When she was young, Grandma had told her stories. Chumash stories about what Coyote, the cunning trickster did and the Swordfish Dancer. But the story that fascinated Serena the most was the story of the Devilfish. Every time she brought back that memory a feeling of unease crept over her. Like cold fingers on her neck. Like a man licking her throat, down to her collarbones, to her breasts. It was like the moment just before orgasm. She shivered.

It is in the giving and not the receiving that a people prove their worth, Grandma had said. Yes, but it was in the receiving that a person got what she wanted.

Grandma's foremother had buried her furs and shell jewellery to avoid sharing with her neighbours. Cursed for her greed, eyes glowing red, she had mutated into a devilfish to terrorize the dark places of the sea. Don't be like her, Serena, Grandma had warned. Lest you pay the price.

In an hour the sun would set. The rippling surface of the Santa Barbara channel gleamed like the scales of a swordfish. A marlin leaped from the water. Serena turned toward the stern of the Fisher King. No one was around.

Where were the men? She zipped her sleeveless wet suit up to her throat then changed her mind and lowered it to her navel so that her bright orange bikini top showed. Hell, she wasn't under water yet.

Below deck, she strolled through the galley, down a narrow corridor, past two doors and stopped. Voices were coming from her cabin. She peeked in. Her bunk rested at the far wall, her spear gun hung from a hook above. It was an A.B. Biller Floridian. Designed for open water, the spear tip was of hardened steel, the shaft constructed for spring tension. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. The two men snooping around her bed didn't even notice.

The marine biologist, Alec Khan, was perched on her bed looking at Harry Shue, who was on the floor, groping between the bunk frame and the mattress. With a look of glee, Harry hefted her sandstone slab imbedded with the footprint.

"She wants to prove American Indians came from Siberia, 20,000 years ago. Her theory is that they crossed the Bering land bridge when the sea levels dropped and exposed previously submerged land. Then they walked down the coast from Alaska to Chile. The proof is underwater," Harry said.

He angled the slab face-forward, then jiggled it at Alec. "Did you hear me? They walked."

Alec scowled. "That's a museum specimen. And besides, planting a footprint is just too obvious. Experts would know a fake."

"Experts. Ha! Ever hear of the Piltdown man? For decades a half human-half orangutan beast was touted as the 'missing link' between man and ape; all because some so-called experts dug up a human skull next to an orangutan jawbone."

"Ancient history," Alec argued. "They have tests now. Nobody could get away with that today."

"There ain't no test for stone. Not unless it was found with something radiocarbon datable like human bones. The award committee will give her the money if they believe it's a fossilized footprint just so she can look for more evidence."

A sinister edge lurked in Harry's voice. "There are those who want the theory verified."

"So what's to keep people from faking data all the time?" Alec asked.

The sly smile on Harry's face gave Serena a thrill. "Academic integrity? The fear of getting caught? As far as I know, Serena fears nothing."

Alec rose from the bed and flapped his hands at the framed certificates adorning her wall.

"Serena is a highly regarded marine archaeologist. Look at all the awards she's won."

"Yeah," Harry jeered. "She can't bear to part with her accolades even for a field expedition. She's got to keep reminding herself how great she is. She's only thirty-four. Ever wonder how she got to be so great so young?"

Serena left her doorway and went up top. She sneered as she pulled on her scuba gear. Harry Shue, her long-time rival, was out to beat her. The Eureka award was worth five million bucks. If she found her proof, that would clinch it for her.