"Petrol tank, in the wing," grunted Hoagie. He grabbed his microphone. "Nassau Center, Cessna four-five Charlie, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Midair collision with a bloody bird. My petrol tank is leaking, and I'm off the air for now."

She was drowning in gasoline. It was burning her skin, her eyes, her face. "Hoagie!"

"Hang on, luv," he murmured. "Just hang on and we'll see what we can do.

And then they smelled the smoke.

***

On the Neptune's Folly, Mike and Jake had been searching for the great white all morning, triangulating when they heard the boom of his heartbeat, estimating when he faded from their screen, triangulating as he returned within their range.

They had seen no swimmers close to him at any time and had dogged him through the hours just after dawn.

Now they were solidly on his tail. He was doing a steady three knots, due south toward Spanish Galleon Cay, when Mike heard an aircraft engine. He looked up and saw Hoagie's Cessna heading for the airstrip.

He hoped that his mother had enjoyed her evening in Nassau. If Hoagie could only cheer her up!

He was standing at the helm when he heard the sound of gunshots—or an airplane backfiring—from the island's airstrip. It was out of sight behind Masthead Point, and he could not pin it down.

He tried to concentrate on the booming from the speaker. The shark was lazing along. God knew what he was finding to eat below: dorados, perhaps, or skate, or harmless sand sharks.

Then he heard the sound of Hoagie's engine change. Now it throbbed as if pressed. He turned swiftly and searched the northern sky.

Suddenly he froze. A Cessna was dragging a plume of dirty black smoke from the airstrip up, up into the sky. He saw a flicker of flame.

Hoagie? Yes, it had to be.

"Jake!" he screamed. "Get up here!"

The plane would come down in Masthead Sound—if it didn't crash at sea.

Jake was suddenly at his side. He took in the situation instantly. "William! Life jackets, life buoys, anything that floats!"

"Get the dinghy ready!" ordered Mike.

By the time he had the boat heading for the airstrip, Hoagie was well in sight. Mike stared.

He was smoking badly, engine coughing, and he was going to put it on the beach.

Mike dashed into the deckhouse, grabbed his binoculars, and sprinted out again.

He had an awful feeling that Thea was playing in the sand.

Hands shaking, he leveled the glasses.

She was building her sand castle, all alone.

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The aging Cessna fought for altitude in the clear Bahamian sky. Smoke was gushing from the engine nacelle, filling the cabin. Hoagie had a handkerchief jammed to his face, coughing as he wrestled with the controls.

Ellen cringed in her seat, taut with fear, skin stinging from the gasoline, eyes blurring.

"Steady, luv," Hoagie called above the engine's throb. "We'll get this kite down somehow, don't you fear...."