A smooth voice spoke as the screen faded from black to show light filtering through about twenty five feet of sea water. Rays flickered and shifted, turned from bright noon-day sun to a murkier blue green colour. The view panned lower and the shot darkened, water becoming cloudy with minute sea creatures swarming. A spiky fish that seemed to be nothing more than fins, tail and a large filter mouth flickered through the cloud eating the little organisms.
“No matter what your size, you were food for somebody…”
The mouthy filter feeder was suddenly swallowed by an eel-like fish that shot in from below. The cameraman accentuated the speed and surprise of the eels attack by panning after the event to catch it vanishing into the depths only to be bitten in half by a still larger fish.
The smooth voice continued, “… but even in the fish-eat-fish world of the Pleistocene epoch, there had to be a king: all hail Carcharodon Megalodon.”
A lumpy not-quite-whale glided leisurely into shot. In the depths a monstrous shape tracked its movements. The shadow moved with an easy grace despite its size.
“… Seventeen tons and anything up to a hundred feet long …”
With blinding speed the massive shark attacked the proto-whale. The screen dissolved into pixels. Lights came back up to reveal a long, polished mahogany boardroom table that would normally have accommodated a committee meeting of at least two dozen, occupied by one blond man, a fat balding executive and an empty chair recently vacated by a wiry haired man in an ill-fitting suit. The wiry man had been pacing to and fro near the door while the film had run.
“If we can explain…?” the balding executive started, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.
The blond man leaned back in his chair and ran both hands back through his short blond hair. At first glance he looked to be in his mid thirties. The casual expense of his clothing betraying a man who’d come to money through family connections, or perhaps some Internet boom investing. The clothing wasn’t gaudy, as some might have expected of a brash young investor, it had a quiet European elegance to the cut of the suit and plain bronze of matching cufflinks and necktie clip.
But his eyes. No-one ever held his gaze for long. There was a depth of years to them that belied his otherwise youthful good looks: grey eyes, short platinum blond hair, strong cheekbones over almost gaunt cheeks. He spoke with a cultured English accent. The voice of command. The voice of a man who had heard every sales pitch, every plea for corporate mercy, and had charted a singular course through them all that disregarded everything except those that would elevate his own standing.
“Explain? I think it’s obvious: unless you’ve used my company’s investment to create a time machine to go back to the Pleistocene epoch, all the showy little action shots were all computer generated, and your monster shark has eaten the entire special effects budget. You’re here to beg for more crumbs from the table. No?”
The man by the door turned, looking pained, “Beg? Mr Irons, no … “
Irons turned from the wiry man to his nervous companion with the studied air of corporate boredom that brought a chill to both men. Irons stood, adjusted his tie, jacket and cuffs of his shirt.
“Hmm.” he said, pausing to study one plain bronze cufflink.
“Sir?” the sweaty movie exec said.
Irons looked up, “What do you know of the Fourth crusade?”
Both movie executives frowned, the wiry man scratched his head. Neither spoke.
A calm measured voice spoke from the doorway, a tall man dressed in black who seemed to have melted into being, his movements graceful and catlike, his eyes downcast yet somehow taking in the entire room at a glance. The wiry man squeaked and stepped toward the board table.
“1204 AD, soldiers recruited ostensibly to liberate Jerusalem from Islamic hands instead were sent to sack the Christian city of Byzantium. Instead of taking the harder path of liberation by an invasion that would have come through Egypt, rich easy pickings chosen over doing what was right.”
Irons nodded and gestured toward the cufflinks, “Byzantine coins. The genuine article in fact. Eight hundred year old spoils of a war that should never have occurred and oh-so-pertinent to today. I am late for another meeting - signing the final paperwork on a corporate takeover - rich, easy pickings you might say.”
He waved a hand dismissively toward the screen, “Tell the story of Kalahiki, the public needs to know.”
Michael and Dani curled up on the beach under a canopy of bright stars. The sound of the surf nearby mingled with distance voices and party music. Dani snuggled in close to Michael’s strong, bare chest being careful to avoid the three circular plastic lumps that protruded from it. She sighed happily. “Tell me a story.” she said.
“A story?”
“Yes, a story. Something old. Something your grandfather told you when you were a boy.”
Dani missed Michael’s slight frown as she mentioned his Grandfather. He pursed his lips in thought, then began speaking.
“Kalei was the most beautiful woman in the Waipio Valley, a region where crops grew well and easily, a secluded place were high chiefs lived, sacred temples were built, and the surf rolled into the beach with the gentleness of a lover’s kiss. One day, Kalahiki, the king of all sharks, was swimming at the mouth of the valley. He caught sight of Kalei bathing in the surf and fell in love, her beauty bewitching him. That night he came ashore and took the form of a mighty tribal chief. He spent many days and nights in Waipio Valley, joining the people in their food and sports, always searching for the beautiful Kalei.”
Michae, wriggling himself deeper into the sand dune and his lover’s warm embrace. Then he continued, “Kalahiki eventually found Kalei. In time they were married and she bore him a child but Kalahiki never confessed the secret of his true identity. Just before their child was born, Kalahiki told Kalei to keep special watch over it and to never let it eat any type of animal flesh. Then he disappeared.
Soon, Kalei’s son was born and she named him Nanaue. She was surprised to find an opening in the middle of his back and kept him well covered with various kinds of cloth. She took him to bathe at Waipio Falls and kept him from eating meat. As Nanaue grew to manhood, the opening in his back grew to be a terrible shark’s mouth with fierce teeth which would snap at fish as he swam.
Then came the day when Kalei could no longer protect her son. Nanaue’s grandfather took him on his first hunt, his rite of passage from youth to manhood. That night he was taken to the men’s meeting house where women were not allowed. There he was offered various types of meat in abundance. He developed a voracious appetite shocking the men with his tastes.
But Nanaue always wore cloth to hide his back and avoided swimming or fishing with the other men. Instead, he would go away by himself. Then, when the other’s were in deep waters, a shark would suddenly appear, dragging them down and tearing off limbs. Many people disappeared and a great fear came over Waipio Valley.
Kalei suspected that the disappearances were Nanaue’s doing and worried that he would be discovered. He began to be bold in selecting his victims, often asking his friends where they were going swimming and then cutting off their return to shore. People began to suspect that he had some sort of powers and feared him.
One day,the high chief called upon all of the men of the valley to work in the fields, a bumper harvest was expected. It was a very hot day and everyone worked bare-backed except for Nanaue. The worker beside him snatched the cloth from his back and exposed the terrible shark mouth. A cry arose from the men, ‘A shark man! A shark man!’
Nanaue attacked the men nearest him as he tried to make his way to the sea. The mouth on his back snapped and tore gashes in men’s arms. However, Nanaue soon found himself surrounded. He was thrown to the ground and bound with ropes. Everyone crowded around to marvel at the strange mixture of shark and man. In fear they mocked him and his anger burned fierce and hot.
The high chief ordered that a great oven be built. Everyone worked together to dig the pit, build the fire and place the stones within. When it was finally time to place the shark man into the oven, Nanaue assumed his shark form and escaped from his bonds. He rolled down the hill into one of the rivers that led from Waipio Falls into the ocean. No one dared to follow Nanaue into the water, instead the men ran along the river hurling stones and spears as the shark swam to safety. Nanaue never returned to Waipio Valley.
The next sighting of Nanaue occurred on Maui. He settled near Hana and married a the daughter of the local chief. There, he secretly fed on the people of Maui until he became bold and was seen changing shape and eating a victim. The tribe launched canoes and hunted Nanaue out of Maui’s waters.
Nanaue settled on Molokai and soon people began disappearing after going bathing or fishing. The priests of the island got word from those of Maui that there was a dangerous shark man in the islands. All fishermen were warned to keep a sharp look out for this dangerous predator. Finally, the fishermen’s efforts paid off and Nanaue was seen changing into his shark form.”
Dani lifted her head, rolled onto he stomach and looked at Michael, “What happened to him?”
Michael sat up and shrugged, “Legend says that a great battle was waged in which Nanaue was entangled with ropes and nets. He was stabbed with spears and beaten with clubs until the water ran red with his blood. The priests chanted prayers and incantations to take away Nanaue’s magical strength. Then the people dragged him to shore still in shark form. They cut him into small pieces which were cooked in a great oven. Thus the islands were rid of the ruthless shark man, Nanaue, forever.”
Dani grimaced, “Eww. What ever happened to legends with a happily ever after?”
Michael looked at her. Moonlight reflected in his eyes, but they were hard, “Real life is hard. There is no happily ever after. Never has been, never will be. The legends of my people recognize that fact and prepare us for it.”
Out in the bay, a man watched the couple on the beach through the scope of a high-powered sniper’s rifle. Cross-hairs aligned on the large Hawaiian’s forehead. A frown creased the large man’s brow, he spoke to his blond companion and fell silent.
The sniper held position, killer instinct compensating for the gentle pitch and roll of the boat. Second nature, years of training and experience, gauged and corrected for the wind direction. The sniper’s finger tightened on the trigger.
The Hawaiian’s blond companion reached out with her left hand to run lover’s fingertips across the creases of his frown. The sniper snarled in barely contained rage and released the trigger. Through the rifle’s scope he watched moonlight glint off the ornate silver bracelet on the blond’s left wrist, its central smooth red gemstone glowing with an internal aura mirroring the warmth she seemed to be displaying toward her musclebound lover. Small tendrils from the bracelet wound organically to connect with a matching slave-ring on her middle finger. How appropriate.
A high caliber round from the rifle at this distance, the sniper knew, would cut through her hand and make short work of the brain matter of her companion. The bracelet was a factor that he couldnt control however. He knew it. Knew what it was capable of. Knew that a shot even at point blank distance might be deflected, should it choose to make it so.
The sniper sat back and pulled a sat-phone from beneath his seat and dialed.
“Team B … change of plan. Expect company. Tell Zao her talents will be needed, we need surgical precision.” The sniper said, emphasizing ‘surgical’. He hung up the call, broke down the sniper rifle and turned his boat toward the marina.
Dani lifted fingers from Michael’s furrowed brow, sat up and brushed sand from her body. Her bikini was still slightly damp from their swim earlier and the sand clung with annoying tenacity. She concentrated on brushing it off the rest of her lithe, dancer’s body being sure that Michael saw every inch … his eyes following her hands to and fro, up and down. Better. She flashed him a wicked smile, straddled his lap, draped arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. Behind his back, unseen by either of them, lights swirled in the large red gem of her bracelet.
Camera crews buzzed around the TV set. A stressed out executive pulled out his blackberry and scrolled through the latest email - the schedule change was in, Doctor Brennan had accepted. “Praise God for small mercies” he said, without a trace of irony in his voice. He looked up and smiled as the star of the morning talk show sat in her designated seat on set. Punctual as always. She sipped a large Starbucks, adjusted her hair, then bent her head in what looked like a moment of prayer.
By contrast their guest was late. He had arrived, top of his convertible RX-8 down and blaring the Rolling Stones “Sympathy for the Devil” at high volume. Makeup had worked their usual magic on him, but he’d still not made it on set.
“Two minutes people. Look sharp!” a voice called.
There! The executive released a pent-up breath he hadn’t released he’d been holding. Their guest had arrived and settled onto the couch, smiling broadly. The harsh lighting reflected from smoothly shaved brown skin of his head and perfect pearly-white teeth. Expensive sunglasses hung backward from his ears. He turned his head for the star of the talk show to see, and she mouthed something that looked like “eyes in the back of your head?”
The two laughed and both turned their gaze professionally toward the camera as staff counted them down to the show going live.
Choral intro music swelled, and the logo of the show “Saints Alive” appeared on the TV feed monitor. Credits rolled then faded to a close shot of the show host.
“Hi, and welcome to another uplifting episode of ‘Saints Alive’. I am Carla Wick, and my guest today is Sherman Dudley the hot host of TBN’s smash hit cookery show ‘Pass da Pasta, Pastor!’ … no, the host of the hot new show, ‘Pass da Pasta, Pastor!’”
The camera pulled back as Carla and her guest fell into staged laughter at the last-minute joke that had been inserted into the script.
“Thank you Carla.” he said.
“So tell me, how does it feel to be the hottest propery right now? Some have credited you with saving the fortunes of the entire network.” she asked.
He flashed a winning smile, then spoke, “Come now Carla, we know there’s only one true Savior… and I’m not him.”
Sherman had a reputation for profanity, he’d won a deal with the network that had given him leeway to remain on air, despite flaunting the conservative religious views of the TBN executives. He was good for business, but they’d made it clear: on the ‘Saints Alive’ talk show he had a number of clear touch-point phrases that he had to use to satisfy the religious broadcasting requirements. Saying the phrases was a matter of contract re-negotiation. But, of course, the watching public didn’t know that sort of minor detail.
“Carla. Do you cook?” he asked, turning the tables.
She looked surprised but journalistic training kicked in and she rolled with the change, “Sure, love to. Thai food, mostly vegetarian if I can.”
The friendly banter continued for a half hour. Carla genuinely liked him, and decided to give him last word on the show.
“So, any last words for our audience today?” she prompted.
Sherman paused, painful memories replaying just behind his eyes. He faltered. The professionalism cracked and almost fell away. The cameraman caught every nuance as he recomposed himself and spoke, “Last words? Yes … I want to leave you with the perfect omelette which is made with two eggs not three. Amateurs often add milk for density; this is a mistake…”
A persistent bleeping sound woke Carter Blake from his afternoon nap. He pushed the hat back up away from his eyes, sat up and worked a kink from his neck. Sunlight streamed down onto the deck of his boat. A random assortment of belongings were strewn all around. Carter reached down and picked up a discarded Game Boy, turned it over and back, and put it onto one of the nearby pairs of child’s shoes. The bleeping called to him. A beaten up old kitchen timer was duct-taped above the wheel in the main cabin. It was signaling the end of his nap and calling him back to work. Tourists. If they weren’t such a lucrative industry in the islands, he would ignore them completely. Instead he found himself running a ferry service out and back with charter fees barely covering the cost of running the operation. Still there were other perks. Carter smiled and glanced at one particular pair of strappy female sandals. Very nice indeed.
He turned the key in the ignition and the engine chugged to life. Checking instruments he made his way back to the pickup point with time to spare. Time to be feigning sleep in his deck chair when the first of the divers returned with excited stories. He grimaced and pulled the hat down. He prayed that the fat Texan hadn’t come to any harm. There had been bourbon on his breath before the drop off, and an extra couple of bills in cash to keep Carter quiet, so as not to spoil the family vacation.
First back on board and bubbling with excitement was the owner of the Game Boy - a nerdy twelve year old girl who’s father was some big-shot lawyer in the Midwest. Apparently he’d had a call from one of the partners had had to fly back, leaving wife and child to enjoy the rest of their time alone. Mother didn’t seem upset or even surprised at the return. Carter shrugged. Guess it’s possible to get used to almost anything given enough time and a decent sized bank balance.
The Texan and his family seemed none the worse for wear. Everyone got back on board and stowed whatever gear they’d brought with them. They might be annoying and brash but their cash was good and it seemed like they’d had a little training and knew the water.
Last up was the owner of the sandals, Melissa Something-or-other. Something between them had sparked a few days before - bad breakup or something like that - he didn’t recall all the details. A listening ear, words in the right places and a smile or two had moved things along nicely. She was spending time in the islands getting the breakup and her ex out of her system before returning to a new associate editor position with a fashion magazine out East. From beneath the hat he watched her tanned lines and skimpy bikini go past. He smiled. Some jobs had perks that money simply couldn’t buy. All four “s“‘s - sun, sea, sand and sex.