“And that is?”
“You do remember the Clouded Leopard carcass we stashed in the fish freezer, where we figured it was going to be safe?
“I do. What about it?” Gavin stared at the stained and lumpy bag with a growing sense of foreboding.
“Thanks to that bastard Kai, and his bloody big fifty, that’s all we’ve got left — of the big bits, anyway.”
CHAPTER 16
Off Tanga Island Cove
It had taken the better part of Bulatt’s remaining strength to tow Colonel Kulawnit over to the low-lying outboard, pull the two lifeless and shattered bodies of Kai’s men into the water, and then shove the unconscious colonel up and into the boat.
He was in the process of pulling himself in, holding onto the splintered railing and trying not to swamp the low-riding boat, when he felt the pressure wave of something big coming fast beneath the boat.
“Shit!” Bulatt cursed reflexively even as his survival instincts found new reserves of energy to help him twist, yank and propel himself up and into the boat just as a huge tiger shark struck at the nearest of the floating bodies a few inches from his flailing feet. The impact of the thick dorsal fin — and then the massive thrashing tail — against the boat’s keel jarred it sideways, forcing Bulatt to grab desperately at the opposite railing to keep himself and Kulawnit from being tossed back into the water.
For a few seconds, the water around the boat churned madly as a second and third shark fought over the carcasses. Then, finally, the water surface grew relatively still, allowing Bulatt to release his grip on the railing and Kulawnit, catch his breath, re-adjust his night-vision goggles, and then examine the colonel’s wounds.
Finally convinced that he’d gotten most of the bleeding stopped with the bandage from Kulawnit’s vest pouch, Bulatt rose up on his knees, trying not to rock the shallow-beamed boat any more than necessary, then waved and yelled — to no avail — at the patrol rescue boat that was some hundred yards and barely visible in the growing fog as the crew continued to search for Rangers from the crashed Blackhawk.
Got to get over there before they decide to take off and leave us here, Bulatt thought grimly as he looked around for something he could use as a paddle. To his dismay, the only thing he could find was a torn and jagged piece of the outboard engine cowling that was roughly nine inches square.
After staring out at the deceptively calm dark water for a few moments, Bulatt crawled over to Kulawnit, pulled the 9mm pistol out of his vest holster again, loaded a fresh magazine, aimed it upward, started to pull the trigger, and then hesitated.
No, better not, he told himself. They see gunfire coming from one of these outboards, they’ll probably fire back with everything they’ve got, including the deck gun, and then come over to scoop up the pieces.
Sighing in resignation, Bulatt picked up the torn piece of aluminum cowling by the one non-jagged edge with his left hand, adjusted his grip on the pistol, cautiously moved forward to the bow of the low-riding boat, leaned forward so that his chest and right arm were braced against the bow railing, hesitated, dug his left hand deep into the water in a single hard stroke, and then quickly pulled his hand out of the water.
The boat moved slightly forward and to the left.
That’s right, gotta use a ‘J’ stroke, just like they taught us at the training center, or I’m going to be going around in a big circle.
Steeling himself, Bulatt dug the piece of cowling deep into the water again, only this time in a ‘J’ stroke pattern, and saw with satisfaction that the outboard was now drifting more-or-less in the direction of the distant patrol boat lights.
Okay, just another fifty or sixty strokes. No problem.
Bulatt started to dig his hand deep into the water a third time when he felt the pressure wave suddenly surge up against the piece of cowling and barely managed to pull his hand away when the massive head of the huge tiger shark came lunging up out of the water beneath his fingers, the powerful jaws snapping at empty air. An instant later, the underside of the shark’s huge head crashed down on the boat’s already splintered railing, propelling Bulatt’s head forward and into the shark’s blunt sandpaper-like nose.
The night-vision goggles absorbed most of the impact, the lens scraping against the rasp-like skin as the goggles were ripped away from Bulatt’s face. Blinded now in the almost total darkness, he desperately shoved himself away from the thrashing shark’s head and snapping jaws; and then felt the recoil of the Beretta — and heard the concussive gunshots — before he even realized he was shooting.
The 9mm hollow-points ripped into the nose and gaping mouth of the fearsome-looking beast; its nightmarish black eye and glistening teeth intermittently visualized by the blinding gun-flashes.
Then, suddenly, the upper torso of the huge shark was completely visible — bathed in a brilliant overhead light — as it whipped its head away from the bullet impacts, jarring and nearly swamping the boat again, and then swung back in an instinctive and unrelenting attempt to reach its human prey.
Stunned by the horrific sight of the huge beast, whose jaws were snapping only inches away from his deflecting left hand and feet, Bulatt continued to fire as fast as he could pull the trigger, sending the last three bullets ripping into the shark’s left eye and brain as the Beretta’s slide locked open against the now-empty magazine.
Working on instinct and adrenaline now, Bulatt scrambled back to the rear of the violently rocking boat on his hands and knees, ejecting the empty magazine somewhere along the way, yanked another loaded magazine out of Kulawnit’s vest, slammed it into the Beretta’s grip, released the slide, and then whipped the pistol around, searching for the nightmarish creature.
But there was nothing on the rain-splattered surface; just the violent swirling of water a dozen yards away.
Go to it, guys, tear him apart, Bulatt thought, gasping for breath and silently cheering on the other sharks as he continued to stare at the churning surface. It was only when he finally managed to catch his breath that he realized he was still being bathed in a dazzling white light.
Wincing against the blinding glare, he looked up into the drizzling rain and found himself staring into the barrel of a machine gun mounted in the open doorway of a hovering Thai Coastal Patrol helicopter some fifty feet from and above the boat.
An amplified voice from the hovering chopper barked out what sounded like an order in Thai, but Bulatt had no idea what the words meant.
“You, in the boat,” the voice barked again, this time in English, “drop your weapon!”
Bulatt blinked in confusion, then looked down at his right hand and realized he was still holding Kulawnit’s empty pistol. He quickly dropped it at his feet — hearing the weapon splash into the water that was close to swamping the badly-damaged boat — and raised his hands high in the air.
As the helicopter moved in closer — now hovering less than twenty-five from and above the boat, the downdraft from its spinning blades churning the water and forcing Bulatt to try to maintain his balance with his wide-spread knees — the distant patrol boat began a wide turn in his direction.
South of Tanga Island, in the Malacca Strait — still in Thailand territory
They were a little more than twelve nautical miles off Tanga Island — Lanyard struggling with the few remaining controls while Gavin worked feverishly to stock the small dinghy with food, water, gasoline and a basic load of survival gear — when the vaguely soothing sound of the rain striking the flying bridge awning and windows of the wallowing Avatar was suddenly overwhelmed by a high-pitched shriek, followed by a concussive roar, that sent Lanyard and Gavin diving to their respective decks.