by Steve Alten
* * *
“Mac, to your left . . . I see something floating at the surface.” Jonas focused his binoculars on the object bobbing in the sea as Mac angled the helicopter closer. “Damn, it’s the hull of a capsized boat,” Jonas said. “I don’t see any survivors.”
“I’ll radio the Coast Guard,” Mac said.
Another powerful swell churned by, the hull disappearing beneath it.
“Mac—”
The wave had rolled the boat back into an upright position. Floating atop the sunken deck, tethered to a rail, was a bleeding, half-eaten human corpse.
As Jonas watched, the Megalodon surfaced next to the rail, pushing its snout sideways in an attempt to snare the gushing remains.
“Oh, Christ.” Shaking with rage, Jonas leaned out of the cockpit and screamed, “I’m going to kill you, Angel, you hear me!”
Mac grabbed him by his elbow and yanked him back inside, shocked by the expression of madness on his friend’s face.
Jonas turned to see the caudal fin slap across the surface as the creature abandoned the sunken craft. “Where’s she going? She’s moving toward shore—”
“Jonas, calm down.”
“Mac, move, go . . . head east, hurry! There might be someone else out there.”
Mac spun the chopper toward shore.
Jonas watched the gray-green waters as the helicopter’s shadow passed over an ivory blur. He grabbed the binoculars and searched the sea. “Mac, there.” He pointed to an orange life vest being waved above the surface and knew the Meg was racing toward the same spot.
Jonas ducked into the rear of the chopper and slid back the cargo door, his leg throbbing from the effort.
“Hold on,” the ex-Navy pilot yelled, accelerating ahead of the fifteen-foot wall of churning sea. The airship dropped precariously to soar just above the surface.
Mac braked hard, nearly tossing Jonas out of the cargo area as he spun the chopper in a tight circle to face the incoming barrage of water. “Move your ass, Jonas!”
Jonas was already out the door, both feet positioned precariously on the landing struts. He heard the roar to his left as he grabbed the unconscious lieutenant by the life vest, hauling him on board as the other man pushed from the water. The cadet lunged, grabbing Jonas’s wrist with one hand, the landing struts with the other—as a heart-stopping glow rose up beneath him.
“Go!” Jonas screamed.
Mac yanked the joystick back, causing the airship to leap skyward as the creature’s head rose above the surface, eyes rolled back, jaws fully hyperextended to engulf the legs of the dangling cadet.
A wave exploded against the Megalodon’s upper torso, driving the beast back into the sea. A river of foam buffeted Jonas, the cadet’s hand sliding within his grasp.
A scream—as the young man slipped from the landing strut.
Jonas watched him plummet thirty feet into the sea. “Mac, we lost him! Go back—”
Grabbing the rescue harness, Jonas shoved his arms inside and released the safety catch on the spool of steel cable. Spotting the orange life vest, he jumped.
“Goddamn it, Jonas!” Mac yelled.
Jonas plunged feetfirst into the cold Pacific. He sank six feet before the cable nearly dislocated his shoulders, then kicked hard to the surface, the soaked bandages on his injured leg weighing him down.
Geary wrapped his arms around Jonas’s neck in a suffocating bear hug.
Jonas saw Angel’s dorsal fin appear behind the cadet. The glistening snout broke the surface, two huge nostrils flaring as the fish snorted the sea like a mad bull.
The bruising noose of steel cable wrenched Jonas and his passenger into the air, driving the breath from his chest, crushing his rib cage. The combined weight of the two men sheared the skin along Jonas’s armpits, the canvas flailing in the wind.
Unable to activate the winch, Mac could only watch as the two men dangled helplessly from forty feet of cable.
A blur caught Jonas’s eye.
Angel breached, attempting to snag her prey just as she had in the lagoon. Jonas caught himself staring down into her yawning gullet as the man in his arms began sliding and slipping from his grip.
Jonas dug his fingertips into Geary’s life vest just as the helicopter lurched to a higher altitude.
The Megalodon disappeared.
Icy tears clouded Jonas’s vision as the wind tore into his face. His arms felt numb. He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to maintain his grip.
Geary continued slipping, his face sliding past Jonas’s chest.
Jonas lunged forward, biting into the cadet’s life vest and coiling his good leg around the man’s waist in a vain attempt to stop him from falling.
The cold wind howled in Jonas’s ears. He heard the cadet whisper, “Can’t . . .”
They seemed to slow, and then the deck of the William Beebe miraculously appeared below their dangling legs.
Fabric tore from Jonas’s teeth as Geary’s limp body slipped from his grasp. The cadet fell twenty feet to the main deck. Jonas slipped out of the noose, dropping in a heap to the deck seconds later.
Lying on his back, too numb to move, Jonas stared up at the swirling gray skies, listening as the chopper landed somewhere to his left.
Footsteps bounded across the open deck.
A beautiful face blotted out the sky, blond hair blowing in the wind. Warms hands embraced his frozen cheeks—soft lips parting, pressing against his in a perfect embrace.
Mediation
Mariana Trench
Terry squirmed on the lumpy cot, unable to get comfortable. She folded the mildewed pillow in half, propped her head and stared at the locked door, her breathing labored, the pounding of her heart and her perpetual thoughts keeping her awake.
For the thousandth time, she recalled Heath’s words of warning: Benedict considers himself above the law. To avoid a mess, he may kill you.
She sat up in bed, on the verge of hyperventilating.
You’ll be okay, just stay calm. Three more days and you’ll be topside. Four days and you’ll be home. You’ll hug Jonas and tell him that you’re sorry, that you understand what he’s been going through.
For the first time Terry really did understand. Her husband lived in constant fear, his mind consumed by premonitions of his own violent death. What she had dismissed so casually as paranoid delusions were real to him. Isolated in the Benthos, at the mercy of Benedict and his Russian goon, she realized only now how overwhelming the power of fear could be.
God, I miss him. How could I have been so callous. . . .
She jumped at the knock on the door, gripping the knife by her side. “Who is it?”
“Benedict.”
She slipped the hunting knife into her boot and opened the door.
“Were you sleeping, my dear?”
“No, I—”
“Good, then may I come in?” He entered without waiting for her reply.
Benedict took a quick look around the tiny room, then stared into her eyes. “You look positively exhausted. Are you all right?”
“Just tired.”
“And perhaps a bit stressed, I’d imagine. Yes, I heard what happened between you and Sergei, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”
Terry felt hot tears flow down her face.
“Did he hurt you?”
“He tried to . . . ,” she answered, but then remembered Heath’s warning. “It’s all right. It’s forgotten.”
“Forgotten? Why, you seem positively terrified.”
“I’d rather just forget the whole thing, assuming he leaves me alone.”
“Nonsense, I shall report him to the authorities once we—”
“No!” She grabbed his arm, then let go. “No, just let it go. Please . . .”
Benedict eyed her warily. “As you wish. Tell me, how is your work progressing? When will your report be ready to submit to JAMSTEC?”
She hesitated. “Everything seems consistent with the Benthos’s earlier repo
rt. I suppose I could finish in a day or so—”
“Good. Now sit, for I am the bearer of bad news. Our white Angel of Death, as I’ve taken to calling her, escaped several days ago from its lagoon.”
Jonas! Terry felt the blood drain from her face. “How?”
“Broke through the gates like a rampaging bull. Your fearless husband injured his leg during the incident, but shall recover. Fortunately, the beast was tagged with a homing device before it disappeared. Jonas and Celeste are now tracking her in an attempt to recapture—”
“Wait, Jonas is with Celeste?”
“And working well together, from what I understand. The two have become inseparable. But I’m sure your marriage is sound, n’est-ce pas?” Benedict paused, relishing her pained expression. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” Terry imagined Celeste, flaunting her million-dollar figure at her husband, worming her way into his heart through conniving and seduction. God, I hate that bitch.
“I can understand your concern,” Benedict said, reading her thoughts. “Celeste possesses a beauty that can be intoxicating to any man.”
“I happen to trust Jonas.”
“A man of virtue, is he? Still—”
“Was there anything else?”
“Just an invitation to join me aboard the Prometheus after you finish your report to JAMSTEC.”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
“Then best to get a good night’s rest.” Benedict turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Oh, I’d almost forgotten. The Russian’s knife.”
Terry’s heart fluttered. “The knife?”
Benedict’s eyes became emerald lasers. “Yes, my dear, the knife. May I have it?”
Terry hesitated.
“The knife—now!” His eyes blazed.
Terry jumped. She reached into her boot and extracted the blade.
“And I believe you relieved the galley of a steak knife.”
She stared at her feet, feeling helpless.
“Terry?”
Feeling like a schoolgirl chastised by her teacher, she walked over to the desk and removed the knife from a drawer, handing it to him.
“Thank you. I shall return this utensil to its proper place. Now get some sleep.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
* * *
Benedict followed the main corridor of E deck until he entered a more elaborate wing that housed his personal staff. Coming to Sergei’s stateroom, he entered without knocking, and in one motion, hurled the hunting knife at the sleeping Russian.
Sergei shot up in bed, the knife still reverberating from the frame of the painting hanging above his head.
“Idiot. I told you to frighten her, not kill her.”
The Russian looked pale. “I did what you asked. She caught me by surprise. I was not expecting—”
“The alcohol has made you weak and sloppy. It was your fault the girl infiltrated our lab aboard the Goliath, and now, against my very orders, you threaten to kill her?”
“You told me she was mine—”
“If and when I say, and only when I say!” he bellowed, his tone causing the Russian to shrink. Benedict took a deep breath and ran both palms along his smooth head, calming himself. “Sergei, listen to me carefully. Our contacts in Tokyo have sent word that the surface ship Neisushima is preparing to leave port. The deep remote vessel Kaiko was seen being loaded on board. I cannot afford the Japanese breathing down our throats. I need the girl alive to submit her report to JAMSTEC. She may also prove to be invaluable as a hostage in the event Celeste fails to coerce the information we require from Jonas Taylor.”
Sergei felt his will buckle under Benedict’s piercing gaze. “I understand.”
“Good, because I won’t be explaining it again.”
“Were you successful today?” the Russian asked, attempting to change the subject.
“No, we’re still in the wrong area,” said Benedict, glancing around the room. He walked into the bathroom and lifted the basin cover from behind the toilet. Reaching into the cold water, he removed both bottles of vodka.
“Nyet, nyet,” Sergei protested, “it is for my nerves. Benedict, please, I cannot tolerate the depths—”
Benedict unscrewed the caps and poured the contents of both bottles into the toilet.
“Sergei, I know you have more of this poison stashed around the Benthos. Heed my warning carefully, my friend, or I shall personally feed you to Satan himself.”
Benedict left. He walked to the double doors at the end of the corridor and entered his stateroom. Taking a seat behind the mahogany desk, he lit a cigarette, then picked up the phone and dialed the bridge. “Yes, Captain, please contact the Goliath and have them patch me through to the William Beebe. I wish to speak to Celeste at once.”
True Confessions
“Jonas, wake up!”
“Terry!” Still in the throes of his nightmare, Jonas stumbled out of bed, the pain from his wounded leg instantly snapping him awake. He yelped in pain, then staggered to the cabin door and opened it for Celeste.
“Jonas, are you okay?”
Jonas slumped back onto his bed, out of breath.
Celeste adjusted her white bathrobe and knelt down beside him, affording him a glimpse of her tanned cleavage. “I heard you screaming from next door. Are you all right? Do you want something to drink? Water?”
“No.” His chest stopped heaving. He realized he was wearing only sweatpants.
“How often do you wake up screaming like this?”
He looked at her through bloodshot eyes. “Lately, almost every night.”
“Sure you don’t want a drink? I could use a nightcap.”
“No, thanks. Have you heard anything more about the Coast Guard survivors?”
“The man who was in shock should be okay. The cadet broke his leg from the fall. Mackreides flew both of them to a local hospital a few hours ago.”
“Where’s the shark?”
“Moving north again along the coast. Maren says she’s increased her speed. He and the captain are setting a new course to cut her off, hopefully before she feeds again.”
“Feeds again? Wait . . .” Jonas rubbed his eyes, trying hard to remember. “The capsized boat . . . there was someone else on board—”
“Two others,” Celeste said. “One drowned. Angel ate the other.”
“Damn it . . .” The memory flooded back to him, the bile rising from his gut.
“Are you okay?”
“No!” he snapped, standing up. “Are you okay? Does it bother you that two more people died today because this creature escaped from our facility? Is there any part of you that feels even a little responsible? Think about it—two more families torn apart because of—”
“Go fuck yourself,” she spat back. “Who the hell are you to criticize me? Will my weeping bring back the dead? Will my guilt? I came in here because my room is next door and I heard you screaming. Next time, I won’t bother.”
Jonas grabbed her arm as she went for the door. “Wait. I’m sorry—”
“Leave me alone.”
“Celeste, please . . . My brain’s fried, give me a break.”
She looked up into his eyes. “You know, Jonas, the other night, when we were alone together on deck, I wanted to trust you. For the first time I thought, here’s someone who might be able to understand what I’m going through.”
“Tell me what you were going to say.”
“Not now, I’m not up to it.”
Jonas placed a hand on her shoulder. “Celeste, it’s no excuse, but I’m really stressed out. I really am sorry. Now come on, the other night you started to tell me why you felt trapped by your own destiny. What did you mean by that? Tell me, I really want to know.”
She sat on a small couch, pulling both feet up on the cushions. “How well do you know Benedict Singer?”
“I’ve met him a few times.” Jonas sat opposite her, propping his bandaged leg on the bed. “I got the impression he like
s to be in control.”
“Control is an understatement. Benedict likes to play God. He seeks out desperate souls, people who have hit bottom, then recruits them, putting them to work in his private society. He restores value—his values. He offers salvation, but always at a price. Loyalty is a virtue he demands, if he finds it lacking, he uses fear to restore it. Once Benedict takes you under his wing, you’re under for life.”
“Does the same go for you?”
“Yes and no. Benedict knows he won’t live forever. About fifteen years ago he suffered an accident that not only injured his eyes, but made him sterile. As his ward I’m the closest thing he’ll ever have to an heir. He’s made it my destiny to take over his operation.”
“And you feel trapped by that?”
“Not at all. In fact, I love wielding power, I love it as much as Benedict. But I have another calling, one I think you can relate to. More than anything, I want to avenge my mother’s death.”
“You know who killed her?”
“Yes, and I’ve been obsessed with murdering this motherfucker for as long as I can remember.”
“But you’ve restrained yourself.”
“The timing wasn’t right. I didn’t want to screw things up with Benedict.”
“I take it he wouldn’t approve.”
“Would Benedict approve?” A wicked smile spread across her face. “Benedict has no problem with me killing someone—as long as it’s good for business. In this case, he’d probably disagree. Benedict and I have a strange relationship. I love him, but he still frightens the shit out of me.”
Like you frighten the shit out of me.
Celeste seemed to read his thought “I take it you don’t approve?”
“It’s not my place to judge. My mother wasn’t the one murdered.”
“Benedict would say I’m nursing an everlasting wound within my breast. I’m biding my time, keeping my enemy close.”
“Then you are going to go through with it?”
“One day.” She lay back, placing a bare leg atop the couch in a seductive pose. “What I said scares you, doesn’t it? Well, at least I face my fears instead of waking up screaming every night”
Jonas felt a cold sweat break out along his back. He reached across the bed and grabbed his T-shirt, slipping it over his head.