Leviathan: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  “Come on, come on, turn, damn you, turn!” Captain Peavey pleaded with the slowly moving Warlord as she lethargically leaned over to bring her main armament to bear on the approaching juggernaut.

  “God in heaven,” Engersoll said as a massive gray tower rose from the sea, splitting the ocean like a sharp knife, sending foam and spray hundreds of feet into the air.

  They all watched from the quarterdeck as the full view of the glistening tower came into sight. Engersoll’s jaw clenched as two massive, semi-rounded bubbled windows appeared on either side of the great enclosure. Then he saw with dawning horror that rising from the streamlined tower’s uppermost area and sloping to its monstrous round bow were large gleaming spikes, arrayed like the giant teeth of a great serpent in three long rows arching from bow to tower. As they watched, the beast accelerated to an incalculable speed.

  The Royal Navy seamen watched slack-jawed as the strange apparition started to sink back beneath the sea.

  Rand looked to his captain, who was standing in shock and not moving. His spyglass slipped from his hand and the lens shattered on the deck.

  “Open fire as your guns come to bear!” Rand shouted, immediately taking command from the captain.

  The massive thirty-two-pound rifled cannon started to open fire as they sighted on the strange monster. Rand was pleased to see the first three explosive rounds strike the beast before it went too deep. However, his joy was short-lived as this seagoing nightmare kept accelerating, shaking off the killing blows of the most powerful guns in the British fleet. Rand saw what was going to happen as clearly as if it were already history. He turned and grabbed for the ship’s wheel, assisting the helmsman.

  “Port, turn to port!” he cried.

  It was an order that would never be carried out.

  As the underwater creature approached, the swell of ocean rose around them, taking the great battle cruiser to a height that should have allowed the submerged giant to plow harmlessly beneath her. Instead, the 175-foot-long Warlord was rocked violently from beneath, struck so hard that her main mast splintered and came crashing onto the deck, trapping and killing Captain Peavey beneath the broken tonnage.

  As Rand fell back he saw a great geyser of water knock free the four main hatch covers below the quarterdeck, as the force of the collision gutted the great vessel from below, smashing her thick keel as if it were made of nothing more than twigs. The heavy cruiser heeled to her port side as the ship’s wheel was still turned in that direction. Lieutenant Rand fought his way to his feet as the great ship lost her battle for survival.

  Engersoll watched in horror as the impact sent Sir Lionel to his death when the stern of Warlord was thrown into the air. Suddenly the ship rocked as the powder stores below erupted outward, splintering the oak ribs of the vessel out in a frenzy of destruction. Engersoll was thrown into the erupting sea.

  Engersoll slipped under the water, trying to avoid one of the ship’s spars as it crashed into the sea. All about him men struggled to stay afloat as Warlord, her back snapped like cordwood, broke in two with a death sound horrible to the ears of seamen. She quickly slipped under, dragging another fifty men to their deaths.

  Engersoll felt a hand grab his long coat and pull him up from a death to which he had already resigned himself. As he spit out the warm water that flooded his mouth, he saw it was Lieutenant Rand pulling him free of the sea’s grip.

  As he turned away to grab for a piece of floating debris, Engersoll saw a sight that froze him into stillness. There, not two hundred feet away, rode the great metal monster. It surfaced with a loud hiss of escaping air and violent eruptions of water that rocketed skyward, creating a magical and terrifying rainbow effect.

  As the metal ship centered itself in the middle of dead men and debris, Engersoll was shocked to see the giant tower sitting on the broad expanse of metal that made up the unimaginable sight of the iron hull. The great bubble window shaped like the eye of a demon was in front of him, and as he looked skyward, he saw a man standing in the spider-webbed framed glass. Engersoll saw a man with long black hair almost as wild as his blazing eyes as the seven-hundred-foot sea monster slowly gasped a great sigh of air, and enormous bubbles rose to the surface of the sea as the man and his metal monster vanished.

  As Engersoll felt the suction of the vessel drag him down into the depths of the gulf, the last vision of the earthly world he would ever see were those eyes—those terrifying, hate-filled eyes.

  APRIL 25, 1865

  PENOBSCOT RIVER,

  MAINE

  The riverboat lay at anchor with the fog hiding her entire lower quarter, the gentle lapping of the river against her low-slung hull being the only sound. The many exterior and interior lights were ablaze in the thickening fog. The captain of the Mary Lincoln looked forward from the port bridge wing and saw nothing but the rising white veil of mist.

  “Damn it all, sir, this is far too dangerous. What fool would be crazy enough to navigate the river in this kind of chowder?”

  The heavyset man to his left did not respond. He knew exactly what kind of man would brave the Penobscot after dark and in heavy fog, but why say anything until he had to? After all, the captain was frightened enough.

  The silent passenger pursed his lips and brushed at his gray beard. The upper lip was freshly shaven and his greatcoat recently cleaned and pressed. His top hat was placed upon his head, tilted forward so that most who spoke with him could not view his dark eyes. It was for the better, since most of the riverboat’s crew did not know his identity.

  The United States secretary of war, Edwin M. Stanton, watched deckhands pull taut the anchor ropes. They were in the grip of the deepest, widening section of river as it neared the sea.

  As Stanton peered into the fog, he thought he heard a shout from across the way. He cringed and shook his head. Every man on this mission was under orders not to make any noise. He strained to hear left and then right, but there was no further disturbance. This damnable fog was acting like an amplifier, and that could doom them all.

  “It seems we have caught a shift in current,” the captain said as he ventured back inside the wheelhouse.

  Stanton felt the large boat shift to the right, and his stomach fluttered as if the Mary Lincoln rose on a small wave.

  “It’s not a current, Captain; make no adjustment to your station. Our guest will make the appropriate course change in regard to your vessel,” Stanton said as he took the situation in.

  “What guest? The fog is not yet so thick I cannot see, sir. We have—”

  The captain was cut short when the Mary Lincoln rose into the air along with the Penobscot River under her keel—ten, fifteen, and then twenty feet higher than just a moment before.

  “My God—”

  Edwin Stanton calmly reached out and took hold of the thick railing until the riverboat settled. “Calm yourself, Captain Smith; you are just feeling the displacement of water from the approach of the vessel.”

  “Displacement of water?” Smith inquired as he returned to the wing and looked out over the calming river. “The river is void of traffic—even in this fog I can see that! And what vessel would displace so much water as to almost capsize a boat of this tonnage?”

  A small man approached from where he was standing just inside the pilothouse and cautiously made his way to the even smaller Stanton.

  “Has the man arrived, Monsieur Stanton?” the small man asked in his heavily accented English.

  The secretary of war turned angrily toward the Frenchman. “You are to observe only. You are not to speak; you are not to approach this man. I am acquiescing to a favor owed of your government. Otherwise, sir, I would not give you the time of day. Now stand to the far railing and disappear, and you may be lucky enough to witness one of mankind’s greatest achievements.”

  The Frenchman placed his woolen cap on his head and backed away from the rotund secretary, knowing he was lucky just to be here on the Penobscot. However, lucky or not, he held information t
hat would embarrass the U.S. government, and if he had not been allowed to board the Mary Lincoln, he would have taken his eyewitness accounts to the capitals of all Europe. Still, he had to play this cautiously. He wanted to know only if this amazing craft truly existed.

  “Ahoy on deck, keep your eyes open. I hear movement on the river,” the captain called out as he gained the bridge wing and stood next to the secretary.

  Stanton nodded his head as giant water geysers shot into the air, causing the mist to eddy, swirl, and then finally part. Then as the two men watched, the great ship rose from the depths. The giant tower parted the river as if a mountain were being born right in the center of the Penobscot. The great glass eyes of the beast glowed green and red, easily piercing the fog.

  “Holy Mary, mother of—”

  “Such sentiments would not save you this man’s wrath, Captain. He is not one of God’s children, but a devil born of man.”

  “What is that … that thing?”

  Stanton walked closer to the edge of the bridge wing and watched as the upper bulk of the great iron beast settled on the surface of the Penobscot. As it did, it sent surface water rushing toward the Mary Lincoln, making her rise once more on the swells and allowing the river to overflow her gunnels. The water geysers ceased their roar and the river became still. It seemed to Stanton he could hear the far off ringing of bells and the voices of men giving commands. Then a bank of fog rolled in and covered the great black submarine.

  “The thing is called Leviathan, Captain Smith, and no matter what happens here tonight, you are never to speak of this to anyone, not even to your wife. I don’t think I have to make any unnecessary threats, do I, sir?”

  Stanton ignored the shocked look that covered Smith’s face. He just listened to the night and the sounds of water meeting iron. The night had become deathly still, seeming also to await answers as to what this strange object was. Stanton then turned toward a man that was standing unseen inside the pilothouse stairwell. He nodded his head, and the man slipped away unnoticed by all except the Frenchman, who was unceremoniously shoved out of the man’s way.

  Stanton’s man gathered the five selected U.S. Navy seamen and gave them each an oilcloth, which weighed in excess of thirty pounds apiece. Then he watched as they gained the boat deck on the opposite side of the Mary Lincoln and slipped over the side.

  “Ahoy the riverboat!” Six deckhands ran to the starboard side, listened, and strained to pierce the fog. Then the call from the river repeated, “Ahoy Mary Lincoln, permission to tie up and board!” The voice was deep, booming, and filled with command.

  The first officer looked up at the riverboat’s bridge for permission from the captain to allow the unseen to board. Smith nodded his head.

  “Permission granted! What is the number of your boarding party?”

  “One,” was the short answer as a long rope flew through the fog and struck the wet deck as if from nowhere. The deckhands tied off the rope as they heard the heavy footsteps on the gangplank lowered earlier.

  Captain Smith watched his men on deck freeze as the unseen footsteps continued up the stairs at a leisurely pace. The fog swirled around the ship’s railing as the footsteps stopped. Then the blanket of moisture parted, and there stood a man. He was a giant, standing at least six feet, five inches. His dark hair was long and wild. His blue seaman’s jacket was plain and devoid of rank or insignia with the exception of four gold stripes at each cuff. The knee-high boots were as shiny as a polished deck.

  “Leviathan requests permission to come aboard,” the deep voice boomed.

  “Permission granted. May I have your name, sir?” the Mary Lincoln’s first officer asked.

  The man stood motionless at the top of the gangway. He was silent as his large eyes took in the riverboat’s crew before him, an old and battered Bible clutched in his large hand.

  “Express my greetings to Secretary Stanton, and convey to him that the man he wished to meet, Captain Octavian Heirthall, has arrived to end my relationship with the U.S. government, and to reclaim my family.”

  The first officer became confused as he looked from the dark form shrouded in fog at the top of the gangway to the captain and his guest looking down from the bridge. The crew heard footsteps as a lone figure made his way down to the main deck.

  Edwin Stanton, using his cane, approached the ship’s railing cautiously. His eyes never left the imposing figure standing over him; he felt as if he were a mouse watching an owl, and the owl was ravenous. The stranger’s dark blue eyes burned through the fog and into his own. Stanton stopped ten feet in front of the man known to only a few—Captain Octavian Heirthall.

  “Please, come aboard, Captain,” Stanton said, looking up.

  “My wife, my children—they are aboard?”

  “Captain, please, join me on deck. Talking up to you, while not quite below my station, is, at the least, uncomfortable,” Stanton said, acting as bravely as he could under the circumstances.

  “My thoughts are, there is no station below yours, sir, save but one, and that is the hell you will be sent to upon your meaningless death. My wife, my son, and my five daughters, they must be here, or I swear to you, Mr. Secretary, you will fall so far and hard from grace that the mere mention of your name will be a loathsome experience for any soul saying it. I have already sent a dispatch to President Lincoln by ship’s courier. If my family is not delivered here to me this night, the courier has instructions to deliver the letter, regardless of the consequences to my children and wife.”

  “Forgive me, Captain; you have been at sea, so of course you could not have heard the news. President Lincoln was murdered just eleven days ago in Washington, struck down by an assassin’s bullet.”

  The large man seemed to deflate before Stanton’s eyes. He reached for the rope railing to steady himself. He missed at the first attempt, and then grasped it with the weakened strength of a dying man.

  “Horrible news, I know.”

  “He … he was—he was the only man of honor I have ever known,” Heirthall said as he stepped down slowly from the gangway and onto the deck. “What of the president’s promise to me for the protection of the gulf and … and its inhabitants?”

  “You now know your courier will do you no good,” Stanton said, ignoring the captain’s question. “Your threat to me has fallen on deaf—or should I say dead—ears, my good captain.”

  Heirthall grasped his Bible with both hands, but he could find no solace in its touch. His blazing eyes turned to the river and his shoulders straightened. He then turned slowly to face Stanton.

  “I am a prideful man, a God-fearing man. My words were harsh, so I ask you again, sir, please, my wife and my children, are they safe?—And the president’s pledge to help me with—my discovery, this promise is still intact? I have done what you asked.”

  “May I remind you, Captain, you came to us for the protection of the gulf waters. It was just coincidental our spies in England learned of this foul treaty between England and the rebellious states. If they had consummated that despicable document, those bases would have been the death of your amazing discovery, would they not?”

  “You had no right to remove my family from my island in the Pacific—I would have fulfilled my part of the bargain without you resorting to your obvious evil nature, Mr. Secretary.”

  Heirthall remembered the stories told to him by a father long dead. How Napoleon had done the same to his family, destroying them to gain access to the family science: a horrible history repeating itself.

  Stanton lowered his head and turned away from those pleading blue eyes. He found himself unable to look the captain in his face as he said his next words. “Your son has died. Consumption, I was told. I am truly sorry.”

  The wail of the large man pierced the darkened night. River men who heard the cry would forever have it in their nightmares. A sound as such should never originate from a man of Heirthall’s stature. He went to his knees and placed the Bible so that it covered his face.<
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  The small Frenchman standing above on the bridge wing watched, his heart going out to this man he did not know. Such anguish chilled his blood. Suddenly, he knew he did not want to be here, even if it meant never confirming the sight he had seen two years prior while at sea, that of a great metal monster.

  “It was never my intention for this sad thing to happen. Now you must understand my position, sir, you must continue your good work upon the seas. We cannot allow you to do any different. Your country needs you now more than ever. The foulness of the British try at power in this hemisphere will be attempted time and time again, and maybe your Gulf of Mexico will no longer be a safe haven for your find.”

  Captain Octavian Heirthall, with his long black hair covering the Bible he held to his face, slowly looked up at Stanton. He lowered the old book and gained his feet until he towered over the secretary. He reached down and straightened his jacket, pulling upon the hem.

  Stanton never hesitated upon seeing his own fate embedded in those blazing blue eyes—he snapped his fingers and twenty marines came from the opposite side of the wheelhouse. They leveled rifles at the man standing before him. He became concerned when Heirthall did not react.

  “Before you do something foolish, I will tell you that your family has been split up. Your wife and four of your daughters are close, but the fifth—the very, very special one, the one closest in nature to your mother—is being held at the armory in Washington. She will be the lamb that is sacrificed, so think well, Captain, before your next words come from your mouth.”

  Heirthall felt his chest clench as his destiny was presented to him. He had fallen into the same trap as had his father. Instead of Napoleon, it was Stanton pulling the strings of his naïveté. His mind snapped, but his features never betrayed that fact.

  “Your magnificent science, sir, is all we seek, the details of which you will hand over to the department of the navy. Your vessel will be forfeit. It will be taken apart, piece by piece, analyzed and then rebuilt. Then you will offer up the knowledge of the seas, which is yours alone. Your cooperation is essential for the safety of your youngest daughter. After I am satisfied you have met my conditions, you and your family will be reunited, intact. Am I understood?”