The Shadow
The two scientists had been walking ahead of Rick and Scotty, but
Zircon's keen ears had overheard the boys' remarks. However, he was too
wise to make his interest obvious. He waited until the group passed a
store with a large display, then stopped, as though to examine it.
Rick found himself surveying a collection of tools for the
do-it-yourself addict.
"What's this about Steve and a tail?" Zircon asked. He pointed at a
power-drill set, as though discussing it. His normally loud voice
couldn't have been heard five feet away.
Rick shook his head, then pointed at a different drill set. Anyone
watching would have thought the tools were the subject of conversation.
Rick quickly outlined what had happened and concluded, "Scotty spotted a
tail on us a few minutes ago. Same guy?"
Scotty bent down for a closer look at a series of wood power bits. His
voice was scarcely audible. "Not the same one. This one is a Virgin
Islander. Looks like a farmer. When we stopped he walked right on by.
He's out of sight now. But he'll pick us up as soon as we start."
Tony Briotti, to whom this kind of adventure was new, asked, "What do we
do about it?"
"Nothing," Zircon answered. "Steve Ames wanted to get rid of his shadow
and the boys helped him out. But we have no particular reason for
wanting to get rid of ours. Let him follow. Undoubtedly whoever is
tailing Steve got interested when they saw him talking with the boys,
but they'll learn nothing by trailing us."
"And it's one less for Steve to contend with," Rick added.
Scotty straightened up. "I have to admit this bunch of tools is
beginning to bore me a little. Where are we going?"
Zircon shrugged. "I have nothing in mind. We might check in at the
hotel."
"I'd rather swim," Rick said.
"Same here." Scotty made a quick survey of the street without seeming to
do so. "No sign of our friend. He's probably in another doorway."
"Then Hobart and I might as well check in," Tony suggested. "I'd like a
swim, but frankly I'm a little sleepy from too much lunch."
"How about checking in for us?" Rick asked. "Then we could get right
into the water. No need for all of us to go to the hotel."
The scientists agreed, and at Scotty's suggestion hailed a taxi. As the
car rolled off toward the boat where their luggage was stored, Scotty
grinned. "This was the only taxi in sight. Wonder how our friend will
manage to follow us?"
He had his answer at the pier. While Zircon was piling their overnight
bags into the taxi, a farmer rode past on a bicycle. He didn't look at
them. "There he goes," Scotty said. "Pretty easy after all. Guess the
town is small enough so he wasn't worried about finding us."
"We'll give him a choice to make when Tony and I leave." Zircon smiled.
"Let's see whether he stays with you, or follows us."
Not until the boys had changed to swimming trunks in the cabin of the
_Water Witch_ did they find the answer to Zircon's question. The shadow
had decided to stay with them. This time it was Rick who spotted him.
The shadow was nearly hidden beyond a curve in the shore line. To anyone
not aware of being tailed, he would have appeared to be with any of the
other casual figures that went unhurriedly about their business in the
neighborhood. If Scotty hadn't pointed him out, Rick would not have
suspected that the shadow had the slightest interest in the Spindrift
party.
"We going to rig the aqualungs?" Scotty asked.
"Let's not bother. Masks, snorkels, and fins. We can swim out and take a
look at some of the coral heads."
"How about a gun?"
Rick considered. "I guess not. We don't want to do any hunting. But you
might take a hand spear in case something real inviting shows up. And
let's take our knives." He had also decided against taking his camera. A
leisurely, unencumbered swim was what he wanted. There would be time
enough for hunting fish or taking pictures later, when they got to
Clipper Cay.
While Scotty went into the cabin to select a spear from their assortment
of fishing gear, Rick surveyed the _Water Witch_ with satisfaction. It
was a thirty-five-foot craft with a small cabin forward and a spacious
cockpit aft. It had been used as a diving tender before, apparently,
because there was a ladder that could be swung outboard for a diver to
use. There was also a small boom that could be rigged quickly for
lowering or lifting gear from the water.
The gas tanks were ample for their purposes. One filling would be more
than sufficient for a round trip to Clipper Cay plus any cruising they
would do while at the island. The tanks were full.
Water capacity, an important consideration on waterless Clipper Cay, was
more than adequate. In addition to a built-in fifty-gallon tank in the
cabin, there was a rack of five ten-gallon jerry cans in the cockpit.
Scotty emerged from the cabin with a short, low-powered spring gun.
"Thought I might as well bring a light gun," he said. "It's just as easy
to carry as a spear."
"Okay." Rick led the way down the pier to the beach, carrying his mask,
snorkel, and slippers. These he placed carefully on one of the Sky
Wagon's pontoons, in order to protect the clear glass of his mask from
any possible scratching. Then, with a yell to Scotty to hurry, he
bounded through the shallows, threw himself forward, and planed along
the surface of the water. Lifting his head for a quick breath, he dove
under, feeling the wonderful coolness of the water close over him. He
judged its temperature quickly. It was close to eighty degrees, he
estimated, and cool only by comparison with the warm air.
He reversed course quickly and stood up. Scotty was also in the water.
"I'm glad we didn't bother with suits," Rick said. "In water like this
we'd even be too warm in midseason suits."
Because of the coldness of the water off the New Jersey coast, the boys
had equipped themselves with full, waterproof rubber suits under which
long under-wear was worn, and with lighter "midseason" suits of foam
neoprene. Because of the reported warmth of water in the Virgin Islands
they hadn't added the suits to their already heavy load of supplies.
They returned to the beach, picked up their equipment, and took it into
the water. Rick sat down and rinsed out his flippers, then carefully
removed the last traces of sand from his feet. He pulled the flippers
on, adjusting them for maximum comfort. His face mask was next. He spat
into it, then rubbed the saliva over the glass. This rather
unsanitary-appearing trick was essential, since saliva is an excellent
antifogging compound needed to help keep the glass clear underwater.
Then he rinsed his mask lightly and adjusted the head straps, leaving
the mask on his forehead.
The snorkels used by the boys were plastic tubes curved at both ends. At
one end was a mouthpiece; at the other was a cage that held a rubber
ball. A dive or rough wave action floated the ball upward, closing the
tube and preventing water entry. Rick and Scotty adjusted the rubber
bands of their snorkels around their heads above the mask straps.
Scotty was ready. He slipped his mask into place, molded the soft rubber
skirt of the mask to the contours of his face, inhaled through his nose
to make sure the seal was airtight, then called, "Let's go!" He gripped
the mouthpiece of his snorkel between his teeth, the rubber flange under
his lips, and slid into the water.
Rick was right behind him. As his mask touched water he saw the white
coral sand of the bottom a few inches down. The only sign of life was a
hermit crab, perhaps a half inch in length, dragging his home of the
moment--a tiny spiral shell.
In one hand, Scotty carried the spear gun by its pistol grip. He swam in
the position that suited him best, both arms hanging limply down. Rick,
on the other hand, preferred to swim with arms relaxed along his sides,
as long as his hands were empty. When carrying a spear gun or his
camera, he also swam with arms hanging downward. Neither boy used his
arms for swimming. The rhythmic, powerful leg strokes were enough,
thanks to the swim fins.
The water deepened rapidly but lost none of its clarity. Even at a depth
of a dozen feet, Rick thought, he could have counted every grain of
sand. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced. At home,
visibility of five feet was considered good. Lost in the enjoyment of
really clear water, he completely forgot about the shadow.
Scotty reminded him. He touched Rick's arm and signaled a stop. The boys
removed their snorkel mouthpieces and faced each other upright in the
water, holding position with easy flipper movements.
"Just pretend we're talking," Scotty said. "Don't look around. I'm
trying to spot our friend over your shoulder." After a moment he shook
his head. "No sign. Wonder if he ran for a bathing suit?"
"Forget him. Let's swim. See any coral heads?"
"Darker water off yonder. Let's look."
They readjusted their snorkels and headed in the direction Scotty had
indicated.
Rick breathed easily through his tube, constantly scanning the bottom.
Now and then he saw various kinds of debris on the bottom, including
abandoned beer cans and a section of newspaper that had not yet rotted
away. Rubbish like this was to be expected in a harbor, he supposed,
still it was as unattractive to a swimmer as junk along the roadside is
to the motorist.
Suddenly he noticed a fish--the first he had seen. He took a deep breath
and dove by letting his head drop and then lifting his legs to a nearly
vertical position. He slid underwater without a splash. When his fins
were below the surface he started his leg motion again, and the flippers
propelled him smoothly downward.
The fish was perhaps a foot long, silvery, with a pointed nose and
yellow fins. Rick couldn't identify it. The fish was busily rooting in
the sand for morsels of food and paid no attention to the diver until
Rick reached out and almost touched it, then it sped just beyond reach
and commenced rooting again.
His curiosity satisfied for the moment, Rick surfaced and rejoined
Scotty. As he took position at his friend's side, the other boy hooted
once, their signal for "attention." The hooting was done by making a
kind of "hooty" groan into the snorkel mouthpiece, about the only sound
that could be made without letting water pass the lips. Because water
conducted sound so well, the hoot could be heard clearly some distance
away.
Rick lifted his face from the water and saw that Scotty was pointing to
an area a short distance to their right. He followed Scotty's lead and
saw the reason for the signal. It was a rocky, coral-covered area about
thirty feet square and perhaps fifteen feet below the surface.
The boys swam directly over it, then floated motionless, watching the
activity below. At first glance, there appeared to be only a pair of
odd-shaped file-fish nibbling at the formation, but as their vision
adjusted they made out literally dozens of tiny, colorful fish in
clefts, under overhangs, or waiting motionless against a patch of color
on the rocks. Rick pointed to a school of about ten vivid little fish of
electric-blue color. The largest was less than two inches long. Scotty
hooted for attention and pointed in his turn to a section of the rock
that held over a dozen sea urchins that looked like black horse
chestnuts with exaggerated spines.
Rick watched a pair of brown doctorfish about eight inches long swim by
below, then his attention was attracted by a brilliant red squirrelfish
peering out of a cleft. He pointed the red fish out to Scotty, who in
turn showed him where a little moray was peering out of a hole near the
base of the rock.
Rick was fascinated. If a tiny patch of rock held this amount of life,
what must the real reefs be like off Clipper Cay? He was suddenly
impatient to get going, to put on his aqualung and explore the reef from
top to bottom. And if they should really find the wreck of the _Maiden
Hand_, there was every chance that the exploration of the wreck and the
sea life it had acquired would more than compensate for the treasure
none of them really hoped to find anyway. What a vacation!
He was suddenly conscious of a throb in his ears. He listened and tried
to identify it. A motorboat of some kind, but it didn't sound like a
very powerful one. He lifted his head and searched for it.
Scotty, too, had heard the boat. He began to tread water, lifting his
mask, then rinsing it because it had fogged a little.
Rick spotted the boat. It looked like a large row-boat, powered with an
outboard motor, and it was headed in their direction.
Scotty took his snorkel out of his mouth. "Better stay topside and
watch. We don't want to start our vacation by getting run over."
"Too true," Rick said. "Isn't this great? I've never seen so many kinds
of small fish in one place in my life. Wait until we get out to the
reefs where the big ones are."
Scotty patted his spear gun. "I'll keep us supplied with fresh sea food.
Wonder if there are any lobsters around?"
But Rick had stopped listening. "Scotty, that guy is heading right for
us!"
The boat was getting close, and through his face plate Rick could make
out the figure of a single occupant.
Scotty suddenly gripped his arm. "Rick! It's our shadow!"
Rick started. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I don't like this. What would he come out here for? Get ready to
dive." Scotty pulled his mask into place and molded it to his face, then
gripped his snorkel between his teeth.
Rick followed suit and leveled off in the water in diving position, but
he hesitated, waiting to see what the boat would do.
It didn't take long to find out. The boat stayed on a perfectly straight
course, headed directly for them. Rick waited. Perhaps the shadow
intended to sheer off when he got close. He might have come out to talk
with them.
Scotty hooted four times, their signal for danger! Then he went under.
Still Rick hesitated, until it was clear that the boat did not intend to
swerve. He saw the shadow's face, set in grim lines, then his legs went
up and he slid under, using his hands as well as his legs to pull
himself down to safety. He thought incredulously, "He tried to run us
down!"
A dozen feet under he turned over on his back and saw the bright circle
of the propeller and its trail of foam. The boat was past. He shot to
the surface and filled his lungs with air, waiting for the next move.
The boat spun around in a tight turn and headed back.
Scotty surfaced next to Rick, pulled the snorkel from his mouth, and
gritted, "Swim away. Let him use you for a target. I'm going to get that
son of a spiny sea walrus."
Rick saw from the position of the spear in Scotty's gun that his friend
had charged the weapon during the dive. He nodded, then turned and swam
away, flippers flailing as though trying to hurry. He watched over his
shoulder and saw the boat head for him.
He was breathing hard from the excitement now, but he took a deep breath
and got ready to dive. But still he swam, leading the rapidly overtaking
boat until it was almost on him. Only then did he shoot downward,
twisting as he went. He looked back in time to see Scotty sight the
spear gun and fire as the boat went past.
At first Rick thought his pal had missed, then he realized what Scotty
had done. The spear shaft was attached to a long wire leader, and the
leader to a safety line coiled around a spool just ahead of the pistol
grip. Scotty had deliberately fired ahead of the propeller, knowing that
the wire leader would be caught and would wrap around the shaft.
Rick saw the spear stop short as the wire caught, saw it hauled back
against the propeller and drop free as the prop blades cut it loose.
Scotty shot up for a breath, then dove instantly, toward the rapidly
falling spear.
Rick had to breathe himself. He surfaced, caught a quick breath, then
went under again. Scotty was picking up the spear. Rick saw him place it
in the gun barrel, swing the loader over the razor-sharp harpoon head,
and shove down on the spring. In a moment the gun was loaded again.
Luckily the spear had not bent when the prop blade hit it.
The boat had come to a halt, the engine dead. The propeller could no
longer turn against the wrapping of wire and heavy fishline. Scotty
hooted twice, their signal to surface, and Rick followed him up. Near
the surface they separated, Rick taking the side of the boat away from
his friend. He longed for a weapon, even a hand spear. But he was
helpless. Scotty would have to get in the first blow with the gun. But,
Rick thought, that might give him time to get over the gunwale to
grapple with the shadow.
His head broke water. He pulled the snorkel from his mouth and let it
hang. As luck would have it, the shadow saw him first. He stood up, oar
in hands, poised for a swing at Rick's head.
Scotty's voice stopped the swing. "Don't do it or you'll get three feet
of steel through you!"
The man turned and faced the needle point of Scotty's spear. The oar
dropped from his hands.
Rick gulped his relief. Apparently the shadow had no weapon.
"Jump overboard!" Scotty ordered.
The man hesitated. Scotty thrust the spear gun forward. "Jump, I said!"
The shadow did, and sank in a flurry of bubbles. When he rose to the
surface again, the point of the spear was against his back. "Hang on to
the boat with both hands," Scotty directed.
Rick got to his side with a kick of the flippers and ran his hands over
the man's clothing. He found a switch knife, which he put in his belt.
"He's clean," he said. "No other weapons."
"Take a look in the boat," Scotty suggested.
Rick did so, lifting himself up on the gunwale. There was nothing in the
boat but oars and a can of gasoline.
"Want to tell us why you tried to run us down?" Rick asked.
The shadow merely stared.
"Talk," Scotty ordered, "or I'll put this spear through you."
The man spoke, and his accent was the soft speech of the island. "No,
you won't. I could explain running down swimmers by accident, but you
could never explain putting a spear through a man in a boat. You don't
want that kind of trouble."
Scotty grinned at the truth of it. "Okay," he said. "Just one thing.
Don't push us too far. Stay in the water until we're ashore, and don't
try to overtake us."
"Better heed that advice," Rick warned. "Come on, Scotty. Let's go." He
put his snorkel in place.
Scotty moved to his side. "Welcome to the hospitable waters of St.
Thomas," he said. "What say we look up some friendly sharks before we go
ashore?"