by JE Gurley
“Gentlemen,” Knotts began, “You already know our mission …” He ignored a few quiet chuckles until they died down. He stood, hobbled to the screen using his black lacquered cane, and pointed to a spot on the map. “This is the best-guess position of where the Pokhomov sank. This is a standard salvage operation, but at depths, we have not yet challenged. That is what it is – a challenge. You two,” he nodded to Devers and Matthews, “know your job. I expect you to complete operations in one dive.”
“What about this bug hunt?” Bates asked. More laughter followed.
“You know as much as I do, gentlemen. You saw the photos and read the report. The Neptune’s captain was considered a reliable source. A flyover the morning after the sinking found debris in the water but no survivors. The few survivors from Grand Cayman all report the same things, giant bugs since identified as sea lice attacked and killed thousands. There were no survivors from Little Cayman except the marine biologist who took the photos of the creature.”
“Y’all want me to throw a lasso around this thing?” Matthews, a cowboy from Arizona asked, exaggerating his drawl for effect.
Knotts returned to his chair and sat down. He laid his cane across the table in front of him. “No, we’re picking up something in Jamaica from the Andrews for that. You get the nukes.”
Devers, the more serious of the two submersible operators, leaned across the table and peered at Knotts. “Are these nukes hot? They’ve been down there a long time.”
“Maybe these nukes are what caused this monster to grow so big,” Matthews suggested. “I remember the Godzilla movies. Fuck that.”
A private report for Knotts’ eyes only had suggested the same thing, the reason the timetable for the mission had been advanced by two weeks. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got a Geiger counter aboard the Nemo. Use it.”
Matthews raised his hand in the air as if he were a student in a class, and then brushed it across his sandy blond hair. Knotts nodded at him. “What is it, Matthews?”
“I just don’t want to come back glowing in the dark. My girlfriend can’t sleep with a night light on.”
Bates was more serious with his question. “What if we can’t capture this creature alive?”
“My orders say alive if possible. If it becomes a threat to this ship, then we blow it the fuck away.”
Bates smiled and tapped the tabletop with his trigger finger. “Yeah, I like that.”
Knotts turned to Starnes, the chief engineer. Starnes was older than Knotts, pushing sixty, but he knew more about ships’ engines and loading freight than any man alive did. “Once we sedate this bastard, you will deploy the lift bags, and the Nemo will secure them around the creature. Once on the surface, we call in the Andrews’ Chinook, lift it onto the deck, and strap it down. Reports say it can breathe air, but we’ll keep it wetted down as a precaution.”
Starnes scowled. “If it’s really two hundred feet long, that’s a lot of weight to distribute evenly.”
“You’ll manage,” Knotts assured him.
“Mighty considerate of the Navy to lend us a helicopter,” Matthews piped up. “I didn’t think they liked us much. Aren’t they supposed to be helping this professor fellow?”
Matthews had a point. Normally, inter-departmental rivalries prevented cooperation between civilian intelligence agencies and the military, but someone at the top considered this operation significant enough to set aside those differences and conflicts and had applied sufficient pressure to assure cooperation.
“Professor Hicks and his party are expendable. The Navy is using their expertise to locate the creature. If they make the capture first, so much the better. The Andrews will still deliver it to us.”
“What are we going do with it,” Devers asked, “send it to Sea World and teach it tricks.”
“I have no idea, Devers, and I don’t particularly care. We deliver it where we’re told and go on to our next mission. Clear?”
“Clear.”
Knotts could tell no one was happy with the parameters of the mission. Too much was left to chance or under the control of others. That increased the chance of a mistake, something that could cost lives. He knew that they were also expendable. He thought some incentive might improve morale.
“Do this right and we stand down for thirty days.”
Bates rubbed his hands together. “A month in paradise.”
“Screw up, and I’ll shove my cane up your ass.”
“Is that it, Colonel?” Devers asked.
He was the only one that used Knotts old military title and even he avoided using it in public. To anyone they encountered, Knotts was just Captain Knotts, or whatever name he was using at the time.
“I’ll brief everyone once we’re on station. Until then, make your preparations.”
“And make your wills,” Matthews added.
Knotts frowned, hoping no one died this trip.
12
Oct. 29, Kingston, Jamaica –
To Josh, the past two days had become a cycle of hectic preparation and bouts of deep soul searching. His mentor, Professor Hicks, was joyous at the prospect of discovering and studying a new species, devoting his hours at the Caribbean Maritime Institute between coaxing the Navy into supporting his plan to capture the creature, and convincing the administration of the Institute to loan him their inland marina as a holding pool for the creature. Though as a marine biologist, Josh’s curiosity was aroused by the prospect, he couldn’t help but dwell on the carnage he had witnessed. Part of him simply wanted the creature destroyed.
The television stations carried news of the deaths in the Caymans and of the Neptune disaster, as well as his photos, but so far, he had avoided the fates of Doctor Chase and his three fellow survivors, who were being held in protective custody, or so the Jamaican authorities claimed. Josh was quite sure the Navy had something to do with it, a ruse to keep them from the swarm of reporters that had descended upon Jamaica. Germaine and Bodden had escaped incarceration only through the intervention of Professor Hicks. Germaine was frequenting the local bars in an attempt to recruit two new deckhands for his crew.
A large supply of the animal sedative MS-222 had arrived, as well as a hypodermic rifle the size of a bazooka. If they were successful in stunning the creature, a CH-47 Chinook helicopter would transport the creature to the bay. A Marine marksman proficient with the hypodermic rifle would accompany them on the Miss Lucy. For their protection, a Navy frigate, the USS Andrews, would provide escort. Professor Hicks had been against the idea, but Josh agreed with the Navy this time. A ship the size of the Miss Lucy would provide a quick snack for the creature if they failed in capturing it.
The photos of the giant fish, isopods, and Bristle worms had stood the marine biology field on its head. Discovery of a live specimen of the extinct ceresiosaurus had upended archeology as well. Slight variations in the fossil records of c. calcagni indicated a robust, evolving creature. Small slits on the neck proved to be gills, and closer examination of the teeth signified a wide spectrum of food prey. The large eyes proved C. calcagni was well evolved for life in the dark stygian depths.
The tabloids had begun calling the creature Cere in an attempt to humanize the beast, like Nessie of Loch Ness monster fame. Josh saw no humanity in it, only a perfectly adapted survivor of an earlier age when monsters prowled the land and swam the oceans. A creature ideally designed to capture and devour large prey. He had witnessed too many humans going down that massive gullet to humanize it.
Professor Hicks was not a large man, but he commanded attention with his energized five-feet-six-inch frame. His gray eyes darted in all directions, missing nothing, as preparations for the creature’s capture proceeded. He brushed back his silver hair from his wire-frame glasses and pointed at a crewman moving one of the thick neoprene bands that the helicopter would use to transport the creature.
“You there! Handle that carefully. It’s not a bed sheet.”
Josh suppressed a smile. The irascib
le professor brooked no lackluster attention to detail from his students and expected none from the Navy. Josh had overheard a few of the crewmen calling him ‘the Commander’.
“They’ll get the job done, Professor,” Josh said.
“Perhaps, but they’re taking their damn sweet time about it.”
“This is just a job for them, not an expedition to capture a piece of history.”
The professor clasped his hands behind his back. “Yes, I suppose so. How about you, Josh? What are your feelings?”
Josh hesitated before answering. How did he feel about their endeavor? Excited? Frightened? Perhaps a little of both. “The creature is worth studying, of course, but I can’t help feeling the risk might be too great. I’ve seen what it’s capable of.” He added, “There are other things out there beside the ceresiosaurus. Something has upset the balance of nature. It doesn’t bode well for mankind if this repeats itself throughout the world’s oceans. If we lose the oceans, we will cease to thrive.” He turned to the professor. “Have you heard of any similar occurrences?”
“No, but every catastrophe begins with a single event.”
“What event began this horror?”
Professor Hicks shook his head. “I fear we did?”
Josh was startled. “Us? You mean mankind?”
“The Navy has sent me samples of the sea lice that invaded Grand Cayman. They are highly radioactive.”
Josh digested this bit of information while his mind conjured vivid images of Godzilla rampaging through Tokyo. “From the Cayman Trench? Do you believe it’s a natural source?”
Hicks sighed. “I fear not. Doctor Yellin from the Institute confided that a Russian freighter believed to be carrying nuclear warheads was sunk in the Trench during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962. I believe that to be the source of the radiation.”
Josh was incredulous. “I’ve never heard this before.”
Hicks frowned as the seaman tossed the straps into the helicopter in an untidy heap. “You wouldn’t. We barely averted a war that sad October. It was a time of great secrets, before the internet made such things virtually impossible to conceal.”
The professor continued, “Small sea creatures with rapid reproductive cycles, such as chemosynthetic bacteria and other single-cell organisms would mutate first. With sulfides of copper and iron flowing from hydrothermal vents, they would have an ample food source to grow larger. Tubeworms, clams, and shrimp would feed on them, and so on up the food chain.”
“That doesn’t explain the ceresiosaurus.”
Hicks smiled. “We may never explain that.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps we don’t know as much as about the sea or about evolution as we imagined.”
Josh was relieved that the phenomenon was a result of mankind’s folly rather than an act of nature and confined to the Cayman Trench, but couldn’t help wondering about all the nuclear testing carried out in the Bikini Atoll and other islands after WWII. Would they produce monsters as well?
Josh faced the lagoon, now cleared of boats. A heavy, steel mesh fence had been placed across the entrance to contain the creature. “Will the mesh hold? It sank the Neptune.” He remembered the grooves slashed in the hull caused by the creature.
“A ship is easy to sink. It takes but a single fractured seam. Water will do the rest. The mesh will hold. Once the creature is inside the lagoon, we may observe him at our leisure. My worries are confined to the capture.”
A two-hundred-foot creature and a fifty-foot boat – Josh had given those statistics considerable thought as well. “Yeah, mine, too,” Josh confided.
“From your observations of your previous encounter, I agree with the premise that the creature hunts by sound. Even its enormous eyes would be useless at five miles deep. Using the sailboat will reduce the chances of it attacking. Besides, we will have the Navy with us for any emergency.”
While the frigate was well armed with a Phalanx close-in-weapons system, six MK-46 torpedoes, and a 76 mm MK-75, rapid-fire cannon, the idea was to capture the creature alive, if it cooperated. None of that heavy firepower would be of any use in an emergency if the Miss Lucy strayed between the creature and the frigate.
“Well, I must see to the transfer of the MS-222. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Josh watched the professor stride across the parking lot, his steps quick and energetic. He was in his element, a new discovery to examine, the danger the creature posed dismissed as irrelevant. Josh harbored no such quixotic fantasies. He was out of his depths and sinking fast. He wanted nothing more than to go home to Texas, but he knew he could never walk away from such an opportunity without regrets. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. His name would go down in history with such notables as Jacques Cousteau, William Beebe, Rachel Carson, and Robert Ballard – if he survived.
He spotted Germaine strolling up the road with two men carrying duffle bags over their shoulders, his new crew. One of the men was dark, tall and lanky with Rastafarian dreadlocks. The other was slightly shorter with a scar on his right cheek. Germaine directed them to the Miss Lucy and came over to Josh.
“I see you found a crew,” Josh said.
“Two of Jamaica’s finest,” he chuckled. “They’re okay when they’re sober.”
“Did you tell them we’re after a monster?”
Germaine winced. “They saw what happened to George Town. They feel safer at sea.”
“Are we ready?”
“Whenever the professor gives the word. The sails are repaired and the hull is tight. Plenty of grub and beer aboard. Have you met our Marine marksman?”
Josh shook his head. He had met Corporal Elansky briefly, but wanted to hear Germaine’s opinion of her. “Not yet.”
Germaine rolled his eyes. “She’s got a rod up her ass, a real stickler. She should be a joy to have aboard.”
“As long as she’s a good shot.”
“The way she cleans that cannon she brought aboard, she should be.” Germaine smiled. “Makes me jealous.”
Josh smiled. The captain of the Andrews had informed Professor Hicks that Elansky had held the record for the highest scores in marksmanship for the last two years. As a female Marine, Corporal Nina Elansky had worked twice as hard as her male classmates in weapons school to earn their respect. Her good looks had been more hindrance than help. He hoped Germaine or one of the crew didn’t try to put the moves on her. He had learned that she also held high marks in self-defense.
“The professor wants to leave just after dark. We don’t want any of the news people to try to follow us. Can we?”
“Any time. Where are we headed?”
“We’ll sail a direct course to the Neptune’s last location, and then in a spiral pattern until we make contact. The Andrews will remain a few miles off our course.”
“With that creature out there, it can ride up my ass. I’ll feel safer.”
Josh smiled. “With the new underwater detection gear the Navy loaned us, we’ll be able to spot the creature a mile away. If we get a good shot, the MS-222 should knock it out within minutes. Then the Chinook moves in to pick it up, and you come back here a hero.”
“A rich hero,” Germaine added, referring to the bonus the professor had promised him if the capture was successful. “Tide goes out at eight. I guess I had better go make sure my new crew knows port from starboard.”
Josh had developed a fondness for the gruff captain of the Miss Lucy. For all his hardness, Germaine was a deeply caring man, overcome with grief by events, but too stubborn to give in to his anguish. By plowing ahead, he sought to mitigate his pain. Josh suspected that Germaine would have accompanied them in search of the ceresiosaurus even without the chance for a bonus. He wanted to see the creature killed. Its death would assuage his guilt at surviving.
Josh understood because he was trying to not succumb to survivor’s guilt as well. He was the lone survivor of Little Cayman. If he had died that night, the world would not have learned of the danger it faced. That made his cho
ice a straightforward one. He owed it to his mentor, Professor Hicks, and those in danger to do what he could to stop the creatures up from the depths. It seemed as if Fate had taken control of his life and was directing his steps. He only hoped he didn’t falter.
By six o’clock, preparations were complete. The steel mesh barrier across the lagoon was in place, secured at each end by massive concrete pylons buried ten feet in the earth. The Miss Lucy was ready to sail, and the Chinook helicopter was loaded onto the Andrews and her crew aboard. Josh would have enjoyed a night on the town, but knew he couldn’t avoid the reporters lurking outside the Institute’s gates. It wasn’t from any reticence from publicity on his part, but rather that they might note the fear in his eyes.
The Institute provided a farewell dinner for the expedition participants, complete with an open bar, of which Germaine and his crew made good use. Josh nursed a Red Stripe beer with his meal, which began with Janga soup, a freshwater crayfish dish energized by the heat of scotch bonnet peppers. Callaloo and saltfish, a Jamaican favorite, spicy conch fritters, and curried lentils followed. His eyes were watering uncontrollably by the end of the meal, and his tongue was roasted, but Germaine and the others, even Professor Hicks, who was used to spicy Tex-Mex dishes, showed no signs of discomfort. A dessert of raisin bread pudding with candied sweet potatoes and a Jamaican rum sauce cooled things down sufficiently for conversation. Josh enjoyed a second beer and listened to Professor Hicks expound upon the significance of recent events.
“If, as we suspect, high levels of radiation are the root cause of the extraordinary growth of these creatures, then it follows that we could encounter the same problem in the future at other locations where nuclear weapons were tested. Perhaps we are lucky that the Russian freighter sank to the depths of the Cayman Trench instead of a shallower location. Imagine the catastrophe of high radiation levels in coral reefs or in local fishing waters. Here, we have only to deal with the results of high radiation levels and not the radiation itself.