Middleton heard Brody speak. “Give me sound, Irv,” he said. “Get this, Walter.” He walked to Brody and said, “Something going on, Chief?”

“I don’t know,” said Brody. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” He said into the walkie-talkie, “Hooper?”

“Yes,” said Hooper’s voice, “but I still don’t know what it is. It was that shadow again. I can’t see it now. Maybe my eyes are getting tired.”

“You get that, Irv?” said Middleton. The sound man shook his head: no.

“There’s a kid swimming out there,” said Brody.

“Where?” said Hooper.

Middleton shoved the microphone at Brody’s face, sliding it between his mouth and the mouthpiece of the walkie-talkie. Brody brushed it aside, but Middleton quickly jammed it back to within an inch of Brody’s mouth.

“Thirty, maybe forty yards out. I think I better tell him to come in.” Brody tucked the walkie-talkie into the towel at his waist, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called, “Hey out there! Come on in!”

“Jesus!” said the sound man. “You damn near blew my ears out.”

The boy did not hear the call. He was swimming straight away from the beach.

The boy who had offered the ten dollars heard Brody’s call, and he walked down to the water’s edge. “What’s the trouble now?” he said.

“Nothing,” said Brody. “I just think he’d better come in.”

“Who are you?”

Middleton stood between Brody and the boy, flipping the microphone back and forth between the two.

“I’m the police chief,” Brody said. “Now get your ass out of here!” He turned to Middleton. “And you keep that fucking microphone out of my face, will you?”

“Don’t worry, Irv,” said Middleton. “We can edit that out.”

Brody said into the walkie-talkie, “Hooper, he doesn’t hear me. You want to toot in here and tell him to come ashore?”

“Sure,” said Hooper. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

The fish had sounded now, and was meandering a few feet above the sandy bottom, eighty feet below the Flicka. For hours, its sensory system had been tracking the strange sound above. Twice the fish had risen to within a yard or two of the surface, allowing sight and smell and nerve canals to assess the creature passing noisily overhead. Twice it had sounded, compelled neither to attack nor move away.

Brody saw the boat, which had been facing westward, swing toward shore and kick up a shower of spray from the bouncing bow.

“Get the boat, Walter,” said Middleton.

Below, the fish sensed a change in the noise. It grew louder, then faded as the boat moved away. The fish turned, banking as smoothly as an airplane, and followed the receding sound.

The boy stopped swimming, raised his head, and looked toward shore, treading water. Brody waved his arms and yelled, “Come in!” The boy waved back and started for shore. He swam well, rolling his head to the left to catch a breath, kicking in rhythm with his arm strokes. Brody guessed he was sixty yards from shore and that it would take him a minute or more to reach the beach.