The Merlin Effect Read Free Page A

waves slapping against the boat and her chest, until at last her hand grasped the remaining rod.
    She hesitated. This equipment belonged to the team. Her father, she knew, was trying to use it, as was Terry. Breaking off the dish might cause some real damage.
    Once more she peered into the silver eye. It watched her intently, not blinking.
    Clenching her teeth, she gave a wrenching tug. The rod snapped, the transmitter dish plunged into the water.
    Several seconds passed. The whale did not move. Then, suddenly, his tail lifted, yanking the net free from the buoy. His massive head bent downward. His flukes, red with blood, arched upward before smacking the water with such force that Kate nearly capsized from the wave. Then he dived into the depths, pulling behind the transmitter dish ensnared in a web of nylon.
    Alone again, she retrieved her paddle. Spotting a flickering light through the mist, she started for shore, feeling exhausted but pleased with herself. Water sloshed inside the kayak, but she could do nothing about that now. A loose object bumped into her leg: her father’s headlamp, stored in the kayak for evening outings. Strapping it on her forehead, she flicked it on, sending a thin white beam across the bow.
    A big wave tumbled over her, soaking her again. Then another. She paddled hard, ignoring the growing ache between her shoulder blades. For some reason, the going seemed more difficult this direction. A tricky bit of current, perhaps, or the added weight of the water she had taken on. Her arms felt weaker with every stroke. Her head hummed.
    At once, she realized the humming was not just in her head. Checking over her shoulder, she saw rising out of the mist a great bulge of water, coursing and crashing under the lamplike moon.
    The whirlpool! The current had dragged her closer! She threw all her effort into every pull of her paddle. But
Remolino de la Muerté
tugged steadily at her slender craft. Her shoulders throbbed. As she grew more tired, the boat beganto slip backward. In no time, she lost what little headway she had gained. Soon the second buoy disappeared into fog.
    Again she stole a glance to the rear. Now the whirlpool jutted out of the sea like a circular tsunami. Spiraling whitecaps curled around its frothy rim, climbing steadily toward the center. Sheets of cold spray rained down on her.
    Terror crowded out her thoughts, growing with the din of the whirlpool. She stroked feverishly, though waves battered the boat and she could no longer see the lights of the camp. Even the moon faded now and then from view, obscured by the rising spray.
    Then, not far ahead, a dark shadow appeared. Slowly, against the swirling mist, the form grew fuller and sharper. Broad at the base and ragged at the top, it lifted above the water as precipitously as an island. But Kate, catching her breath, knew it was no island.
    It was a ship.
    Suddenly, a great wave swept over her, an avalanche of foam, capsizing the kayak. A few seconds later, the small boat drifted back to the surface, floating aimlessly. For now it carried no passenger.

III
T HE H ORN OF M ERLIN
    S crambled eggs, coming up,” announced Jim Gordon, trying for the third time to light the burner. “Just got to get this blasted thing to work. Meanwhile, you can finish off that tea in my thermos.”
    He struck another match, then blew gently on the gas outlet while holding the flame as close as possible. With a
whooosh
, the burner caught fire, just as the match started to singe his fingers.
    “Ow! There now. We’re set.” He straightened his tall, lanky frame, so that his bristly brown hair grazed the ceiling of the boat’s cabin. Planting a heavy cast-iron pan on the sputtering burner, he tossed in a lump of butter. As the smell of sizzling butter filled the cabin, he wiped the mist inside the window with his sleeve, scanned the dark waters outside, then observed the girl in the corner bundled under two wool blankets. Beside her on the floor lay her