The MEG Page 19

  Locating the remote, he turned on the television.

  Channel 9 Action News was showing Maggie’s underwater footage taken from the Lexan cylinder.

  “… Maggie Taylor gave her life to her profession, leaving these incredible scenes as her lasting legacy. A public service will be held on Thursday, and Channel 9 will be presenting a two-hour special tonight at eight honoring Mrs. Taylor.

  “In a related story, a federal judge ruled today that the Megalodon has officially been listed as a protected species of the Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary. We bring you live to the steps of the Federal Court Building.”

  Jonas turned up the volume.

  “Mr. Dupont, were you surprised today how quickly the judge ruled in favor of protecting the Meg, especially in light of the recent attacks?”

  Andre Dupont of the Cousteau Society stood next to his attorney as microphones were pressed to his face. “No, we weren’t surprised. The Monterey Sanctuary is a federally protected marine park designed to protect all species, from the smallest otter to the largest whale. There are other marine predators in the park—Orcas, Great Whites. Each year, we see isolated attacks by Great White sharks on divers or surfers, but these are rare occurrences. Humans are not the staple of the Great White’s diet, and we certainly are not the preferred food source of a sixty-foot Megalodon. Of greater importance will be our effort to immediately place Carcharodon megalodon on the endangered species list so it is protected in international waters as well.”

  “Mr. Dupont, what is the Cousteau Society’s opinion of the Tanaka Institute’s plan to capture the Megalodon?”

  “We believe all creatures have a right to exist in their natural habitat. However, in this case, we are dealing with a species that nature may have never intended to interact with man. The Tanaka Lagoon is certainly large enough to accommodate a creature of this size, therefore we agree it might be best if the Megalodon was captured.”

  The Channel 9 anchor reappeared.

  “We had our field reporter, David Adashek, conduct an unofficial street poll to gauge public opinion. David?”

  Jonas stared at the familiar face framed by the bushy eyebrows, and shook his head. “God, Maggie, what did I ever do to make you so bitter?”

  “Trudy, opinions seem to favor capturing the monster. Personally, I feel the creature is a menace. I’ve spoken to several marine biologists who believe that it’s possible for sharks to acquire a taste for humans. If true, then we can expect more gruesome deaths, especially in light of today’s federal court ruling. This is David Adashek reporting for Channel 9 News.”

  Another knock sent him searching for his tee-shirt. “Hold on!” Make sure she stocks the fridge with those little vodka samplers…

  He opened the door, daylight burning into his eyes.

  “Masao?”

  “Taylor-san, let me in.”

  Jonas stood aside. “How did you find me?”

  “You charged the room to your credit card. Mac did the rest.” He looked around, stepping over empty beer bottles and liquor samplers. “You have coffee? Never mind, I see it.” Masao went into the kitchenette and filled the empty glass pot with water.

  “What time is it?”

  “One-twenty. No more alcohol, okay? It will rot your liver.” Masao sat at the small kitchen table. “I am truly sorry about your wife. She died a noble death, doing what she believed in.”

  “Death is death. As for our marriage, that was over long ago. She died on her lover’s boat.” Jonas shook his head, taking a seat across from him. “I’m sorry, Masao, I can’t do this anymore.”

  “What can’t you do?”

  “There’s been too much death. Let the authorities handle the Meg.”

  “Authorities? I thought you were the authority? Jonas, we have a responsibility as marine biologists. I feel it. I know you do as well.” Tanaka looked into Jonas’s eyes, bloodshot and exhausted. “A tired mind should not make decisions, but we are running out of time.”

  “I already made my decision. I’m through.”

  “Hmm. Taylor-san, you are familiar with Sun Tzu?”

  “No.”

  “Sun Tzu was a great warrior, he wrote The Art of War more than twenty-five hundred years ago. Sun Tzu said, ‘If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. But if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.’ Do you understand?”

  “No … I don’t know, Masao. I can’t think right now.”

  Masao placed his hand on Jonas’s shoulder. “Jonas, who knows this creature better than you?”

  “This is different.”

  Masao shook his head. “The quarry remains the quarry; the enemy is yourself. It has been for the last seven years; it will be so for the next seven.” He stood. “No matter. My daughter can handle what must be done.” He stood, checking on the coffee.

  “Terry? What’s Terry going to do?”

  “Pilot the Abyss Glider, of course. Someone must secure the net around the creature once it has been sedated. The transmitter you implanted is functioning; we just need a sighting to bring the Kiku within range of the signal.”

  “But Terry—”

  “Terry is a competent pilot who is not afraid.” He poured a cup of coffee, setting it on the table in front of Jonas. “The Kiku is docked inside the lagoon; I gave the crew seventy-two hour shore leave while we resupply the ship and test the net. We set out to complete the job tomorrow morning at ten, should you change your mind.”

  Masao patted him on the shoulder, then headed for the door.

  “Masao…”

  “Do not worry yourself. The Tanaka clan will finish this business ourselves.”

  He waved to Jonas, then left.

  *

  San Diego

  Bud Harris stood by the port rail, watching the sun set over a placid sea. The millionaire always loved this time of day— a brief reprieve from the stress of work; an opportunity to meditate and recharge his batteries for the night ahead.

  Not anymore.

  He winced as the Magnate’s underwater lights came on, illuminating the yacht’s keel. He stared below, his limbs trembling, his breathing rapid and shallow. He was all alone and he knew that was a bad thing.

  The sky darkened; the wind picked up.

  And then the whispers came, tickling his ear. “Bud? Baby, where are you?”

  “Maggie? Maggie, is that you?” Bud leaned over the rail, searching the black sea.

  “Bud, please help me; I don’t know where I am.”

  Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. “Maggie, sweetheart … you’re dead.”

  “I’m not dead, Bud.”

  “Maggie, I saw you … I saw—”

  “Stay there, Bud. I’m coming for you.”

  Bud’s flesh tingled. He stared at the lit patch of water directly below the rail where he was standing. Then he saw the glow—a speck of white rising from the deep.

  “Maggie?”

  As he watched a snout materialized, followed by a massive triangular head.

  “No … no, Maggie … stay away—”

  The jaws opened, the Megalodon rising out of the sea…

  “No!”

  *

  Bud shot up in bed, screaming, his right arm covered in blood.

  A Jamaican nurse entered the hospital room, followed by a male orderly.

  “He tore his I.V. out again.”

  The nurse quickly slipped on a pair of rubber gloves. “It’s okay, Mr. Harris,” she soothed. “It was just another nightmare.”

  “A nightmare? Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital. You suffered a nervous breakdown.”

  The orderly opened a drawer and pulled out a set of Velcro straps. “Dr. Wishnov said if he pulls his I.V. out again we need to strap him down for the night.”

  “Touch me with those and your next j
ob will be cleaning bed pans.”

  “I clean bed pans every day.”

  “Then I’ll crap in bed and you can clean my ass!”

  “Calm down, Mr. Harris—”

  “I want out of here; I want my own doctor. Where’s my goddam cell phone?”

  The nurse signaled to the orderly to back off. “Tell you what … let me fix your I.V. and we’ll get you your phone.”

  He looked up at the nurse. “No straps?”

  “As long as you stay calm.”

  He extended his left forearm, the veins bruised from repeatedly pulling out I.V. needles.

  Unable to locate a clean vein, the nurse turned his hand over. Dabbing his flesh with an alcohol swab, she inserted the needle just below his index finger.

  “Ouch! Where’d you go to nursing school? Haiti?”

  Ignoring the comment, she taped down the needle and started the drip, then shot a syringe of sedative into the bag.

  Bud’s eyes grew heavy. He laid his head back, mumbling something as he passed out.

  The nurse nodded to the orderly. “Strap this a-hole down.”

  *

  The cab passed Jonas’s house, continuing to the end of the block. The news vans were gone, but there were two SUVs parked a few houses away that looked suspicious.

  Hunched low in the backseat, Jonas instructed the driver to turn down the next block.

  He paid the driver, then cut through his neighbor’s backyard and hopped the fence into his own yard. Locating the hide-a-key, he entered through his back door.

  The house had been emptied. Paintings, furnishings, plants … Maggie’s clothes—Bud’s movers had taken it all. Even the pots and pans were gone.

  She doesn’t even cook … didn’t cook … ah, geez.

  He entered his office. Files were strewn everywhere, his laptop open. He wiggled the mouse, chasing away the screensaver. She had been Googling the Farallon Islands.

  Jonas sat back in his chair, the image of the Megalodon’s last attack burned into his memory. And yet every time he tested his emotional response, he kept imagining Terry.

  Maggie had been right; Jonas found himself thinking about Terry all the time. Surrendering to their mutual lust, they had been together in his stateroom the night Masao had gone ashore. She had snuck out of his room just before dawn, winking to Mac who had seen her exiting his friend’s cabin.

  And then Jonas had pulled back, afraid things had gone too far.

  Terry had misinterpreted his sudden coolness, believing Jonas still had feelings for his wife—either that or he felt like his actions had been disrespectful to her father. A woman scorned, she had treated him coldly after that—and deservedly so.

  But it was neither Maggie nor Masao that caused Jonas to cool things off with Terry. The truth was that he was afraid.

  Ever since the attack in Hawaii, Jonas had become convinced that he would not survive the mission. Premonitions of his own death came in the form of a recurring dream, one in which he found himself in the mini-sub, hovering along the surface, the Megalodon rising to attack from below, devouring him whole.

  So realistic were these nightmares that, on several occasions Jonas woke up screaming.

  Had this been an isolated experience, he would have chalked it up to the nature of their mission and the monster they were chasing. Only it wasn’t isolated. Seven years earlier, Jonas had experienced a similar series of dreams while on-board the navy transport, the Maxine D. It had been these night terrors that he secretly credited for saving his life on his last dive into the Mariana Trench. Despite Frank Heller’s accusations, Jonas knew now that he hadn’t panicked when the Meg had attacked the Sea Cliff. In fact, he had reacted with lightning-quick reflexes from hours of mentally rehearsing what he would do if the submersible had been threatened by the biologic they had first detected on sonar hours earlier … a state of paranoia implanted by the dreams.

  Seven years later the night terrors had returned.

  The last one had been the worst. After Terry had left his cabin he had fallen back asleep. In a vivid dream he found himself in a suffocating, terrifying darkness. Trapped within this void, death had whispered into his ear.

  With a blood-curdling scream, Jonas had shot up in bed, his entire body bathed in sweat.

  Jonas had ended things with Terry Tanaka, not because he didn’t care about her, but because he knew he was falling in love. Hers were the ties that kept him bound to the mission; their blossoming relationship would be his death knell.

  *

  The six-and-three-quarter-inch bottom tooth was a fossil. Lead-gray and heavily serrated, it was worth at least a thousand dollars to collectors, though Jonas would never sell it. The Meg tooth had been a gift from Mac on his thirty-fifth birthday—a good-luck charm that had ushered in a book deal and a string of good tidings.

  Jonas removed the tooth from its glass case. He ran his fingers absentmindedly along its sharp serrated edges as his thoughts returned to his last conversation with Masao.

  Making up his mind, he carried the Megalodon tooth into his bedroom. Emptying his workout gear from a gym bag, he repacked it, sandwiching the tooth between a few days’ worth of clothing.

  Entering his bathroom, he located a razor and shaved, calculating the drive time to Monterey.

  Payback

  BUD HARRIS GATHERED HIS BELONGINGS and stuffed them into a plastic bag provided by the orderly. Unshaven and badly in need of a shower, the once-proud entrepreneur had been reduced to a feeble shell of his former self. Deeply depressed after having witnessed his lover’s death, Bud was also suffering from exhaustion brought on by a lack of REM sleep.

  The millionaire no longer cared whether he lived or died. He felt alone and in pain, barely and was afraid to sleep. His doctors recommended he see a psychiatrist. Bud wasn’t interested.

  The nurse arrived to escort her patient out of the hospital with the traditional wheelchair ride. “Mr. Harris, is anyone meeting you downstairs?”

  “No.”

  Two men strode up to the nurse. “We’re here to meet Mr. Harris.”

  Bud looked up at them. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Dr. Frank Heller. This is my associate, Richard Danielson.” Heller held out his hand.

  Bud ignored it. “Danielson? You’re the asshole who got all those navy guys killed going after the shark. Should have killed the damn thing while you had the chance.” Bud stood, walking away from the wheelchair, the orderly, and the two men. “I’ll find my own way out.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Heller said, following him down the corridor. “My brother, Dennis, was butchered by the same monster that killed Maggie Taylor.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m sorry for your loss, now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Hold it,” said Danielson. “This thing has killed a lot of people. We thought you’d want to be involved in a little payback.” Danielson looked at Heller. “Maybe we were wrong.”

  The thought of killing the Megalodon seemed to set off a spark in Bud. He focused his eyes on Danielson for the first time. “What is it you need? Money? Weapons?”

  “Just your boat.”

  *

  Tanaka Oceanographic Institute

  Jonas parked in the deserted lot, his dashboard clock reading 12:07 PM. Traffic in Los Angeles had cost him several hours, but he had managed to reach Masao by phone.

  Grabbing his bag, he headed for the helipad.

  Mac was waiting for him in the helicopter, his cheeks full from taking down a bacon cheeseburger in two bites. “Well, well, the prodigal son-in-law returns.”

  “Clever.”

  “While you’ve been camped out in your motel hide-a-way, I spent the better part of the last three nights flying up and down the coast searching for the Meg. The homing device you implanted seems to be functioning; unfortunately I had walkie-talkies as a kid that carried a better range. The Coast Guard’s been helping out and we covered about four hundred nautical miles, but if she’s in the canyo
n we may never find her.” He tossed Jonas a fast food bag holding another bacon double-cheeseburger. “Lunch is on me. So Romeo, how long have you and the voluptuous Ms. Tanaka been sharing bodily fluids?”

  “Just the one time, if you must know.”

  “Oh, but I must. It’s all part of my responsibilities as your life coach.”

  “Seeing how my life has been going of late, maybe I should have fired you.”

  “Oh, boo-hoo.” Mac strapped himself in, powering up the chopper. “I don’t see anyone putting a gun to your head. Despite tossing yourself repeatedly and quite moronically, may I add, into the line of fire you’re still very much alive. That’s a lot more than we can say about D.J. and that two-timing wife of yours—my condolences, by the way. So, am I taking you to the Kiku, or not?”

  “I’ve been having those dreams again, Mac. The ones I told you about when we first met—when I mistook you for a real shrink.”

  “More premonitions? Of what?”

  “Being eaten by our friend.”

  Mac powered off the engine. “How long have you been having these new night terrors?”

  “Since the Nautilus disaster.”

  “Maybe the dreams were warning you about Maggie?”

  “I considered that. Only the dreams are clearly from my perspective. I’m in the Abyss Glider, powerless along the surface. It’s daylight. Looking below, I see the Meg. She’s rising from below. Her mouth opens wide … and in I go.”

  “When was the last dream?”

  “The night I was with Terry … you know, afterwards.”

  “Jonas, if you’re so convinced you’re going to die on this mission, why the hell are you here?”

  “Honestly, I wasn’t going to show up. Then, I thought back to a story my father told me shortly after he was diagnosed with stage-four cancer. The story was about two men. The first was a Chicago native nicknamed, ‘Easy Eddie.’ Easy Eddie was Al Capone’s lawyer. Despite his boss being a murderer and notorious gangster, Easy Eddie managed to keep Capone out of jail. To show his gratitude, Capone paid his attorney a lot of money. He set Easy Eddie and his family up in a huge mansion with live-in help. Made sure he had everything he could possibly want.