At first he could not believe it. He had dived these waters from the age of ten. He had seen hundreds of sand sharks and makos and blues. Once he had spotted a tiger shark, without even feeling fear. But never in his life had he seen a great white. And this far south?

A part of him wanted to flee in terror. But the literature said no: thrashing, violent movement and speed were deadly.

He froze his motion and glided to the sand. There was no reef to shelter him, and the nearest wreck was the Leta, a good half mile away. He lay on the bottom, praying that his bubbles would not give him away. In his regulator, his breath sounded like a locomotive pulling from a station. He tried to quiet the sound but could not.

The shark was by far the biggest he had ever seen. Head-on, it reminded him of a jetliner taxiing to an airline terminal. It was weaving now, coming toward him, shaking his head from side to side. His mind raced through the lore of sharks. Weaving and indecision were the first hints of attack.

His thoughts became jumbled. What the hell was it doing in water so warm? Some product of el Niño or currents no man knew?

He tensed. The great white was lazing closer, gathering speed. It had seen him.

Louisa, why did you get me into this? And all for a white man too!

He tensed and quietly drew the diving knife from the holster on his calf. Now the beast was rushing toward him. Oh, God in heaven, save this mon's soul!

He closed his eyes and waited. He felt a shadow passing, and a swirl of water that almost turned him upside down. He had the sense of a long, tapered tail flailing by, inches from his head.

He lay for a long, long moment in the sand. Then he hazarded a look.

Like a jet that had swooped on an infantryman, the shark was climbing in the direction of the barge. He hazarded a cry into the microphone: "Shark... great white!"

Then, slowly, with a minimum of motion, he followed his bubbles toward the blessed light above.

***

Mike heard the strangled call from below. It sounded like, "Shark... great white!"

Angrily he rose from the chart table. Jake's twisted sense of humor was no mystery: It came with the high IQ. Despite his size and strength, he was like one of the nerds you met in college-engineers, chemists; yes, marine biologists—who were always making the wrong joke at the wrong time.

To lie about great white sharks to a man who had just lost his brother to one wasn't funny, and Jake should know better. Shaking his head, he moved into the bright sunlight. The voice had sounded fairly close, so Jake must be coming up.