MEG 01 - MEG

by Alten-Steve

  Maggie leaned forward uncomfortably in the high-backed leather chair, afraid to relax, knowing how easy it would be to simply lie back on the soft cushion and doze off. She had taken a late night flight in from Guam, Bud picking her up in his limo at the airport. She had come straight to the television station and now felt her blood pressure rising as she waited impatiently for Fred Henderson to get off his phone. Finally, she stood up over his desk and snatched the receiver out of his hand. "He'll have to call you back," she said into the mouthpiece, and hung up the phone.

  "Maggie, what the hell do you think you're doing? That was an important call—"

  "Important my ass, you were talking to your goddamn accountant. You want to make some money, listen to what I have to say." For the next thirty minutes, she briefed her station manager about the Megalodon story.

  "Damn... this really is big. You're absolutely sure about David Adashek's information?"

  Henderson leaned back in his leather chair. "And how can we be sure that your husband really knows where this monster is headed?"

  "Listen, Fred, if there's one subject my soon-to-be ex-husband knows about, it's these damn mega-sharks. Christ, he's spend more time studying them over the last seven years than being with me. This is the biggest story to hit this century. Every new agency in the world is going to be headed toward Guam. Let me run with this, Fred, and I'll get you and exclusive that will rocket this station to the top."

  Henderson was sold. "Okay, Maggie. I'm going to call the network. You've got carte blanche. Now, tell me what you need."

  * * * * *

  Bud was reading the paper when Maggie rapped on the back window of the limousine an hour and a half later. When he unlocked the door, she ripped it open, climbed onto his lap, and planted a huge kiss on his lips.

  "We got it, Bud! He loves it! The network agreed to back me up on everything!" She kissed him again, pushing her tongue into his mouth, then came up for air and leaned her forehead against his.

  "Bud," she whispered, "this is really the one, the story that makes me an international star. And you'll be there with me. Bud Harris, executive producer. Right now, though, I really need your help."

  Bud smiled, enjoying the con. "Okay, darling, just tell me what you need."

  "For starters, we'll need the Magnate. And a skeleton crew. I've already spoken with three cameramen and a sound guy who have underwater experience. We'll all be meeting on board the Magnate tomorrow morning. Fred's spoken with a Plexiglas company that can have something for us in two days."

  "Plexiglas."

  "The real challenge is the bait. That's where I'm really gonna need your help, baby..."

  PEARL HARBOR

  The Kiku was anchored next to the USS John Hancock, the 563 foot Spruance class destroyer that had arrived in port earlier that morning. Commander McGovern had personally granted Masao Tanaka the berth; now a harpoon gun was being mounted at the stern of the ship by Captain Barre's men.

  On deck, Jonas and Mac watched DeMarco check and double-check the battery system on the Abyss Glider I. The AG I was a smaller, sleeker version of the deep-sea sub used in the Mariana Trench. Designed for speed, the one-man torpedo-shaped sub weighed a mere 462 pounds, with the majority of that weight located in the instrument panels in the Lexan nose cone.

  "Looks like a miniature jet fighter," said Mac.

  "Handles like one, too."

  "Is this what the kid was attacked in?"

  "No," said Jonas, "the AG II was bigger, the hull thicker and much heavier. The AG I was the prototype. It was designed for depths only to four thousand meters. The hull is made of pure aluminum oxide, extremely sturdy, but positively buoyant. This baby can move fast, turn on a dime, even leap straight out of the water."

  "Yeah? Can it outleap the monster we saw last night?"

  Jonas looked at his friend. "It would take a rocket to outjump that fish."

  "You've got one," DeMarco said, overhearing their conversation. Jonas walked over to the sub. "Here, Taylor. See this lever? Turn it a half-turn counterclockwise, pull it toward you, and it'll ignite a small tank of hydrogen installed in the tail. Never used it to launch the AG straight out of the water, but it would free up the sub in case you ever got stuck in the muck at the bottom."

  "How much of a burn would you estimate?"

  "Not much — a good fifteen, maybe twenty seconds tops. Once the sub's freed up, she'll float topside anyway, assuming you've lost power." DeMarco grabbed a wrench. "Course, you already know that."

  "Jonas, take a look." Mac was at the port-side rail, pointing at two tugboats that were busy pushing the Nautilus into her berth. The black vessel looked ominous, a dozen of her crew on deck, proudly standing by with ropes to tie the ship off. As the world's first nuclear-powered sub approached the Kiku, Jonas could clearly see the faces of the two officers who stood on the conning tower.

  "Christ, Mac, it's Danielson. Can you believe this?"

  "Your former CO? Yeah, in fact, I already knew. A Navy friend stationed on Guam told me Danielson volunteered when he heard you were involved. In fact, it was his suggestion to McGovern to use that old tin can coming at us."

  As the Nautilus passed, United States Navy captain Richard Danielson, his gray eyes squinting in the sunlight, spotted his former deep-sea pilot aboard the Kiku.

  "Hi, Dick, how's it hanging?" muttered Mac, a smile plastered on his face.

  "He probably heard you."

  "Who cares? Danielson can kiss my tattooed lovin' ass. I thought you told me this guy made a career out of destroying your reputation. How many months in the loony bin did you have to put up with before your ol' buddy Mac here saved your sorry butt? Two months? Or was it three?"

  "Three. Probably would have been easier if I had just said I imagined the bloody Megalodon. You know, psychosis of the deep, temporary insanity brought on by fatigue."

  "Would have been a lie, pal. Now that these sharks have surfaced, looks like you're vindicated."

  "You think Danielson's here to apologize? Megalodon or not, the guy blames me for killing two of his men."

  "Fuck him. No man on this planet would have done any different if they had seen what we saw come at us last night. And I told that to Heller."

  "Yeah, what did he say?"

  "Heller's an asshole. If he'd have been with me in Nam, I'd have had to shoot him. Screw him and Danielson." Mac looked toward the stern. "When's that net due in?"

  "This afternoon. Damn, Mac, I should've tagged her last night."

  "If memory serves, you were busy holding you sorry ass inside the copter. What were you gonna pull the trigger with? Your Johnson?"

  "You don't get it. Our window of opportunity is closing quickly. Within a few days, the female could start a panic among the whale pods. Once they run, the Meg will abandon the area, going God knows where. Tracking down the Megalodon in coastal waters by following the bloody carcasses of whales is one thing, but locating this monster once it heads out into open seas will be impossible. Period."

  "Hold it. I thought you told everyone this female's gonna head into California waters."

  I said eventually. It could take weeks, maybe years. No one can predict what a predator like this will do." Jonas paused, pointing to the horizon. "Damn... check out those clouds, Mac. What do you think?"

  Mac looked to the west, where dark storm clouds had gathered. "Well, looks like the chopper's out. No hunting tonight, I'd say."

  Jonas looked at him. "Hope the Meg agrees with you."

  * * * * *

  Frank Heller stood on the pier, watching as two crewmen secured the thick white ropes, carefully lining the slack up along the deck of the Nautilus. Moments later, Captain Richard Danielson emerged from the forward section of the hull. He smiled at Heller, slapping the "571" painted in white along the black conning tower.

  "So, Frank, what'd you think of my new command?"

  Heller shook his head. "I'm just amazed this old barge still floats. Why the hell would McGovern as
sign a forty-year-old decommissioned sub to hunt down this shark?"

  Danielson strode across the open gangway. "It was my idea, Frank. McGovern's in a tough position. The publicity's killing him. He can't very well assign a Los Angeles class sub to destroy this fish. Hell, he's already got the Cousteau Society, Greenpeace, and every animal rights activist and their mother putting pressure on the Navy. But the Nautilus, she's a different story. The public loves this old boat. She's like an aging war hero, going out with one last victory. McGovern loved the idea—"

  "I don't. You have no concept of what you're even dealing with, Captain."

  "I read the reports, Doctor. Don’t forget, I tracked Russian Alphas for five years. This mission is nothing. One tube in the water and this overgrown shark is fish food."

  Frank was about to respond when he saw a tall officer exit the sub, a big smile planted on his face.

  "Denny?"

  "Frank!" Chief Engineer Dennis Heller came bounding down the ramp and bear-hugged his older brother.

  "Denny," chuckled Frank, "what in the hell are you doing aboard this rusty tin can."

  Dennis smiled at his brother, then glanced at Danielson. "You know I'm due to retire this year. Turns out I'm thirty hours shy on active duty. I figured, why not serve them aboard the Nautilus with my first CO. Besides, shore leave in Honolulu beats the hell out of Bayonne, New Jersey."

  "Sorry to disappoint you, Chief," interrupted Danielson, "but all shore leaves are canceled until we fry the Megala... whatever Taylor calls it. By the way, Frank, I saw him on board you ship this afternoon. Honestly, I can't stomach the man."

  "Let it go, Danielson. Turns out he was right. Why not just leave it alone—"

  "So he was right. So fucking what! His actions still killed two of my crew, or did you forget? Shaffer and Prestis. Both men had families. I still write their widows twice a year. Shaffer's boy was only three years old when—"

  "It's our fault too." Heller lowered his voice to his former commanding officer. "I should never have allowed you to talk me into certifying him as medically fit for that last dive."

  "He was fine—"

  "He was exhausted. Like him or not, Jonas Taylor was one of the best deep-sea pilots in the business. If he wasn't, the Navy would have used one of their own on the mission. Had he been allowed adequate recovery time from his first two descents, maybe he would have slowed his ascent—"

  "You're out of line, Doctor." Danielson's neck was turning red.

  "Hey, hey... Frank, Captain, what's done is done." Dennis stood between them now. "Come on, Frank, I'll take you out for a quick bite before it begins to pour out here. Captain, I'll be back at sixteen-thirty hours."

  Danielson stood in silence as the two men headed into town, the first drops of rain echoing against the outer steel casing of Nautilus.

  NORTHSHORE

  The towering thirty-foot swells rolled into Oahu's Sunset Beach, carrying large chunks of whale blubber and debris that littered the sand. The two hundred-odd tourists didn't seem to mind. They'd been gathering all day to watch local surfers brave the most dangerous waves on earth, where wiping out could mean crashing into the sharp coral reef below.

  Eighteen-year-old Zach Richards had been cutting waves on Oahu's Northshore since he was twelve. His younger brother Jim had only recently begun training on the mammoth waves that rolled in each winter from Alaska and Siberia. The afternoon swells had been rising steadily with the incoming tide. Now, as evening approached, the waves were reaching heights of twenty-five feet or more. The bloody chunks of whale carcass were more than a nuisance... shark fins had been spotted sporadically all day. Still, the surfers had an audience, mostly girls, and to Zach and Jim that alone was worth the risk.

  Jim was still pulling on his black wet suit when Zach and two of his surfer buddies, Scott and Ryan, caught their first set of waves. Glancing back at Marie McGuire, he gave a quick wave. When the brunette waved back, he almost tripped on his board in his hurry to get in the surf and join the group.

  Michael Barnes, a twenty-two-year-old with a tattoo on every muscle, had caught a twenty-footer. Spotting the paddling surfer, he cut across the wave to intercept. Jim looked up at the last moment to see Barnes's surfboard on a collision course with his head! Quickly, he rolled off his own board and braced his head between both hands, tucking his chin. The concussion of the incoming wave plowed into his stomach, driving him toward the bottom, then tossing and dragging him thirty feet in to shore. Coughing up salt water, Jim rose to the surface in time to see Barnes riding the wave out, laughing as he glanced back.

  "You're an asshole, Barnes!" Jim yelled, but the surfer was too far away to hear. Jim's leash had kept his board close, and he squirmed back on and paddled out to his brother. Zach was waiting just beyond the break point, straddling his own board.

  "You okay, Jimmy?"

  "What's that guy's problem, man?"

  "Barnes was born an asshole and he'll die an asshole," said Scott.

  "Yeah, well I hope it's soon."

  "Try to stay out of his way," Scott warned. "He's not worth dealing with."

  "C'mon Jim," said his brother. "Let's ride some waves. Remember, just go, don't hesitate. Put your head down and paddle as hard as you can. You'll feel the wave take you, just aim for the bottom, make a turn, and ride it out. When you kick out, your legs'll probably be shaking. If you do down, tuck tight, stay away from the bottom, the coral will..."

  "Slice me up. I know, Mom."

  "Hey, girls," Scott teased, "enough yapping. Let's go..."

  Jim fell on his stomach, paddled hard, and raced toward the break. All three surfers caught the swell, a massive twenty-eight-footer that broke to the right. Jim bounced on his feet gracefully, but took the descent at too great an angle. Unable to hold his balance, he plunged headfirst into the water. The force of the breaking wave tossed him around and around as if he was in a giant washing machine.

  "Hah, look at that faggot! My grandmother surfs better than that!" Barnes was on the beach, squeezing himself between Marie and her girlfriend, Carmen.

  "Why don't you show us how it's done," said Carol-Ann, hoping Barnes would leave.

  Barnes stared at the girl, then looked at Marie. "I will," he said. "But not for you, Carmen. This ride's for Marie!" Barnes grabbed his board and ran into the ocean like an excited twelve-year-old.

  Moments later, all five surfers were straddling their boards, waiting. They were a good half mile out, in water over ninety feet deep.

  * * * * *

  In just seventy-two hours, the female had attacked eighteen different pods of whales, killing and feeding off fourteen of the mammals while mortally wounding three more. Haunting calls from the humpback and gray whales reverberated through miles of ocean. Almost as one, the pods began altering their migratory course, skirting west, away from the coastal waters of Hawaii. By morning of the third day, to a whale could be seen off the islands.

  The Megalodon sensed the departure of its prey, but did not give chase. In the waters surrounding the island chain it detected new stimuli. Gliding effortlessly through the thermocline, the boundary between sun-warmed waters and the ocean depths, it moved its head in a continuous lateral back-and-forth motion as it swam. Beneath the thick conical snout, water passed through the creature's nostrils to the nasal capsule. The independently directional nostrils were capable of sampling water on both sides of the head, enabling the Megalodon to determine the direction of a particular scent. By late afternoon, the predator had followd the scent of man to Waialua Bay, in the northern coastal waters of Oahu.

  * * * * *

  "Where the hell are the waves?" yelled Barnes. The five surfers had been sitting on their boards for nearly fifteen minutes. The sun was going down, the air had turned chilly, and Barnes was losing his audience as the beachgoers began heading in.

  "Hey, I just felt a swell pass under me," said Scott.

  "Me too," said Zach.

  In unison, the five surfers went prone
and began paddling frantically toward shore. Maneuvering his board, Barnes grabbed Jim's leash from behind and yanked back hard, propelling himself forward and halting Jim's momentum. The four surfers caught the thirty-foot swell just as it broke, leaving Jim Richards behind.

  "Goddamnit, I hate that guy!" He sat erect and sculled backward to prepare for his next approach.

  Sixty yards ahead, a mountainous white dorsal fin surfaced momentarily in the fading swell, then dived beneath the wave.

  "Jeez, oh shit!" Jim whispered to himself. Silently, he pulled his dangling legs back onto the surfboard and froze.

  The monster's upper torso exploded straight out of the surf without warning and into the pack of surfers. Zach, Ryan, and Scott, near the bottom of the wave, remained completely unaware of what was happening behind them.

  Barnes had just made his turn when a massive white wall emerged in front of him out of nowhere, leaving no time or room to maneuver around it. The nose of the surfboard, driven by the force of the wave, plowed into the Megalodon's five-foot-long gill slits as Barnes's face and chest simultaneously smashed into the towering object. The sudden impact sent Barnes flipping backward into the breaking wave, the raw power of which drove the semiconscious surfer toward the coral reef below.

  Weak and disoriented, Barnes managed to get his head above water. His board was still attached to his ankle by its leash and he held on to it with both hands. His nose was broken and bleeding from both nostrils. His chest burned painfully. Barnes cursed under his breath and looked for the reckless sailboat he thought he had just hit. "I'll kill that asshole," he mumbled to himself.

  He tried to hoist his bruised body onto the board, but fell back into the water in agony. At least two ribs were broken, but the worst pain came from his chest. Looking down in the fading light, he was shocked to see that most of his tan skin had been sheared off, the subcutaneous tissue clearly exposed, blood seeping from the wound.