"Why do you want to kill a fish that isn't doing anything to you and that you do not eat?" Chiun said. "What did a shark ever do to you?"

"I'm getting even for Jaws," Remo said. "That shark scared a hundred million people."

"Is that shark here?" Chiun asked.

"That was a mechanical shark. Plastic and metal."

"And you are going to get your revenge by attacking a flesh and blood shark?" Chiun said.

"Absolutely. I kill thirty people last week and you don't care. I come out here to kill a shark and you get all bent out of shape. I don't understand you, Chiun."

Remo pointed toward Mickey. The big husky blond mate leaned over the rear of the boat toward the water. "Come on, sveethots," he called out softly. "Mickey is here to kill all you bastards." He shook his fist at the quiet water and fingered the knife in the leather scabbard at his waist.

"You should have got him for training," Remo said.

"At least he has the right attitude," Chiun said, "even if he does waste it on a poor harmless fish."

Remo started to answer but there was a screaming whistle as the line began to unreel off one of the rods. Even though the reel was on full drag and a grown man would have had trouble pulling line off it, this line was whistling out at top speed.

"Hit," Mickey yelled out. "Hit."

Remo jumped up and ran to the fishing rod. He lifted it from its holder and pushed it into the metal cup he wore on the belt across his groin. He fastened two leather clips from the leather vest to the sides of the pole. He was now securely fastened to the rod and reel. If they went overboard, so did he.

As they had motored out to the fishing grounds that morning, Mickey had told Remo, "A lot of people think that's so they don't get hurt, but that's bullshit. We clip them to the rod and reel so they know if they drop it, they go over with it."

"You lose a lot of fishermen that way?" Remo asked.

"Frig 'em. Anybody lets a shark slide deserves what he gets."

Remo moved to the stern of the boat and began reeling in the line. He knew the delicate point of the operation — the weak link in this hookup between man and fish was the thin nylon line that connected them. The fish had the power to snap the line and so did Remo and the skill was in bringing the fish into the boat without breaking the line and losing the fish.

The boat rocked back and forth in the water on the soft Atlantic waves. As it rocked backward, away from the fish, Remo held the pole taut. Then as the boat rocked forward, Remo reeled down quickly to take up slack in the line. Slowly, foot by foot, he was bringing the fish in closer to the boat

"Can you see it?" Remo asked Mickey, who stood alongside him, his gray-green eyes squinted, scanning the water for the sign of fins or a telltale glimpse of the shark.

"Don't know. Keep reeling." He paused, then whistled. "Son of a bitch. Look at that."

A dorsal fin cut through the water toward the boat. The fin stuck three feet up out of the water.

"It's a great white!" Mickey yelled. "The big bastard. Reel, you sucker. Reel in that line."

There was no pressure now on the line as Remo reeled. The fish swam toward the boat faster than Remo could pull in the slack line.

"Chiun, come look at this," Remo called.

"Away with you," Chiun said in disgust.

The fish was only fifteen feet from the boat when it surged. Its giant head came up out of the water, its knife-like nose cutting above the bubbly white-green foam, its round marble eyes staring insanely at Remo on the side of the boat. The shark opened its mouth and Remo looked down into the yawning tan-and-pink chasm, at row after row of needle triangular teeth. The mouth stretched two feet across from side to side and, involuntarily, Remo leaned backward and the fish dropped back into the water and passed under the boat.

Mickey pushed Remo toward the stern of the boat so Remo could pass the line around under the boat to prevent it from snagging under the old vessel's hull and breaking.

"How big?" Remo asked.

"A giant," Mickey said. "A monster. A Jaws. Keep reeling."

Remo got around to the right rear end of the boat just in time to see the shark move up to the surface of the water and angle sharply to the right. The shark was at least twenty feet long.

"A great white!" Mickey yelled. "I told you! Do whatever you want, but don't let him break that line." He was unclipping a ten-foot-long steel harpoon from its rack under the gunwhale. "Cap'n," he yelled. "Wake up."

"Hah?" came a voice from the cockpit, twelve feet above the deck.

"Great white," Mickey yelled. "Start the engines."

"Hah?"

"Shit," Mickey cursed softly. He screamed. "Start the frigging engines!" To Remo, he said, "Two tons if he's an ounce. Don't let him snap that line. When he comes close again, I'll get this harpoon in him."

"It's a great white," Remo called over his shoulder toward Chiun.

"An improbably named species," Chiun sniffed.

The fish was racing parallel to the boat now, along its left side. Remo saw that if the shark made a quick turn in toward the boat, his line could get hopelessly hung up on the cleats or hardware on the front of the boat and snap. He started working his way forward along the side of the boat. He tripped over Chiun's feet.

"Watch your feet, Chiun," he growled.

"Watch your mouth, great white thing," Chiun said.

Remo hopped up onto the railing. There was still slack in the line so there was no danger of his being jerked overboard and Remo walked along the railing until he was in the front of the boat. The shark dove under the water and then swerved right, passing in front of the boat. Remo kept reeling up slack.

"Good move, sveethot," Mickey said as he came up behind Remo, the long harpoon in his hand. He hooked it to a half-inch-thick nylon rope, which was fastened to three barrels. If the harpoon got into the shark and lie pulled out the heavy line, the barrels were supposed to make it harder for him to sound, to drive straight down, because their buoyancy would keep fighting him back upward.

"Come on, you sucker, come back," Mickey yelled at the fish, which was passing from left to right across the front of the boat, barely visible as it cruised just under the water sixty yards away. As if he had heard the mate, the shark turned and raced toward the prow of the boat. Remo heard the motors of the boat start behind him.

The giant shark raced straight toward the bow of the boat. Remo could almost feel the anger in the giant fish's body. When the shark was only fifteen feet away, Mickey raised the harpoon to his right shoulder and fired. It bit into the flesh of the shark close behind the bullet head and the shark twitched and dropped below the surface of the water.

The barrels went skimming off the front of the deck boat.

"All right. You can cut your line now if you want," Mickey told Remo. The shark, racing toward the stern of the boat under the water, yanked the rope against the bow of the boat and it turned slowly in the water; and then the shark was speeding back toward Manhattan and the boat followed along behind him, the captain gunning the engines, trying to stay close enough to the shark so that the fish's strength wasn't pitted against the boat's weight, in which case the only casualty would be the half-inch-thick line connecting them.

Remo used his fingers to snap the nylon line on his fishing pole, as if it had been an overcooked strand of vermicelli. He stuck the pole into a rack alongside the gunwale and followed Mickey, who had gone to the stern to prepare another harpoon. If they could get another harpoon into the shark, they could slow him down by letting the weight of the boat drag on him. Until then, though, the rule was let him run.

"Fun, isn't it, Chiun?" Remo said.