Leviathan

by Jared Sandman

  The Aurora returned to shipyard on Wednesday morning. A memorial service for Bartholomew Michaels was held that Friday. Bart hadn’t drafted a will, didn’t have much to leave anyone had he prepared such papers. His funeral was private, as had been the captain’s life. There were three people in attendance for the ceremony. It was a clear day and the water was as flat and reflective as looking glass, an afternoon Bart would’ve loved because it was perfect for fishing.

  Rafe steered a motorboat far into the closed waters of the marine sanctuary. Evan was there for emotional support, and Kelly brought along the captain’s hat. He wore it wherever he went (mostly to conceal a growing bald spot), and she’d only ever seen him once without it. When they stopped Kelly tossed the hat onto the sea, followed by a moment of silence for the old tar. The cap slowly filled with water until it gently sank from view.

  Evan glanced at Kelly during the quietude, a slight breeze rustling her hair. During the last several days, she hadn’t ceased to amaze him. And the ranger wasn’t an easy man to impress. Her inherent strength stunned him, and she showed it again by her stoic resolve through grief. She had fought for so much — respect, attention, the SuperCrocs — and it never slowed her down.

  The next day Kelly Andrews fought for her job.

  * * * * *

  Edgar Wallis of all people offered to be her attorney. The Board of Trustees demanded answers about the events of Kelly’s latest voyage. She released information as vaguely as possible and deterred follow-up questions when Lucas Hamilton pressed for more substantial responses. Although she hated lying to Hamilton, it was in his best interest. The less he knew, the better. Maybe she’d tell him the truth months or years from now.

  The board members met in a conference room at the research institute. The fate of her future rested with five strangers, three men and two women who would decide whether she continued working for the company. Hamilton moderated the hearing yet wasn’t allowed to vote or express his opinions. He was there merely in the capacity of mediator.

  The hot sun filtered through the closed windows, making the room stuffy and uncomfortable. Six pairs of eyes judged Kelly from the far side of the room. Evan waited in the adjoining lobby. He’d come to be a character witness on Kelly’s behalf and give expert testimony. Nearly an hour into the hearing, he began to think he wouldn’t be needed after all. Which could be a good sign, or a very ominous one.

  “We’re supposed to believe in dinosaurs?” asked one of the doubtful jurors. She wasn’t convinced by Kelly’s account of Biblical sea monsters and fire-breathing SuperCrocs.

  “Maybe that’s not the best term,” Kelly said.

  “Do you have any actual evidence for these wild claims?” the woman snapped.

  “Yes ma’am, I do.”

  Edgar rolled a television set into the room, connected to a VCR. She pressed PLAY to run her videotape of proof. There was static for a moment before the picture cleared to show the captive Leviathan. It included Rafe’s recording of Kelly’s initial assessment about the specimen. “This is what we caught three hundred miles off the coast. I’ve reason to believe this animal, or another of its species, is involved in the disappearances of at least a dozen people over the last few weeks.

  “My preliminary research indicates one type of crocodilian matches this animal, the Sarchosuchus imperator. Literally translated as flesh-emperor crocodile, it’s known as a SuperCroc.”

  “Remarkable,” said one of the men. Hamilton nodded in agreement. The director never had been more proud of Kelly. “How large is it?”

  “This particular sample measured forty-two feet. We came in contact with another one we estimated nearer sixty. Our theory is that the male was about a third bigger than its mate. We didn’t catch the second one on tape, but the two of them engaged in normal courtship behavior for crocodiles.”

  “Where is this creature?” another asked. “We’d like to see it for ourselves.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. It’s no longer in our custody.”

  “I don’t understand,” said the man on the farthest left.

  “This was strictly a tag-and-release mission. At no point did I plan to bring it back.”

  “You captured the zoological find of the century and then . . . let it go?”

  “More or less,” Kelly said. She didn’t explicate further.

  Edgar paused the videotape as board members continued to grill the marine biologist. “So you implanted a tracer on this Sarcho-whatever. You’re telling me we at least know where it is at this moment?”

  “Not so much,” Kelly said. If she hoped to save her career, she needed to soften the news. “We surgically inserted a probe under the SuperCroc’s muscle tissue. There seems to have been some complications, however.”

  “Complications?” one of the women asked.

  Speaking the words out loud was painful, especially considering all her hard work and effort. And so many sacrifices. After checking the GPS navigation system at the Institute, Kelly and Evan discovered nothing had registered. The creature was nowhere to be located by satellite. The researchers tried to account for what could’ve gone wrong. Evan guessed the creature’s stitches had popped and the tracker slipped out during the commotion aboard the Aurora. It was a valid assumption; still, Kelly blamed herself.

  She concocted her own version of what possibly happened. She vividly recalled dropping the device. Dropped it hard on deck and neglected to retest it before Evan sewed up the incision. She felt ashamed and unprofessional every time she recalled that moment.

  Evan told her the most likely reason was simple electronic malfunction. And perhaps that was the cause; it also seemed plausible. But whatever the explanation, the end result was the same: the Leviathan had eloped and there was no way to trace its movements. Even without the physical specimen, Kelly had collected enough evidence to excite the academic community — her video alone took care of that — but it amounted to a tantalizing taste of what could’ve been gleaned from the species as a whole. She had failed as a scientist, failed as a person.

  Although there were others in the room who would strongly disagree with her harsh personal review, that’s precisely how she felt as she met with the Board of Trustees.

  “We haven’t been able to transmit a signal from the animal.”

  “You can’t find it?” Hamilton said.

  She swallowed hard, pushed down the growing lump in her throat. “No sir, it’s gone.”

  The Trustees broke into hushed tones, whispering amongst themselves. It took a concerted effort on Hamilton’s part to quiet them. He glanced at his handwritten notes and said, “We’ll deal with that in due time. It appears to me if one — ”

  “This looks like the latest in a pattern,” one of the board members interjected. He was an older, gray-haired gentleman sitting beside Lucas. “The destruction of a quarter-million-dollar camera, disregard and demolition of a costly government submarine, and now you’re telling us you lost the one thing that would’ve validated all this collateral damage? What have you to say for yourself? I’ve yet to hear a simple apology.”

  Kelly Andrews was too proud to admit she was sorry, even when she was. It’s not like words could bring back the Leviathan or miraculously fix the Simon. So she said the first thing that sprang to mind, a reaction closer to reality than redemption. “I was doing my job.”

  The Trustees gaped at her, expecting more. None came. Finally the gray-haired gentleman responded, “We’ll see if it’s still your job come tomorrow.”

  “There’s one thing that disturbs every person on this panel,” Hamilton said. “The ship manifest lists its captain as Bartholomew Michaels. I know Bart went on this trip . . . where is he?”

  Six people awaited her answer, twelve eyes reading her face.

  “I’ll direct any further questions to my attorney, Mister Wallis.”

  “This isn’t a court of law,” Hamilton said. “Did something happen to Bart?”

  Edgar said,
“I’ve advised my client to cooperate in any way she sees fit. If Miss Andrews doesn’t feel it’s appropriate — ”

  “At least tell us if he’s alive,” Hamilton said. “He was my friend too. We have a right to know. Was he . . . harmed by that creature, the SuperCroc?”

  Edgar stood beside the marine biologist. “I think it’s best to announce a brief recess since my client and I need a short consultation.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Hamilton said. “Everyone’s heard enough to make a reasoned decision. We’ll adjourn for now and ask you to wait outside while we deliberate.”

  Edgar and Kelly excused themselves and joined Evan in the antechamber. The ranger was reading a newspaper while a television in the corner blared cable news. Edgar left to smoke a cigarette in the breezeway, allowing the researchers to talk privately.

  Evan didn’t look up from his paper. “How’d it go?”

  Kelly collapsed in a chair, rested her chin in her hands. “I’m so screwed.”

  “It’s not over ‘til they reach a verdict.”

  She looked dubiously at him. “They had already reached a decision before I stepped foot in there.”

  Her gaze wandered to the TV set, where a photograph of Oscar Wright was pictured in a split screen with the news anchor. The still shots switched every thirty seconds: Wright smiling in a staged photo-op, Wright shaking hands with the Vice President, Wright and his son (that last one caused a pang of remorse in Kelly’s chest). The channel had created a special graphic for the story: MISSING BILLIONAIRE — DAY 4.

  News of Oscar Wright’s disappearance made headlines around the world. Reporters claim he went yachting over the weekend and never returned. The Coast Guard had been dispatched for a rescue operation. Two days later it was downgraded to a recovery mission, and a day after that the search was called off altogether. Although the individuals in that waiting room knew the exact cause of the old man’s death, it’d be another seven years before Wright would legally be declared dead.

  Crawling along the bottom of the screen, sandwiched between celebrity gossip and local weather in Denver, news agencies detailed a seemingly unrelated story. An anonymous donation of three hundred million dollars had been granted to a special-needs school in Syracuse. The largest endowment in the academy’s history, the Eastgate Rehabilitation Center could now afford to build satellite facilities and upgrade existing services for its mentally challenged and physically disabled students.

  Deliberations took twenty minutes before a secretary entered the lobby. “The Trustees have come to an agreement,” she told them. Kelly, Evan and Edgar stood. “Mister Hamilton wants to see Miss Andrews in his office. Alone.”

  * * * * *

  When Kelly stepped inside Hamilton’s room, it felt like a foreign place where she wasn’t welcomed.

  Lucas escorted her from the door. “Please, have a seat.”

  “I’d rather not,” she said.

  “Relax, this is awkward for me too.” Hamilton leaned against his desk, did his best to comfort her. “First off, you were great in there. I’m proud of you.”

  “Don’t be patronizing.”

  “I’m not. You accomplished more than I would’ve expected from any other researcher here. I only wish I could’ve been there.”

  In retrospect Kelly was glad Hamilton hadn’t joined the voyage. He could’ve ended up like the late Aurora captain or maimed by the SuperCrocs, another tragedy added to her burdened conscience.

  “I gather it was quite dangerous. Tell me the truth — no trial, no lawyers, just me — is Bart dead?”

  Kelly said nothing, nodded slightly.

  “I won’t tell a soul. He was a good man.”

  “That he was,” she agreed.

  “Another thing bothers me. The media’s gone on nonstop about this Oscar Wright story. Do you know anything about it?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Officials say the last public place he’d been spotted was a restaurant here in the Keys. Witnesses claim he got into a verbal altercation with a man and woman there. Does that sound familiar?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Between us, is Wright dead too?”

  “We didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “No, not at all. It’s just half the world’s looking for him. Will he ever be found?”

  Kelly shook her head.

  “I see,” Hamilton said. “The Board of Trustees came to a unanimous ruling. They felt that based on the evidence you provided — ”

  She said, “Wait.” She produced an envelope from her purse.

  Hamilton tore it open, scanned the short note inside. The room was perfectly silent. Kelly watched Lucas’ lips move gently as he read her resignation letter. It didn’t take him long to finish since it was comprised of four sentences.

  He looked at her and sighed. “I-I can’t accept this.”

  “I thought hard and realized this is my best course of action.”

  “No, I mean I can’t accept this.” He took the paper between his fingers, shredded it in half then again into fourths. “The Board won’t allow me. They gave explicit instructions to terminate you. You can’t quit because I have to fire you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m not allowed to leave with dignity because the Board thinks I should — ”

  “Kelly, Kelly, calm down. This is a lot better than you think. This way you’ll receive a decent severance package. I’ll even write you a glowing job recommendation.”

  “I don’t need charity,” she said.

  “It’s understandable you’re upset. I would be too. You if need to talk, vent, whatever . . .”

  “Don’t,” she said. “This is already difficult.”

  “You have ‘til the end of the day to clean out your office. Do you need a hand with that?”

  “I’ll get Evan to help me.”

  “Leave anything that belongs to the Institute,” he said, “including all information related to the SuperCroc.”

  “That’s evidence I collected,” she protested. “You can’t axe my ass then steal the work I risked my life to gather.”

  “You compiled it at our behest with our equipment; therefore, that’s our property. Please don’t fight me about this. I argued with the Trustees on your behalf to let you keep the original data and give us duplicates. They’re firm on the matter.” He reached to pat her arm reassuringly, and she pulled away from his touch.

  Without a further word, Kelly left Hamilton’s office.

  She slammed the door on her way out.

  * * * * *

  It took Evan and Kelly the better part of two hours to strip her office bare. Books needed to be packed away, personal papers gone over to differentiate which were hers and which belonged to the Institute, her desk cleared of photos and knickknacks. Evan made several trips to her Jeep to store the memorabilia.

  Kelly came across a framed picture of herself and her father taken when she was a child. It hurt to look at the snapshot, particularly when she thought how she’d have to tell him she was no longer employed at the Institute. Kelly didn’t know whether he’d be furious or disappointed. Somehow anger was preferable.

  At last the room was barren, save for the furnishings. All her items were put away, except for a final cardboard box she carried. The only thing on her desk was a stack of papers, her notes from the voyage, and the research she accumulated about the Sarchosuchus imperator. Next to that was the videotape she’d played for the Trustees.

  “Is that everything?”

  She looked at her empty office. “Not quite,” she said.

  Kelly dug out a notebook and used a permanent marker to scrawl GOODBYE ASSHOLES across a sheet of paper. She placed the page neatly atop her research materials as a final message to convey her dissatisfaction.

  “There, all done.”

  She walked to the parking lot with her things and didn’t look back.

  “Whaddya say to dinner?” Evan asked as he rearranged s
everal other boxes in her backseat. “My treat.”

  Kelly wavered on the idea. “I dunno.”

  “Consider it a chance to celebrate the next chapter in your life. A brand new start.”

  “Okay, but no seafood.”

  The sun started its evening descent, turned the sky a vibrant orange. Kelly walked to the edge of the breakwall, watching for a minute as it blazed over the open water.

  “It’s beautiful,” Evan remarked.

  “Sure is.”

  He realized she wasn’t staring at the sun, her gaze fixated on the sea. “The SuperCrocs are out there,” she said. “Somewhere.”

  “Do you think they’re gone forever?”

  The marine biologist couldn’t say. Neither of them knew that answer. Both secretly doubted, though neither verbalized that shared hope.

  “Must’ve been hard to let all that proof go. Just give it up to people who didn’t earn it.”

  “Well, maybe not all of it.”

  Kelly reached into her pocket and took out the Leviathan’s tooth, the reason that had prompted their adventure in the first place. She showed it to Evan, and they both had a hearty laugh.

  Continue reading for a preview of

  Jared Sandman’s next thrilling novel:

  THE WILD HUNT

  Coming Winter, 2010

  DECEMBER TWENTY-FIFTH

  CHRISTMAS ONCE AGAIN treated the Dalton family well. Patriarch James fostered a new appreciation for the holiday. He recalled the happiness it brought when he was a child. One of two days each year (the other being his birthday) when presents were all but guaranteed. For kids it was about one thing: toys. The more, the better. Adults tried in vain to impress the motto It’s better to give than receive onto their children, a meaningless platitude for anyone too young to drive.

  As a father he valued Christmas for different reasons. The saying that sounded cliché when he was a boy held very true now. Buying gifts for others — whether the twins, his wife or donating to charity — filled him with unmatched joy.