by Michael West
Whatever it was they shared, it was important to her.
He was important to her, as was his support.
Alan turned his head and Carol saw herself reflected in his shades. God, she thought, I look like I haven’t slept in days.
“You always have my support,” he told her, then leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“Domo.”
As he pulled away, Carol saw something in the periphery of his mirrored glasses: a ship, rolling on the waves. She looked over her shoulder and found a fishing trawler listing slightly to one side.
Alan turned the wheel in the ship’s direction. “They look like they’re in some trouble.”
As they approached, Carol saw the trawler’s name painted on its stern. “Maggie May? Wasn’t that an Elton John song?”
“Rod Stewart.” Alan picked up the microphone attached to their marine radio. “Maggie May...Maggie May...This is the Sea Wasp. Do you need assistance?”
A crackle of static came in reply.
“Maggie May...Maggie May...This is the Sea Wasp, I’m a hundred yards off your stern, do you require aid?”
Again, nothing but static. Alan tried several different frequencies, but the result was the same.
Carol stared at the seventy-five degree angle of the boat’s flying bridge. “What do we do?”
“We can’t leave her here. We’ll check her out, and, if no one’s on board, we’ll call the authorities to tow ’er in. Take the wheel.”
Carol nodded, grabbing the controls as he released them. Carefully, she piloted the boat toward the unnaturally high gunwale of the Maggie May, easing up on the throttle until the Sea Wasp matched the trawler’s leisurely side-to-side sway. Carol then cut the engine, allowing the gentle motion of the billows to bring the ships together with a thud.
Alan found a length of rope; he lashed the two ships together and started to climb over, waving Carol off. “Stay here.”
“I’m going.”
“It could be sinking.”
“If you go, I go. You always give me unko for going off on my own. I’m not letting you fly solo, either.”
With a sigh, Alan boarded the trawler and she followed him over the railing. Wire traps piled in stagnant seawater on one side of the deck; they’d been ripped open, emptied of whatever catch they once held. Carol followed Alan into the ship’s cabin, trying to maintain her balance on the fun house floor of the deck.
Alan flicked switches on the boat’s radio. “Busted.”
“That explains why no one answered your hails.”
“I don’t think there’s anyone here to answer.”
Carol was about to turn and leave the cabin when something else caught her eye.
Alan saw her puzzled expression. “What is it?”
The boat shifted slightly. Carol grabbed onto a shelf for support and pointed to the opposite wall. There, above an unmade bunk, drawn in blood, was the same symbol she’d seen in the Atlantean temple.
A trident held hostage within a hoop.
From the forward deck, the unmistakable noise of footsteps on wood.
They were not alone on the boat after all.
•••
“There she blows,” Petty Officer Earl L. Preston Jr. said aloud.
The Maggie May tilted to one side as if it were a whale about to dive, a black-and-yellow speedboat lashed to its railing like an odd Siamese twin. Margaret Lunden reported both her husband Kip and his mate missing, was even able to relay the approximate location of their favorite fishing spot, but she didn’t say anything about twenty-five-foot motorboat painted like a yellowjacket.
Smugglers? Drug smugglers?
How was Earl supposed to teach his apprentice seaman the drudgery and boredom of everyday Coast Guard life when this crap kept happening? He saw no movement on either ship, but he decided to approach with caution. “Bring us around and then cut the motor.”
“Cut the motor?” Peck sounded confused. “Shouldn’t we announce ‘Coast Guard’?”
“Drug runners pack serious firepower. You wanna let ’em know where to shoot?”
“No.”
Peck did as he was asked, the current allowing them to drift stealthily up to the two vessels.
Preston leapt onto the deck of the trawler and unholstered his weapon. Cautiously, he made his way along the outside of the cabin, the barrel of his gun casting a long shadow. Inside, he heard voices, a man and a woman.
The woman said, “That explains why no one answered your hails.”
“I don’t think there’s anyone here to answer,” the man replied. There was a pause and then he added: “What is it?”
They know I’m here.
Earl whirled around the corner. “Coast Guard! Get your hands in the air!”
The couple inside jumped at his command and thrust their hands toward the ceiling of the cabin. They appeared to be unarmed, but appearances were often deceiving.
The man spoke up happily, “Officer! You just saved us a call.”
“Is that a fact?” Keeping his eyes on the couple, Earl pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. “Peck... Peck...you read me?”
“Are you all right? Do you need help? Over.”
“I’m fine. Get the base on the horn. Tell ’em we got the Maggie May, and have ’em run a check on the boat Sea Wasp.”
“Copy that, sir. Consider it done. Over and out.”
Earl clipped the radio back onto his belt, his eyes still glued to his prisoners. “You, Lucy Liu...mind tellin’ me what you’re doin’ on this boat?”
Her eyes narrowed and her companion glanced at Earl, his smile evaporating. He placed a restraining hand on her arm, as if he thought she would say what he was obviously thinking. When she did speak, however, she only asked, “May we put our hands down, Lieutenant?”
“I’m a few stripes short of lieutenant, ma’am, but yeah...slowly.”
They lowered their arms and the man offered an explanation, “We were on our way to Colonial Bay when we saw this trawler listing. It looked like she needed help, so we radioed her. We got no response, so we came on board to make sure everyone was all right, but they’re not.”
Earl lowered his weapon, but did not holster it. That story seemed to gel with what he’d heard from outside. He plucked the radio from his belt again. “Peck?”
“Still checkin’ on that boat, sir. Over.”
“That’s fine. Run these names too.”
“Sure thing. What are they? Over.”
Earl pointed at the woman. “Name?”
“First...middle...last, or all of the above?”
“All of the above, if you please.”
“Dr. Carol Toki Miyagi.”
He relayed the information to the radio. “Dr. Carol — C or a K in Carol?”
“It’s ‘C’.”
“Carol, with a C, Toe Key...spell that.”
“T-O-K-I”
“T-O-K-I,” Earl repeated.
“M-I-Y-A-G-I.”
“M-I-Y-A-G-I, like the guy in Karate Kid.”
Carol rolled her eyes. “Dankon.”
Earl shook his head. “Call me a dick again lady and your ass is in a cell.”
She blushed and looked at the floor.
Earl turned his attention to her companion who was smiling for some reason. “Now you.”
“Dr. Alan James Everson.”
“Aren’t you going to have him spell it for you?” Carol asked.
Earl glared at her, then asked Alan, “One ‘L’ or two?”
“One.”
“‘A’ and an ‘E,’ or two ‘A’s?”
“Two ‘A’s.”
Earl relayed the info to Peck; as he clipped the radio onto his belt, he saw the bloody trident. He took a step back and his revolver started to rise.
“Hold on!” Carol followed the guardsman’s gaze, a mix of fear and fascination in her voice. “You’ve seen that symbol before?”
“What do you know about it?”
“I’v
e seen it too.”
“Where?”
Her eyes fell to the barrel of his gun. “Do you really need that?”
“You tell me, Doctor. What are you two doctors of, anyway?”
“We’re archeologists,” Alan told him.
“Archeologists?”
They nodded.
“You’re one of them,” Earl chuckled. “You think some sea creature attacked this boat, right? Somethin’ everybody else thought was extinct, like a big-ass dinosaur or somethin’, right?”
Reports of strange creatures off the coast of New England originated with the Massachuset and Pennacook tribes. Early sailors to the new world spoke of mermaids and sirens. And, every now and then, Earl still came across people out here looking for monsters.
While he did not share their belief in sea serpents, the idea of finding some unknown animal was not without merit. Earl read enough about the sea to know that there were 80 known species of whale and porpoise in the world’s oceans. Of that number, 11 were not found until the last century, the most recent one having just been discovered in 1991.
Bits of dead animals continually washed in with the tide. And, sometimes, a beachcomber would find something odd. Scientists and the news media would look at the carcasses, try to place them into established niches, assign tentacles to squids and octopi, fins to sharks or marlin, translucent masses to portions of jelly fish, and so on, and so on. But once in a while, something would come ashore that defied categorization. These finds would make it into the papers, relegated to the back page almost as an afterthought, or perhaps to fill space on a slow news day, and a week or so later they were forgotten.
Now, Earl could almost hear the yarn these scientists were about to spin.
An ancient creature had managed to remain undetected by Man, and now it’s begun to attack because...because pollution killed its favorite fish fillet or some such crap. People shouldn’t fuck with Mother Nature. What was it his mother always said? Whoever heard of a mouse making a nest in a cat’s ear?
“We don’t work with dinosaurs,” Alan told him, halting the run of his thoughts. “We deal with ancient civilizations.”
Earl’s eyes darted back and forth between his captives and the bloody sketch drying on the wood. “Like those dudes that found Atlantis a few weeks ago?”
“We,” Carol told him, “are those dudes.”
The officer’s mouth and his gun dropped at the same time.
A crackle on the radio, “This is Peck. Over.”
“What is it, Peck?”
“I got word back on those I.D.s. The Sea Wasp is Miyagi’s boat. And I just figured out why those names sounded so familiar. They’re in all the magazines right now because they found Atlantis. Over.”
“Very thorough, Seaman.” Earl holstered his weapon and radio, then leaned against the door frame. “So, Doctors Miyagi and Everson. You mind tellin’ me where you saw that symbol before...and please don’t say Atlantis.”
Carol regarded him soberly. “Sorry.”
Earl shook his head. Oh shit.
TWENTY EIGHT
Roger Hays couldn’t believe the stupidity, the ineptitude of the fat bastard that sat across the desk from him. Even if he couldn’t be sure Komarovsky murdered his son, Roger might make a call to have this idiot killed. He would be doing the human race a favor. “You said Miss Hern was the victim of a shark attack, like my son, but I know she was really mauled in an alley here in town.”
“That woman...how’s she doin’, anyway?” Chief Canon’s pudgy face became watchful, intent, his concern genuine, but also self-serving, as though Peggy Hern’s wellbeing was important to his own. Had this been any other officer, in any other town, Hays would have chalked it up to legal worries, but he assumed nothing.
“They have her listed in stable condition.”
The chief nodded, satisfied; his laced fingers rested comfortably on the crest of his gut. “You say you heard she got bit in some alley? Well, sir, it sounds like you’ve been talkin’ to the wrong people. What’d her doctors say?”
“They said it looked like a shark attack.”
“Ever seen sharks roamin’ alleys?”
Roger tested the waters: “Ever seen sharks with arms and legs?”
The fat man’s bloated face deflated. “What?”
“The coroner said the bites on my son were inconsistent with a shark attack. I saw his body; he was clawed at.” Hays watched the color drain from the chief’s face. The lard-ass does know something. “Mr. Neuhaus said, at first glance, the thing that attacked my son and his friend looked like a man, a man with fins.”
“He never said anything like that to me.”
“Probably because he thought it would sound too crazy.”
The chief didn’t miss a beat. “It does.”
“Three attacks in three days doesn’t seem a bit unusual to you?”
“I hear tell that before they invented swimmin’ suits, there were no attacks. When people and sharks share the same water, it’s usually not the shark that gets hurt.”
Hays leaned over the desk and grabbed the man by his collar; it was moist with sweat. “You listen here, Chief. I know there’s something going on in this town. I know you’re connected to it. You’d just better pray —”
“Mr. Hays...” Canon’s eyes narrowed. “...I know you’ve had an awful tragedy smack you square in the ass —”
“You don’t know shit.”
“— which is why I’m not gonna lock you up for attempted assault on an officer. But —”
“You fat fuck.”
“But, if you don’t get your friggin’ hands offa me right this minute, it’s you who’d better pray.”
And then Hays saw something in Canon’s eyes, something he didn’t like; the glint of a caged tiger, all the power and hunger bottled up within, boiling just beneath the surface of that icy glare. Roger released the chief’s collar and slowly backed away from the desk.
Canon rubbed his neck, regarded Hays with an even stare. “Now, take your son back to wherever it is you wanna bury him and get on with your life.”
“Until I find the truth, Chief, this will be my life.” And with that, Hays stormed out of the office. There was still time to catch the next ferry, to make the drive to Black Harbor before nightfall. He needed to speak with Larry Neuhaus one more time.
•••
As the sun dipped its toes into the sea, Ed went to his living room couch. His ex-wife slept there, still tucked into her afghan cocoon. He reached out and shook her shoulder. “Barb? John’s comin’.”
Her eyes popped open and she reached out to grab his wrist in a death grip.
“It’s just me, Hon.”
She let him go and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
She stood and stretched. “I gotta get the shop open.”
Ed gave a wag of his head. “Eight at night. You sat down this morning and drifted off to sleep, so I covered you up and left ya be.”
Her mouth dropped. “Why the hell didn’t you wake me?”
“I figured you needed your rest.”
“I needed to open the store. How’s it gonna look if —”
“Barb, half the stores in town never opened today. Yours wouldn’t have made that much difference.”
Barbara stared at him, slack-jawed.
Then John Canon and his young deputy, Ray, burst into the room, giving the couple a start.
“We got ourselves a big problem,” Canon told them. “Roger Hays came into town and laid into me about Peggy Hern bein’ attacked on dry land, starts goin’ on about sharks with arms and legs.”
Ed dropped the teacup he’d been holding.
“That Hern woman,” Barbara blurted. “She’s Callisto.”
Canon’s eyes widened, and Ray touched his forehead in the same way that a Christian might make the sign of a cross.
“You sure on this?” the chief asked.
Barbara nodded
. “She dreamed of Poseidon.”
Cannon rubbed his temples, then dragged his fingers down the length of his face. “Fuck me.”
Poor Ray had gone white as a sheet; he was already making steps for the door. “Chief, it’s gettin’ dark and all. Mind if I —”
“Go,” John told him, his eyes still on Barbara. “Get some sleep, though. Who knows what shit’ll hit the fan tomorrow.”
The deputy nodded, then tipped his policeman’s hat toward Barbara as he left the room. “Teacher.”
“’Night, Ray.”
Canon rubbed his chin with dismay. “What are we gonna do now?”
Barbara shrugged. “I gotta go to her.”
“Whatcha gonna tell her?” the chief asked.
“I dunno.”
“I say leave ‘er be. The less she knows, the better.”
“She’s in a world o’ hurt, John. Think Tellstrom wants a Callisto runnin’ around? He’ll kill her if he finds out.”
“She might prefer death,” Ed said somberly.
Barbara glared at him. “No. I’m gonna go to her...gonna make her understand.”
Ed looked at his own feet. Things were getting out of hand too fast, like going downhill in a car with no brakes. Varuna help us all.
•••
Jason neared the pyramid, saw swift-moving clouds reflected in its raven glass, then the world went dark and he couldn’t breathe. His eyes sprang open to find tiger-striped claws wrapped around his throat, pulling him up the tiled wall of the pool chamber.
Karl Tellstrom; the putrid ghost of last night’s kill still haunted his breath. “She’s alive! She’s Callisto now!”
“I’m...sorry...I...” Jason gagged and tried to pry himself free of Karl’s grip.
“Finish what you started,” Tellstrom snarled, then he let go and stepped away, gillslits in his neck pulsating.
Jason slid down wet tile, gasping for air. Tellstrom’s strength was incredible, even for a Charodon, but madness often granted surprising power, didn’t it? And Jason had come to believe that Karl Tellstrom was quite mad indeed. Then again, sometimes it took a lunatic to get the job done. After all, a sane person might have been content to live out his days in the seclusion of Colonial Bay, never tasting freedom, never knowing what it was like to go out into the world and just...be. Jason longed for the day when he didn’t have to stay in his human form for hour after endless hour. And, if Karl could get them their freedom, then, for better or worse, Jason would follow him.