by Alten-Steve
"What's your name, miss?"
"Tanaka. Terry Tanaka. I believe you know my father, Masao Tanaka of the Tanaka Oceanographic Institute."
"Yes, of course. In fact, you and I met several years ago on a lecture circuit."
"That's right."
"Well, Terry Tanaka, I can't get into details right now. Let's just say I felt I was ready to retire from piloting deep-sea submersibles so I could spend more time researching prehistoric species like the Megalodon." Jonas collected his notes. "Now, if there are no other questions..."
"Dr. Taylor!" A balding man with tiny wire-rim glasses stood in the third row. He had bushy, elfin eyebrows and a tight grin on his face. "Please, sir, one last question if I may. As you mentioned, the two manned expeditions into the Mariana Trench occurred in 1960. But, Professor, isn't it true that there have been more recent descents into the Challenger Deep?"
Jonas stared at the man. "I'm sorry?"
"Come now, Professor, you made several dives there yourself."
Jonas was silent. The audience began to murmur.
The man raised his bushy eyebrows, moving his glasses. "Back in 1989, Professor. While you were doing work for the Navy?"
"I'm... not sure I understand." Jonas glanced at his wife.
"You are Professor Jonas Taylor, aren't you?" The man smiled smugly as the audience broke into light laughter.
"Look, I'm sorry, I really must be leaving now. I have another engagement. Thank you all for attending."
A smattering of applause trickled out amid murmurs from the crowd as Jonas Taylor stepped down from the podium. He was quickly approached by students with questions, scientists with theories of their own, and old colleagues desperate to say hello before he left. Jonas shook as many hands as he could, apologizing for having to run.
The ponytailed man in the tuxedo squeezed his head through the swarming crowd. "Hey, Jonas, the car's parked outside. Maggie says we need to leave now."
Jonas nodded, finished signing a book for an admiring student, then hurried to the exit at the back of the auditorium, where his wife, Maggie, was waiting impatiently.
As he reached the door, he caught a glimpse of Terry Tanaka, looking at him from behind the moving crowd. Her eyes seemed to burn into his as she mouthed the words "We need to talk." Jonas held up his watch and shrugged. He had enough of the verbal assaults for one night.
As if in response, his wife yelled through the exit door, "Jonas, let's go!"
GOLDEN EAGLE
They drove along the Coronado peninsula in Bud Harris's limousine, Jonas facing them in the backseat. Bud was mumbling into the car phone and fingering his ponytail like a schoolgirl. Maggie looked very much at home on the wide leather seat, her slender legs crossed, a glass of champagne balanced in her fingertips. She's grown used to his money, Jonas thought. He imagined her in a bikini, tanning herself on Bud's yacht.
"You used to be afraid of the sun."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your tan."
She stared at him. "It looks good on-camera."
"Melanoma doesn't look so good."
"Don't start with me, Jonas. I'm not in the mood. This is the biggest night of my career, and I had to practically drag you out of that lecture hall. You knew about this dinner for a month, and you're wearing that twenty-year-old wool suit.
"Maggie, this was my first time back on the lecture circuit in over two years, and you come prancing down the aisle—"
"Hey, whoa, guys." Bud hung up the car phone and held his hands up. "Let's all just calm down a second. Maggie, this was a big night for Jonas too, maybe we should just have waited in the limo."
Jonas remained silent.
Maggie wasn't through. "I've waited years for this opportunity, worked my ass off while I watched you flush your career down the toilet. Now it's my turn, and if you don't want to be here, that's fine by me. You can wait in the fucking limo. Bud will escort me tonight, won't you?
"Keep me out of this," said Bud.
Maggie frowned and looked out the window. Tension hung in the air. After a few long minutes, Bud broke the silence. "Henderson thinks you're a shoo-in. This really could be the turning point in your career Maggie, assuming you'll win.
Maggie turned to face him, managing to avoid looking at her husband. "I'll win," she said defiantly. "I know I'll win. Pour me another drink."
Bud grinned, filled Maggie's glass, then offered the bottle to Jonas. Jonas shook his head and sat back in his seat, staring absently at his wife.
* * * * *
Jonas Taylor had met Maggie almost nine years earlier in Massachusetts while he trained as a deep-sea pilot at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute. Maggie had been in her senior year at Boston University, majoring in journalism. The petite blonde had at one time vigorously pursued a modeling career, but lacked the required height. She had reset her sights on making it as a broadcast journalist.
Maggie had read about Jonas Taylor and his adventures in the Alvin submersible and though he would be a good subject for the university paper. She knew he was a bit of a celebrity in his own right and thought him handsome, with an athletic body.
Jonas Taylor was amazed that anyone like Maggie would be interested in deep-sea diving, or himself for that matter. His career had left him little time for a social life, and when the beautiful blonde seemed interested, Jonas jumped at the opportunity. They'd begun dating almost immediately, with Jonas inviting Maggie to the Galápagos Islands as part of an Alvin exploration team during spring break of her senior year. He even allowed her to accompany him on one dive into the Galápagos Trench.
Maggie was impressed by the influence Jonas had among his colleagues in the field, and loved the excitement and adventure associated with ocean exploration. Ten months later they married and moved to California, where Jonas was contracted to work in conjunction with the U.S. Navy. Maggie loved California. In no time she became addicted to the celebrity life and longed for her own career in the media. With her husband's help, she knew she could break into the business.
And then, disaster. Jonas had been piloting a new deep-sea submersible on a top-secret Navy expedition into the Mariana Trench. On his third dive into the abyss he had panicked, surfacing the sub too quickly to decompress properly. Two crewmen had died, and Jonas had been blamed for the accident. The official report had call it "aberrations of the deep," and the accident destroyed Jonas's reputation as a reliable Argonaut. It would be his last expedition in a submersible.
Maggie quickly realized that her ticket to stardom was in serious jeopardy. No longer able to cope with the stresses of deep-sea diving, Jonas became consumed with paleontology, writing books, studying prehistoric marine creatures. His income dwindled quickly, changing the lifestyle Maggie had grown accustomed to. She found herself part-time work as a freelance writer for a few local magazines, but it was all dead-end work. Her dreams of becoming a celebrity seemed over, her life suddenly unbearably boring.
Then Jonas introduced her to his former college roommate, Bud Harris. Harris, thirty-five at the time, had recently inherited his father's shipping business in San Diego. He and Jonas had spent three years living together in an off-campus apartment at Penn State University and had kept in touch after graduation.
Maggie was working as a part-time writer for the San Diego Register. She was always looking for stories, and she and Jonas both thought Bud's shipping business would make an interesting article for the Sunday magazine. Maggie spent a month trailing Bud around the harbor, with trips to his dock facilities in Long Beach, San Francisco, and Honolulu. She interviewed him on his yacht, sat in on board meetings, took a ride on his hovercraft, even spent an afternoon learning how to sail.
The article she wrote became the Register's cover story and made a local celebrity of the wild and woolly millionaire. His San Diego charter business boomed. Not one to forget a favor, Bud helped Maggie get a television reporting job with a local station. Fred Henderson, the station manager, was a y
achting partner of Bud's. Maggie started by doing two-minute fillers for the ten o'clock news, but it wasn't long before she maneuvered herself into a staff position, producing weekly features on California and the West. Now she was becoming a local celebrity.
* * * * *
Bud climbed out of the limo, held a hand out for Maggie. "Maybe I ought to get an award. Whaddya think, Maggie? Executive producer?"
"Not on your life," Maggie replied, handing her glass to the chauffeur. The alcohol had settled her down a bit. She smiled at Bud as the three ascended the stairs. "If they start giving you awards there won't be any left for me." They passed through the main entrance to the famous Hotel del Coronado, beneath a gold banner welcoming "The 15th Annual San Diego MEDIA Awards."
Three enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted wooden ceiling of the Silver Strand Ballroom. A band played softly in the corner as well-heeled guests picked at hors d'oeuvres and sipped drinks, wandering among tables draped with white-and-gold tablecloths. Dinner would soon be served.
Jonas never thought he'd feel underdressed in a suit. Maggie had told him of the affair a month ago but had never mentioned it was black tie.
He recognized a few television people in the crowd, provincial stars from the local news. Harold Ray, the fifty-four-year-old co-anchor of Channel 9 Action News at Ten, smiled broadly as he said hello to Maggie. He'd helped secure network funding for Maggie's special about the effects of offshore oil drilling on whale migrations along the California coast. This piece was one of the three competing for top honors in the "Environmental Issues" documentary category. Maggie was the favorite to win.
"You just may take home the Eagle tonight, Maggie."
"What makes you think so?"
"I'm married to one of the judges!" Harold said, laughing. Eyeing Bud's ponytail, he asked, "Is this young man your husband?"
"I'm afraid not," Bud replied, shaking his hand.
"Not what? Not young or not her husband?" He laughed again.
"He's my... executive producer," Maggie said, smiling. She glanced at Jonas. "This is my husband."
"Jonas Taylor. Glad to meet you, Mr. Ray."
"Professor Jonas Taylor?"
"Yes."
"Didn't we do a piece on you a couple years ago? Something about dinosaur bones in the Salton Sea?"
"You may have. There were a lot of newspeople out there. It was an unusual find—"
"Excuse me, Jonas," Maggie interrupted, "I'm just dying for a drink. Would you mind?"
Bud pointed a finger in the air. "A gin and tonic for me, pal."
Jonas looked at Harold Ray.
"Nothing for me, Professor. I'm a presenter tonight. One more drink and I'll start reporting the news up there."
Jonas made his way to the bar. The air was humid in the windowless ballroom, and Jonas's wool jacket felt prickly and hot. He asked for a beer, a glass of champagne and a gin and tonic. The bartender pulled a bottle of Carta Blanca out of the ice. Jonas cooled his forehead with it and took a long draft. He looked back at Maggie, who was still laughing with Bud and Harold.
"Would you like another beer, sir?" The drinks were ready, Jonas looked at his bottle and realized that he had emptied it. "I'll have one of those," he said, pointing at the gin.
"Me too," a voice said behind him. "With a lime."
Jonas turned. It was the balding man with the bushy eyebrows. He peered over his wire-rimmed bifocals with the same tight grin on his face. "Fancy meeting you here, Doctor."
Jonas regarded him suspiciously. "Did you follow me here?"
"Heavens no," the man replied, scooping up a handful of almonds from the bar. He gestured vaguely at the room. "I'm in the media."
The bartender handed Jonas his drink. "You here for an award?" Jonas asked skeptically.
"No, no. Simply an observer." He put out his hand. "David Adashek. With Science Journal."
Jonas shook his hand warily.
"I enjoyed you lecture tremendously. Fascinating, about the Mega... What did you call it?"
Jonas sipped his drink, eyeing the reporter. "What is it you want, mister?"
The man finished a mouthful of almonds and took a swig of his drink. "I was given to understand that seven years ago you made some dives for the Navy in the Mariana Trench. Is that true?"
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Why do you want to know?"
"Rumor has it the Navy was looking for a site to bury radioactive waste from an aging nuclear weapons program. That's a story I think my editors would have a great deal of interest in."
Jonas was stunned. "Who told you this?"
"Well, no one told me exactly—"
"Who was it?"
"I'm sorry, Professor. I don't reveal my sources. Given the clandestine nature of the operation, I'm sure you can understand." Adashek slipped an almond into his mouth, chewing it noisily like a stick of gum. "Funny thing, though. I interviewed the fellow about it four years ago. Couldn't get a word out of him. Then last week he calls out of the blue, says if I want to know what happened I ought to talk to you... Did I say something wrong, Doc?"
Jonas slowly shook his head, looked at the man. "I've got nothing to tell you. Now, you'll have to excuse me, it looks like they've begun serving dinner." He turned, walking back toward his table.
Adashek bit his lip, eyeing Jonas narrowly.
"Another drink, sir?" the bartender asked.
"Yeah," Adashek said sharply, scooping up a handful of nuts. From the other side of the room, a pair of dark Asian eyes followed Jonas Taylor as he made his way across the ballroom, watching as he took a seat next to the blonde.
* * * * *
Four hours and six drinks later, Jonas stared at the Golden Eagle now perched on the white tablecloth, a TV camera clutched in its claws. Maggie's whale film had beat out a Discovery Channel project on the Farallon Islands and a Greenpeace documentary on the Japanese whaling industry. Maggie's acceptance speech had been largely a passionate "save the whales" plea. Her concern for the cetaceans' fate had inspired her to make the film, she had said. Jonas had wondered if he was the only one in the room who didn't believe a word she was saying.
Bud had passed out cigars. Harold Ray made a toast. Fred Henderson stopped by to offer his congratulations and say if he wasn't careful Maggie would get snapped up by a major station in Los Angeles. Maggie feigned disinterest. Jonas knew she'd heard the rumors — she had started them herself.
They were all dancing now. Maggie had taken Bud's hand and led him onto the floor, knowing Jonas wouldn't object. How could he? He didn't like to dance.
Jonas sat alone at the table, chewing ice from his glass and trying to remember how many gins he'd downed in the last three hours. He felt tired, had a slight headache, and all signs pointed to a long evening still ahead. He got up and walked to the bar.
Harold Ray was there, picking up a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. "So how was Baja, Professor?"
Jonas momentarily wondered if Ray was drunk. "Excuse me?"
"The cruise."
"What cruise?" He handed his glass to the bartender, nodded for a refill.
Ray laughed. "I told her three days was no vacation. Look at you, you've already forgotten."
"Oh, you mean... last week." Then it hit him. The trip to San Francisco. The tan. "I'm afraid I didn't enjoy it as much as Maggie did."
"Too many Margaritas?"
Jonas shook his head. "I don't drink." The bartender handed him his gin and tonic.
"Neither do I!" said Ray, laughing as he returned to his table.
Jonas stared for a long moment at the glass in his hand, then scanned the dance floor for Maggie. The band was playing "Crazy." The lights were low and couples were dancing close. He located Maggie and Bud, clinging together like a pair of drunks. Bud's hands were caressing her back, working their way down. Jonas watched as Maggie absentmindedly repositioned his hands to her buttocks.
Jonas slammed his drink down, then made his way awkwardly across the dance fl
oor. They were still holding each other, lost to the world, their eyes dreamily closed.
Jonas tapped Bud on the shoulder. They stopped dancing, turned to him. Bud stared at his friend, a look of apprehension coming over him. "Jonas?"
Jonas let loose with a hard right to Bud's jaw. Several women screamed as Bud crashed into another couple and went sprawling to the floor. The band stopped playing.
"Keep your hands off my wife's ass."
Maggie looked aghast at Jonas. "Are you crazy?!"
Jonas rubbed his knuckles. "Do me a favor, Maggie. Next time you take a cruise to Baja, don't come back." He turned and left the dance floor, the alcohol spinning the room as he strode toward the exit.
Jonas stepped out the front entrance and ripped off his tie. A uniformed bellboy asked him for his parking stub.
"I don't have a car."
"Would you like a taxi, then?"
"He doesn't need one. I'm his ride." Terry Tanaka stepped out the door behind him.
"You? Jesus, when it rains it pours. What is it, Terry, you want to harass me some more?"
She smiled. "Okay, I deserved that. Just don't take a swing at me or you'll find yourself on your back."
Jonas sat down on the curb, combing his fingers through his hair. His head was throbbing. "What is it you want?"
"I followed you here. I'm sorry, believe me, it wasn't my idea. My father insisted."
Jonas glanced back at the door. "This isn't exactly a good time..."
She handed him a photograph. "It's about this."
His eyes took in the image. He looked back at the woman.
"What the hell did this?"
UNIS
Jonas let her take him home, cooling his knuckles in the wind as they drove. His eyes remained on the road, but he kept studying the photograph in his mind.
Taken 38,000 feet beneath the surface of the western Pacific in the deep canyon waters of the Mariana Trench, the black-and-white photograph showed a spherical UNIS (Unmanned Nautical Informational Submersible), a remote-sensing device used to monitor conditions at the ocean floor. Jonas was quite familiar with the most recent research on these remarkable robots. In a joint Japanese-American earthquake detection project, twenty-five titanium UNIS submersibles had been deployed by the Tanaka Institute along a 125-mile stretch of the Mariana Trench to monitor tremors at the bottom of the world's deepest underwater canyon.