For a moment he entertained the idea of giving the old salt a burial at sea. He rejected the thought on legal grounds. Oscar Wright had murdered him, and Evan wouldn’t allow the old man to get away with homicide. The ranger didn’t care whether the billionaire employed an army of lawyers to erase his sins via bureaucracy and technicalities, justice would be served in this case. If Evan sent Bart’s body overboard, it would be a lot harder to prove foul play.
There was time for mourning later. Right now Evan was concerned about Kelly. He had to get back to the Aurora before she did something irrational. The researcher realized the lengths to which the old man would pursue his misguided quest. And if Kelly got in his way, she may very well share the captain’s fate.
Evan went to the yacht’s pilothouse where both Captain Jenkins and First Mate Hatfield had sequestered themselves. Neither looked at him as he entered. “Turn this ship around,” he said.
“We’re headed to Florida,” Jenkins said. “And we’re not slowing down ‘til the Coast Guard gets here.”
“They’re no longer needed,” Evan said. It wasn’t necessary to elaborate; both men knew what that meant.
“I’m sorry to hear,” the first mate said.
“Sorry won’t bring him back. What you can do is make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“I have my orders,” the captain said.
Evan gripped Jenkin’s shoulder, spun the man around to face him. “Fuck your orders. Is your boss so great now?” Evan gestured at his bloody pants. “He killed the man out there, and you’re still listening to that sack of shit?”
“Look, it’s my responsibility to get us to shore with no more injuries. It’s a shame what happened to your friend, it really is, but that’s for the cops to sort out when we return to the States. That’s my goal and that’s our course.”
Both of them glared at the ranger. Evan wouldn’t be able to fight the pair alone, so he backed toward the door.
“My crew outnumbers yours,” he warned. “We’ll mutiny.”
After he left the bridge, the captain slammed shut the door with a distinct click of the lock.
Everyone else save the Naglfar’s chef (napping in his berth, oblivious to the takeover) gathered on the main deck. Evan cornered Rafe to speak privately. “Do you know how to steer something like this?” he asked the engineer.
“Theoretically,” Rafe said. “In practice, not so much. The only ship I’d feel comfortable helming is the Aurora. This yacht’s too technical for my tastes.”
Evan devised then revised a plan in his head. He’d need at least one of the co-captains, someone to pilot them to the Aurora.
“Have you seen Kelly around?” the mechanic asked. “I need to talk to her.”
Evan couldn’t keep the secret any longer, and Rafe was one of the few people he trusted. “This remains between us, y’understand. Kelly isn’t here because she stayed with the specimen.”
The Jamaican wasn’t surprised; frankly, he would’ve been more stunned had the marine biologist not stowed aboard the research vessel. “So we need to help her,” he said.
“That’s where you come in. The captain won’t turn this yacht around. He needs a little incentive. Do you know what I mean by that?”
“Beat his ass?”
Evan nodded and said, “Follow my lead.” The engineer tailed him through the crowd until Evan spotted Edgar Wallis. The lawyer sat on the outskirts of the group, forever an outsider. “Edgar, a word.”
The attorney paid close attention to Evan’s orders. “Keep everyone calm. Rafe and I are going to the pilothouse. Whatever you hear from there, don’t let the interns get upset. They need a stable influence at a time like this. If you wanna earn my respect, you’ll do this.”
Edgar straightened from his usual slouch and gave a sloppy salute.
On the way back to the wheelhouse, Evan spotted a fire extinguisher attached to one of the walls. He confiscated the object to take with him. They crept to the locked doorway of the bridge, Evan handing the red canister to Rafe. Next he unbuckled his belt, holding it in his hands shaped like a big O. He counted on his fingers: one . . . two . . . three.
Rafe pounded the cylinder against the doorjamb. The lacquered wood was unexpectedly strong but fractured after a dozen strikes. Inside the captain and first mate yelled for them to stop, their entreaties drowned out by the extinguisher’s persistent hammering. It took almost twenty hits to splinter the wood entirely. Rafe finally kicked at its weakest point, which flung open the door.
The two men burst onto the bridge, and the engineer used the canister for its primary purpose. White foam sprayed the co-captains as Evan wrestled the first mate. He punched Hatfield twice before binding the leather strap over the man’s head. Evan pulled it tight around the first mate’s neck, told Rafe to guard the door.
Evan now had leverage, the only thing that had kept the captain from heeding his pleas before. Hatfield was at his mercy, a virtue he lacked at the moment. “Gonna pay attention to my demands now?” he asked the captain.
Jenkins wasn’t amused by the ranger’s antics. “You’re better than this. Let him go.”
“What happens to your friend is in your hands.”
“You won’t hurt him.”
“I won’t kill him. I have no qualms about hurting him.” Evan pulled the belt taut and Hatfield followed him around like an abused puppy with a choke collar. The man’s frantic face was bright red, veins throbbing from his forehead.
“Redirect us to the Aurora.”
“The Coast Guard’s already locked onto our coordinates.”
“Then they can meet us at the research vessel.”
The first mate clawed at his throat and managed a garbled appeal for cooperation. Hatfield’s eyes bulged in their sockets, both of them fully bloodshot. He gasped for each breath, the strength running out of his legs.
“Don’t do this,” the captain said.
“It’s your call, chief. Hatfield here wants you to comply.” The choking man nodded intensely.
The captain stared Evan in the eyes. Each knew the other had been driven to extremes by the deeds of a third party. If he did turn the Naglfar around, the old man would undoubtedly fire him. He had a family in South Carolina to support and couldn’t risk losing his job, especially since his wife was a stay-at-home mom.
Hatfield’s resistance lessened; he stopped squirming against the ranger. His extremities tingled, his vision fading.
“Make your choice,” Evan said.
Despite the demands of his home life, Captain Jenkins couldn’t bear to see his friend in pain. He spun the steering wheel hard to starboard. The yacht slowly arced in a giant semicircle.
Evan let go of the belt. The first mate collapsed to his knees, panting as color drained back into his face. “No hard feelings?” Evan said.
Hatfield replied, “Fuck off.”
Evan shrugged and left with Rafe. While he took no pleasure in his drastic actions, he also didn’t regret resorting to them because they had elicited his desired response.
They were returning to the Aurora.
* * * * *
Kelly Andrews drifted aimless amid the unfathomable expanse of the ocean. She was curled in the fetal position, the best way to conserve heat and keep her vital organs warm. Her appendages had gone numb, her fingertips like wrinkled raisins.
The only way she’d survive this ordeal was by keeping high morale. That was the difference between lying down to die and continuing to battle in the face of overwhelming odds.
One tactic she discovered worked was not to think about her predicament at all. She projected her thoughts to anywhere other than where she was, her aim to create an out-of-body experience.
Except a painful cramp in her left calf reminded her otherwise. She massaged the knotted muscle and decided she didn’t need her boots. They were wet and heavy and unnecessary. Instead of letting them sink, she harvested the shoelaces. There was no telling how they could be useful — perhaps as
a fishing line — and she wasn’t about to waste any of the few supplies she had.
Her eyes wandered to the stars, listing the constellations to herself. Polaris was obvious, diagonal from Ursa Major and across from Cassiopeia. She spotted Orion and Taurus too before noticing something she couldn’t categorize. It took a second for her vision to detect movement across the sky. The object was fainter than the others, flanked by red dots. Kelly realized it wasn’t a star she was looking at. It was a plane.
The very thought brought her to tears. She hadn’t cried up to this point because it was a misuse of energy. Now she released that tension through great heaving sobs, her tears as salty as the sea. Witnessing signs of civilization cut her to the core. There were people out there somewhere, too far to reach or shout for help. She watched the transatlantic flight meander across the heavens until it disappeared behind a cloud.
Kelly pictured the passengers in the airplane, invented elaborate backgrounds for them. The elderly couple in seats 4B and C poking at their dinners, rubbery chicken and applesauce. The newlywed couple wearing headphones and suffering through a terrible in-flight movie. The single mother whose child screamed under the reproachful gaze of strangers. The same nameless folks she’d sat beside on numerous trips. The people she hadn’t given a second thought before, whom she now desperately wanted to meet.
Kelly cried until there were no more tears left to spill.
Afterward she searched for other ways to sustain her sanity. The prospects were sparse. For a while she felt seasick, nauseous from the constant rolling motion of the waves. She took several deep breaths to settle her stomach, and the sensation eventually diminished.
Her vision compensated for the lack of light so she was able to see quite far, not that there was anything worth viewing. She counted how many lines of waves she could spot — eight before they vanished into impenetrable darkness.
Then she spied something. At least she thought it was something. Probably her imagination, heightened by fear and adrenaline.
No, there it was again. Closer now, riding through the waves.
Kelly remained perfectly motionless, holding her breath as the form approached. She wanted it to swim by without detecting her.
The scientist wasn’t so fortunate. She perceived the figure was massive based on the underwater pressure waves that were formed as it paddled toward her.
Fewer than ten feet separated her from the creature’s eyes, unblinking above the waterline. She imagined its bulbous snout rimmed with enormous fangs. She needn’t see them to know they were there.
Kelly Andrews gazed upon the fierce Leviathan. If the animal devoured her, there’d be minimal pain. The torment would be over with a single bite, nothing to agonize about.
Wright must’ve had a change of heart and released the creature, couldn’t bring himself to slaughter such an impressive specimen. Except that didn’t sound like the old man. More than likely the creature had fled the Aurora when the billionaire wasn’t paying attention.
She strained to watch the creature, and it stared at her in turn. Inquisitive by nature, crocodilians investigated any strange noise or foreign smell in the water. Its snout lifted and sprayed her face with water as it cleared its nostrils and sniffed the marine biologist.
She dare not move, her eyes scanning the length of its body. No, something wasn’t right. This creature was much larger than she remembered.
This was a wholly new animal, a second SuperCroc.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m not food. Move along, nothing tasty here.”
The sea monster responded as if it understood her words. That was impossible, of course, yet it took an active interest in her. Maybe it wasn’t her it found attractive, rather the scent of the original Leviathan.
“Go on, no food here.”
Positive the scientist wasn’t what it wanted, the beast sank from view and continued its journey into the night. Kelly’s heart raced, a lump in her throat. It took ten minutes until she felt comfortable enough to stretch out her body from its tucked position.
Once again she was alone. And this time that came as a relief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
OUT OF SIGHT, out of mind.
With the marine biologist taken care of, she shouldn’t have entered Oscar Wright’s mind at all. But there she was, flitting about his thoughts like a hummingbird on steroids. For a brief moment he regretted sending the woman overboard; for an even briefer moment he considered retrieving her from the water. His base instincts won out, told him he’d made the right decision. The old man had built an empire by listening to his gut, and presently he shut out any mental mention of Kelly Andrews. To allay his guilt, he assured himself that he hadn’t killed her. One of several other factors might, including weather and predators, but he had left her very much alive.
The old man leaned against the sidewall, staring at the Leviathan before him. He had waited years for this moment, and now that it was here he found it lacking, hollow. In his fantasies the Leviathan was very different, a sea monster of such immense proportions it held seaports hostage and sank tanker ships with a swipe of its tail.
This captured animal seemed pitiful by comparison. Not as fearsome, not nearly so impressive now that it was restrained and lying on its back, helpless as an overturned turtle. In fact Wright felt almost sorry for the creature. Almost.
Thorpe walked onto deck carrying the one item Wright had requested. He handed a length of rebar to the billionaire, a steel rod about three feet long.
Wright held the pole in his hands, got a feel for its heft. “Yes, this’ll do nicely.” It made a whining sound as it cut through the air like a sword.
“Do you want me to stick around? Or — ”
“That will be all,” Wright said. “I’ll tell you when we’re ready to depart.”
“Very good,” Thorpe said and quickly disappeared into the forecastle.
The old man went to the Leviathan, leaned on his bar like it was a cane. “We had a deal,” he told the creature. Although he spoke to the crocodile, that wasn’t the audience Wright addressed. “Remember when my mother got sick? Sure you do, of course you do — you know everything. I watched her rot away, bedridden. After she slipped into a coma, I prayed for her to wake up. I didn’t want a miracle or a cure, just for her to open her eyes one last time so I could say goodbye. Apparently that was too much to ask.
“After she died I made a promise. You would get neither praise nor condemnation from me for the rest of my days. I’d take credit for anything that went well in my life, and you’d get no blame for any part that went wrong. That was our unspoken deal, forged on her deathbed.
“I kept my end of the bargain all these long years, moved on with my life. Met the perfect woman in wedded bliss and was on the cusp of having a family of my own. Hell, I even returned to the church at Brenda’s insistence, a wayward lamb rejoining the flock. And then you stepped in.”
Wright raised the rod over his head, slammed it down hard against the Leviathan’s stomach. The creature grunted, its claws scratching thin air. “You broke our arrangement, and only now can I repay that kindness.” The old man used the rebar like a baseball bat, practicing his next swing.
“You made certain when your son was born, he was perfect. Your son was flawless, mine wasn’t. And that was fine; I could work around it. People across the globe battle adversity on a daily basis. So long as I had Brenda, we could conquer anything.
“Except you didn’t see fit to let that happen either. You took her away and left me alone to raise a broken angel. I loved Joseph as a father should, showered him with the affection any child receives from both parents. I worked twice as hard and lost everything anyway.”
Another enraged attack on the creature, as he berated the beast. The pressure of each strike transferred through the metal and into his hands, radiating pain out from his palms to the fingertips. “Man was supposedly created in your image. Tell me then, were you born with Brittle Bone Syndr
ome? Of course you weren’t, you spiteful fucking fraud. I assume there’s a finite amount of happiness in the universe. For every person who’s hoarded more than his or her fair share, there’s someone equally miserable. You saw what my fortuitous future held and decided I needed a dose of reality.
“I’ve lived a life people fantasize about. The wealth, the mansions, the expensive toys. But people don’t see beyond the glamour, to the heartache beneath. The top is a lonely place; you most of all must know that.”
The next time Wright beat the creature, it swiped at him with a webbed claw. Its razor talons missed him by inches, would’ve eviscerated the old man had they connected with flesh. The Leviathan uttered a deep, throaty growl. The chains around its snout rattled as the creature thrashed on deck. It suddenly became animated, as though refusing to tolerate any more of the billionaire’s empty sermonizing.
Its tail was tapered with a line of scutes, like miniature plates along the spine of a stegosaurus. The appendage snaked in quick, successive undulations. The old man ducked as quickly as his arthritic joints allowed, but he was struck in the thigh. The tail clipped Wright and brought him to his knees like a genuflected monk. He crawled serpentine on his belly, crept out of harm’s way while searching for the rod he’d dropped.
The rebar had fallen on deck and rolled toward the Leviathan, out of reach. The SuperCroc’s low rumble intensified as the creature rocked to and fro. Its head lashed about, trying to gain leverage to flip its sizeable body.
“Thorpe,” Wright called. He waved his arms at the wheelhouse and called again. “Thorpe, get out here.”
Chains rattled, pulled taut against the crane above. The Aurora listed from side to side as the creature pitched upon the deck.
The old man wriggled behind a fifty-five-gallon drum and peered at the beast. For the first time on the voyage, the billionaire wasn’t in absolute control.
The Leviathan was agitated now, angry and ready for freedom.
* * * * *
Not long after sunset, Kelly’s prayers were answered. In the distance came the soft whirring beats of helicopter blades. She heard the distinctive sound well before she saw the chopper itself. Her hearing latched onto the noise, and it took a moment to orient from which direction it came. No doubt it had originated from Miami, somewhere to the west.
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