Target: Lousteau

Off the coast of Cuba, Caribbean Sea; Friday, June 10, 11:41 A.M.…

The massive white yacht slowly crept to a stop, gliding along the glassy surface of the water as its engines were cut. Standing at the wheel was a young German Shepherd, who slowly moved a little more towards portside as the vessel eased to a halt.

"That's fine! Drop away with the anchor!"

The command came from a large lizard standing on the forecastle deck of the yacht with a green and yellow wetsuit on. As another crewmember released the anchor, the lizard donned a pair of air tanks and slowly pulled the mask up over his head before placing it over his face. The crewmember who had dropped the anchor approached him with the harpoon gun in hand.

"Here it is, sir."

"Cool, bro." The lizard quickly snatched it and checked to make sure that it was loaded. He then slipped it into his dive suit's belt and started adjusting his air tanks. The crewman slowly turned to walk away. However, the helmsman instantly cut off his path and stood in front of him.

"Nick, you said you were going to be the one to say something to him." The helmsman hissed.

"I know, I know. But…I've been thinking that if I question him, he'll fire me. I won't get any more money off of him. And I need some of the dough – er, money."

"See? You're already talking like him. You have got to say something to him, now."

"Why can't you do it, Herb?"

"You volunteered to do it first."

"I didn't volunteer; you, me, and Steven made a bet that whoever spoke to him first got 200 dollars."

"You were the one who made the bet."

Herb quickly glanced over Nick's shoulder and saw the lizard slowly start to approach the railing.

"He's getting ready to dive! Go now!"

Before Nick could protest, Herb spun him around and gave him a quick shove in their employer's direction. Nick clumsily stumbled up to the lizard, careful not to bump into him.

"Um, sir?"

The lizard stopped just at the railing and turned to face the man who had spoken.

"May I ask you something?"

"Shoot away, dude."

"Well, first off, might I ask where exactly you got this information from? You know, about this so-called wreck?"

"Oh, a pal of mine in Florida. He told me all the sweet details, where it's at, and all that stuff."

"He told you all the details?"

"Yep."

"That it's called The Black Wing?"

"Yep."

"That there's approximately $140,000,000 in gold bullion down there?"

"Yep."

"But sir, we've already tried four times now, and we could never find the wreck."

"Well, you know what they says, right? Fifth time's a lucky charm!"

"It's 'third time's a charm,' sir."

"Look, even if it takes us five dives or one gazillion dives, I don't care. The dives are what gives me the jives, man!"

"Well what about us, sir? We sit up here for hours and wait for you to come back, most of the time empty-handed!"

"He won't be able to stay down there for much longer!" Herb suddenly called from behind. Both Nick and the lizard turned around to face him.

Herb pointed out over the starboard side, into the distance. "There's a storm coming. See?"

They both followed the direction of his finger, and could easily see the brewing dark clouds not too far away, with occasional bright flashes in them.

"It was all over the Weather Channel this morning, sir. It's practically a typhoon!"

"Not to worry no mind, man! I'll be back up here with the bling in zero time!"

And with that, the lizard placed the end of the air hose into his mouth, taking one long deep breath to make sure that it worked, and then slowly let himself tumble backwards over the railing and into the ocean with a large splash.

"That's what he said the last time." Herb muttered, shaking his head.

"What should we do?"

"What we should do is weigh the anchor and get the hell out of here before he comes back."

"Should we?"

"Well, unfortunately, he's the only reason that you, me, and Steven get paid these days. Whether or not he's an idiot, he's still a rich idiot. And if he's rich, we're rich."

"But we can't stay here too long…right?" Nick nervously gestured over to the gathering clouds that seemed to be drawing closer. Already, a breeze started to kick up, catching the flag atop the bridge and sending it whipping. Nick quickly pulled his jacket closer to his face.

"Look, we'll wait for him to come back up. By the time the storm gets here, if it does, its effects will be just as strong under the water. He'll know to come back up."

"Well, what should we do in the meantime?"

"Before it starts raining? I can do this."

Herb reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Marlboro box.

"Want one?"

"Um, no thanks."

"Suit yourself." Herb slid one of the cigarettes out of the pack and slipped the box back into his pocket, exchanging it for a tall, red plastic lighter. As he started to smoke, the wind instantly swept up the smoke from his mouth as he exhaled and scattered it to the wind. Nick slowly turned and headed back below deck.

Herb remained on the forecastle, leaning forward over the railing as he took another deep, long drag. He glanced out into the distance, opposite the approaching storm, and thought he could just barely see something on the water. He instinctively clenched his teeth down on the cigarette to hold it in his mouth as he reached for the binoculars. He looked through them, turning the knob on top to focus it. He could now clearly see that it was a small, gray metal boat with a single outboard motor. There were two fishing poles standing up in it, apparently placed in rod holders. He could see a single figure bent down on the boat, sorting through a tackle box, with a large yellow raincoat and hat on.

Disregarding this as just another typical fisherman, Herb put the binoculars away and took the cigarette between two fingers, a clear imprint of his teeth still left on it.

…

He could barely see out of the corner of his eye as the German shepherd on the deck of the yacht raised his glasses and watched him for a few long seconds. He continued to act like a normal fisherman, stringing his bait onto hooks. Even at the incredible distance, the slight flicker of movement told him that the man was putting the binoculars back down. He was in the clear once again.

Tossing the small hook aside, he whipped off his yellow poncho and matching yellow hat, quickly adjusting his sleek, black wetsuit underneath it and pulling the hood of it up over his head. He also took one quick breath through the hose to test his air tanks, and found them working perfectly. He reached underneath the wooden slat of a seat he was on and firmly grasped the handle of his new knife: A fine kitchen knife, not with jagged edges like the one he had used to kill the Interpol officer, but sleeker and meant for more precise cuts rather than pure strength. He clenched the blade between his teeth as he grabbed his underwater prober: A four-foot long device with a single large propeller in the back, capable of reaching a speed of nearly ten knots per hour underwater. He took hold of the handles on each side and held it in front of him, propeller facing down. He took one last quick look at the yacht in the distance. By now, even the smoker had retreated back to the warmth and dryness of the cabin, as the rain was slowly and surely beginning to fall.

He stood up, facing the water before him. It slowly started to grow choppy, and he knew that he had no time to lose. This storm was the perfect cover, and he had to act fast before the target – one Dimitri Lousteau – decided to return and head back to shore.

With that, he leapt off the boat and into the water, slamming through the surface into the frigid water. He wasn't even fazed. He had faced colder once when pursuing a target through the German Alps. He aimed the prober underwater and flicked it on, moving the knob on the side to "10" for maximum speed. The propeller instantly kicked up, and he held on as it took him down, further and further into the ocean and towards his target.

Once he reached the point where visibility was practically zero, he reached up with one hand and flicked a switch on the top of his mask. Almost instantly, the visor on the inside lit up with a special night-vision and infrared view of everything, instantly making it brighter without creating an obvious beacon of light. So far, everything around him was still a murky, extremely dark green. Then a single spot of light green appeared in his line of vision. It was moving constantly, splitting open and closing repeatedly at one end; kicking legs. It was moving further down, but at a slow pace.

This was it.

He gripped the handle of the knife firmly as he held it against the handlebar of the prober. He aimed further down, the shape now directly in his sights. With one hand steady on the prober, he slowly raised the knife high, its blade gleaming slightly under the water.

Dimitri continued to swim farther down, confident that this was the spot. His friend had never lied to him before. Well, except for that one time in…

Just then, he could see it. Rising out of the murk on the ocean floor, there it was: A massive, dark shape. It rose high off the floor, large on one end and slightly smaller on the other. A single mast rose up from the old structure. Behind the mask, his eyes widened and his anticipation increased, and he started swimming faster.

Inwardly, he was used to this every time, but just couldn't help but get excited at the idea of money. The only thing more amusing to him than money was more money. Ever since he had left the Cooper Gang, for the last eight years, he had become filthy rich. Even with paying off his crew, he still had a lot left over for himself. It was all just another day's work…

At that moment, he could feel something; a sudden rushing off to his side. He glanced over just in time for the beam of his mask's light to bounce off of a shiny blade coming right at him.

He jetted right past the lizard, knife raised. He had caught the lizard completely off-guard. He held the knife down at the last split second as he was directly beside the diver. Instantly, the blade pierced his wetsuit, connecting with his skin in the middle of his stomach and tracing a long, deep line in his flesh. Almost instantly, a dark cloud started emitting from the wound. Even then, he continued tracing the knife up his body in a sharp arc, bringing it along his arm. He managed to slice a vertical line on his wrist and knock the harpoon gun right out of his hand. It was all in less than two seconds.

As he sped past, he looked back at his wounded target. He turned the prober to the left and eased up on the speed, preparing to make a sharp turn in case he was not wounded enough. But he most certainly was. He issued a long, horrible underwater scream as the searing pain finally caught up with him. He started convulsing wildly, kicking his legs and thrashing around. After a few seconds, he managed to regain himself and quickly swiped up his harpoon gun with his uninjured hand. He instantly turned to face his attacker, swiping away some of the red cloud in front of him. He aimed the gun and fired once.

He quickly flicked the knob back to "10" and jerked up on his prober, aiming it straight up and lifting him out of the path of the harpoon. He then swung down and became level with his wounded target once more. He started circling him slowly. He watched as the lizard made a futile attempt to reload, but was unable to do so with only one hand. The blood continued leaking from the massive wound, which stretched from his stomach all the way up to his right wrist. The light on top of his mask was waving wildly as he moved around uncontrollably, casting an eerie red glow. Soon, he was becoming lost in his own blood cloud.

He looked down at his prober, and turned a knob that was just underneath the accelerator lever. A square panel slid open, revealing a sonar screen. There was a single yellow dot in the center that was him and his prober. As the thin line circled around the screen once, it gave off a light beep!, and the small shape of the lizard appeared briefly, right before him, before flashing away. With the second rotation, it appeared again. He looked back up at the real thing, which was still thrashing and shaking. He seemed completely incapable of thinking to return to the surface. Pain and panic had overtaken him.

Excellent.

Just then, after the first sound of the lizard, there was a second chime, even louder than the first. It drew his attention, but he was too late and the shape had faded away. He waited patiently for the next rotation.

Beep!

There it was. A large shape, just southeast of the two of them. It was larger than the lizard, and as large as him, if not slightly larger. It was a long, torpedo-like shape with the slight triangular bump on the back.

Just then, a second one appeared, closing in from the southwest. Then a third, right behind the first.

Just as he had hoped; the scent of the blood had spread fast, and several of the local sharks were moving in. Despite his desire to witness the kill, he didn't dare wait any longer. Powerful as he was, he was not able to survive against three sharks that large in their own turf. With one final look at the red cloud, he slowly turned the prober straight up. He looked back, and saw a dark shape flash by underneath him. He looked down and followed the shape: A 16-foot Tiger shark. It ignored him altogether, and started circling around the blood cloud. Just then, the wavering light illuminated another shark that also came around, and was circling the prey just above the first shark.

He flicked the knob and slowly started his ascent just as the third shark arrived. He looked back down one last time, and watched as they circled the target for a few more moments, then simultaneously moved in. They darted right into the red cloud and started thrashing wildly, shaking their tails and heads as they attacked. The scream continued for a few more seconds, growing fainter and fainter, before it stopped. Then the light flickered out.

It had happened in almost two minutes. The surprising speed of the sharks' arrival was a bonus that he truly had not expected. Nonetheless, it worked out as planned: It would look like a terrible accident.

That is, if they found anything.

Raising the speed to ten knots per hour, he rocketed for the surface and left the feeding frenzy beneath him, the cloud and three large shapes slowly being enveloped by the darkness.

…

Back on the yacht, Herb had long since lost his cigarette to the wind. The waves were now steadily rising and falling, slapping against the white hull of the vessel. The wind was blowing hard, and the rain was slamming down at an angle. He still clutched the railing just above the lowered ladder.

Just then, Nick stumbled up to him. He was now wearing a thick raincoat, pulled up over his head. He stumbled and slipped several times on the slippery deck as he clumsily approached Herb. The wind made it impossible to be heard at a normal volume.

"Herb!" He cried nervously, shivering out of fear more than out of the cold. "What are we gonna do?"

"That moron should've been back by now! It's been almost an hour and a half!"

"Two hours, actually!" Nick corrected.

Just then, a considerably large wave slammed into the port side of the yacht, moving it several feet over and tilting the deck. Both men held onto the railing for dear life as it slammed over them, flooding several loose objects over the edge. The ladder held tight.

"We can't afford to wait any longer, Nick!"

"But we can't just leave him!"

"If he's not smart enough to come back in the middle of a storm like this, then he deserves to die!"

Just then, a frantic figure came running out of the cabin. Steven, the third crewmember, was a young Terrier. He came scrambling up to the other two men, covering his head with his own hands.

"Herb! Nick! I don't know how much longer we can take this! That last wave – that really big one – it actually pushed one of the windows open and flooded right into the cabin! Our radio was hit! It short-circuited; it's useless!"

"That's it, we're getting out of here!"

"But what about-."

"Forgot him! That screwball is actually pretty sea savvy; maybe, if he's actually found his Black Wing, he'll camp out there for the night!"

"Or we can call the Coast Guard!" Nick suggested.

"I just said that the radio is destroyed!"

"Steven, raise the ladder! Nick, weigh anchor! I'm bringing this thing back into port, NOW!"

And with that, Herb dashed over to the central structure and scaled the ladder while the other two did their impromptu jobs. As he opened the throttle and started to turn the wheel, he glanced out one more time in the direction of the small fishing boat he had seen earlier.

There wasn't a single sign of it. Nothing out there but the dark ocean and raging waves.

With a shake of his head, Herb quickly turned the wheel hard-to-starboard, and brought the yacht around completely, dashing right through some of the waves as it slowly made its way through the storm back to New Orleans.

To be continued…