The Black Bullet

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Nick grabbed his flashlight and spear gun at the same time. Within a second, O’Brien had his knife off his belt. Nick looked at O’Brien and motioned toward the left. Both men aimed their flashlights into the dark void. Squid and needlefish swam by them.

Nick panned a few feet to the right, his shoulder bleeding.

A monster bull shark, at least ten feet long, circled the men.

O’Brien knew the bull shark was one of the most aggressive. One this size feared nothing, especially when there was blood. He looked at Nick, whose eyes were wide behind the face mask. O’Brien gestured, moving Nick’s back against his and pointing toward the surface. Nick nodded, keeping the spear gun in front of him as his flashlight swept the murky sea. Back-to-back, both men began moving the beams of light in half-circles as they ascended. They followed the anchor rope. To rise too quickly would risk a dangerous case of the bends. To stay where they were any longer would put them at risk of more sharks arriving and attacking.

O’Brien looked at his depth gauge. At fifty feet they stopped, held onto the rope and breathed slowly. They would have to decompress here for two minutes, purging the trapped nitrogen from their bloodstreams.

The shark circled again. Each orbit closer. An aggressive twist of the head. Eyes watching the men. Closer. O’Brien and Nick followed it with their lights. Then it was gone. Vanished. O’Brien looked at his watch. Thirty seconds more to decompress. Two minutes of air left. For thirty long seconds they would have to stay right where they were. He tapped his watch and showed Nick who nodded, his eyes darting back to the moving light. Then Nick aimed the flashlight beneath them.

The image was frightening. The bull shark rose like a torpedo from the inky depth. Mouth open. Rows of one-inch teeth expanding. Nick fired the spear gun. The spear grazed the shark’s side. It was like hitting a dinosaur with a dart. But it was enough to confuse the shark. It cut to the right and swam off into the dark.

O’Brien pointed toward the surface. Nick nodded and they followed the rope. Another twenty feet and they’d be at the dive platform. Could they clear the water before the shark turned around and charged? O’Brien tried not to think of the odds. Within ten feet of the boat’s dive platform, they broke the surface. Nick spit out his regulator and blurted, “Swim! Fuckin’ swim!”

They both reached the wooden platform at the same instant. Hands slapping wood. Fingers gripping the half-inch slots. Feet and fins grappling for the ladder rungs. Nick stood. He grabbed O’Brien’s hand and helped pull him up from the top rung of the ladder. Under the moonlight, they saw the shark swim closer. Just beyond the dive platform, the shark’s steal gray dorsal fin slicing the surface.

“It’s following us up on the stand!” Nick yelled. He pushed the transom door so hard the lock flew across the cockpit floor. Both men stood in the cockpit, the boat rocking in the swells, the sound of water dripping from dive suits, breathing heavy.

“That’s it!” Nick yelled. “That place is cursed! I tried to tell you that. We came within an inch of being chum meat.”

“Thought you said you didn’t miss with the spear when they were close.”

“That devil shark came up straight from hell. I had one second to shoot.”

“It bought us time to get to the boat.” O’Brien leaned down and picked the brass bolt lock off the floor. “But did you have to kick the transom door in?”

“Rather kick it in then have a pissed-off bull shark with a scratch across its back come and take me off the dive stand like I was a piece of fish on a plate.”

“Let me see your shoulder.” Nick turned around and O’Brien examined the wound. “Nasty cut. How’d that happen?”

“Something in that freaking sub stuck me. After I stepped on what felt like a human skull, BAM! Right across my spine. Maybe Nazi ghost sailors stabbed me.”

“It might need stitches.”

“Sean, you gotta listen to me. There’s real evil down there. I feel it! We weren’t supposed to find that thing. When we go back down there it’s like daring the devil to step across a line. Devil’s cursed that place.”

O’Brien was silent, his eyes looking across at the horizon.

“We need to get outta here,” Nick said.

“Let’s pull up the canisters and move. We have to work in the moonlight. We need the winch.”

Nick grunted. “If that shark cuts this rope with his teeth, that shit can stay down there.”

Soon the canisters were to the surface. O’Brien said, “Let’s be very careful. Swing them over the platform, and we’ll secure them in the bilge.”

“Dave said this stuff had to have some kinda super electrical spark to blow up.”

“Let’s hope Dave’s right. Get some blankets. We’ll wrap each cylinder separately, store them in different sides of the bilge and move on before first light.”

Nick looked toward the east. It was still more than two hours before sunrise. The moon was straight overhead. Lightning popped far out at sea. Then Nick saw another light. This one was a boat, coming from the southeast. A tiny wink in the distance. “We got company,” Nick said. “Somebody’s out in the stream.”

O’Brien looked up. “They’re a long way off. Maybe they’re fishing.”

Nick studied the light for a second. “No, they’re not fishing. They’re moving too fast. Let’s get the shit outta here, Sean. Could be the Coast Guard again. They might be the ones tracking us with that damn bug you found.”

“Or it could be somebody else. We can’t stick around to find out.”

They quickly wrapped the canisters and stowed them. O’Brien cranked the diesels and got the boat on a fast plane, both three hundred horsepower engines at full bore. He glanced down at the old holster he’d set on the bridge floor. He picked it up, turned a small bridge light on and tried to unsnap the metal button. The top flap of the holster fell apart like wet cardboard. He reached in and pulled out a German Luger. The pistol was in good condition despite the fact it had been sitting on the bottom of the ocean for sixty-seven years. The magazine was too corroded to remove.

He knew the clip held eight bullets. If four were missing, he would contact Abby and Glenda Lawson. Maybe the German sailor who owned this had put a bullet through the head of his comrade and three into the body of Billy Lawson.

O’Brien wondered what the autopsy performed on Billy Lawson would show, if they even did an autopsy. Would bullets removed from the body have been stored?

Nick climbed the steps, holding two bottles of Corona in one hand. He gave one to O’Brien and toasted. “Sean O’Brien, ever since you pulled into the marina a couple years ago, I’ve never been bored.” Nick took a long pull off the bottle and flopped down on the bench seat, his wet hair in dark curls. “You are only at the marina a couple weeks a month. If I had your old river house, I’d be up there, too. But when you do come in, don’t take this wrong, Sean. Shit happens. That time that crazy cop was tryin’ to frame you. Put that dead girl’s hair in your bed. It’s never boring, my brother.”

O’Brien sipped his beer. “Glad you like excitement because the people in that boat you spotted definitely aren’t fishing. I’m hoping your boat has bigger engines, because it looks like we’re being followed.”

Nick whirled around. He saw the running lights in the distance. “Oh shit! Did you hide those rifles in the closet behind the head?”

“Yes, and it might be smart to go below and get them.”