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The tiger was now turned so that it was head on to him and they faced each other like a pair of gladiators in a vast； surging arena filled with awful silence。 The lens of the sea turned it monstrously large。
Against all logic； it moved toward him。 Not swiftly as it had when it had sensed him； but cautiously。 After all； this was not a creature in distress； its senses informed it。 Yet there was distress ； and blood in the immediate vicinity and the shark wanted to feed unmolested。
Though Bristol was carrying two sticks of shark repellent he had little faith in the chemicals。 Still； he inched his right hand down toward his belt。 Fleetingly he thought of the speargun but quickly rejected that course of action。 He had seen too many shots of sharks with spears through their brains still alive and attacking and he wanted no part of that。 He only had one spear。
The tiger was very close now and Bristol could see the wicked sickle…shaped mouth below the wide apart pig eyes。 Pink plankton clung to its bottle…shaped snout and three ramoras； two above and one below； mimicked its every twist and turn。
It was still ing on and Bristol gripped one of the sticks with a gloved hand and gently drew it out。 He was sweating。 Christ； he thought； this bastard's gonna e all the way in。
Bristol rode with the tidal surge four fathoms down and gripped the stick with a viselike grip。 e on； old buddy； he whispered inside his head。 Have I got a surprise for you。
The tiger's ugly snout nosed in and Bristol abruptly came to life； lifting the stick and slamming it as hard as he could against the shark's snout。
The creature bucked hard； almost standing vertically on its tail。
Then it twisted so quickly it left two of the ramoras temporarily behind and fled into the green depths with a great double wave of its long powerful tail。
For a time； Bristol just hung as he had； feeling the cold sweat drying on his skin beneath his rubber cocoon。 Then； replacing the shark repellent in his belt； he got a fix on the boat and moved off toward it。
Twenty…four feet above where Bristol swam and perhaps seventy…five yards distant； Jack Kenneally was having the devil's own time landing his catch。 The Red Monster was no professional fisherman but he originally came from Florida and he had done a lot of deep…sea stuff as a teenager。 Now his job was to go after bigger game； and he bitterly resented this half…assed babysitting assignment。
Kenneally spat over the side with disgust。 He had saved her tan ass once from oblivion and he wondered just how many times he would have to repeat the feat before this shithouse assignment would end。 Privately he wondered whose instep he had trod on to be handed this one。 He was top echelon and he chafed to be out and setting prey in the sights of the long gun and not at the end of a fishing line。
He glanced over at Alix Logan stretched out in the skimpiest of bikinis； her burnished skin shining with oil； and cursed softly。 Who the hell was she anyway； he asked himself； that I gotta risk my neck to keep her alive and separated from the rest of the world？
Kenneally never did get an answer to that question for； at that moment； light danced off a surfacing faceplate and； in the midst of reeling in his catch； the Red Monster said； 〃What the fuck…！〃 and reached for his 。357 Magnum； got off a shot just before he heard the plangent twang！； the bright rush of wind； the ballooning black object； and then the burning pain in the center of his chest。
〃Aggh！〃 he cried as he staggered back under the shock of force； the rod spinning out of his hands and disappearing beneath the waves。 He clutched at the fire burning inside him； trying to rip the flechette from his flesh； but that only caused the curved barbs to bite deeper into him。
His chest was expanding and from his vantage point on the deck he looked up into the burning sun。 The slim silhouette of Alix Logan stood over him； her hand to her mouth covering the great O her lips were making。 Her beautiful eyes were open wide and Kenneally was suddenly struck by how much those eyes reminded him of his daughter's。 Now why hadn't he seen that before？
Fingers like swollen sausages and a terrible paralysis beginning to suffuse him； stiffening his limbs； fevering his mind； Kenneally saw the great shade looming up over the side of the boat； flicking sea water from its slick blue skin。
Then his eyes were bulging outward unnaturally and blood ran from his nose； mouth； and ears in bright crimson trickles and his body convulsed twice as the autonomic system shut down for good。
Climbing over the side of the boat； Bristol ripped off his heavy fins； pushed his mask up onto the top of his head； and said； 〃Alix Logan； I'm Detective Lewis Jeffrey Croaker of the New York City Police Department and to tell you the truth I've had the goddamndest time getting to see you。〃
Then he vomited all over the running deck。
Justine was numb。 The funeral progressed around her like some vast charade which she was fated to witness yet not participate in。 The hordes of people from her father's firm flown in from all parts of the world bewildered her。 Their assumedly sincere murmurs of condolence slid off her like rainwater。 At times she had no idea what they were talking about。
Her mind was otherwise occupied； but when the clouds lifted far enough for her to think of her father's passing； it was only with a sense of profound relief。
At some point she became aware that a male presence was close beside her。 Looking up； her heart beating fast； thinking that it might； despite what she herself had said； have been Nicholas； she was surprised to see Rick Millar。 He smiled and took her hand。 Justine might have asked him where Mary Kate was； but if he replied she did not hear him。
She seemed dead to the world。 Not even the beautiful setting beside the great beach house on Gin Lane just east of Southampton where she and Gelda had grown up seemed to affect her。 She was as anesthetized in her own way as her older sister was in hers； lying almost insensate in her Sutton Place apartment； having consumed God only knew how many quarts of vodka this last year following the death of Lew Croaker。 He had been the only man able to get through her tough exterior； leaving her so very vulnerable。 Now that he was gone； Justine had just about given up on her sister。 Only a miracle could save her； and Justine had none up her sleeve。 She couldn't even manage her own life； let alone Gelda's。
Oh； but how she felt betrayed！ As if the solid…seeming earth beneath her feet had abruptly split apart； hurling her downward into a pit of nothingness。 Now that Nicholas had done this to her； now that he had bee another in the long line of men who ultimately betrayed her； she felt only despair。 Even rage was denied her。 It was as if some vital spark had gone out within her。 Her head came down； her mane of hair falling over her face。 Those assembled studiously looked away from her grief； not understanding its source at all。
Nicholas felt a longing to return to Japan that was so intense even had he not received Sato's disturbing telegram he would in any case have been on the next flight out following Raphael Tomkin