The Trench

by Steve Alten

  Looming out of the misty blue sea, a pair of sealed steel doors dwarfed his presence. Dark and ominous, the submerged barrier ran as far as his eyes could see, disappearing eighty feet into the murk below.

  A thin veil of rust and barnacles ran along the sheer wall of metal. Jonas reached out and poked three fingers inside one of the pores. A good five inches of steel. Unable to resist, he peered through the three-inch opening, staring at the other side of the canal.

  A chill ran down his spine. Stop wasting time, shithead . . .

  Jonas approached the seawall to his right and switched on his powerful underwater light. He aimed the beacon at the hinges that connected the door frame to the concrete canal wall.

  The damage began ten feet down, becoming more pronounced as he descended. The three-foot steel hinges had already started buckling outward under the force of the creature’s head-on blows. Although they remained in place, Jonas knew it would only be a matter of time until the joints were torn free. Once the first few went, the rest would follow quickly.

  He set off to inspect the other door when a flash of movement caught his eye.

  Fifteen feet below, a broad lead-gray back glided silently along the gateway. Reaching the concrete seawall, it banked sharply, disappearing in the murk.

  Jonas turned his head. From out of the mist, a second shark emerged directly ahead of him. A wave of adrenaline washed over him. It was another great white, very large. An eighteen-footer, well over a ton.

  Fighting to remain calm, Jonas sculled backward until his air tank clanked against the steel gate. The eighteen-footer continued moving toward him slowly. Horizontal pectoral fins flared like midwings on a jet fighter. The great white closed to within twenty feet, homing in on his scent.

  Jonas directed his light forward, the beam illuminating dark holes peppering the underside of the shark’s snout.

  The ampullae of Lorenzini. The predator was zooming in on the faint electrical field given off by his pounding heart.

  Jonas waved his arms wildly, yelling into his regulator. The shark closed to within four feet . . . then veered off; the big male showing Jonas its twin claspers.

  He looked down.

  Three more sharks circled below. All great whites.

  Jonas remained frozen against the steel door. Two more predators crossed his vision in front, both males.

  So many of them . . . all males. Why are they here?

  The sharks began circling faster, clearly becoming agitated.

  One of the larger animals lashed out at a competitor. For a heart-stopping moment, the two whites tore into one another’s thick hides, four thousand pounds of muscle twisting and writhing as one before separating.

  Jonas had never witnessed behavior like this among Carcharodon carcharias. He felt incredibly vulnerable, a lone sheep among hungry wolves. He checked his depth—sixty feet.

  Jonas flattened himself against the steel door, minimizing himself as a target. It didn’t work. The sharks began their attack.

  * * *

  Mac couldn’t see the show in the lagoon but knew what was happening by the crowd’s reaction. Minutes passed. What the hell was taking Jonas so long?

  A three-foot charcoal dorsal fin shot past the boat, its caudal fin slapping along the surface. Mac watched it move into the canal before realizing what he had just seen.

  “Goddamn it, Jonas. . . .”

  Mac gunned the engine, accelerating through the canal toward the barbed-wire barrier. A second dorsal fin appeared to his left, then another. Frantic, he searched the surface for air bubbles. He looked up at the last second. Too late.

  “Fuck me!”

  Mac slammed the throttle into reverse, sending a suffocating cloud of blue smoke into his face. Caught in its own wake, the boat surged forward, the flat bow sliding beneath the spiral barrier, lodging itself in the barbed wire.

  “Stupid—fucking—asshole!” Mac grabbed an oar and pushed against the fencing, desperate to free the boat.

  Movement ahead caused him to look up. An eight-foot wake curled out of the lagoon, bearing down on him.

  * * *

  Jonas saw Mac’s boat. He began ascending, frantically looking in all directions as the sharks took turns making runs at him.

  He paused again at thirty-five feet. A 1,600-pound flesh-seeking missile glided in on him, slowing as it neared the wall. Jonas knew the shark’s ampullae of Lorenzini were being scrambled by the fluctuating AC fields given off by the hydraulic steel doors. Closing within ten feet, the great white’s remarkable sensory system became confused. Rather than retreat, the prodigious predator opened its gruesome mouth, extending its jaws and scalpel-sharp ivory teeth, rolling its black eyes back into its head.

  Having lost sight of its prey, its receptor system temporarily disoriented, the great white struck the wall to Jonas’s right, opening and closing its hideous mouth in powerful gnashing bites as it blindly searched for its meal along the steel door.

  Quickly Jonas released air from his BCD vest, sinking beneath the oncoming mouth. The monster’s head passed directly over him, its jaws continuing to open and close as it slid its face sideways along the gate.

  The fifteen-foot male gave up and retreated back into the mist. Jonas scissors-kicked, ascending to thirty feet. He looked down.

  Another male—the twenty-footer—rising directly beneath him.

  Jonas kicked harder. The slack jaw opened. Black eyes rolled back, ivory teeth distended, and Jonas knew the beast had him.

  The shark struck him with the force of a small truck, its mouth engulfing his left leg up to his hip.

  Jonas bit through his regulator and tongue, his body sizzling as if hit by a live wire. He lashed downward with his left hand, striking the shark squarely on its snout with the blunt end of his flashlight. The jaws opened. Jonas paddled, twisting to squirm his leg from the terrible mouth.

  The big male paused, shook its head, then was upon him again, jaws stretched open . . .

  It turned and darted away.

  Jonas registered the luminescent white glow, followed by a deafening explosion of metal, as the Megalodon struck the steel doors like an eighteen-wheeler hitting a police barricade. The impacted doors slammed hard into Jonas’s air tank, driving the breath from his chest as the tanks exploded in his ears.

  A horrible screech of metal echoed all around him as the face of the steel door continued to open, thrusting him face first toward the seawall.

  The monstrous girth of the Megalodon pushed its way through the widening gap.

  The ruptured tank, now emptied of air, pulled Jonas down like an anchor. Blinded, with his mask hopelessly flooded, he gagged on a mouthful of water as he continued to sink out of control, unable to kick with his lacerated leg.

  Pony bottle!

  Jonas tore the small cylinder of air from his belt, exhaled, then sucked in a life-giving lungful of air.

  Struggling to locate the latch of his weight belt, and blinded by his own blood, Jonas reached around his waist, feeling his lower body going numb. Finally he managed to grab the plastic latch and pull. The weight belt slid away, smashing his mutilated leg on its way to the bottom.

  He began rising in a mist of blood that seemed to hover along the facing of the mangled steel door.

  Jonas cleared his mask and felt woozy from the effort. Realizing he was moments from passing out and bleeding to death, he focused on swimming to the surface—then stopped, looking into the face of his worst nightmare.

  Angel’s gray eye was staring at him, her luminescent head less than fifteen feet away. The demonic smile—slightly agape—opened and closed in small spasms as if talking to him.

  Jonas froze, absolutely terrified. Blackness started closing in on his vision.

  Angel remained motionless before him, momentarily sizing him up.

  She recognizes me . . .

  Jonas felt himself rising. His left hand reached out, touching the unhinged steel door.

  Move!

  In
one adrenaline-enhanced muscular contraction, Jonas pulled himself behind the mangled door, squeezing between the torn-off hinges—a split second before his “Angel of Death” launched her open jaws upon him.

  The Megalodon’s snout smashed into the inner facing of the door, driving it back against the concrete seawall.

  Jonas heard the steel door groan at his back, shielding him from Angel’s jaws. Too weak to care, he shut his eyes and continued rising through the trail of his own blood, buoyed by what little air remained in his BCD vest.

  * * *

  Mac stood over the engine mount, staring into the swirling blue waters. He knew the Megalodon had bludgeoned its way through the gate. What he didn’t know was whether Jonas was still alive.

  An alabaster glow appeared.

  The dorsal fin broke the surface, moving out to sea.

  Mac aimed the pistol with two hands and fired.

  The dart struck the base of the dorsal fin.

  And then something struck the bottom of the pontoon boat with a thud.

  Mac ran to the noise. A head bobbed, then disappeared in a pool of blood. Mac lunged over the side, grabbing Jonas by the hair. He pulled, then grasped Jonas beneath his arms, hauling him into the boat.

  “Oh, God . . . ,” cried Mac, gagging, as blood gushed from a mangled appendage he could no longer identify.

  Mac stole a quick glance over his shoulder to verify that the Megalodon was moving out of the canal. Then, with a trembling hand, he reached his thumb and index finger into one of the gaping holes in his friend’s leg. Feeling the noodlelike vessel bleeding out along his fingertips, he pinched, holding on desperately as he started the engine with his free hand and raced the pontoon boat into the lagoon.

  A Magnificent Hell

  Western Pacific

  Terry leaned back against the rail, allowing the morning sun to warm her face. Having barely slept, she would have preferred to spend the rest of the day in bed, but that would have aroused suspicion.

  Tokamak? What was Benedict working on in his lab? Could it have something to do with the Benthos?

  She opened her eyes as the Epimetheus broke the surface fifty yards off the Goliath’s stern. A diver rode the winch’s cable down to the sea, attaching several clips along the submersible’s hull. Minutes later, the sixty-eight-foot cigar-shaped vessel swung into place and was lowered onto its docking platform.

  Benedict gave her a wave as he crossed the aft deck to greet the members of his A team. Half of the B team were already on board the Benthos, having made the journey to relieve their companions two days early. In less than three hours, Benedict and the remaining members of the crew would board the Prometheus for a week’s mission in the Trench.

  Terry watched Benedict through heavy eyes, wondering if he knew it was she who had broken into his lab.

  Just get the sonar records and get off this ship . . .

  Something was going on. Terry stood away from the rail, the surge of adrenaline snapping her awake. Across the deck Benedict was engaged in a heated discussion with the A team’s captain. The two men looked over in her direction.

  Terry met Benedict halfway across the deck.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “It’s my own fault, forgive me,” Benedict said. “The captain has correctly pointed out that the Benthos computers were specially designed and are not compatible with the Goliath or anything JAMSTEC would possess.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that before the sonar records JAMSTEC requires can be brought topside, they must be converted to an acceptable format on board the Benthos.”

  Terry felt herself getting angry. “Fine, convert it, do whatever’s necessary.”

  “Unfortunately, these things take time. The Benthos has been functioning with a skeleton crew. Converting the required information is not very difficult; in fact, you could do it yourself after ten minutes of instruction, but it means tying up one of our people for at least two, perhaps three shifts. The good news is that I’ll be aboard the Benthos over the next week. I give you my word that I will do my best to isolate and convert the necessary data, or, at the very least, complete a significant percentage of it.”

  “That means I’m stuck on board the Goliath for at least another week?”

  “Perhaps two if I cannot finish the work. I’m sure JAMSTEC will understand the delay.”

  Terry shook her head in protest, feeling her fatigue getting the best of her. “No, Benedict, they won’t understand. In fact, if I repeat what you just told me they’ll probably cancel our contract immediately.”

  Benedict looked surprised. “Why would they do such a thing? Do they not trust us?”

  “No, nothing like that. I think the Japanese just tend to be suspicious.”

  “Suspicious of what?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter—”

  “It matters to me. I conduct business in good faith all over the world. Wherever I travel, my word is my bond. How dare the Japanese question me?” Benedict’s face turned beet-red, the veins in his neck throbbing. “Nemo me impune lacessit—no one attacks me with impunity! I will not allow myself to be bullied in any way by any nation. I shall cancel our contract—”

  “No, wait—” Terry panicked, her mind racing. She couldn’t allow the JAMSTEC contract to be canceled. She also wanted to learn more about Benedict’s secret lab. “Benedict, what about me? What if . . . what if you showed me how to convert the data?”

  “You?” Benedict shook his head. “You would have to join us aboard the Benthos. After what happened to your brother, your father would have me shot if he knew I had taken you into the Trench.”

  “He doesn’t have to know. Benedict, please, it’s the only way. If JAMSTEC cancels, it would ruin my father. Please—”

  Benedict stared out to sea, enjoying the mind game. “I don’t see how . . .”

  “Benedict, look at how much time and money GTI has already invested in this project. It’s too important to just walk away. Give me a chance to satisfy JAMSTEC. I’ll collect the data and stay out of your way.”

  “Very well,” Benedict said, moving in for the kill. “But so there is no bad blood between your father and myself, I want you to write a letter by your own hand explaining that this is your decision entirely, absolving me of all responsibility.”

  “Thank you. I’ll prepare the letter, then I’ll pack. How soon do we leave?”

  “Two hours. Pack light. There’s not much room on board the Prometheus.”

  Terry trotted across the deck, heading back to her cabin.

  * * *

  Terry descended carefully through the conning tower into the main cabin of the Prometheus. The sub’s four-man crew were at their stations, the remainder of the Benthos’s B team lying about or playing cards in the tiny galley.

  Benedict looked up from his workstation. “Ah, our guest of honor. Welcome aboard. Are you nervous, my dear?”

  “Excited, actually. It’s been a dream of mine to dive into the Trench.”

  “Then this is a fortunate day. Come with me, I’ve reserved the best seat in the house for your first descent.”

  Benedict led her through the tight cylinder, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with computer consoles and electronic gadgetry. A dozen steel pipes ran overhead. At the center of the vessel, the grated walkway widened. Terry could see light coming from below.

  Benedict bent down and removed a two-foot square of grating from the floor, revealing the entrance into the spherical observation pod located beneath the main cabin.

  “Go ahead. Climb down and make yourself comfortable. When you get bored with the view, activate the computer and type in ‘GUEST.’ The program will take you on a guided tour of the Benthos. Touch nothing else. If you get cold, there’s a blanket beneath the seat.”

  Terry climbed down a short ladder, stepping into the one-seat pod. The spherical structure hung suspended beneath the submersible’s hull like a World War II fighter plane�
�s gun turret. An eight-inch porthole set at a forty-five-degree angle lay directly in front of her. A rush of adrenaline coursed through her. This was going to be fun.

  A metallic double clang and the track began moving. Moments later, the winch attached to the enormous steel frame reeled the Prometheus above the deck. The entire mechanism pivoted backward, swinging the vessel up and over the Goliath in a long, graceful arc. Terry watched the sea rush up at her as the submersible was released into the water.

  Swells tossed the vessel to and fro. Divers disconnected lines and inspected the array of gadgetry and rows of weight plates secured under the hull. One frogman gave Terry a wave before disappearing in an effervescence of bubbles.

  The Prometheus began sinking, descending slowly on its six-hour journey into the unknown.

  Terry stared out at a blue world illuminated by the beams from a half-dozen underwater lights. She could see the tips of the robotic arms’ mechanical fingers folded beneath the hull, as well as a series of cameras clustered below the bow. As they descended farther, the sea darkened from a deep shade of blue to a purple hue before going utterly dark.

  Cold began to press in on her. She pulled out the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  Like its sister ship the Epimetheus, the Prometheus was designed with a double hull of six-inch-thick titanium. In order to descend, the sub’s main ballast tanks were flooded with seawater, making the vessel negatively buoyant. Upon reaching the Trench, several steel plates secured along the underside of the hull would be jettisoned until the sub achieved neutral buoyancy. To surface, the remaining weights would be released.

  As they passed the two-mile mark, Terry saw a twinkling of tiny lights beneath her window. Two brown anglerfish appeared, each possessing enormous heads and frightful-looking jaws of needlelike teeth. From the top of their skulls a fleshy projection dangled out and over their mouths, at the tip of which was a glowing light, used to attract prey. The anglers darted back and forth in the sub’s lights, eventually losing interest.