Demola stood in the small speedboat, his legs spread, his knees loose and both hands holding on to the windshield as they sped over the choppy waves of the Sea. At the moment the only thing of importance was getting to the Sea Breeze, the boat the Angels were using for the shark-feeding expedition.
He'd missed the press conference in the hotel. His plane hadn't been late, thankfully, but the only flight he'd been able to snag on such late notice had put him in Lagos fifteen minutes after the press conference had ended. Now he was playing catch-up, hoping to hell he made it to the boat before the girls went overboard.
His heart pounding, his palms could and sweaty, he glanced over at the man whose services and boat he'd hired. The islander's attention was focused on the Sea Breeze. The throttle was full-bore. Little point in pushing the boat driver to go faster. He couldn't. He was eking out every bit of speed his small boat had.