The Trench

by Steve Alten

  “The copilot says another fifteen minutes.”

  “I haven’t been great company, have I?” Masao asked.

  “It’s okay. You needed the rest, and I needed time to think.”

  “Don’t be so hard on Jonas. He’s been through a lot.”

  “All of us have. I think he’s having a nervous breakdown.”

  “He needs your love and support.”

  “I do love him. I’m just not sure how much more of this I can take. I’m actually glad you invited me to come with you. I think Jonas and I needed a break.”

  Masao shook his head sadly. “By the way, Celeste will be on board the Goliath.”

  Terry groaned. “So much for my R and R.”

  “You dislike the woman?”

  “I can’t stand her. The way she struts around, flaunting her looks, you’d think a camera was on her twenty-four hours a day. She treats her staff like shit, then she openly flirts with every man she meets.”

  “Including Jonas, I take it.”

  “Jonas more than anyone. Why the hell did Benedict have to appoint that Russian concubine CEO of the Institute?”

  Masao smiled. “Benedict refers to her as his protégée.”

  “I don’t know what she is, but I can’t stand her, or that peroxide hairdo of hers.”

  “It would be best for all concerned if you made an effort to get along.”

  “It’s degrading—”

  “Try. For me.”

  “Fine, I’ll try.” She gazed out the window at the glasslike surface of the Pacific. “You know, I’m actually looking forward to meeting Benedict. What’s he like?”

  “Benedict? A brilliant man, European-bred. A man of great wealth and power who is quite skilled in the art of manipulation. He is fluent in a dozen languages, though he prefers to impress with quotes in Latin and French. I find him to be a bit eccentric, with a prodigious fondness for hearing himself speak. Some might even say he’s mad. We must be tactful, Terry, very diplomatic. We cannot afford to set him off any more than we can ignore the requests of the Japanese.”

  “How do you think he’ll react when you tell him that JAMSTEC is threatening to cancel our contract unless we investigate the Proteus’s accident?”

  “That depends on us. Outcome is often determined by the manner in which something is presented.”

  The helicopter banked sharply. Terry glanced out her window as an enormous gray warship appeared beneath them.

  The Goliath was a decommissioned Kirov-class Soviet missile cruiser donated by the Russian government to Geo-Tech Industries as part of a twenty-year contract to develop and supply alternative-energy resources. The ship was aptly named: at 813 feet long, with a ninety-one-foot beam, it was the largest research vessel in the world.

  Fitted with a hybrid power plant, the Goliath combined nuclear and steam to drive its two sets of turbines and twin propellers. Battle armor removed, the vessel was capable of maintaining cruising speeds of thirty-three knots. More importantly, the Goliath had the size and power necessary to transport and deploy Geo-Tech’s enormous deep-sea laboratory, the Benthos.

  The Sikorsky bounced twice before settling down on the helicopter pad located at the stern. Terry followed her father and the copilot out of the chopper to where a stunning woman in her late twenties was waiting impatiently for them. Deeply tanned, she was dressed in a white skintight bodysuit that revealed an athletic build. Long platinum-blond hair blew wildly in the wind, revealing her high Slavic cheekbones.

  “You’re late,” Celeste said to the copilot, shouting to be heard over the wind.

  “We ran into some weather—”

  “Save the bullshit. You were late getting out of Guam. Take their belongings to our guest quarters and get down to the galley. You have thirty minutes to eat before heading back out.”

  “Tonight?”

  Celeste turned her back on the man to face Masao.

  “Dobryi dyen, Mr. Tanaka, we weren’t expecting you. Where’s Jonas Taylor?”

  “He sent his better half instead,” Terry said, climbing out of the chopper.

  Celeste’s eyes flashed anger. “Benedict insisted on Jonas. This is not good.”

  “The Megalodon’s been attacking the gate again,” Masao said. “Jonas felt he needed to remain at the Institute. He asked us to deliver a proposal he’d like you to read.”

  “Very well. Benedict is waiting to meet with us in his stateroom.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Celeste started walking across the open deck of the stern, heading for a steel-gray superstructure of multiple decks and towers bristling with sensors.

  Masao eyed two barren platforms located on either side of the deck. “Celeste, could you tell me what these structures are?”

  Without turning, she said, “At one time they were used to support the ship’s two one-hundred-millimeter dual-purpose guns. The Russians removed all the weapon systems, but when this ship was armed, she was a mean bitch.”

  Just like you, thought Terry.

  Celeste led them up a short flight of stairs onto a second deck and into the ship. They followed a narrow steel corridor to a spiral stairwell and ascended two more levels, stopping at C deck.

  “From here on out, most of what you see has been gutted and redone,” Celeste said.

  Unlike the watertight corridors they had just come from, C deck had been refashioned into a wide paneled hallway, its floors a deep-blue all-weather carpet. The interior resembled an office building more than a research vessel. Celeste walked to the end of the hall. She knocked, then opened a set of cherry wood doors, beckoning them inside.

  Benedict Singer had his back to them, the crown of his cleanly shaven head just visible above a brown suede chair. Terry and Masao sat down on a matching couch along one wall, listening as the billionaire CEO of Geo-Tech Industries completed a business call in Russian.

  Benedict hung up, then stood to greet his guests.

  “Ah, Lord Tanaka, Ogenki desu ka?”

  Masao smiled. “Well, and you?”

  “Alive, which always beats the alternative. But where is Professor Taylor?” For the briefest second, rage passed across Benedict’s face.

  “Unable to attend, but he sends his deepest apologies. This is my daughter—”

  “The beautiful Terry Taylor. Bonjour, madame, how wonderful to finally meet you,” Benedict said, recovering quickly. He took her hand, kissing it as he bowed. “Benedict Singer, at your service.” He flashed a yellowed smile. His grayish-white goatee, the only hair on his head, flickered upward at the corners.

  Terry stared into unearthly emerald eyes that seemed to lock onto hers, refusing to let go.

  “You’re wondering about the unusual color of my eyes. The result of an industrial accident suffered some years ago. The contact lenses are permanent, tinting what had once been blue irises. I find I like the emerald color—unfortunately, as you can see, the accident also permanently singed away my eyelashes and brows.”

  He turned to Masao. “Dinner is in an hour, but I thought we’d speak first. Celeste, have you offered our guests a drink? Some red wine, perhaps? Chateau Neuf du Pape 1936.”

  “Nothing for me,” Masao said.

  “The wine sounds good.” Terry watched Celeste glide over to the bar, annoyed as she casually strutted her perfect physique.

  “So, my friend, let’s talk. As you can imagine, all of us are still in shock over the tragedy that befell the Proteus. We lost four good friends and valued personnel. One was our project manager. He’ll be sorely missed.”

  “Have you any idea how it happened?” Masao asked.

  “The last word we received was the pilot reporting a hull breach. Celeste believes the accident was more likely the result of pilot error than a malfunction.”

  “The man lost his nerve,” Celeste said, obviously disgusted. “He probably panicked down there and collided with a black smoker.”

  Benedict shook his head. “De mortuis nil nisi bonum, my dear. Of the
dead, say nothing but good.”

  “Then I’ll say nothing. The loss of the Proteus more than doubles the timetable of this entire project.”

  “Unfortunately, Celeste is correct. Without the Proteus, the Prometheus and Epimetheus will have to complete their own geological survey of the seafloor before the UNIS seismic detectors can be deployed within the Trench. I had wanted to speak directly to your son-in-law regarding his experiences, anticipating that his insight could save us some time. I do hope your friends at the Japan Marine Science and Technology Center will be understanding regarding our delay.”

  Masao cleared his throat. “I’m certain they will, once they receive a full report regarding the incident.”

  Terry saw Celeste’s blue eyes flash venom. “GTI filed a report two days after the accident occurred,” Celeste said. “What more do they want from us?”

  Masao held up his hand. “Please do not shoot the messenger. This is a sensitive issue that involves all of us. As you know, this area of the Mariana Trench is part of an exclusive economic zone, bringing it under American jurisdiction. It is only because of our ongoing contract with JAMSTEC that the Tanaka Institute has been permitted to reenter the Trench.”

  Benedict stood. “Have you traveled across the Pacific to insult me, Masao? My organization invests more than a billion dollars to create the Benthos and its fleet of submersibles so that mankind may finally access the last unexplored frontier on this planet, and JAMSTEC demands I pay homage to them? Perhaps we should simply tear up our joint-venture agreement. GTI will use the Benthos to explore other deep-sea trenches while the Japanese wait for another earthquake to strike without warning.”

  Masao broke eye contact. “That is not our desire, nor our intention, Benedict-san. The Japanese are very appreciative of your generosity and ingenuity in being able to access the Mariana Trench. They need our UNIS systems to be deployed but only desire a more thorough report on our part regarding the incident. The last thing any of us wants is to insult you or your great company. However, if you do not wish to comply with JAMSTEC’s request, then I must regrettably relay your response back to the Japanese, who most certainly will terminate our agreement.”

  Benedict made his way to the bar and poured himself another glass of wine. “Exactly what is JAMSTEC asking for?”

  “Examination of the wreckage—”

  “There’s little wreckage to see,” Celeste said. “The sub imploded. The currents have scattered the debris.”

  She’s lying, Terry thought. Slow-moving currents wouldn’t carry hunks of titanium anywhere.

  “Then they’ll wish to examine all documents recorded by the Benthos and the Goliath, including sonargrams recorded by your towed array,” Masao said.

  Benedict glanced at Celeste, who shrugged. “Nivazhna—it doesn’t matter.”

  “Very well, Masao. Give us a day or so to pull together the Goliath’s records. But we can’t get down to the Benthos until the Prometheus and Epimetheus arrive.”

  “When will that be?” Terry asked.

  “Not until the end of the week,” Benedict said. “Of course, you’re both welcome to stay for as long as you’d like.”

  “Very kind of you,” Masao said.

  “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about Angel. From what my protégée tells me, the shows continue to sell out as our monster continues to grow.”

  “She’s an amazing creature.”

  “Your son-in-law seems to think she’s too dangerous, even in the lagoon,” Celeste said, holding up Jonas’s proposal. “He’s asking GTI to front another three million dollars to reinforce the gateway.”

  “Jonas can be a bit paranoid,” Terry said. “He’s been through a lot.”

  “Hope everything’s okay at home.” Celeste flashed a smile.

  “Couldn’t be better.” Terry didn’t miss a beat. “Thanks for asking.”

  Benedict laughed. “Ah . . . Amor vincit omnia, eh, Masao?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You really must brush up on your Latin, my friend,” he said, pouring himself another drink. “Love conquers all things.”

  Child’s Play

  Bruceport Park, Washington

  Sea World animal-care supervisor Pete Soderblom patted Tootie lovingly on her bumpy snout, then stood in the eighteen-wheeler’s open cargo container to stretch his legs.

  “Hey, Andy, look’s like we’re pulling into Bruceport Park.”

  Zoologist Andrew Furman continued attaching the first of two radio transmitters to the nineteen-thousand-pound, thirty-one-foot gray whale calf. “It’s about time,” he said. “I’ve been carsick for the last two hours.”

  “Better not get sick now, there’s about two dozen news vans waiting for us by the dock,” Pete said. “Hey, remind me to put up the ‘Sea World Rescue’ banner before they start filming.”

  “Did you see the shirts Anheuser-Busch had made just for today’s event? There’s a picture of Tootie on the front, above the caption, ‘HELP US SAVE THE WHALES.’ Sea World’s logo’s on the back. They want us to pass them out to the first two hundred people in attendance.”

  “At least it’s not a picture of Tootie drinking a six-pack.”

  The truck maneuvered its cargo beneath a towering crane positioned at the edge of the dock. The Coast Guard cutter, which would be escorting Tootie out to sea, was already in place, and a flotilla of pleasure boats was waiting for them a hundred yards offshore.

  Pete watched as a stocky man wearing an NBC–Today show windbreaker approached the truck.

  “Hi, I’m Brian Dodds. Which one of you is Pete Soderblom?”

  “Right here.”

  “Nice to meet you, Pete. Here’s what’s going to happen: I want to get some footage of the whale inside the truck so our viewers can get a good look at . . . what’s the whale’s name?”

  “Tootie.”

  “Tootie.” Dodds wrote the name down. “Good. Anyway, we’ll continue shooting right up until she’s released. How far are you planning to take the calf out to sea?”

  “About two miles.”

  “Fine. From here, I understand you’re flying out to our studios in New York.”

  “Yeah, I’m supposed to be doing a live interview with Matt Lauer tomorrow morning. I gotta tell you, I’m really nervous about that—”

  “You’ll do fine, Matt’s a terrific guy. Before we begin, how about we do a quick preinterview so I can get some background information about this whole rescue operation.” Brian signaled his cameraman over. “Don’t look at the camera, just talk to me. You ready?”

  “Uh, I guess—”

  “Brian Dodds, Today show, interviewing Peter Soderblom, animal supervisor with Sea World. Pete, how did this whole rescue operation come about?”

  Pete forced himself not to look at the remote camera. “About fourteen months ago, Tootie, that’s what we named the calf, was found stranded about fifteen miles south of here in Ocean Park. She was in really bad shape, probably less than a month old. Lifeguards and bathers loaded her into a U-haul and drove her up to our facility in Seattle.”

  “And how large was she when you first saw her?”

  “She only weighed about fifteen hundred pounds. In fact, when she finally arrived at Sea World, she was comatose. Fortunately, our animal-care specialists were able to revive her. Within a few days we had her eating again. From that point on, she gained a good twenty pounds a day.”

  “And now how much does she weigh?”

  “She’s up to ten thousand pounds. By the time she’s full grown, she should weigh close to sixty thousand pounds.”

  “Why release her now?”

  “We believe she’s strong enough, and the timing’s right. For the next few months, thousands of gray whales will be migrating up the Pacific coast to spend the summer months feeding in the Bering Sea. Releasing Tootie at this stage gives her a chance to join up with one of the whale pods.”

  “Will she be in any danger?”

  �
��If she can stay with the pods, she should be okay. Hopefully, she’ll be able to learn to feed fairly quickly and avoid killer whales. My assistant is attaching two remote radio transmitters to Tootie, which will allow us to keep tabs on her over the next several months.”

  “Great, that should do it. Anything else you’d like to add?”

  “Yeah,” Pete said, slightly embarrassed. “Could you make sure our banner’s in the shot when you begin filming? Our corporate sponsor’s pushing a new ‘get back to nature’ campaign. I think they want Tootie to become the next Spuds MacKenzie.”

  Tanaka Lagoon

  Dusk

  On the beach side of the arena, sixteen-year-old Jake Howell took a long drag on the joint before flicking it at his buddy, David Caine. The two teenagers were sitting on the private beach located directly behind the Tanaka lagoon’s arena. Fifty yards north, the concrete seawall of the access canal stretched out into the Pacific like a highway off-ramp.

  “Cop—”

  David buried the joint in the sand as a security guard crossed behind them.

  “Asshole, that’s not a cop. Look what you made me do—”

  Jake snickered, rolling on his back

  The security guard turned. “You boys shouldn’t be back here.”

  Jake smiled. “We’re waiting for our parents, Officer.”

  “Move—or I’ll have you moved.”

  Jake stood, rubbing the back of his shaved head with his middle finger. The two boys followed the beach south past the arena until the guard was out of sight.

  “Hey, assholes—”

  They turned to see David’s cousin, Doug, running toward them. He held up a crowbar.

  “Come on. I found a way in.”

  * * *

  Jonas watched as the crimson glow of the setting sun faded behind the brightly lit arena. From the open bay window, he heard the crowd noise escalate as the underwater tank lights flickered on, turning the dark lagoon waters a bright teal.

  He turned to face one of the technicians. “Is she still in the canal?”

  “Yeah, but she stopped pounding the gate about an hour ago. Probably has a headache.”