The Discovery

CHAPTER TWO

Dr. Geoffrey Gallagher raised his pointer to the bleached skeleton mounted on the wall beside his desk — the gaping jaws of a great white shark, measuring three feet across.

“We see that the teeth are serrated,” Poseidon’s director lectured to the red light of the video camera that was trained on him, “and angled distinctly inward so that each bite directs the prey down the gullet. Carcharodon carcharias has been called nature’s perfect predator, the apex of the ocean’s food chain. And from personal experience, I can attest to that fact.” He tapped a razor-sharp tooth.

With a crack like a rifle shot, the upper jaw fell shut to the lower, snapping the pointer cleanly in two.

Dr. Gallagher jumped back with a very un-macho shriek.

“Cut!” roared the cameraman, doubled over with laughter.

There was a knock at the door.

“Later,” called Gallagher, fumbling around for another pointer.

The knock came again, this time louder and more insistent.

“Not now!”

The door opened, and in marched Bobby Kaczinski, Dante Lewis, Adriana Ballantyne, and Star Ling.

At first, Gallagher had absolutely no idea who the four teenagers were. Saint-Luc was not a major tourist island like Martinique or Aruba, so the only kids around were locals. Then he remembered the summer internships.

Oh. Those kids. He had begged the head office in San Diego to place them somewhere else. But no. It had to be here. Poseidon had even sent a team from California to run the program — Tad Cutter and his crew.

“Welcome!” he beamed, hiding the broken pointer pieces under some papers on his desk. “This is going to be a very exciting summer for you young people. I’m sure you’ll be participating in a lot of important research.”

They waited, as if for more detail. He stared at them, willing them to go away.

Finally, Star stepped forward. “But Dr. Gallagher, what do we do?”

“Poseidon Saint-Luc is a tremendously busy place,” Gallagher explained, “with dozens of different projects all going on at the same time—”

“I mean now,” she persisted. “What do we do today?”

Gallagher was taken aback. “Well, what does Mr. Cutter say?”

“We haven’t seen him since yesterday,” supplied Kaz.

“Since yesterday?” The director was completely mystified.

The silent man in the room, gray haired and stocky, had been lounging on the couch, observing the videotaping with some amusement. Braden Vanover was one of several ship’s captains who worked for Poseidon. He spoke up now. “Cutter and his crew went out at first light on Bill Hamilton’s boat.”

The director’s voice was shrill with frustration. “Why didn’t they take these kids? That’s the whole reason Cutter’s people are here! Without the kids, what are they doing — sunbathing…?” He spied the videographer watching with interest, and fell silent. Jacques Cousteau never had a tantrum when the camera was on him.

Captain Vanover stood up. He had no official connection with the internship program, but he felt bad for the four teens. It was fairly obvious Cutter was ignoring them. “Tell you what. I’ll grab English and take them out to get their feet wet.”

Gallagher looked pathetically grateful. “Great, great! Did you kids hear that? You’re diving today.” He put his arm around the shoulders of the girl with the limp. “And I’m sure you’ll make an excellent tender while the others are in the water.”

Star’s eyes flashed. It was obvious to everyone in the room except the director that he had said very much the wrong thing. She was about to speak, was already opening her mouth, when Kaz jumped into the fray.

“Star’s a diver like us, Dr. Gallagher,” he said quickly. “In fact, she’s the best we’ve got.”

“Yes, of course,” Gallagher mumbled, and busied himself with resetting the upper portion of the great white’s jaw. He very nearly sacrificed a finger as the thing slammed shut again.

It was on the gravel path that led to the guest cabins that Star turned on the big hockey player.

“Where do you get off fighting my battles for me?” she demanded. “When I’ve got something to say, I say it myself!”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem,” Kaz retorted. “If you called Gallagher an idiot — which he is, by the way, so you would have been A-one right — you could have gotten the head of the whole institute mad at us. I wasn’t protecting you; I was protecting me.”

“Even so,” she muttered, “mind your own business.”

“Count on it,” he assured her.

“Hey,” said Dante. “We’re getting a chance to do something. Let’s not blow it.”