You do not jerk off the clients when the clients will without remorse kill you in seconds. But these were more sinister people, these were people who wanted to hurt and kill in elaborate, disgusting ways.

The fishing trip was a last minute treat, or so he was told. He had always wanted to go deep sea fishing and when his generous hosts suggested it he knew he could not turn down the opportunity. Peter had seen the luxurious motor cruiser taking the party out to the fishing grounds it looked spectacular and he was in hook line and sinker, he could not miss this once in a lifetime chance.

Over the telephone the client’s daughter had told him about the large Barracuda and Tuna that would fight like hell; they would be able to catch these fish with ease she said as the captain of the boat knew exactly where in the Gulf the best fish lurked.

When Peter turned up at the hotel lobby excitedly looking forward to the trip he was surprised to be greeted by the captain of the boat. The captain looked around sixty years old he was tanned and fit and his mesh of white hair gave him a distinguished and trustworthy aura. Apologising he explained to Peter that his business hosts had suddenly been called away to Abu Dhabi for an unexpected but urgent meeting. But knowing that he had never been deep sea fishing that he was to go ahead by himself and enjoy the overwhelming hospitality.

Everything was ready to go so why not let their overseas guest enjoy the trip. The staff on the cruiser were all employees of Peters clients, they were a small part of the vast army of maids, drivers, chefs and bodyguards, so Peter knew he would be well looked after.

Peter Tulley sat alone at the back of the powerful boat cosseted by acres of white leather with a cold libation in his hand. He watched in wonderment as the majestic skyscrapers, the unique condominiums and the outlandish hotels of Dubai faded into the distance. The speedboat was so impressive, the clients really looked after themselves. The hand built Italian cruiser was leaving a huge wake as it ploughed out into and through the beautiful transparent waters of the Arabian Gulf.

He reflected briefly thinking all in all the entire trip had been a good one.

In the back of his mind Peter wondered if the clients would ever find out about the small percentage he had skimmed off the deal. It didn’t matter now though he was going to enjoy a late afternoons sport fishing then get back on dry land and would be safely out of the country by midnight.

Behind Peter on the horizon a sand coloured haze now replaced where the land had recently been and he felt just a little edgy as he realised they were getting deeper and farther out into the sea. The hot air of the land had now been replaced by a clearer sharper atmosphere out at sea. After finishing his second beer he noted the engine revs beginning to pare back and the large motor cruiser gently sat down into the still Arabian Gulf; it was time to fish.

So far the experience, although somewhat awkward, with him being the only passenger, was unforgettable for Tulley. The crew had looked after his every whim, drinks, snacks, food, advice and assistance with his green, inexperienced fishing technique; he was being treated like royalty.

He had landed two small barracuda and a sturdy looking fish that was silvery yellow with blue stripes running along its shiny, sleek body, he had no idea of what it was called but it was big and therefore impressive as hell to him. The atmosphere on the boat was relaxed and friendly, everyone was happy for Peter as he yelled like an infant; but it was about to change.

The three male crew members were all very muscular, well-built, well cut and toned men, he knew working on a cruiser would keep them fit, but they looked extra strong, kind of military strong to Peter. The last fish was landed and a buoyant Caucasian man took stock of the day, what an experience. The crew prepared to pack up the light was fading, the trip had been wonderful he would remember the experience of deep sea fishing forever, he was sorry he had been alone it had been so much fun.

The white haired captain shouted something to the crew and several of them scurried out of sight, the engines rumbled back into life and the cruiser throbbed again. Only the three male crew members remained above deck.

The laid back jovial atmosphere changed, the faces of the crew were more stern and serious, and they looked like they had a job to do. It was weird to him though like someone had flicked a switch and changed their whole demeanor.

The three stocky men all dressed in white tee shirts and white baggy military style trousers, came towards Peter and without a word they lifted him off his feet; he was joking, laughing, thinking this was some kind of rouse, some kind of practical joke. They did not speak however; they did not make eye contact with him either.

They cleanly lifted him up two of them hooking their powerful arms around his while the third man grabbed Peter’s legs. Without a thought they threw him over the side, plunging him into and under the cool Arabian Gulf waters. The luxury motor cruiser sat high in the water and he knew he must have dropped about twenty feet straight down, fully clothed, into the clear water.

Peter Tulley was confused, at first he thought it was an elaborate joke, just men mucking around right, his clients must have said throw him in for a joke. But he was wrong, no, he was very wrong. He assured himself it must be a traditional thing for first timers like crossing the equator.

When he gathered himself, got his body in position above the waves and then wiped the salty water out of his eyes, he could see that the boat had turned ninety degrees and that its powerful engines were again roaring, churning up a huge wake as it gently moved away.

The massive motor cruiser kept going, and going, and going. The loud engine hum became fainter until the large boat became a tiny spec on the darkening horizon and then it disappeared. There was no noise now.

The water, the warm inviting and oh so perfect water, was now becoming cooler, in fact it was cold, very cold. Peter Tulley could hear his own heart beating loudly in his ears; he could feel the ever pounding muscle throbbing in his chest, thumping hard against his breastplate.

Tulley was an above average swimmer, he was fit and healthy, but he was now well and truly, fucked.

The sun went down fast in this region and it was heading down now. The sun was also about to set on the life of Peter Tulley. He had tried to undercut the clients to skim off some revenue for his own account but the clients had found out and now Tulley was about to be paid back.

The captain of the cruiser knew these waters so well, he knew there were Bull sharks in this area not many but it would only take one. The rotting carcass of a goat had been heaved overboard as they had pulled away from the stranded banker, the congealed blood diluting into the Arabian waters.

The pungent smell of the goat would be picked up by the efficient man eating predators in seconds; their ability to detect blood in the water from miles away would bring them in fast like guided torpedoes. They would find a rancid goat, and a tasty European male thrashing around in the deep, dark water.

Peter was losing his mind he was wailing, crying like a baby, but at the same time he was trying to keep calm, he was shouting at the top of his voice, he tried whistling loudly straining every sinew in his throat but there was no one within five kilometers of him. It was a useless waste of energy. He was getting weaker, frightened, and the cold water was now penetrating.

He watched as a commercial jet soared silently high above him, the lights flashing brightly as the sky became even darker still. It was heading west and he knew he should never have made the trip, but surely he could make it surely he could survive.

He fumbled to get his clothes off to try and use them as floats, his mobile phone and his wallet dropped out of his pocket and immediately sunk straight down under the now choppy waters before he could catch them.

To his far left Peter thought he saw a fin, and then two fins, but it must have been the waves and the light the fading light. He was going to be okay, he reassured himself that he would be carried back to shore somewhere along the coast, he just had to stay conscious and float. Surely the current would wash him in to shore he could make it couldn’t he, be patient and keep it together he said to himself.

He felt a brush against his thigh just above his knee, and he panicked again, not knowing whether to stay rigid and just float on his back or lash out against whatever had just swam past him.

They were softening him up, they were about to strike.

There were three large Bull Sharks and they were working together. He felt the pull of a current under his left foot it was like a wind under the water like a gentle breeze, and then they came. He didn’t feel much pain at first but suddenly there it was, his blood.

The sea was now dark and the light above had almost gone, only a thin sliver of light blue could be seen on the horizon. Peter Tulley caught sight of a red tinge on the top of the wave that broke beside him.

It was to signal the start of the frenzy. The Bull sharks that had worked together were now operating at their maximum velocity. They were hungry and Peter Tulley’s flesh, muscle and blood was on the menu. First it was his legs that were torn apart, then as his deformed body sank under the surface and down into the cold waters of the Arabian Gulf, his arms were ripped to shreds and ingested by the ferocious man eating machines.

It had only been a few minutes but his rough, ugly, misshapen torso was all that was left of the London banker. His pitiful body was being ravenously bitten into by the still heady Bull Sharks, they bit of flesh in large chunks consumed by a hypnotic, hysterical feeding trance.

The long held fascination with deep sea fishing that Peter Tulley held had come full circle; he had bitten of more than he could chew. He had tried to be clever, he had tried to cheat his clients, but these clients didn’t do losses.

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