by Steve Alten
Celeste grabbed his arm, helping him to his feet.
Jonas stood, breathing heavily. He took a few painful steps to the bathroom.
“Do you need any help in there?” Celeste asked playfully.
“I can manage.”
Jonas closed the door, locking it. He relieved himself, then stared at his reflection in the mirror.
He looked pale, his face gaunt. The thick brown hair was graying quickly around the temples. He needed a haircut and a shave.
The nightmare’s real. Jonas. Find the creature and kill it—before it’s too late. . . .
He emerged fifteen minutes later to find his breakfast laid out on a table before him.
“Hope you’re hungry,” said Celeste. “The nurse said the doctor will be stopping by in about an hour to check on you before you’re released.”
“Why are you here, Celeste?”
“I need your help recapturing our fish.”
“Our fish? Sorry, I’m not interested.”
“I’ve arranged for a research vessel to meet us in Monterey. Everything we need will be on board and ready to go in two days.”
“Forget it—”
“I already ordered the contractors to begin repairs on the canal doors. They’ll be working day and night while we track Angel down.”
“Celeste—”
“Jonas, you and Mackreides tagged it, that’s half the battle right there. The shark’s heading north. We have to recapture it, unless you’d prefer to stand by and watch it eat a few more people.”
Jonas felt dizzy. He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his forehead. Reality had suddenly become his worst nightmare. He felt as if destiny were dragging him down an inescapable vortex, which could only end in death.
Celeste massaged his shoulders.
“Don’t—”
“Relax,” she cooed, “I won’t bite. Your shoulders are in knots.”
Jonas winced as her fingers worked to loosen his muscles.
“Thanks, that’s fine. I need to get dressed.”
“Me too.” She stood and walked toward the adjoining room. “I brought you a change of clothing, just things you had left in your office. Everything’s in the bathroom. Oh, here’s your shirt.”
She unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it off her naked shoulders, then tossed it to him with a smile.
* * *
The late-morning air was damp and cold, the heavy spring clouds threatening rain. The orderly wheeled Jonas out the front door to where a limo and a throng of reporters were waiting.
Placing his foot gingerly on the gravel, he balanced himself on his crutches and stood before the open car door, turning to face the press. Celeste moved beside him.
“Professor Taylor, how’s the leg?”
“Hurts like hell—”
“Can you confirm that it was a great white shark that attacked you?”
“Yes. A twenty-foot male.”
“There’s a rumor going around that the attack occurred within the Megalodon’s canal as the creature broke free. Is that true, Professor?”
“Yes.”
A female reporter from Channel Five pushed through the throng. “Professor, Gail Simon, Channel Five Live. In recent weeks several marine biologists have publicly stated that the Megalodon’s presence in the lagoon posed a clear and present danger to coastal populations. Now that the creature has escaped—would you feel responsible if others died?”
“The Tanaka Institute is tracking Angel as we speak,” interrupted Celeste. “Professor Taylor will be assisting us in recapturing her and permanently sealing her within the lagoon.”
She pushed him inside the limo, climbed in next to him, and slammed the door shut.
“Get us out of here. Are you okay, Jonas?”
The reporter’s words continued to echo in his ears.
“So, Professor, what’s it going to take to convince you to help us track down and recapture your fish?”
“Funny. I thought it was our fish.”
“I’m not the one haunted by a guilty conscience.”
Jonas stared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“These night terrors of yours.”
“Who told you about that?”
“I read your medical reports. I heard you screaming this morning.”
“It’s none of your business—”
“Jonas, darling, face it, something’s terrifying the hell out of you at the subconscious level. You know what I think? I think you still blame yourself for what happened in the Trench eleven years ago.”
“Don’t play amateur psychiatrist, Celeste, it’s not your calling.”
“Life is not so complicated, Jonas. Your feelings of guilt over the deaths of the two scientists aboard the Navy submersible still haunt you. You think it’s normal to wake up screaming every night?”
“You’re way off base.” Jonas stared at his bandaged leg. “Besides, I’m dealing with it.”
“Really? Look at you. You’re exhausted; your second marriage is ending in divorce—”
“What did you say?” Jonas grabbed her by the wrist.
“Oh, I love it when you get rough.” She leaned her face close to his, taunting him.
Jonas pushed her away. “Don’t play games. Who said I was getting divorced?”
“Your wife. Terry happened to mention that the two of you are having marital difficulties. The way she talked, it’s all over.”
“You’re lying. Since when does Terry talk to you anyway? She can’t stand you.”
“We were the only two women aboard the Goliath. Who else was she going to talk to?”
Jonas felt confused, unable to focus. He adjusted his leg, which continued to throb painfully. “Celeste, don’t fuck with me, okay? I’m not in the mood.”
“Sorry, darling. I know it’s none of my business, but I happen to care about you. Not that it matters, but she also mentioned the two of you had recently lost a child.”
Jonas stared at her.
“It’s true?”
“There were some complications with the pregnancy. The baby died in the womb during the eighth month.”
“And this all happened during the trial?”
“Yes.”
“It’s unfair, but it’s my guess that Terry blames this on you.” She shook her head. “Benedict says American women don’t handle stress very well. Your wife has convinced herself that her marriage to you is over, that the love is gone—”
“Shut up, Celeste. You know what? You’re about the last person on Earth I’d accept marital advice from.”
“Shoot the messenger if you wish, but—”
“Enough!”
They rode in silence for several minutes.
“Jonas, forget Terry for a moment and think about the Megalodon. I’m offering you the chance to finally put this shark business behind you. Help me recapture the female and I promise you, I’ll seal her up in the lagoon forever.”
“Forget it.”
“I’ll pay you enough to retire, and you can finally get on with your life, with or without Terry.”
* * *
“Mac?”
“Jonas? Where the hell are you?”
“I’m home. Listen, forget about hiring a vessel. We’re going with Celeste.”
“Celeste? You’re shittin’ me. Who’s this on the phone? What happened to Jonas . . . ?”
“Just hear me out. Celeste wants my help recapturing the Meg. I negotiated a deal for both of us.”
“Listen, Jonas, all kidding aside, you tell that bitch to go screw herself and the horse she rode in on. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.”
“Mac, Angel’s tasted human blood and she’s moving into populated coastal areas. Celeste’s vessel is ready to go. We can’t wait any longer, we need to move quickly.”
“Wake up, pal, she’s using you.”
“No, Mac, this time I’m using her. Just get hold of that weapon of yours. We leave port in two days.”
Feeding Time
California Coast
Propelled by the supple movement of its great tail, the female glided in silence through the depths. Despite its prodigious size, nature had endowed the Megalodon, its most supreme hunter, for speed. From the tip of its blunt triangular snout, the muscular body tapered back, allowing it to soar through the water with minimal resistance. Beyond the vertical gill slits were the creature’s massive horizontal pectoral fins, which worked like the ailerons of a jet fighter, controlling the creature’s roll, yaw, and pitch. Pelvic fins maintained the shark’s elevation, while the ominous seven-foot dorsal fin, a gracefully curving sail, held the creature steady as it moved through the sea.
Propelling the Megalodon through its environment was its powerful caudal, or tail, fin, at the base of which was the muscular peduncle, twice as wide as it was deep, which served as a keel, adding stability and strength to the tail. Just ahead of the caudal fin were two smaller fins: a secondary dorsal fin and an anal fin. These slight protrusions increased laminar flow across the predator’s tail, helping to diminish drag further.
Even the Megalodon’s skin contributed to its hydrodynamics. Made up of sharp scales, or denticles, the skin channeled the flow of water, decreasing drag while allowing the fish to move silently through its environment.
Cruising just above stall speed, the female continued its journey north along the California coastline. Snakelike movements of its head allowed water to flow through grapefruit-size troughs along the underside of its conical snout. Entering the nostrils, the seawater passed into the nasal cavity, coming in contact with a series of lamellae that allowed it to detect even the smallest traces of chemical odor in the water.
The predator rose through the thermocline, picking up the scent of its prey.
* * *
The humpback pod remained close to the surface, swimming in majestic up-and-down movements created by their colossal horizontal flukes. Every so often, a forty-ton cow would breach, exhaling a towering spout of moist air before sucking in a breath through twin nasal blowholes.
Haunting groans and squeals echoed beneath the waves as the pod communicated with its own. Having detected the powerful scent of the advancing hunter, the whales closed ranks, mothers nudging their young closer to the surface.
It was not long before the wolf entered the arena to circle the flock. Sensory cells peppered beneath the shark’s snout detected the faint electrical fields generated by the whales’ beating hearts and swimming muscles. The hunter quickly targeted the young, moving in for the kill.
Walls of heaving blubber crashed down upon the charging female’s snout. The inexperienced hunter veered away, then darted back into the fray. Pushing its nose through the surging behemoths, the shark attempted to latch its teeth into the nearest calf. The cows turned upon the intruder, attempting to ward off the shark with head butts and powerful slaps from their flukes.
The Megalodon retreated, then circled again.
Half Moon Bay Beach
18 miles south of San Francisco
Ken Berk finished setting up the lounge chair for his wife, Emily, who was busy applying sunblock to the faces and shoulders of their three young children.
“You can play by the water but don’t go in,” she warned.
“But it’s hot, Mommy,” the youngest complained.
“Daddy will take you in later.”
“Daddy’s reading his newspaper,” Ken said, lying back on his lounge chair. “Hey, guys, look at all the whales in the water.”
Broad lead-gray backs rolled across the churning surface eighty yards offshore.
* * *
The Megalodon closed again, this time approaching from beneath the fleeing pod. The hunter targeted one of the calves and accelerated, barreling its way through a sea of foam and slapping flukes. Unable to reach the calf, the frustrated predator snapped its jaws upon the enormous tail of a sixty-eight-thousand-pound cow.
Dragged back from the surging pod, the humpback cow groaned, twisting in ponderous contortions to reach its calf, which was floundering alone along the surface.
The Megalodon shook its head like a dog engaged in a tug-of-war, grinding its serrated teeth through the whale’s muscular tail in seconds. Blood gushed from the mutilated appendage. The distressed whale moaned in agony. Propelling itself with canoe-size flippers, the adult struggled to the surface, attempting to nudge her calf into shallower waters, even as it bled to death.
The Megalodon followed the blood trail. The hunter rolled sideways, propelling itself along the surface, then opened its mouth and inhaled the trail of blood into its gullet until its jaws clamped down on the remains of the fluke.
Writhing in its death throes, the dying mammal lurched forward, repeatedly pushing its offspring to shore.
* * *
“Daddy, can you carry me out to pet the whales, too?”
The child’s voice startled Ken from his catnap. “What? Honey, what did you say?”
“It’s not fair. Michael’s petting them.”
Ken sat up to see his twelve-year-old wading out into chest-deep water. “Oh, shit . . . Michael! Michael, get back here!”
Ken ran into the ocean and grabbed the boy around the waist.
“Dad, wait, the baby’s stuck—”
Ken watched the stranded fourteen-foot creature struggle to free itself. The enormous head of its mother bobbed up and down from behind, as if trying to reach its young.
Ken felt a surge of undertow pull on his legs. “Okay, Mike, here’s the deal. I’ll try to help her, but I want you to stay onshore with your mother.” Ken carried his son into shallower waters, then waded back out in water up to his chest. Hesitantly he reached out and touched the calf along its pectoral fin as he eyed the larger cow, straining to reach its offspring thirty feet back.
Ken pulled on the fin, quickly losing his balance. “What the hell am I doing? I can’t do this myself.”
The mother raised her head, contorting her upper torso.
“Okay, I’m trying!” Ken looked into the calf’s huge brownish-red eye. He placed both hands against the side of the animal’s head and pushed, slipping as the undertow gripped him again.
A woman in her early twenties and her two male companions joined him. “Hold on, man, we’ll give you a hand.” Together they began pushing the struggling calf away from the sandy bottom.
“Hey, buddy, are you bleeding?”
“Hub?” Ken looked at his chest, which was covered in blood. “Oh, shit—”
“No, it’s coming from the mother,” the woman pointed out.
The cow’s mammoth head rose out of the water and let out a deep moan.
Behind the beast, something was battering the surface waters, spraying great froths of lather in all directions.
* * *
The Megalodon snaked its way along the sloping sandy bottom, straining to reach its prey. Twisting sideways, a pectoral fin slapping above the waves, the hunter bit down on the whale’s bleeding muscular peduncle and attempted to drag the beached behemoth, tail first, back out to sea.
* * *
Ken’s feet slipped away from the bottom as the powerful undertow dragged him into deeper water.
“Hey, man, can you tell if the calf’s fluke is free?”
“Its fluke? You mean its tail?” Ken asked. Cautiously he moved behind the calf. “I can’t see a damn thing, the tail’s submerged.” Feeling the undertow pulling him into deeper water, he dove forward, swimming hard against the current while trying to stay clear of the adult humpback thrashing ten feet behind him.
* * *
The Megalodon registered the vibrations of the new life-form. Releasing the cow, it flailed along the surface in twenty feet of water, its nostrils snorting the surface like a mad bull.
* * *
Ken looked up to see the two men abandon the calf, pulling their female companion into shallow water. Back on the beach, two dozen onlookers were waving frantically. He saw his wife�
��heard her scream.
A wave of fear tingled through his stomach.
He turned to look over his shoulder, allowing the current to drag him backward another five feet.
“Oh, my fucking God—”
The freakish great white thrust its head forward, snapping its jaws ten feet behind him. Ken lunged forward and swam against the powerful undertow. The Megalodon’s sickle-shaped tail slapped the surface, its garage-size head twisting to and fro.
Exhausted, the out-of-shape forty-year-old was forced to rest, barely able to raise his arms. As he drifted backward, his left foot made contact with something that felt like sandpaper.
“Oh, shit—”
Adrenaline surging through his body, Ken dove forward and swam with all his strength, keeping his head underwater to streamline his upper torso as he distanced himself from the creature’s snout. Swimming blindly, he rammed his head against the side of the calf, gasping as he came up for air. Pushing off the stranded whale with two feet, he dove forward, managing to catch an incoming swell.
A pair of arms reached out for him. He swam through them, continuing until his chest literally scraped along the bottom. Then he stood, the world spinning, as he staggered onto the beach and collapsed next to his sobbing wife and children.
The adult humpback reared up onto its flippers, lifting its head above the waves. In its final moment of life, the beast managed to trumpet its death call, an agonizing exhalation of pink spray.
A hushed crowd of onlookers watched in awe as an imposing pale white dorsal fin, streaked with smears of scarlet foam, zigzagged across the surface. The monstrous shark slammed into the submerged carcass of its dying prey, the exposed upper lobe of its crescent moon–shaped tail thrashing wildly about, dousing the mutilated whale with its own innards.
Ken shivered, his heart beating rapidly, as he watched the tortured mammal being towed backward into the sea, its head disappearing beneath a pool of blood.
Bad Karma
Monterey, California
Docked along a stretch of pier, the 163-foot research vessel, William Beebe, glistened beneath the cloudless morning sky, its three upper decks buzzing with activity. Technicians in the bow were busy mounting a towering twenty-five-foot satellite communications antenna, designed to link the ship to SOSUS, the Navy’s network of undersea microphones. Low-frequency signals emitted by the transmitter attached to the Megalodon’s hide were already being detected by the underwater sound-surveillance system. Traveling by way of fiber-optic cable, the sounds fed into a global arrangement of processing stations situated along the Pacific coast. With the antenna in place, the working stations could uplink the acoustical information via satellite to computers on board the William Beebe, allowing the crew to track the animal nearly anywhere in the world.