“Hope I’m heading the right way!” he thought. Tom was navigating by instinct, doing his best to maintain a straight course. Before leaping overboard, he had noticed that the lights of Monaco had dropped far astern, and that the few twinkles from the shoreline came from the starboard quarter, which meant the yacht had been heading roughly southwest. But Tom dared not surface again to check his own bearings.
“They may be hunting for me with sonar!” Tom realized suddenly. Should he take evasive action by zigzagging? “Better not,” he decided. It was more important to conserve his strength and his air supply for the long swim ashore.
Minutes went by that seemed like hours. At last Tom judged that he must be nearing the coast. He sheared upward to the surface. Sure enough, he could make out the shoreline dead ahead. Treading water, Tom glanced all around.
The Naiad was nowhere in sight. Evidently her crew had doused all running lights.
Tom was about to proceed ashore when another thought occurred to him.
What if Vaxilis’ men had already landed and were waiting to ambush him? “No use taking a chance,” Tom decided.
Wearily he began swimming eastward. After a mile or so, Tom made out a small rocky cove and felt he had veered far enough from his original shoreward course to risk a landing.
A GRUESOME FOE 141
Tom swam into the cove. The water here was still deep. Tom groped for a handhold to clamber out over the rocks. But his right swim fin seemed to have caught in a crevice.
Tom started to yank his foot free, then gasped in horror. The moonlight and a sheen of phosphorescence illuminating the crystal-blue water revealed the ugly snout of a moray eel. It had been lurking in a rock cranny, and its jaws had snapped tight on the rubber flipper 1