Atlantic Ocean
Although he had the wind in his hair and the sun on his face, Kane Brooks wasn’t smiling. The lines of his face were chiseled into a grim mask of determination as he pointed the twenty-six-foot sailboat toward the distant splotch of land that presented itself as a flat greenish line. It wasn’t that the conditions were rough—they weren’t. The sea, while not flat, was not choppy enough to present a threat to the seaworthiness of his craft. But navigation was proving to be an issue.
In his haste to prepare a getaway vehicle, Kane had purchased the boat in a cash-only deal from a man in Homestead who had claimed the owner had abandoned the vessel on a trailer in his backyard. Kane doubted the story, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and so he had paid the man from his cash stash and then proceeded to hastily outfit the boat. The GPS he’d mounted and wired to a battery had quit working not an hour out of Miami on his way to the Bahamas, leaving him with no other choice than to look at a paper chart while he sailed alone to try and pick a course.
Not an experienced sailor, he found the task challenging and now wondered exactly where he was. Still, he thought, even managing a faint smile, it was a good problem for someone like him to have. Because he knew where he wasn’t: in prison, and he wanted to keep it that way.
He hoped he had passed the major Bahamian islands like Bimini, Grand Bahama, and Nassau, and was now looking at one of the mostly uninhabited outer islands. But his chart reading and navigation skills were lacking, and without a working GPS, he really had no way to be sure until he made landfall. His biggest concern was missing the Bahamas group entirely, for if he did that, he faced only open ocean all the way to Africa.
“What do you think, Allie? Are we still on course?” He posed the question to his only companion aboard, a three-foot-long juvenile alligator he’d kept at the house yard by throwing it scraps of meat now and then for it to eat on the banks of the canal. He’d taken it partially for sentimental reasons—a reminder of his time in South Florida, but also more practical ones. He might have to eat it, for example, were he to become hopelessly lost at sea. Or he might be able to barter for it somewhere in the islands, too.
His marine radio crackled and he adjusted the squelch. At least that still worked. He kept it tuned to channel 16, the emergency station, more out of a desire to hear breaking news about a marine pursuit or manhunt for him than out of a concern for his safety. But so far, the only chatter he’d heard—close to shore after leaving Miami—had been routine.
Kane scanned the horizon one more time for immediate hazards—other vessels, mostly, as he wasn’t really sure what else he should be looking for—and then went down below into the sailboat’s tunnel-like cabin. It would be his new home for a while, he knew, a place to live that could be moved around at will; perfect for his situation until he could finagle something more permanent.
He looked around the tight confines that now contained everything he owned. Strewn about haphazardly in his haste to load essentials aboard were cooking utensils, a set of tools, clothing, stores of food and water, a small first aid kit, and most important of
all—his cash. Money that he had worked hard for, wrangling wild animals and then staging the matches against them. Cash that now dictated his ability to disappear and stay off the radar of the law enforcement teams he knew were looking for him right this very minute. Rather than keep the cash all in one bag, he’d decided to split it into three smaller bags, lest it be discovered by an overzealous customs agent, or even worse—modern day pirates. Maybe they’d only find one and leave while he still had the rest.
He checked each of the three locations, more to reiterate to himself where he was keeping them than to make sure they were still there. Though he knew that as long as he was living like this, every time he left the boat, he’d worry that they were still there. After verifying the presence of each one, he exited the cabin and emerged back out on deck.
Kane took the wheel again, steering for a gap between two low-lying islands. He’d shoot the gap right between them, he thought, just in case one was heavily populated. He checked his chart again, hoping to identify the islands by locating two that were close together, but his eyes immediately picked out many such pairs of islands on the busy chart. He’d just have to wing it.
He’d done it before, after all.
THE END
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PROLOGUE
The giant lizard, splay-legged and heavy, plodded through the eucalypt forest. After waking in its burrow that morning, it had smelled prey on the breeze: something alive, warm and sizeable. The lizard had been hunting for about half an hour. Despite hunger pangs, it walked slowly, conserving energy for the kill.