by Rick Chesler
He looked up at the helicopter only to see the winch man with his head turned inward, talking someone inside the aircraft. Ethan bellowed up to him. “Can you go any faster with this thing?”
The equipment operator quickly turned back around and looked down at the basket and Ethan. “We don’t like to go too fast because it can set the cable to swinging. Why, is there some—?”
The Liopleurodon rushed out of the water at a forty-five-degree angle, toward the rescue basket—toward Ethan. He saw the elongated set of jaws open wide. As if in slow motion, he saw the water streaming from its open maw. It was coming for him, leaping right out of the water straight for its prey.
For a brief moment, Ethan considered hunkering down in the bottom of the cage, but wasn’t confident the two-foot high steel bars would provide much protection. This thing looked like it could swallow the whole damned cage, with him in it, right down its slimy gullet. Instead, he sprung upward, hands grasping the cable that was reeling up the basket.
The winch operator saw what was happening and increased the speed of the winch, drawing the cable and basket up at a faster rate. Ethan didn’t stop shimmying up the cable. He needed every inch he could get so as to be above the beast when it hit. He turned to look at it without stopping his upward motion. He had to know where it was. Maybe it would pass below the entire basket rig and splash back into the sea?
But this hope was dashed as soon as Ethan eyeballed the Jurassic reptile. The aquatic behemoth’s mandibles snapped around both ends of the basket, a few of its six-inch teeth breaking off in the process. Ethan jerked both of his feet up, bending his legs sharply at the knees out of fear the monster aqua-beast would be able to reach his lower extremities and do away with them. He did not want to make it all the way into the helicopter only to be hauled aboard with a pair of bloody stumps dumping his blood over the ocean as they flew away.
What he should have been worried about was being knocked from the cable back into the ocean, for the raging Liopleurodon latched onto the steel bars of the cage and hung there. Its multi-tons of weight canting the helo to one side, tossing the winch operator out the open door. The man reached out as he plunged, swiping for the cable but missing. He fell head first until he reached Ethan, who reached out with his right arm—and right leg—in an attempt to break the airman’s fall, or at least stall it enough to allow him to reach out and grab the cable.
The winch operator’s helmet impacted Ethan’s face, smashing his nose, releasing a gout of blood. The photographer shouted in pain, but hooked his elbow under the plummeting airman’s armpit. Then he used his right leg to shove his would-be rescuer toward him on the cable. The winch man hugged Ethan until he was certain his fall had been arrested, then he grabbed onto the cable himself and began pulling himself up, hand over hand.
Ethan stared down at the Liopleurodon, noting with mounting terror that it was still hanging by its jaws from the cage, its long body writhing and wriggling. He shouted to the man whose life he had likely just saved.
“The cable’s not moving—anybody else up there with you to flip it back on?”
The airman shook his head. “Just the pilot and he’s got his hands full. I’ll make it up, then I’ll reel you in.”
Ethan had his doubts about this, considering what had just happened, but he waited until the winch man was a few feet up the cable and then pulled himself up an arm’s length at a time as well. As they neared the helicopter’s undercarriage, the pilot could be heard bellowing choice expletives over the engine roar, no doubt related to the fact that the Liopleurodon’s sheer weight threatened to pull the chopper down into the sea. Ethan stared wide-eyed as the surface of the ocean came closer and closer.
As more of the aquatic predator’s body was dipped back into the ocean, its tail movements became much more powerful, now having the saltwater to push its muscles against. The basket started to swing and gyrate wildly, nearly knocking Ethan from the cable, shredding the skin on his hands. Seeing the airman hook an arm over the ‘copter’s door frame buoyed Ethan’s spirits, though, and he doubled down on his own grip.
Pull up…come on, just pull up…now the other arm, pull…
He lapsed into a working trance, pulling himself arm over arm, entwining his legs around the cable to keep him from slipping down toward the Liopleurodon, which was threatening to take down the entire helicopter by its sheer weight.
The voice of the winch operator permeated Ethan’s tunnel-vision thoughts. “Grab my hand! Grab it, I’ve got you, come on!”
Ethan hadn’t realized how close he was. His eyes were open, but he hadn’t really been seeing anything. Now he forced his brain to make sense of what his eyes could see. The airman’s right hand, outstretched, beckoning, while his left was looped around a hand strap over the door frame.
Ethan reached up with his right hand and felt the winch operator’s grip at the same time as the helicopter plummeted sharply downward. The airman yelled to the pilot. “Got him—up, up, up!”
Ethan felt himself being yanked aboard, where he slid across the cargo bay floor, coming to a stop facing the other door, also open.
“Drop the cable—drop it!” The pilot’s frantic command galvanized the winch operator into action. He moved to the winch and unclipped the hook that fastened the basket cable to the spool. He tossed the cable out of the aircraft.
“Done!”
Ethan propped himself up on his elbows and stared down out of the open door in time to see the basket—with the Liopleurodon still clinging on by its stubborn jaws—splash back into the ocean. The pilot wrangled with the collective until the helicopter was stabilized, then gained altitude in a controlled fashion. Ethan looked about the mostly empty aircraft, at the mechanical restraints set into the floor, now empty, that had held the bombs that had unleashed so much destruction on the island.
He glanced at the pilot and the winch operator, surprised that only two persons had unleashed so much mayhem. He didn’t recognize either of them; neither were part of the crew who had dropped the team off in the civilian helicopter, and neither wore military uniforms. Ethan rose unsteadily to his feet and moved to a jump seat next to the winch operator and sat down, gripping a hand strap to secure him in the event of turbulence.
The winch man looked at Ethan with a big grin. He wore mirrored aviator glasses, but looked Ethan in the eyes anyway. “Glad we saw your signal! Thirty more seconds and we’d have been long gone. You injured—anything that can’t wait?”
Ethan shook his head, accepting a first-aid kit from the airman that he would use to clean up his bloody nose.
“Thank you.”
The airman nodded, wrapping a blanket around Ethan and handing him a bottle of water and some food. “No, thank you, Mr., Jones. If it weren’t for you…” He shook his head slowly while staring down into the ocean speeding by below. “We’ll be in American Samoa in about two hours. Sit back, relax and enjoy the flight.” Then he joined the pilot up front in the cockpit, leaving Ethan to stare out the open door in silence.
The island was now not much more than a heap of smoldering lava, sending black smoke into the atmosphere. Ethan picked up his camera and aimed it at the devastation. He clicked off a shot as the island smoldered and crumbled into the sea from whence it came.
Chapter 36
Nuku'alofa, Tonga
CIA Special Agent Valea Esau sat on the bus with his teeth clenched as the king’s palace passed outside the window. All around him people sat and stood, some with small cages containing live chickens or roosters, some with bundles of whole fish. All chatted loudly, going about their day bringing goods to and from the markets with a comfortable routine that Esau envied. He could no longer really remember what it was like to have such a normal life, for he’d given his up to The Company long ago. His was a world of lies, dark networks, subterfuge, and a constant undercurrent of danger. And for what? To supposedly support a country he no longer even lived in, may never live in again for all he knew.
Maybe I’ve been in the tropics for too long, he mused, watching the palace grounds whiz by outside. His stop would be three more past, so as not to be seen directly taking the bus to the palace. A walk of about a mile, but he was used to such inconveniences in the line of duty. They reached the first stop after the palace, and his gaze traveled reflexively to the bus doors as a new gaggle of riders got on. He watched them from behind his sunglasses, checking to see if any were scanning the people in the seats, beyond the normal where should I sit glances. None of them seemed to be anything other than what they appeared, but nevertheless, his fingers clutched down tighter on the object beside him in the seat.
It looked like an ordinary mechanic’s ratchet set case, with a well-known tool maker’s logo in raised plastic lettering on the side. It fit in perfectly with the grease-stained jumpsuit he wore with the local auto mechanic shop logo sewn on the breast pocket. But inside the case, one would not find the ordinary compliment of tools. In fact, the molded plastic inlays that were form-fitted to the tools they were supposed to hold had been removed altogether. This had been done by Valea himself in order to create more room inside the case for what he needed to carry inconspicuously: cash. One million dollars’ worth of U.S. bills, non-sequential and unmarked. Meant for the Tongan king as an under-the-table token payment for the failed Neptune’s Inferno attempt at creating a permanent new island on which a U.S. military installation could be supported in return for a revenue stream, Valea was meeting with the king today to give him this payment.
He passed the second bus stop after the palace and looked around the bus again. No suspicious activity. He gave himself the all-clear to exit the bus at the next stop, after a visual check of that area from inside the bus, of course. He looked down at the tool case, eyeballing the clasps, making sure they were secured for the hundredth time. It’s a go, he told himself, but as the bus churned on toward the third stop after the palace, he wasn’t feeling it. He ran his fingers over the case, his eyes seeing the bundles of greenbacks inside as though he had X-ray vision.
Was he really going to give all this money to a king? Literally, a king, someone whose life would not change a whit if he didn’t receive it. Whereas Valea himself, what did he have to look forward to without this money? Fifteen more years of government service, risking his life? The thought coalesced rapidly, forming itself from previous notions waiting to be assembled together. By the time the bus reached Valea’s planned stop, the thought had formed into a full-fledged plan.
To hell with it. I’m done, I don’t need this. As a covert agent, technically a spy in the way most people thought of the term, Valea knew how to disappear. Even with the relatively meager resources he already had at his disposal, he could probably do it. But with an extra million in untraceable cash? He’d be set. Sure, the CIA will look for him, he had no doubts about that. He’d never be able to safely return to the U.S. or the South Pacific, but it’s not like he killed one of their own or something that would trigger a no-holds-barred international manhunt. They wouldn’t look too hard, especially if he stayed out of trouble, which he planned to. A low-key existence in some hospitable climate far removed from the intel community was just what he needed. South America? He’d think of something.
Contrary to what he might have expected, once he had resolved himself to this new course of action, to this new life, he became more relaxed, less nervous. That didn’t mean he would drop his situational awareness. He would never be able to afford to do that. But as he stared at a map of routes on a placard at the front of the bus, he knew where he was going right now.
Valea remained seated as the bus came to a halt for the third stop after the palace. Outside the window, he saw nothing out of the ordinary that would have prevented him from making his planned exit. He pictured Malo’s face, his reaction when he would give him the money, the shots of liquor he’d have lined up for them once he turned it over. Sorry, Your Majesty, your drinks are good but they’re not that good. Not a million bucks good.
The bus started up again and left the third stop behind. Valea clutched his tool case and smiled. A new island had risen from the sea, and with it, a pile of cash. Soon that island would be blasted back into the sea, and the money, too, would retreat.
With Valea.
Epilogue
Washington, D.C., The White House Situation Room
President Linda Mallory addressed the dozen or so people seated around the table. None of them looked particularly happy, including herself. “So, this was taken when?”
She nodded to a photo on a large wall monitor of Hunga Tonga- Ha'apai sinking beneath the waves in a fiery, hell-born fury. Even with no manmade elements in the photo, it depicted a scene of chaotic destruction.
James Elkweather, a mid-career CIA analyst, responded from behind thick spectacles. “This was taken about twelve hours ago by the lone surviving member of U.N. Expedition Gaia, Australian wildlife photographer Ethan Jones.”
The president reflected a moment longer as she stared at the hypnotic image. “So the planet’s newest land is no longer.” She shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t believe it, or was perhaps contemplating the significance of it.
Elkweather nodded. “That is correct, Madam President. The seamount—that’s an undersea mountain—is closer to the surface now than it was before the…eruption…but it will always remain permanently submerged.”
The president’s face took on a stern look as she addressed those in attendance. “I was told that the goal of Neptune’s Inferno was to deliberately trigger earthquakes that would, in turn, result in desirable chain reactions—such as directed tsunamis, volcanoes that form new land—not prehistoric animals.” She ended by glaring at the scientist responsible for spearheading the ultra-secret project. That man, Hungarian-American János Gombos, shrugged before meeting her gaze with a level stare.
“Call the dinosaurs an unintended side-effect. As you know, the purpose of the program was to create a new island that might be used as a strategic base by the U.S. and its allies in the region. We were never one hundred percent sure on how exactly that might take shape. That is why we had a spy in the expedition, to keep us apprised of unintended consequences and to stack the deck in our favor in case things did not go our way, which they didn’t.”
The president’s eyes flicked to her laptop screen for a moment. “Richard Eavesley, the British explorer?”
Elkweather, the analyst, nodded. “He was our mole.”
“Do we know what happened to him? Is it certain he’s dead, is what I’m asking, because if this ever gets out…”
“He’s dead. Mr. Jones said he was eaten by a hadrosaur.”
“What’s that?” the president asked.
Elkweather nodded to an assistant who cycled through some images on a laptop PowerPoint and then displayed one on the wall monitor. It depicted a large four-legged dinosaur (with silhouette figure of an adult human male for comparison), with a fleshy waddle on its head. Most of those around the table grimaced or looked away as they imagined how terrible Eavesley’s fate must have been.
Elkweather continued. “If we’re lucky, he even has video of it. They’re all dead except for Jones and the helicopter crews who brought the expedition in and out, that is confirmed. The entire Tongan landing party who got there first were confirmed perished by the U.N. team, as well.”
A moment of silent reflection ensued during which everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Until it was broken by an aide for the Secretary of State. “Unfortunately, Madam President, Richard Eavesley is not the worst of our problems with respect to leaking details of Neptune’s Inferno.”
The president glared at the middle-aged, balding man who had delivered this unpleasant news. “Explain yourself.”
“The State Department has received official word from Tonga—from King Malo himself—that the United States has not kept its word on a deal regarding the formation of a new island. He’s threatening to go public if he doesn’t receive a on
e million dollar cash payment that he says was promised to him directly by CIA operative, Valea Esau. Esau was our field agent based in Tonga, attached to our embassy in Fiji.”
“And what does Agent Esau have to say about this? I presume you’ve been in contact with him?”
The aide looked uncomfortable, but proceeded. “In fact, Madam President, we have been unable to reach Agent Esau after numerous attempts to contact him. He appears to be missing in action. Additional agents are being dispatched to Tonga now to look for him.”
The president nodded and then waved a hand dismissively. “All right. Pay Tonga the million, right away.”
The aide nodded, making a note on a pad. “In the meantime, we’ll track down the money that we gave—”
“Do it now!” the president yelled. “We don’t need this to become an international incident. Pay the man.”
The aide nodded again and left the room. The president turned back to those still seated at the table. “Anybody else have anything pressing that I should know about?”
No one said anything. The president went on. “What about the dinosaurs, then, are they a threat? Can they reach other, populated islands? I’m not going to wake up tomorrow to headlines about T. rexes chomping tourists on the beaches of Tahiti or somewhere, am I? Hell, I’m going to Tahiti this winter, right?” She turned to an assistant who consulted a schedule on a smartphone before nodding.
Another man answered, one of the scientists on Neptune’s Inferno, Dr. Marcus Ollenstein, a marine geophysics expert. “Most of the dinosaurs surely perished in the bombing, but it is possible that a few individuals escaped. However, we think it unlikely that two or more breeding individuals could have made it, so when the lone stragglers die off due to natural causes, that should be it for those evolutionary throwbacks.”
The president looked away from Ethan’s photo at her expectant group. “Overall, would you say the technology utilized in Neptune’s Inferno was successful? It will trigger earthquakes, generate tsunamis on demand…?”