While on the whole I absolutely despise Frederick Forsythe, this particular story - from the collection No Comebacks - is literally the only bit of writing by him that I have any regard for.
The basic plot is simple. A henpecked bank manager ("Murgatroyd of the Midland"), his wife, and young colleague ("Higgins from Head Office") go on a holiday to Mauritius. Mrs Murgatroyd keeps her husband on a tight leash, but on the last day of the holiday he sneaks away with Higgins for a game fishing expedition on a boat owned by Monsieur Patient, a local man and his grandson, with a South African guide whose name I'm unable to remember.
Out in the Indian Ocean, Higgins and Murgatroyd take it in turns to fish. They catch bonitos - inedible bait fish - and then Monsieur Patient announces that something out there is following them. Shortly afterwards, Higgins hooks a Dorado - a golden predator - but that isn't what's following
Shortly after noon, one of the lines starts going out - not fast, but briskly, "like a football rattle". It's Murgatroyd's turn at the rod, but when he takes up the strain, the drum keeps turning and the line going out.
"Christ," said (Killian? The South African guide,) "he's big. He's pulling fifty kilos plus, like tissues out of a box. Hold on, man."
But the line keeps going out, and what's at the other end has no intention of giving up.
"Marlin," said Monsieur Patient.
"You're lucky," said (? Killian?). "It seems you've hooked a marlin."
"Is that good?" Murgatroyd asked.
"It's the king of the game fish," (? Killian?) replied. "Rich men come here year after year, and spend thousands on the sport, and never get a marlin. But he'll fight you. He'll fight you like you've never seen anything fight in your life."
But it isn't just any marlin. It's The Emperor, a blue marlin "estimated to be bigger than the world record." He's known in these waters (actually, he's probably a she, since female marlins are larger than the male). He's been hooked twice before, broke the line both times, and when he broaches - "the sharp marlin spike reached for the sky" - they can see the sun glittering on the old hooks still in his mouth. And then he "takes the strain....and dives."
In the next hours, Murgatroyd "learnt the meaning of pain." Hunched over in the fishing chair, he - refusing all offers of help - fought the Emperor, and the Emperor fought him. And something had to give in the end.
What that was I can't tell without spoilers, but let me tell you that it is one of the most satisfying endings in short fiction I have ever read. Even now, over thirty years later, it makes me smile.
Extremely recommended. Unlike the rest of Forsythia, actually.