The Trench

by Steve Alten

  He was now thirty feet below the surface, staring into the crystal-blue waters of the man-made lagoon. Jonas looked up, reading a newly erected sign above his head: “DANGER. NO MOVEMENT WHILE MEGALODON IS PRESENT.”

  He pressed his palm against the LEXAN glass. Its cold surface reverberated from the underwater acoustics being pumped into the tank, calling the beast to its meal. Drops of crimson blood from the dangling carcass dispersed along the surface of water above his head.

  Jonas gripped the rail.

  * * *

  Deep within the farthest confines of the ocean-access canal, a pure white triangular head the size of a small house continued its side-to-side mantra of movement, rubbing its conical snout raw against the porous gateway of steel. As the inflowing current of water from the Pacific passed through the pores of the gateway, the to-and-fro movements of the creature’s head siphoned the scents of the sea into its nasal capsule. Miles away, pods of whales were migrating north along the California coastline. The seventy-two-foot prehistoric female great white could smell their sweet, pungent scents.

  The deep bass of the underwater acoustics intensified, stimulating the highly sensitive cells running along the creature’s lateral line. The reverberations meant food. The female turned away from the gate, remaining deep to avoid the electrical field being discharged from an array of pipes extending out along the upper inner-portion of the seawall, all that prevented the sixty-two-thousand-pound behemoth from simply leaping sideways out of the canal.

  * * *

  A great roar rose from the crowd as a prodigious wake accelerated into the lagoon. Ten thousand hearts fluttered as the seven-foot ivory dorsal fin appeared, cutting across the azure surface. The moving girth of the submerged leviathan sent fourteen-foot waves crashing over the eastern seawall of the tank.

  The fin disappeared as the fish descended to circle below.

  The audience breathed a collective sigh.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to Angel, our own white Angel of Death!”

  With a whoosh, the beast suddenly exploded from the tank. Murderous jaws stretched a full ten feet, rows of six-to-nine-inch teeth hyperextending away from its mouth in slow motion, sending screams rippling through the crowd. For a heart-stopping moment, its upper torso remained suspended out of the water, defying gravity, as the monster shark latched onto the entire carcass in one horrific bite.

  The A-frame groaned, bending as the creature twisted from side to side in exaggerated throes of its humongous head, attempting to free its meal from the steel clamp. Mountains of frothy pink waves slammed against the Plexiglas shielding the spectators. And then the carcass tore free, the steel support snapping back into place as the ghostly prehistoric predator claimed its prize.

  The crowd swooned as the pale monstrosity slipped back into its tank and submerged. The cleanly picked clamp continued to dance at the end of the swinging chain, the steel girders of the A-frame reverberating like a giant tuning fork from the force of the attack.

  Through the myriad of bubbles and swirling shards of beef, Jonas stared at the creature’s ghastly alabaster belly as it chewed its food, the violent muscular contraction from its jaws sending great ripples gyrating down its underside and gills.

  Waves created by the feeding behemoth pounded the glass, causing the sheet of LEXAN to rattle in its frame. Jonas stared in awe at the female’s girth, which had surpassed even that of its deceased parent. Angel’s lifelong existence in highly oxygenated surface waters had obviously had an impact on her size, as well as her ravenous appetite. Like her parent, her entire hide was luminescent white, a genetic adaptation the shark’s ancestors had acquired to lure prey in the perpetually dark waters of the Mariana Trench.

  Jonas remained motionless, staring at his waking nightmare. The soulless gray eye rolled back into place as it ravaged its last bite.

  A red phone on the wall rang. Jonas reached for it.

  Detecting movement, the Megalodon arched its back. Sculling forward, it pushed its snout against the LEXAN glass as if looking in.

  Jonas froze. He had never seen the female so agitated.

  “Hello? Doc, are you there?”

  Sweat trickled down Jonas’s armpit as Angel continued pressing against the underwater bay windows, staring at him. The LEXAN began bending.

  Jonas recalled the words of the facility’s engineer. Bending is normal. Flexible plates actually become stronger as they bend. If the window does shatter, the doors in the outer corridor will automatically seal.

  Angel pressed the side of her massive head against the window. The cataract-gray eye focused on him.

  Jonas felt an exquisite eeriness. Only six inches of LEXAN separated him from death. What if the engineer had been wrong? After all, the tank was originally designed to harbor whales.

  The Meg turned and disappeared into the lagoon, heading straight for the canal.

  Jonas released his breath, his limbs shaking. He leaned back against the wall, out of sight, trying to fathom what had just taken place.

  “Doc, are you there?”

  “Yeah, Manny. Christ, I see what you mean about our girl being a bit wound up.”

  “Better join us in the control room, boss. You’re gonna want to see this.”

  Jonas exited the underwater viewing area, heading across the open-air arena to the administrative wing. Not bothering to wait for the elevator, he dashed up the three flights of stairs two steps at a time, pushing through the double doors of the lagoon’s master control room.

  Manny Vazquez was standing over two technicians seated by a computerized control board. From here, operators could oversee the lagoon’s environment, electronics, security, and sound system. Six closed-circuit television monitors were mounted above the board.

  Manny pointed to an underwater image appearing on one of the monitors. Jonas could see the outline of the giant steel double doors that secured the canal from the Pacific.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Keep watching.”

  Jonas stared at the monitor. A minute passed, and then a white blur shot past the camera, accelerating toward the gateway faster than a tractor trailer, moving at more than one hundred feet per second. The head of the leviathan slammed into the sealed double doors, causing the televised image to shake violently.

  “Oh, Jesus—she’s attacking the gate.”

  Manny nodded. “No doubt about it, Doc. That fish of yours wants out.”

  Preparations

  Tanaka Institute

  Sadia Kleffner walked over to the bay windows of the executive office and yanked open the venetian blinds, revealing the lake-size aquarium shimmering three stories below. She turned back into the room and, for a long moment, stared at her employer.

  “Professor Taylor, are you all right?”

  Jonas looked up from his work. “Yes. Why?”

  “You have dark circles beneath your eyes.”

  “I’m just tired. Do me a favor and page Mac for me, I need to speak with him right away.”

  “Okay, boss.” His secretary pulled the double doors closed behind her.

  * * *

  James “Mac” Mackreides burst in unannounced ten minutes later. At just under six feet four, Mac had the square-cut jaw, regulation crew cut, and muscular upper body that gave the impression this fifty-one-year-old ex-Navy sailor was still on active duty. Ironically, it was only after being kicked out of the service that the maverick helicopter pilot had decided to work out and shave on a regular basis.

  Mac sprawled out across Jonas’s couch. “You beeped?”

  “We’ve got a problem, Mac. Angel’s trying to break out of the canal again. She’s been bashing her head against the gate all morning.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “I’m finishing up a proposal. I want Geo-Tech to reinforce the gate, like we talked about doing several years ago.”

  “How much to do the job?”

  “About three million. We’d also have to clo
se down and sedate the Meg for about ten days.”

  “Celeste will never go for it. She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about safety, or this Institute, for that matter. Hell, it’s been over a year since Benedict made her CEO, and how often has she even bothered to visit?”

  “Then we need to take matters into our own hands.”

  “Like we talked about last year?” Mac smiled. “It’s about fucking time.”

  “How long will it take you to get the necessary equipment?”

  “I’ll contact my buddy right now. The transmitter should be no problem. The weapon may take a week or two.”

  They were interrupted by the intercom. “Professor, Masao needs to see you in his office, right away.”

  Jonas stood to leave. “I’ll talk to Masao about the Megalodon, but let’s keep everything else just between you and me.”

  * * *

  Masao Tanaka finished rereading the fax for the third time when his son-in-law entered his office.

  “Morning, Jonas. Sit down, please.”

  Jonas noticed the somber tone in the elder man’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve just received word from Benedict Singer that the Proteus imploded in the Trench. Four people died in the accident.”

  Jonas felt his blood run cold.

  “Singer is insisting that you meet with him aboard the Goliath immediately. He’s sending a private jet to take you to Guam. His chopper will meet you there—”

  “Masao, I can’t . . . I can’t go. We have an emergency of our own here. The Meg is trying to escape.”

  Masao took a deep breath. “Are you certain? I thought we went through this last year. Once the whales completed their migration north, the creature calmed itself.”

  “She’s a lot bigger now. It’s time we sealed the gates permanently.”

  “You’re planning an inspection of the gate?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Masao closed his eyes, deep in thought. “Jonas, I also received a call this morning from Dr. Tsukamoto. JAMSTEC is insisting that we conduct our own investigation of the Proteus accident. They specifically requested that you board the Goliath and analyze all sonar records of the event. Failure to complete our report on a timely basis will lead to termination of our UNIS contract.”

  “Christ.”

  Masao opened his eyes. “Now you see the importance of your journey. Can I count on you?”

  “I understand JAMSTEC’s wanting my input as a submersible pilot, but why is Benedict Singer insisting that I go?”

  “I don’t know. Truth be known, he can be a bit eccentric. I thought it best not to ask.”

  Jonas shook his head. “I can’t go, Masao. Not now.”

  “Jonas, no one is asking you to descend into the Trench, merely to meet with Singer aboard the Goliath and analyze his ship’s data.”

  “I understand, I just can’t go.”

  “You realize the awkward situation you are placing me in?”

  Jonas looked him straight in the eye. “I know.”

  Masao walked around his desk, placing his hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder. “I understand your hesitance in accepting Benedict’s invitation. Terry has told me about your dreams. At some point, you have to stop living in fear.”

  Jonas felt his temper flaring. Standing, he walked over to the bay windows and raised the venetian blinds, revealing the lagoon below. “You want me to stop living in fear? Let’s drain the lagoon and kill the goddamn monster before it escapes. Do that, and I’ll sleep a whole lot better.”

  Masao shook his head. “Killing the shark is not the answer. The demons that haunt your dreams come from your past. The sooner you realize this, the sooner you can get on with your life.” Masao sat back in his chair. “However, since you refuse to make the trip, I have no choice but to go in your place.”

  Jonas nodded. “I’m sorry, Masao.”

  Masao watched him leave.

  * * *

  An hour later, Jonas was still thinking about Masao’s request as he drove south along the Pacific Coast Highway. Over the last four years, he had been offered no fewer than a dozen opportunities to return to the Mariana Trench. Some requests were to pilot submersibles, others were merely to appear in documentaries aboard a surface ship. No matter what the request, he had refused them all.

  After all he had been through, no one could blame the paleo-biologist for being afraid of the abyss. But Jonas’s fears ran deeper. No psychiatrist could alleviate his anxieties, just as no medication or hypnosis could subdue his ongoing nightmares. Even Masao’s request to meet with Benedict Singer aboard a surface ship went beyond his phobia. The truth was simple: Jonas Taylor was convinced it was his destiny to die in the Mariana Trench. As miserable as his life had become, he had no intention of putting his theory to the test.

  Pulling into his driveway, he was surprised to find a cab waiting in front. The driver emerged from the entrance of his home, carrying two suitcases.

  Jonas pushed past him as his wife appeared.

  “Terry, what’s going on? Where are you going?”

  “Don’t get upset—”

  “Upset?”

  “I’m going with Masao to meet with Benedict Singer.”

  For the second time that day, Jonas was overwhelmed by a sense of trepidation. “Terry, listen to me, I don’t want you to go. Please . . . can we at least talk about this?”

  “What’s to talk about? You already told my father that you refuse to go, despite the fact that Benedict Singer specifically requested that you meet with him.”

  Jonas heard the anger in her voice. “Did your father happen to mention why I can’t go?”

  “Yes, I heard all about it. We both think you’re overreacting. We went through this same scenario last year. The creature struck the gate for about a week and then calmed down.” She shook her head. “I have to tell you, Jonas, I’m really disappointed in you. You know Dad is too old to be making these trips by himself anymore. Where’s your sense of responsibility? My father treats you like his own son.”

  “Sense of responsibility?” Jonas felt his temper flaring. “Let me tell you something, it’s only because I’ve felt a sense of responsibility that I even stayed with the Institute this long.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I’ve wanted to quit for a long time, but I stuck around because I knew Angel was getting too big to handle. How do you think I’d feel if the shark escaped? The lagoon’s simply not strong enough to hold her, and something has to be done about it before she escapes.”

  “Then fly out to the western Pacific and discuss the matter with Benedict Singer. It’s his shark now.”

  “And what if he disagrees?”

  “Jonas, it’s not your call. Singer owns the Meg now, not you.”

  “Then I’ll kill her before she can escape. Let him sue me—”

  “You want to kill the shark?” Terry stared at him in amazement.

  “Better the shark than . . . better than allowing it to escape.”

  “Jonas, listen to yourself. This obsession of yours is—”

  “Is what? Is making me crazy? Go ahead, say it.”

  “Jonas, it’s okay to be scared. Look at what you’ve been through.”

  “It’s not my death that scares me, it’s the thought of losing you. In my nightmares you’re in the Trench. Angel appears—”

  “Enough!” Terry grabbed him by the shoulders. “Here’s a news flash, Jonas. You are losing me.”

  The words seemed to pierce his soul. “What do you mean?”

  She averted her eyes, wondering how much she should reveal. “I’m not happy, Jonas. I feel like we’ve grown apart.”

  “Terry, I love you—”

  “Yes, but you spend more time with that damn shark than you do with me. What happened to us? These last few years have been hell, and it wasn’t just losing the baby. Even when we’re together, your mind is elsewhere. What do I have to do to be the only female
in your life?”

  For a long moment he remained silent, allowing her words to sink in. “You’re right. Who would want to be with someone who constantly thinks about death?”

  “Jonas, it’s not that I don’t love you—” The taxi’s horn interrupted her. She glanced back. “I really have to go—”

  Jonas grabbed her arm. “Terry, wait, please! Look, I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose you. I can change. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  She wiped back a tear. “For starters, make an appointment to see that psychiatrist.”

  “Done. I’ll make an appointment right away. What else?”

  “I think it’s time you changed your career. Eleven years of studying these monsters is enough.”

  “Agreed. I’ll quit the Institute. Just let me make sure the Megalodon can never escape.”

  She pulled away. “Damn you, Jonas, you’re hopeless, do you know that?” She pushed past him, walking toward the cab.

  “Terry, wait—”

  “No more talk. I have a plane to catch.”

  He strode after her. “At least promise me you’ll stay aboard the Goliath.”

  “Leave me alone. Go play with Angel—”

  He grabbed her, spinning her around. “Terry, please—”

  She looked at him, anger flashing in her eyes. “Fine. I promise I won’t be descending with Singer into the goddamned Mariana Trench. If you’re so worried, you can come with me.”

  “I can’t. Not now, not this time—”

  The cabbie honked again. calling out, “You okay, miss?”

  “Fine.” She pulled her arm free and climbed in the rear seat, refusing to look back.

  Benedict

  Western Pacific Ocean

  13 degrees North Latitude

  143 degrees East Longitude

  Terry Taylor made her way toward the rear of the Sikorsky AS-61 helicopter to where her father, Masao Tanaka, was stretched out across two seats.

  “Sip this, Dad.” Terry handed him the can of ginger ale as he sat up. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “A little. I hate flying in these contraptions. How long until we arrive at the Goliath?”