Hunting the Dragon Read Online Free PDF

clipper until he found himself in Lucky Dragon ’s shadow. He paused to look at the truck parked by the clipper’s gangplank and saw it was actually a hearse. The boxy truck was a gleaming black Australian Holden, given a touch of color by a pair of silver flower vases attached to the doors, which spouted bouquets of pale red roses.
    Billy paused beside the Holden and thought that someone must have died on the ship, and about how near death he and the surfers had been on the paddle back to Bombora. His eyes shifted between the huge clipper and the two sweating Fijian attendants in dark suits waiting beside the open rear doors of the van. He wondered if anyone would have found their bodies if the dolphins hadn’t led Druku to them. Billy’s musing was interrupted by the large man hovering over him.
    “You a boatman?”
    Billy turned to look up at the first mate’s hairless, blunt head and the scars that crisscrossed his shining skull. He was impressed by the man’s larded, muscled body, which would have cause middle-aged wrestling fans in the States to scream with joy.
    “Something bothering you, niño ?” the mate demanded.
    Billy composed his response, not wanting to anger the huge tough guy.
    “I asked you a question.”
    “Yeah, I’ve been around boats a lot. My aunt and uncle—they raised me—owned a boatyard so I grew up with boats. I crewed on a sport fisher and dive boat, ran a surfers’ taxi, and worked as deckhand on a lifeguard rescue launch. Yeah, I know boats and outboards, and I can keep ’em running. Why you asking?”
    The mate glanced at the clipper and said evenly, “We’re short a boatman. Want a job?”
    “How long do I have to sign on for?”
    “Six months, or until we unload and pay off. Whichever comes first.”
    “What’s the pay?”
    “Fifteen hundred a month and a small share of the profits. With our skipper, you’ll walk away with three, four thousand extra…if you work hard and keep your mouth shut.”
    “I’ll take it. When do I report aboard?”
    Before the mate could answer, two crewmen carrying a heavily loaded stretcher struggled down the steep gangplank cursing their heavy burden. Five steps from the bottom, the fisherman gripping the lower end lost his footing and slipped. The thawing body under the blue plastic tarp rolled off the gangplank and hit the dock with a sodden thump.
    Billy gasped as he saw the shredded, semifrozen remains of a Fijian. The dead man’s skin was lacerated as if raked by jagged meat hooks. One leg was missing at the knee, and the other had been sliced open to the bone. The cadaver looked shrunken and Billy guessed that the man had died from loss of blood, traumatic shock, massive internal hemorrhaging—the works. He shuddered, realizing what had caused the man’s death. He turned to the impassive mate and asked, “Shark?”
    The man shrugged. “It happens.”
    As the black-suited attendants hurried to pick up the body, the first mate said, “Collect your gear and report to Captain Gandara.” He scratched his bald head as if trying to remember what else needed to be said. “Oh, yeah, welcome aboard Lucky Dragon .”

CHAPTER FOUR
    W ith his surfboard under one arm, Billy gripped the gangplank railing and bounded up the steep walkway. He was excited and apprehensive. When he reached the main deck he paused and looked about. Which way to the bridge? And what did the mate say the captain’s name was? Gandara. Yeah. Captain Gandara. Sounds Spanish, or Portuguese.
    At the top of the walkway he maneuvered his board so it wouldn’t hit the railing. The brittle fiberglass covering the foam core was as fragile as an eggshell. The nine-foot Becker, handcrafted by one of surfdom’s great shapers, had saved his life once, and Billy treated the board with respect.
    He walked along the hot steel deck toward the bow. It was time to meet the captain and ensure himself a berth aboard Lucky Dragon .
    He stuck his head in an open door and discovered