Eye of the Whale (35 page)

“No, I’m killing you because you could ruin everything that I’ve accomplished—my work, my reputation…”

Elizabeth’s eyes found the wooden pole with the satellite tag attached to the end. “I’m not the only one who knows.”

“I know your husband has seen the file. But don’t worry, a bleary-eyed doctor driving home late at night, grieving the loss of his wife, can be very accident-prone.”

Elizabeth started to panic. Frank’s life was also at stake. Then she noticed the small red marine fire extinguisher.

S
KILLING STEADIED HIMSELF
with the gunwale and looked down at the binnacle, where the compass was lurching in all directions like a drunken sailor. The pain was excruciating. His eyes felt like they had been knocked out of their sockets, and he staggered on the pitching boat, falling to his knees. Over his shoulder, he saw Elizabeth holding a fire extinguisher. Dizzy, skull pounding, he tried to get to his feet, then gasped as his Adam’s apple was forced against his throat. His windpipe was being crushed. He grabbed for his neck, trying to pry off the rope.

E
LIZABETH PULLED
the makeshift garrote with all her strength, bracing herself against his large back. She pressed her feet into the deck as if balancing on a seesaw, the boat rocking wildly beneath them. Hatred coursed through her veins like molten metal, making her strong. She could kill him right there, right then. Panting for
breath, Skilling started to collapse forward, his hands futilely trying to grab the rope she had pulled tight around his neck.

Elizabeth felt a sharp pain as Skilling’s elbow landed in her solar plexus, and she gasped as her breath and strength left her. She released her chokehold, and Skilling grabbed her by the throat. She realized the true inequality of their strength: He was six inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier. She saw the killing fury in his eyes.

EIGHTY-THREE

S
KILLING THREW
E
LIZABETH
off the stern and made sure the rope was tied fast to the cleat. He pushed the throttle ahead and saw her bobbing up behind the boat in the glistening wake. Dark clouds were drowning out the moon, and he cursed the gathering storm. Now he wanted to see her eaten. How could she have thought that she could overpower him? His muscles were made for violence, for battle. But her futile struggle would make her death all the more gratifying.

He looked at the screen of the fish finder to see where the shark was. The large red spot was deep in the water column, no doubt seeing her outline on the surface, stalking, readying a surprise attack from below, as whites so often did. They could be methodical hunters or opportunistic, moving quickly when prey presented itself.

Skilling heard the fish finder beep. He had set its programmable parameters, and now, as he glanced down at the blinking shape on the screen, he saw another shark almost twice as large. It could only be Mother.

E
LIZABETH COULD HARDLY BREATHE.
The icy water was like a fist that gripped her body and froze her limbs.
Keep moving,
she commanded herself.
Keep moving.
She kicked furiously, trying to hold her head above water as the boat slowed down.

Whitecaps crashed around her as the boat appeared and disappeared beyond the swells. Her wrists, tied together, made it difficult
to tread water. The boat was trolling her slowly. And then the full horror of her situation struck her: He was using her as human chum.

She kept kicking and struggling to breathe, trying desperately to free her hands. She knew her kicking would attract the shark, but she had no choice—the only alternative was to drown. Even if she kept her legs perfectly still, the shark could sense the beating of her heart, and there was no way to quiet its wild pumping in her chest.

Blood was fleeing from her limbs, and needles of cold dug into her skin. A voice in her head shouted,
Pull the handcuffs off. Pull them off.
It was her only chance of survival. The rope was loosening now that it was wet, and she dug the fingertips of one hand under the rope bracelet around the other, pulling desperately. The pain was intense, rubbing off skin, but the rope was moving. She felt a burst of hope.

Skilling sped up, dragging her head underwater and practically pulling her arms out of their sockets. Elizabeth gasped for air in the roiling wake and kept kicking, trying to stay afloat, stealing breaths and inhaling water with the air. The salt stung her throat and lungs as she coughed and sputtered.

She kept struggling against her cuffs but couldn’t free her hands. She was freezing to death and could feel her body shutting down. At least it was better than being eaten alive.
Either way,
she thought, I
am going to die.
The thought was like a knife, severing her will. She stopped resisting, her body going limp as it bobbed through the waves.

The boat stopped. The line went slack. She began to sink into the dark, her hands still bound above her.

A few bright rays of moonlight penetrated the water. Elizabeth blinked but could see only a few inches in front of her. And then she saw something strange: a child’s face with two black button eyes staring back at her.

My baby,
Elizabeth thought.
I must save my baby.

Her child deserved a chance to live. Elizabeth couldn’t die. Not now. She fought to the surface for another breath, then saw the boat backing toward her.

Skilling had thrown the throttle astern. He was going to run her over and leave her bloody carcass for the sharks. No, this would not be her fate—or her child’s.

She dove beneath the surface as the boat backed over her. The water was white, turned to chop by the propeller.

She was yanked back as the slack line fouled the propeller, grinding it to a halt. She heard the engine rev, but the boat was not moving.

T
HE SHARK SWAM
twenty feet from the rocky bottom and forty feet from the glittering surface—

She saw the outline of her prey above—

Felt the wash of its frantic movements—

Smelled the blood of its wounds—

Sensed its heartbeat and breath—

It was necessary to be cautious—to surprise—

She had the knowledge of an experienced hunter and knew the moment had come—

She shifted direction with a twitch of her torso and a slight change in the angle of her pectoral fins—

She thrust her six-foot crescent tail—catapulting her toward the surface at full bore—

Water flowed over rows of two-inch teeth—her jaws ready to gape open—preparing for the killing blow—

Her dark pupils rolled tailward in their sockets to protect her precious sight from this creature’s claws—

E
LIZABETH FELT
the pressure wave from below. She struggled, trying futilely to free her hands, as if somehow she could use them to defend herself and her baby. But the rope would not release her.

T
HE SHARK’S JAWS
sank into the wriggling body—

Her head wrenching from side to side—

Through fat and muscle her rows of triangular teeth tore—

Some snapping off as others held fast—

A warm swell of blood covered her gums and spilled down into her throat—

The smell and taste soothed her nervous system as her tail stopped whipping—

The struggle was over—

She would live to spawn more young—

She began to descend—

The flesh already entering the cartilaginous cavern of her stomach—

E
LIZABETH’S BODY
was thrown to the side. The turbulent sound in her ears was like a waterfall pumped backward.

First she smelled the blood in the water, like wet rusty metal, then she felt its oily slick, and when she finally opened her eyes, she saw the dark water spreading out around her.

How long do I have to live?

Her numb body mercifully could not feel any pain. She could hear the shrieking of the gulls as they flapped their wings around her, and she knew they would not wait until she was dead to start pecking at her flesh. She waved her arms, even though she knew she would go into shock at any moment. But as long as she lived, she would do anything to defend the child growing inside her. In that moment she felt no hatred toward the shark—there was no evil, no
malice, in it. She understood, as she never had before, the hunger for life that drives all animals.

Elizabeth didn’t want to feel her missing limbs, but the biologist in her needed to collect data. Her tethered hands began to probe downward.

Her chest and stomach were still intact and her pelvis, too. Her heart leaped with hope. She stopped her inventory to fight off the tornado of gulls that had gathered above her. Perhaps she had just lost a leg. But then she realized she would still probably die from blood loss. Her fingers descended her legs inch by inch.

They were whole.

Her mind raced, trying to understand what had happened. Just then she saw something floating in the water next to her.

It was the backside of a baby elephant seal. Its beheaded torso was still pumping out thick, oily blood into the water as the gulls pecked at the blondish-brown hair of the carcass, cutting off chunks with their flinty beaks. It must have been the seal’s eyes she had seen in the water. Only then did she realize the truth.
Oh, my God, I’m going to live. I’m going to live.

As she came to this realization, she also remembered that after the killing blow, sharks often returned to finish off their prey. She had to get out of the water as fast as possible, not only because of the shark but because the frozen water was becoming a coffin, shutting down her body. She looked ahead at the boat. Skilling was no longer chumming her, and now she saw why. Through the rising and falling swell, she could see him bent over in the stern, trying to cut the propeller free of the rope.

The bloody carcass floated next to her, giving her an idea. She hesitated and then plunged her hands into the warm, bloody entrails of the seal, halfway up her forearms. The heat felt good as she rubbed her wrists around the oily blubber. Now she pulled with all her strength, crushing her hands together like a bird claw so that
they were as narrow as her wrists. She yanked and pulled and then tried digging her fingers under the rope, but the oil prevented her from getting a good grip. She would have to use her brute strength, what was left of it, and trust the oil to make her skin slick. She groaned hard, clenching her teeth and pulling her arms apart. One hand popped out, and once it had, the other cuff loosened. She was free.

Suddenly, the enormous head of the shark jutted out of the water beside her and bit into the beheaded seal. Every muscle in Elizabeth’s body seized up. She choked for breath—the howling wind and cold were gone. Now there was only the shark.

One piercing eye stared back at her over bloodied two-inch teeth. She recognized intelligence in that eye. The shark had known how to identify its prey.

Slowly, she backed away and threw her numb arms one over the other. She swam quickly toward the boat, where Skilling was fighting a submerged rock with his bamboo gaff. Elizabeth had to get back in the boat without being seen. The flapping gulls shielded her as she clenched her unfeeling hands and tightened her jaw. Now she was the predator, stalking Skilling.

T
HE STERN OF THE BOAT
was five feet in front of Elizabeth, listing to the starboard side, pelted by waves. Without its engines, it was foundering on the jagged coastline. Skilling was no longer thinking about her, only about saving himself and his boat.

Elizabeth heaved herself up onto the duckboard and pulled her body over the walk-through transom. She looked up. Skilling had not seen her, and the crashing waves silenced her awkward movements. On her elbows, she crawled across the deck rolling under her, and with her clawed hands, she grabbed the wooden tagging pole from its hooks.

She swung the pole at Skilling’s head with all her strength, but he saw her and blocked her with the thick bamboo gaff. The rattle of the blow shook her arms.

He grabbed the tagging pole with his free hand and threw down the long gaff, which was useless in a fight. They grappled with the pole between them, the titanium tip of the satellite tag glinting in the moonlight. She knew the small harpoon head was sharp enough to pierce a shark’s armored skin. As they shook the pole, the satellite tag broke free from the rubber bands that held it fast and rolled toward the gunwale.

Even with her newfound will to live, her frozen and exhausted body was no match for him. Skilling spun her around and pinned her against the railing. He took one hand off the pole and seized her throat. His cruel eyes told her that he cared only about killing her, regardless of the danger to him or his boat.

Elizabeth tried to gasp for air as he crushed her trachea in his grip. Her hand moved desperately over the rough deck of the boat, looking for the satellite tag beneath her.

She shot her eyes to the water just beyond the boat’s stern and managed to yelp,
“Mother…”

Skilling looked where her eyes were riveted.

Elizabeth seized the satellite tag, inching her fingers along the monofilament to the tip. She gripped its tiny scalpel-sharp point and dug it into Skilling’s temple. She ripped it along his face, cutting him from his forehead to his chin. Skilling released the tagging pole and grabbed his bleeding face with both hands.

Elizabeth spied the rope, which was pulled taut between the cleat and where it was still tangled in the prop. She grabbed it to brace herself as the boat pivoted around the rock.

Screaming with pain and fury, he lunged at her, his hands like claws, his teeth bared. Another wave slammed into the boat.