Vincent straightened. He could feel Captain Loche’s eyes slide to him again as they had several times before. Every time he felt the man’s gaze fall on him, he wished he had of somehow forced Jack Monroe to come along. He could tell the senior officer wasn’t okay with a major chunk of their fleet hardware being used on a shark hunt – even if it was one supposedly to be sixty-five feet long and responsible for sinking a dozen boats.

Allegedly, sinking a dozen boats. Vincent sighed. He’d had to call in so many markers to make this happen, but even after only a day, he was starting to doubt the logic of his own story. Jesus Christ, he should have just said, a big shark. But a Megalodon, an extinct dinosaur shark, a freaking monster that had somehow busted out of a cave in the freezing Bering Sea, and then swam a few a thousand miles down the coast to sink boats and kill some two-dozen people.

Damn, he wished he’d made Monroe come with him to impart some of that scientific jargon and expert logic.

Vince groaned as he felt the cold steel glance from the captain alight on him once again. He kept his eyes on the water, praying for something to show up on the surface, the sonar, the depth finders or anything, anywhere would do. At the moment, they were burning through twenty grand a day using the Bertholf, looking for something that was a shadow under the water, and he had nothing more conclusive than a shard of tooth.

“We’ve got debris, sir.”

“All stop.” Loche lifted some field glasses. “Get a dinghy out.”

Vincent cleared his throat. “Sir, I strongly recommend you keep a small craft out of the water.”

The senior officer held up a hand. “It’s all right, Senior Officer Kelly. I think we got this.” He smiled, a little too patronizingly, Vincent thought.

“Boat One away, sir.”

Loche lowered the glasses. “There’s nothing on sonar, radar, or hydrophone. Not even an inquisitive dolphin down there.”

“Yes, sir.” Vincent gritted his teeth. “Permission to leave the bridge.”

“Permission granted.” Loche didn’t bother to turn.

Vincent jogged across the deck to where Reggie had her hands deep into the engine of the chopper. She saw him approach, and leaned on one elbow. “Hey boss, how’s it going in there with the brass?”

“About as I expected – bad.” He nodded to the dinghy shooting away. “They’ve spotted a debris pattern on the water.” He walked to the railing, watching as the small inflatable boat’s powerful engine made it skip across the surface until it reached a darker patch of water, where it began to circle, before slowing.

Vincent gripped the railing, his eyes now unblinking. He saw one of the men lean far out over the side – “stay clear of the water,” he whispered.