It flicked its tail to jet past for the twentieth time. There was no way he could out-swim it to the boat. He might have spent most of his adult life in the water, a marine biologist since university, and he might be in great shape, but not great enough to tussle with a hungry tiger shark. Other predators were around, white and black-tip coral sharks, but they were no threat. And even they kept their distance from the striped killer, which was well known to eat pretty much anything, even its own kind on occasion. And this was a big one. The species could reach sixteen feet and this fine specimen had to be at least twelve feet, which made it twice as long as Aston himself. And his fast-reducing air bubbling upward was keeping it interested. The professional scientist in him couldn’t help but marvel at its beauty, the perfection of its evolution. But the man, the soft, vulnerable, fleshy individual that was Sam Aston, became increasingly concerned.
He looked to the mesh bag hanging from his weight belt and the gold glinting within. It was not unusual for him to supplement his marine biology with a little relic hunting, not to mention the occasional less than mainstream dalliance with nefarious folk. The sciences were his first love, but they paid poorly, and a bit of freelancing helped cover the bills. And just at the moment, he had a few big bills outside the norm, due dates were drawing ever closer, and a violent penalty awaited if he didn’t pay on time.
If he dumped the bag of gold coins he could certainly move faster, but still not fast enough to beat the hungry throwback to prehistory circling above. But perhaps the sovereigns could help in another way. The thought pained him, but better to live poor than die with a fortune clutched in cold fingers. He unhooked the bag. The netting was thin, stainless steel filament designed not to tear and split on coral or rocks. The weave was fine enough to keep the coins in, but wide enough to let water flow freely so the bag didn’t billow and drag. He hefted it in one hand and drew his calf-strapped knife with the other. He only had four minutes of air left. Now or never.
Holding the glittering bag in front of himself, he kicked up from the narrow gap as the shark passed by. Paddling furiously backwards, his long fins dragged hard on the water. He held the bag in two hands, his knife gripped firmly against it. As the tiger shark switched and shot forward, Aston drove the bag of coins hard at its face. The temporary shield wedged deep against the back of the shark’s jawbone and its many rows of sharp needle teeth in their swollen pink gums slammed down on the sack of metal. Aston felt his entire body wrenched as the beast thrashed its head from side to side, thinking to rend its victim’s flesh. But its prey was hard and inert coin. Its jaw worked up and down with relentless vigor, and the netting of the bag hooked inside its maw. Aston’s shining prize temporarily gagged the beast.
He struck hard with his knife, slicing the creature’s snout just below its eye. Even though it wanted him for dinner, he was reluctant to kill the endangered animal. Besides, he was not entirely sure he could inflict damage accurately enough through the predator’s tough hide to do it in, and he didn’t have time to line up a good killing blow.
As the shark flinched away from the sudden pain, twisting its head about in a convulsive attempt to spit out the blockage entangling its teeth, Aston turned over and swam hard for his boat. Halfway there he chanced a glimpse back and winced at the sight of golden rain falling through clear water down to the white sand below, the bag finally giving in to the shark’s powerful jaws. The tiger flicked its tail and burst forth through a cloud of blood, locked on like a missile to Aston’s trail.
Heart hammering, Aston kicked vigorously and clawed through the tropical sea. The current fought against him, pushing him back toward certain death. A moment of fear swept over him as he considered that these might be his last moments on Earth, and then his hand struck something solid. He grabbed the dive platform at the back of his boat and hauled himself up. Something snatched his leg, yanking down with such force that he felt it all the way up to his hip, and dragged him back into the water. He had only a moment to cry out in alarm, and then he was free. He spat out his regulator and scrambled up again, one fin lost to the carnivorous hunter below. He frantically checked his leg and counted his toes. The bastard had only got a mouthful of rubber. That was about as close as he ever wanted to come.
With the threat of mortal peril in his rear view mirror, he spared a moment to consider what he’d lost, remembering the coins falling like golden petals. It had taken him months to locate the sight of the downed aircraft and eventually recover the cargo nobody believed existed. Organized crime proceeds lost to the deep. All his tips and searching had finally paid off. But only for a few moments.
Aston had kept one foot in the seedy underworld of Australia’s less than lawful citizenry since he was a teenager. Even as he made a name for himself through university and then on some of the country’s leading scientific endeavors, he had always enjoyed a disreputable, secret second life. But that life came with its own risks and he’d had the answer to all his problems in his hand only to have to feed it to a goddamned shark in order to survive. There was something analogous to life in general in that snapshot of Sam Aston’s existence.
He supposed he could always come back another time and try to collect the scattered coins, but even now the tides would be sifting soft white sand to hide them. He might never find the exact spot again, but he would most certainly try. He wasn’t giving up thirty thousand dollars’ worth of gold sovereigns that easily.
With thoughts of his dire financial straits filling his mind, he began weighing the possibility of making an immediate, reckless attempt at recovering the treasure right then when a distant sound caught his attention. The rumble of an engine approaching carried across the glassy ocean. On the horizon, a sleek boat hoved directly toward him.
Had Chang’s people tracked him down already? Debt collectors, especially those who worked for people like Chang, were resourceful and relentless.
He climbed into the berth and shucked off his tank harness and remaining fin, then slipped a cap over his sandy hair to shield his eyes. The pilot pulled the boat up alongside Aston’s craft and killed the engine. Two men were on board. One waited at the wheel while the other moved to the side. Both were dressed like typical boaters out for a pleasure ride. They certainly didn’t look like the sort of men Chang would employ, but Aston wasn’t banking on stereotypes.
“Tell him I’m getting his money,” he called out, pre-empting the situation. “There’s no need for this sustained harassment. It’s only keeping me from working and earning.”
“What money?” The man on the passenger side tilted his head a notch, dark hair moving over a strong, clean-shaven face. And his navy blue polo-style shirt and khaki cargo pants looked like they’d been starched to military standard. Or bought fresh from a high street store that morning. He had a strong American accent with the nasal twang of the Northeast. Boston or New York, perhaps. Aston could never tell the two apart.
“You’re not Chang’s debt-collectors then?” he asked.
The man took off his sunglasses and swiped the back of his forearm across his sweaty brow. “I don’t know any Chang and I’m not here to collect a debt. In fact, I’ve got a job offer for you.”
“Is that right?” Aston seriously doubted the man had anything worthwhile to offer.
“I was afraid I wouldn’t have the opportunity to extend the proposal. You’re a hard man to track down.”