The MEG Page 9

  *

  Terry ran out on deck in time to see her father’s helicopter touch down on the helo-deck. She waited for him, then dragged him toward the A-frame.

  From his daughter’s expression Masao knew there was a problem.

  “They made it to the UNIS when something appeared on sonar. We lost communication with both subs. D.J.’s bio-suit stopped working, but we know he was circling over Jonas’s glider, which is lying powerless on the sea floor. D.J.’s primary batteries are out, but his mechanical arm is still attached to the cable; we’re using it to tow him up to the surface.”

  Masao was about to ask about Jonas when Leon Barre pushed his way into the conversation. “She’s coming up now. There’s a lot of weight on the line; D.J. must have gotten entangled on something down there.”

  *

  The Kiku’s winch bit into the slack and dragged the dying male Megalodon toward the hydrothermal plume as its mate chewed and swallowed its flesh.

  Jonas panted as he watched the spectacle through his cracked night vision glasses. The female refused to abandon her meal, circling her suddenly animated prey.

  She struck again, the male reacting as if jolted by electricity. Burying her snout deep within the gushing wound, she gnashed and gorged upon succulent hot chunks of entrails.

  The male’s body spasmed as it rose through the hydrothermal plume. The female escorted it up, the hot blood of her mate bathing her in a soothing thick river of warmth as she rose out of the depths.

  Free of the plume, she continued to feed, her murderous jaws entrenched deep within the wound, her teeth shredding the spleen and duodenum as hundreds of gallons of warm blood rushed into her open mouth and over her torso, insulating her from the cold.

  *

  Trapped in his sub, Jonas watched as the two creatures disappeared overhead. He waited several minutes, but the female did not return.

  And yet Jonas refused to engage the emergency ascent. Huddled in the darkness, he waited while sixteen thousand pounds per square inch of pressure squeezed the sub’s chassis, looking for a way in. He was beyond frightened, yet he knew he’d suffocate if he didn’t act soon, his only shot at survival depended upon him jettisoning the sub’s chassis and floating free in the Lexan escape pod.

  But if he floated toward the surface, the movement would attract the female.

  Suffocate or be eaten…

  Jonas was drenched in sweat, beginning to feel dizzy again. He couldn’t be sure if it was from loss of blood or the steadily diminishing supply of air. Waves of panic, accelerated by the claustrophobia, rattled his nerves. Seven miles of ocean sat on top of him! Seven miles!

  Gotta breathe … Gotta get outta here.

  His fingers groped along the floor beneath his stomach, locating the small storage compartment. Leaning back, he pulled open the hatch, straining to reach the spare tank of air. He unscrewed a valve and released a steady stream into the pod.

  Rolling over, Jonas strapped himself back into the shoulder harness. Suspended upside down, he felt along his right side until he found the metal latch box.

  Gripping the emergency lever, he yanked back hard on the handle, his effort igniting a half dozen small charges that cracked open the Abyss Glider’s engine mount, mid-wings, undercarriage and lights, releasing the Lexan egg.

  The emergency pod rose horizontally, its terrified passenger fearful of whether he could make it through the swirling ceiling of soot … and if he did, what would be waiting for him on the other side.

  *

  Masao held his daughter’s hand. Mac, DeMarco, and Heller were close by, waiting at the stern rail as the winch strained to gather its submerged line. Every forty seconds or so the cable would suddenly appear to free itself of its burden, spinning wildly around the spool a dozen or more revolutions before re-catching its weight and slowing again.

  Captain Barre stared at the iron O-ring that connected the pulley from the steel frame of the winch. It was straining under the weight of its load, threatening to snap apart at any moment.

  *

  Jonas heard the dull roar as the pod floated closer to the swirling silt-covered ceiling. The moment he entered the vortex he knew he was in trouble. The rapid current grabbed hold of the buoyant Lexan tube and whipped it around on its perpetual merry-go-round of gravel and soot and sulfuric gases.

  Desperate, Jonas rolled the pod into an upright vertical position, managing to guide the vessel higher through the plume’s dense layers until the torrent released its death grip.

  He collapsed on his belly as the Lexan pod floated free, then searched the olive-green void using his night-vision glasses.

  Nothing.

  The internal temperature dropped quickly, plunging into the forties. It would be an hour or more before he reached the surface, and Jonas knew he had to concentrate on keeping warm. His clothes were soaked with perspiration. His teeth began to chatter.

  Pulling himself into a fetal position, he closed his eyes and tried to remain calm.

  *

  The Kiku’s crew stood by the stern guardrail, watching the steel cable emerge yard by yard from the heavy sea, waiting and hoping for D.J.’s submersible to peek out from under the swells.

  Terry pressed her forehead to the cold rail and prayed.

  Shouts caught her attention. She opened her eyes, crewmen pointing to the green surface waters as they began to bubble … gurgling with a bright pink froth.

  Seconds later, the enormous head of an albino Great White shark broke the surface, the dead creature as large as a school bus.

  Dangling from its horrible jaws, held fast by the cable was the remains of the mangled Abyss Glider.

  Terry screamed; her father swooned.

  Frank Heller dropped to his knees.

  The creature kept rising, revealing its own ravaged lower torso. Steel cable held together hunks of partially eaten flesh, muscle, and internal organs. The behemoth had been gutted from its pectoral fins clear down to the base of its crescent-shaped caudal fin, its assailant even ravaging the male’s twin claspers.

  The shocked crew could only stare as the partially devoured monster was hauled out of the water and over the stern rail. As the forty-five foot shark struck the deck, the bloated, nearly unrecognizable remains of D.J. Tanaka poured out over the planks.

  Mac caught Terry as she fainted.

  *

  The escape pod had been rising steadily in the darkness. Loss of blood and the bitter cold were pushing Jonas deeper into a state of shock. His shivering had ceased, yielding to a loss of feeling in his toes and fingers, and still he could see nothing but pitch-black water above his head.

  Hang on, J.T. It’s just a walk in the park ...

  *

  Ten foot swells had become twenty foot peaks, the approaching storm lifting the two motorized orange rafts onto its back before dropping them precariously into its next valley.

  James Mackreides lowered his binoculars and scanned the seascape with his naked eye from the bow of the lead Zodiac. The high seas and blistering rain made it nearly impossible to see, let alone spot a three-foot red flag.

  Mac’s radio crackled to life. “You see anything, DeMarco?”

  “Yeah, I can see the storm’s getting worse. Your friend’s dead, Mac, the bio-suit stopped transmitting his life signs thirty minutes ago. I feel for your loss, but we’re risking a dozen lives in these seas looking for a corpse.”

  “He’ll surface.”

  “Five minutes and I’m calling it.”

  “Are you close, Al?”

  “Am I close to what?”

  “Your balls. I was just wondering, because if you call this rescue mission before we find Jonas’s escape pod I’ll be introducing your boys to my Bowie knife and the three of you can sing soprano in the church choir this Christmas.”

  *

  Terry Tanaka stood in the bow of the second Zodiac, her almond eyes searching the valley of waves ahead of her as another crewman wretched over the side. Until she
found Taylor’s escape pod there would be no grieving, no time for the pain gripping her heart. She had to locate the man whom she had ridiculed, and somehow she knew he was still alive.

  “Wait—” Something had disappeared behind a swell … a flicker of color. She pointed off the starboard bow. “There! Head over there.”

  The red vinyl flag was just visible over the crest of an incoming wave. Terry guided them to the buoyant capsule. They could barely see Jonas’s body through the fogged interior.

  A team of divers jumped in as Mac’s craft joined them. “Is he alive?”

  Divers opened the rear hatch and reached in, grabbing Jonas by his legs. They hauled him out of the craft as it quickly filled with water and sank, disappearing beneath the waves.

  One of the divers turned, signaling a thumbs-up.

  Aftermath

  FRANK HELLER COULDN’T FIGURE OUT how the news had spread so quickly.

  It had taken less than three hours for the Kiku to reach the Aura Harbor naval base in Guam. Despite heavy winds and rain, two Japanese television crews and members of a local station were waiting for them on the dock, along with press reporters and photographers from the navy, the Manila Times, and the local Guam Sentinel. They surrounded Heller the moment he disembarked, bombarding him with questions about the giant shark suspended from the Kiku’s A-frame, the dead pilot, and the surviving scientist who’d been airlifted ahead for medical treatment.

  Heller read from a prepared statement. “The Kiku was on a humanitarian mission to repair damage to an earthquake early warning system deployed in the Mariana Trench. Two of our one-man submersibles were deployed to retrieve one of the array’s damaged drones. During the course of this mission our subs were attacked by the creature you see before you. Jonas Taylor suffered a concussion and is being treated for hypothermia. The other pilot, D.J. Tanaka, son of oceanographer Masao Tanaka was killed.”

  “Dr. Heller, is this shark a Great White or a Megalodon?”

  “I’m a medical doctor, not a marine biologist, but we suspect it’s a Meg.”

  “Where will you take the shark?”

  “It’ll be stored in a refrigerated warehouse for examination. The remains will eventually be taken to the Tanaka Oceanographic Institute.”

  “What happened to the creature? Obviously, it was attacked.”

  “We’re not certain at this point. The shark might have been ripped apart by the cable that entangled it, and drowned.”

  “It looks like it’s been eaten,” said a balding American with bushy eyebrows. “Is it possible another shark attacked this one?”

  “It’s possible, but—”

  “Are you saying there are more of these monsters out there?”

  “Did anyone see—?”

  “Do you think—?”

  Heller raised his hands. “One at a time.” He nodded to an American reporter.

  “Xavier Solis, Manila Times. Our readers will want to know if it’s safe to go boating?”

  Heller spoke confidently. “Let me put your fears to rest. If there are any more of these sharks in the Mariana Trench, six miles of near-freezing water stands between them and us. Apparently, it’s kept them trapped down there for at least two million years. It’ll probably keep ’em down there a few million more.”

  “Dr. Heller?”

  Heller turned. David Adashek stood before him. “Isn’t Professor Taylor a marine paleobiologist?”

  Heller glanced furtively at the crowd. “Yes. He has done some work—”

  “More than some work. His book justifies the existence of these Megalodon sharks in the deep-sea trenches. Was Tanaka’s mission organized to test his theory? And if not, why would you risk—”

  “We were salvaging a damaged drone designed to detect earthquakes. The Tanaka Institute has no interest in prehistoric sharks. Now if you don’t mind, we’ve just lost a loved one, try to understand.” Heller ignored the flurry of questions that followed him as he pushed through the crowd.

  “Clear out, you vultures.” Leon Barre’s deep accented voice cut through the heavy weather as the captain supervised the transfer of the Megalodon carcass onto the dock. A four-story-high boom raised the creature off the stern deck, preparing to swing the netted remains over the pier and onto an awaiting flatbed truck.

  A photographer pushed to the front and shouted, “Captain, could we get you in the shot for a little perspective?”

  The big Filipino waved his arm at the crane operator, who stopped the boom. Momentum sent the Megalodon’s head swaying to and fro, drenching the crowd with bloody seawater. Cameramen scrambled for an angle, but the carcass was so long it would not fit into the frame.

  Leon Barre stood beside the giant head, the boat captain clearly unnerved to be so close to the mouth. He gazed inside the lower jaw line at the teeth, the front row standing upright, another five to six rows of replacement teeth folded neatly behind them, back into the gum line. Feeling his knees go weak, the burly sea captain backed away.

  “Smile,” someone shouted.

  Barre turned, staring grimly ahead. “Just take the damn picture and let me be.”

  *

  Aboard the Yacht: The Magnate

  It was another gorgeous day in San Diego, the sky near cloudless, the temperature a balmy 78 degrees. San Diego’s harbor was teeming with boaters, the catamarans racing beneath the Coronado Bay Bridge, the whale watchers moving farther out to sea, hoping to catch a close-up view of California’s Gray Whales, twenty-five thousand of which were passing through San Diego’s waters on their annual 7,000-mile migration from the Bering Sea to Baja California.

  The ninety-seven-foot Abeking & Rasmusen super-yacht, Magnate, moved at a leisurely three knots, its course paralleling the San Diego skyline. A sleek fortress of fiberglass and steel, she was white with pine-green trim, possessing a 25-foot beam and 9.5-foot draft. Her twin 1200 horsepower engines could drive her through choppy seas at an easy twenty knots, her lush interior making the ride a pleasure in any weather.

  Bud Harris had purchased the yacht from the owner of a struggling Arena League football franchise. He had gutted the insides, redoing everything in polished teak and mahogany, the walls and cabinets in a deep cherry wood. The floors were blue sapphire marble, the bay windows tinted, running floor to ceiling in the master suite, which was complete with a small gymnasium, home entertainment center, and a Jacuzzi.

  Maggie Taylor was lying topless in a padded lounge chair on the teakwood deck of the master suite’s private sundeck, her oiled body glistening under the noon-day sun.

  Bud watched her from his Jacuzzi, reading the Los Angeles Times. “You always said a tan looks good on camera.”

  Maggie shielded her eyes, squinting up at him. “This is for you, baby.” She rolled over on her stomach to watch CNN on a wall-mounted television. “How about another drink? This is hard work.”

  “You got it.” He climbed out of the tub, wrapped himself in a towel, and headed back inside the air-conditioned stateroom.

  Crossing to the bar, he grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine—

  “Bud! Bud, get out here!”

  Heart racing, he ran across the marble floor, nearly slipping. “What the hell, Maggie? I nearly broke my neck.”

  Maggie was clutching a towel to her breasts, staring openmouthed at the TV. “I don’t believe it.”

  Bud hurried over, gazing at the Special News Report. “Jesus … is that thing real?”

  The Megalodon’s head and open jaws filled the screen, its body dangling from a crane.

  Bud turned up the sound:

  “… experts believe could be Carcharodon megalodon, a giant prehistoric ancestor of the modern-day Great White. No one seems to know how the creature could have survived, but Dr. Taylor, who was injured in the capture, is an expert on these sharks and is expected to provide some answers. Taylor is recovering at the naval hospital in Guam …”

  Bud lowered the volume. “Dr. Taylor? Maggie, you think they mean Jonas?�
��

  “Who the hell else could they mean?” She rushed into the master suite, Bud shouting after her, “Hey? Where are you going?”

  “I need to call my office.” She grabbed her cell phone, dialing frantically. Her assistant answered. “It’s Maggie. Any messages?”

  “Mr. Henderson called twice, and I’ve got a dozen messages from media outlets looking for a quote. Something about your husband. Oh, and a David Adashek’s been trying to reach you all morning.”

  “The rest can wait, give me Adashek’s number.”

  Maggie scrawled the number on a cocktail napkin, hung up, then dialed the overseas operator to connect her to Guam. Several minutes later, the line was ringing.

  “Adashek.”

  “David, what the hell is happening?”

  “Maggie? I’ve been trying to reach you all night. Where are you?”

  “Never mind that. I just saw the news report. Where did that shark come from? Where’s Jonas? Has anyone spoken with him yet?”

  “Slow down. Jonas is recovering in the Guam naval hospital. He’s okay, but there’s a guard posted at his door so no one can speak with him. The Megalodon’s for real. Looks like you were wrong about your husband.”

  Maggie felt ill.

  “Maggie, you still there?”

  “Shut up, I’m trying to think.”

  “Maggie, this could be the story of the decade. Jonas is a major player, you could still get to him before anyone else.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Be sure to ask him about the other shark.”

  Maggie’s heart skipped a beat. “What other shark?”

  “The one that ate the one that killed the Tanaka kid. Everybody’s talking about it, but the Tanaka Institute’s people are refusing to comment. Jonas is the only one who knows what really happened down there. Maybe he’d talk to you?”

  Maggie’s mind raced. “Okay, okay, I’m coming to Guam. Now listen carefully: I want you to stay on the story. Try to find out what the authorities are going to do to locate this other shark.”