As Tom struggled to free himself, the eel came surging out of its hole-a monster fully six feet long. Tom dared not reach down and try to unfasten his fin, knowing the moray’s razor-sharp teeth could rake his fingers to the bone at a single slash. In any case, the rubber was stretching and would soon be ripped away.
The moray was threshing viciously, stirring up a brilliant foam of phosphorescence. Tom whipped out his skin-diver’s knife and stabbed it deep behind the monster’s head. The water darkened with a gush of blood. But instead of loosening its bite, the moray lashed wildly and wrapped itself around Tom’s leg.
At any moment, as the fin tore away, the creature might let go the rubber and sink its fangs into his flesh. Shuddering, Tom stabbed at the eel twice more. At last the coil around his leg relaxed, and the moray sank out of sight.
Tom clambered out of the water and flopped down on the rocky beach, exhausted.
142 AQUATOMIC TRACKER
For a few minutes he lay panting and shivering in the night air. What to do now? If he radioed the Sea Hound, the Naiad might pick up his signal. Tom knew that a highway, the Basse Corniche Road, closely paralleled the coast west of Monaco. But flagging a ride and explaining to the police might waste precious time-and cost Bud’s life.
“I’ll call the Sea Hound!” Tom decided.
Quickly Tom removed his pencil radio from the waterproof flashlight case, switched on the two-way transmitter, and began calling the seacopter. Hank Sterling’s voice responded urgently, “Skipper! What happened? Are you all right?”
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