The Shark Rider (6 page)

The men got their breakfasts and joined the campers at the table.

“Glad to see you're up and ready to go,” Director Davis said.

Coach Fred just nodded, eyeing the teens like he was inspecting them for defects.

“So what sea creature goes well with peanut butter?” the director asked, smiling.

Tristan and the other two campers shook their heads.

“The jellyfish of course!”

The campers rolled their eyes and continued eating.

“Must be too early for you to appreciate one of my
new jokes. I'll just have to try it out on the other campers when they arrive.”

Coach Fred and the campers looked at the director, again shaking their heads.

“Well, no worries. Lots more where that came from. Now to the task at hand. We want to be sure you understand your job. As you may have noticed, the new security cameras are being installed as we speak.”

“May I?” Coach Fred asked the director, picking up a conch shell from the table. He turned the spiraling shiny pink shell over. It was at least eight inches long. From inside, he pulled out a small lipstick camera. He then pointed to a pinprick hole in the top whorl of the shell. “Here's an example of the new cameras that will be scattered throughout the park.”

Coach continued, “Security here is serious business. We need you to focus for the next two days. Spend your time in the park as inconspicuously as possible. That means no drinking Sea Camp water, sprouting webbed feet, and going for a swim in the Wave Pool or snorkeling streams while visitors are present.”

“We're not idiots,” Mia groaned.

Coach raised his eyebrows and stared at her with an expression that clearly said,
I'm not so sure
.

“Just keep your eyes open for anyone acting strangely or who looks like they don't belong in the park,” Director Davis told them.

“Who do you think it is?” Mia asked.

Tristan waited to see what the director would say.

He hesitated. “We're not sure, Mia. It could be someone from the government trying to come up
with a reason to shut us down. With our new source of funds, we've been able to cut our ties with one agency, and they're not very happy about it. Luckily, we have other more helpful and supportive partners both in and outside of the government.”

Or it could be Rickerton's thugs
, Tristan thought silently.

“And just so we're clear,” Director Davis added. “If you do see someone suspicious, you are not to talk to them or engage them in any way. Is that understood?”

They nodded.

Coach Fred showed them a little black box hooked onto the top of his shorts. A wire ran from it, up beneath his shirt, and into his ear like a secret service agent. “We'll be listening for you throughout the day. Everyone have a Sea Camp communicator pen?”

Again they nodded.

“Okay then,” the director said. “Have a good day out there. And when you get a chance, stop by my office to let me know how it's going.”

After the director and Coach Fred left, Mia said, “It's almost like a mission.”

“Yeah, a mission inside the park,” Luis noted, rubbing his smooth-shaven, shiny head. “That can't be good.”

Tristan nodded in agreement. His gaze lingered on the boy's head.

“Like it?” Luis asked smiling, again rubbing his hand over his smooth pate. “Just shaved it. Now I'm bound to be faster in the water.”

Tristan ran a hand through his mop-like brown hair. As usual, several long strands sprang back over his eyes. Would he swim faster if he shaved it all off? Showers would be quicker. Plus, major savings on shampoo and haircuts. Luis did look kinda cool, but Tristan decided he wasn't ready to give up his shaggy locks. Besides, he liked the way his hair hung over his eyes. It gave him a way to hide where he was looking.

Tristan, Mia, and Luis joined the visitors enjoying the day at the Florida Keys Sea Park and watched for people acting strangely. They didn't drink any Sea Camp water and, to blend in, even wore masks and fins while snorkeling in the park's streams. Tristan was nervous, thinking that some of Rickerton's men might be there. He wondered if he should tell Luis and Mia. Then again, why freak them out? Besides, they were probably safe in the park with so many people around.

The morning passed without incident, and Tristan began to feel less anxious. After lunch, he decided to check out the sea turtles, wondering if any had been chomped on by their new neighbors. He walked by the park's zip line. A boy zoomed past him toward the landing pool, screaming. Tristan couldn't decide if the kid was having fun or wailing out of sheer terror. He then noticed a man nearby also watching the boy. He was wearing a hard-shelled tan hat like people wore
in old jungle safari movies and was dressed in khaki from head to toe. On top of his khaki shirt and overlapping his khaki shorts, he had on a long khaki vest laden with khaki pockets. Tristan decided to nickname him “Jungle Joe.”

Unlike the other adults in the park, Jungle Joe appeared to be alone. He wasn't pensively watching as his kids raced down the water slide or floated down a stream. He wasn't chasing them around until the brink of exhaustion or laughing as they pointed to fish and made funny faces in their snorkeling masks. He was walking slowly around by himself, peering at the fish in the streams and pools, looking behind plants along the trails, and staring intently at what the visitors and park employees were doing. It seemed peculiar.

Tristan decided to follow Jungle Joe. He walked casually behind the man. When Jungle Joe suddenly stopped, Tristan ducked behind a low palm tree with long, vertical green fronds splayed out like a gigantic Japanese fan. Tristan peeked out from behind the tree. Jungle Joe was snapping photos with a pocket-sized camera. The man glanced around nervously. Tristan ducked back behind the tree. He let about thirty seconds go by and then peeked out again. Jungle Joe was gone. Tristan stepped out from behind the tree and swiveled around, looking for the man. He saw a flash of khaki. Jungle Joe had gone down the path toward the sea turtle pond. Tristan went after him.

When Tristan found Jungle Joe, he was peering through a pair of miniature binoculars at the flamingoes on the island at the center of the pond. Tristan
stopped before getting too close. Jungle Joe then began slowly turning, scanning the area.

Tristan searched for a place to hide. But he was on the new raised wooden walkway. There was only one choice. He ducked under the railing and jumped down, sliding on his butt in the sand behind a bush with clusters of yellow, bell-shaped flowers.

As quietly as possible, Tristan then crawled to his knees and peeked out from around the bush. Jungle Joe was staring his way. Tristan ducked back down, thinking the man must have heard his rear end smack the ground. He sure felt it. Tristan rubbed his butt cheek and looked out again. Jungle Joe had turned back toward the pond. Tristan breathed a sigh of relief. The man took out his camera and began taking more photos. Tristan pulled out his Sea Camp communicator pen, aimed it at Jungle Joe, and pushed the button on the side. He clicked the top, whispering, “This is Tristan. I've got a guy acting weird and taking photos.”

He looked at the pen, not sure if anyone had heard him or if the photo went through.

Then, for just a moment, he thought he heard chuckling. A quiet voice came from the pen. “Got it, Tristan. Thanks. That's just our old friend, Harold Strangman, from the water park in Ft. Lauderdale. He comes down here every year. Slinks around taking photos like he's doing industrial espionage. He's harmless. But good job spotting him.”

Tristan stood up, thinking,
So much for Tristan the spy
. He turned to climb up onto the boardwalk and then noticed one of the pond's new residents. It was
just ten feet away and staring right at him. The huge crocodile was eyeing him like a tasty boy burger—best when eaten rare. Tristan froze.

“I'd get a move on, if I were you,” a voice called out. “Need a hand?”

Tristan glanced briefly up at the walkway, not wanting to take his eyes off the undoubtedly drooling crocodile. It was Harold, alias Jungle Joe. His hand was extended out under the railing. Tristan's gaze returned to the crocodile. Was it closer than before? He didn't want to hang around to find out. Grabbing the man's hand, Tristan leapt off the sand and was pulled up onto the raised walkway.

“Thanks,” he said, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Best not to tempt the crocs,” Harold told him. “I'm sure they're well fed. But you never know. That was a little too close.”

“You're telling me.”

Tristan watched as the crocodile closed its eyes, now clearly disinterested in his meaty presence.

“But they are a nice addition to the pond,” the man noted. “Hmm, bet you could attract a crowd when feeding them.” He walked away, muttering something about wondering where he could get one. Tristan looked once more at the lengthy, boy-deprived reptile and decided to continue his lookout duties elsewhere, preferably someplace crocodile free.

By Friday night, after two days of looking for spies, Tristan was exhausted. It didn't help that he kept thinking about Rickerton and what the man might do if he found out about them. And that any more
incidents
like the shark thing, and his parents would pull him from camp. It was a lot to worry about, especially without Hugh and Sam there to talk to.

They hadn't discovered any truly dangerous intruders. Mia did rescue a kid who jumped into the snorkeling stream to pet the rays but couldn't swim. Tristan and Luis helped identify two representatives of an extremist animal welfare group trying to catch and smuggle marine life out of the park so they could release the animals into the wild. Of course, most of the wildlife in the Florida Keys Sea Park had either been rescued or born in captivity. They would probably die if released. Tristan didn't understand what these people were thinking. He was glad when they were promptly escorted to the exit. With the exception of Jungle Joe, no other suspicious characters were spotted. If Rickerton had been sending his men into the park, maybe he knew they were now watching for them.

Lying in his bunk, Tristan could barely keep his eyes open. He'd been so busy he hadn't even had a chance to convince Mia or Luis to go for a swim in the lagoon. Nor had he spent much time in his favorite place—Shark Alley. He went there once. But it wasn't a great place for him to be inconspicuous. As soon as he entered the see-through viewing tube in the enormous
aquarium, nearly all of the sharks and rays in the tank swam over. They hovered by the glass, stared at him, and jostled for a better position in front to say hello. He tried to tell them to act natural. But they trailed after him like a bunch of lovesick puppies. Kids started pointing and shouting to their parents. Tristan said a hasty good-bye and ran for the exit.

As his eyes closed, he thought about how quiet the empty bungalow was. He could hardly wait for tomorrow when the rest of the campers would arrive, hopefully including both Hugh and Sam.

5

TEETH MADE FOR CHEWING

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, T
RISTAN TRIED TO STAY BUSY
while he waited for the others to arrive. He visited the vegan blacktip shark at the Rehab Center and went back to Shark Alley to apologize for his rude behavior earlier in the week. He started to worry as the morning wore on and there was still no sign of Hugh or Sam. Cell phones were useless in the park, so he had no way of knowing when or even if they would arrive.