Page 3 of Building Courage

Swan’s, “Jesus Christ! What is that smell?” ripped him and everyone else into laughter.

“No wonder that shark wanted to eat you, Gilly. You reek!” Bullet complained from beside him.

“Put this thing in gear and get us out of here,” Sam said. “Maybe we can outrun that stench until we get back to Sea Dragon.”

The levity finally broke the tension that knotted his muscles, and Tucker laughed the entire ride.

Later, when they’d all had a chance to clean up, and the Sea Dragon was moved to a safe distance, the team stood on the deck observing while Sam threw the switch and blew the charges. Even from a safe distance, the water seemed to jump two feet in the air, and the shock wave hit the dive vessel hard enough that it rocked violently.

Tucker hoped the damn shark was close enough to feel the impact of the charge. The next moment, he allowed himself to feel the satisfaction of another successful mission and wondered what the next would be.

Chapter 1

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The shark came at him, its head wide, mouth open, and teeth bared to rip into him. He reached for his dive knife, but it was gone. Fear shot adrenaline through his system, and his breathing grew ragged. He shoved his hands against its wide head, trying to hold it off, but the monster bore down on him. He lost his grip, and the rows of razor-sharp teeth opened to bite into his hip.

Tucker woke, gasping for air and covered in sweat. His legs were pumping as though he were kicking away, the movement causing his bruised hip to ache. He lay still, eyes closed, as he found his bearings and caught his breath.

He thought he’d put this to bed last night after writing his report, but the incident was going to stay with him for a while.

Denotti moved in the bunk beneath him, and his voice was thick with sleep as he asked, “You okay, Gilly?”

“Yeah, I’m going to hit the head.” He shoved off the top of the bunk, dropped to his feet, and sucked in his breath. He wished for some of the adrenaline he’d had zipping through his system during his struggle with the two-hundred-pound shark. The damn monster had packed a bigger punch than he’d realized.

A craving for a beer struck him, but being in Saudi Arabia on a Saudi-owned boat, that wasn’t going to happen. He grabbed some Ibuprofen from his ditty kit and dry swallowed them, then slipped out of the cabin to use the head. As he climbed the metal steps to the upper deck, his hip ached with every step. He entered the galley and got a soft drink, something that was allowed in their hosting country.

As he stepped out on the deck, the cool, dry breeze ruffled his hair, and he ran a hand through the curly mop, shoving it back. It flopped right back over his forehead. He needed a haircut, a stiff drink, and a woman to get him back to normal.

The odor of cigarette smoke drifted to him, and he glanced upward to find one of the crew standing on the upper deck smoking. The man flicked the cigarette over the side, then meandered down to the deck and approached him.

“Is there something you need, Petty Officer Giles?” he asked in perfect English.

“No. I’m good.” The young man in his early twenties had acted as one of the kitchen crew and translated when they ran into difficulties with the language. “It’s Ahmad, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” He dipped his head in acknowledgment. He motioned toward Tucker’s leg. “You are limping. Is it an injury from the shark that attacked you?”

“I’m just a little bruised. It bumped me pretty hard to see if I qualified as food.”

“And you fought this shark?”

“No. I was able to scare it off for a while.”

“But it returned?”

“Yes. On the way out of the ship, it came after me again. I had to cut it to dissuade it from taking a bite out of me. It swam out of the ship ahead of me.”

“How big was the shark?”

“Two meters long and about two hundred pounds. I think that’s ninety kilograms.”

“I heard the other men talking about it. They said it was very large.”

“Yes. It was in the hold with the rotting fish. There were other fish scavenging there, and I think it was picking them off, one at a time. I probably looked like a hardier meal.”

“Do you often encounter such sharks when you are underwater?”

“No. For the most part, they leave divers alone. When they get too close, a poke with a spear gun will usually discourage them.” He should have carried one with him. If he had, this encounter wouldn’t be weighing on him now. “Sharks want food, not a fight that might leave them injured. Once injured, they become prey to other sharks.”