by Hugo Navikov
“We?” Popcorn Blum said. “Do you mean ‘they’?”
Dammit. “Yes, of course. Old habits die hard.”
“You’re going to die hard if I find out you’re still with those sons of bitches,” Russell growled.
“Right, thank you for the machismo, Mister Russell.” He clicked the remote and the view from above to one looking at the island from sea level. He clicked again and a deep chamber appeared without detail underneath the island on the screen. It was far bigger than the island, its length on the screen looking about twice that of the island above it. “The island covers about 80 square miles, so an area of twice the length with the same width would be about three hundred square miles.”
Ravi whistled, impressed.
“Exactly. It’s a lot of ground to cover. But that’s why we have the world’s foremost cryptid hunter leading the team.”
A puzzled-looking Ellie White rose her hand and said, “I understand the jungle expertise, but there must be a thousand seasoned rainforest explorers. But you wanted Brett and my team—did this Doctor Merco report cryptid activity under the island?”
“Please say yes,” Stefan said in excitement, making the rest of the room chuckle. This would be something to put The Mysterious Investigators into the history and science books forever.
Lathrop didn’t chuckle or even smile. He simply said, “Yes, he did. We don’t know what, but his daughter shared all of his messages with us, and he told her there were all sorts of … unusual creatures.”
Russell didn’t raise his hand to talk. “Why do I get the feeling that Merco’s daughter didn’t give you this information out of the kindness of her heart. Or for all the bearer bonds in the world. She’s dead, isn’t she? Died shortly after your goons came for a visit, I bet.”
Everyone in the compartment looked at Russell and then at Lathrop, and their gazes remained on the well-dressed Organization man. There was no point in denying it—these people were either in or out, and “out” was pretty much impossible unless they wanted to swim back to Cape Town. So Lathrop told them, “You are correct, Mister Russell, but she died by her own hand, not by the efforts of any Organization interrogator—” He stopped dead and closed his eyes. Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT.
“Holy crap, you tortured her, didn’t you?” Russell spat and got to his feet. “You tortured her for the messages and then she killed herself because she’d never be able to get over what you did to her. And making her sell out her own father to his death.” The big man took two angry steps toward Lathrop but stopped when the muzzle of an AK-47 was pressed against the side of his head. He slowly turned to look at Commander Crane, who shook his head.
“Sit down, Mister Brett Russell,” Crane said. Russell went back and sat down, choosing to die—or kill—another day.
“Now,” Lathrop continued sharply to the shocked faces around the compartment, “there are believed to be many unknown animals and other lifeforms in this subterranean world. That’s why all the heavy military equipment has accompanied us on this little adventure. We will land at the only inhabited area. From there, we will head to the entry point. Now, let’s discuss the extraction itself. Doctor Merco is—”
WHOMMPRRRRRRRRRRR
The entire ship bucked and the metal of the hull groaned with the stress of being forced sideways like it had been broadsided full-speed by an oil tanker. Everyone threw themselves around chairs or tables bolted to the floor as everything else slid at a 45-degree angle against the bulkhead with the hurling of the ship to port.
~~~
Brett hit the deck and held fast to the secured base of the table. As the whole ship rocked, Ellie came sliding by, picking up speed as she approached the very solid-looking bulkhead. But Brett stuck out his big arm and looped it around his ex-wife before she could slide any farther. He looped her back in and held her next to him as others either splayed out on the deck holding on to their own chairs’ and tables’ bolted-down bases or gripped the chairs and tables themselves. Others just kept sliding until they smacked hard into the metal walls on the lee side of the ship.
The Slangkop II stopped listing and began loudly creaking as it swung back the other way. At least this meant the ship wouldn’t capsize—but it did mean that everyone who had slid against one bulkhead now started sliding the other way. Some were able to catch the tables and chairs as the angle spent an instant abeam before lolling to the other side.
“Fancy meeting you here!” Brett yelled with a laugh even though they were all certainly about to drown.
“The pleasure is mine!” Ellie yelled back with her own laugh. “Why am I not surprised this is happening when you’re involved?”
“You can’t blame me for this—I don’t even know what’s … happening …” His eyes went wide as he saw what was to blame for what was happening to the ship. Not even possible.
Ellie saw his look and turned around still held in his arm out the long series of windows on the side of the ship now lifting from the water. And she screamed.
Then everyone else looked and, to a person, screamed or yelled—it would have been hard to tell the difference. Lathrop, the commandos, definitely Popcorn, everybody cursing and some of them pretty sure they had fallen asleep during the briefing and were having a nightmare.
The gray abomination, its face slick with water still rushing from the prominence of its jaws, was the face of a Chinese dragon and the body of a massive prehistoric eel. It was huge, much longer than the ship and probably as wide. And within its jaws were untold rows of impossibly giant and sharp teeth. It had rammed the ship with its enormous head and reared up like a hundred-foot-tall cobra, ready to strike again.
“Lathrop!” Brett bellowed across the mess hall, and the Organization man turned, his face seized with dread. “What the hell is going on? What is this?”
Lathrop just shook his head. But Brett knew that had to be bull. The ship lolled all the way to starboard, not quite as far as it had to port—so they wouldn’t be capsizing, thanks God—and when the deck was almost flat again, he wrapped Ellie’s arms around the base of the table, then sprinted to where Lathrop held onto a chair and slid until he had grabbed onto it as well.
“You know what this is, goddammit. This is why you brought me. What is this place?”
“All right, all right! I don’t know what in the name of Heaven that thing is out there, but I told you we thought there might be unknown animals—”
“Unknown animals?!? That’s a frickin’ Chinese dragon on super-steroids!”
“No kidding, Mister Russell, I hadn’t noticed,” Lathrop said, able to be ironic even in the present situation. “We had no idea what animals there might be. That’s what ‘unknown’ means, you ape.”
Brett was about to reply with something really witty, but suddenly the dragon’s hideous grin filled the view out the port side and it smashed against the ship, making every window explode and spray those inside with hailstones of safety glass. The side of the ship buckled and one of the commandos who had slid against that bulkhead was launched into the air, his body already broken, and flew right through the glass of one of the starboard windows, shattering it and falling into the sea below.
“Abandon ship!” called a voice heavy with an African accent as the Slangkop II rolled onto its starboard side. It was Captain Bantu, who must have rushed down from the bridge despite the danger. “When she lifts from the water again, get to the lifeboats on the starboard side!”
“Which side is that?” Crane yelled, his confusion at the term seeming much stronger than his fear at being attacked by a sea monster.
“The right side, idiot!” Lathrop shouted, making Brett think the Organization really needed to put its people through some sensitivity training for communicating with the workforce of today.
But right and left were confused at the moment because the ship didn’t stop rolling. Impossibly cold water rushed through the open windows as the starboard side was submerged and they headed for going completely upside-down,
Poseidon Adventure style. Everyone who had been able to hold onto the bolted-down furniture of the mess hall hung on for dear life at what was now the ceiling. Those who hadn’t been able to grab hold of anything—the male Organization agent and two of Bantu’s crewmen—were swept out of the ship as the water rushed out again during its continued roll to surface on its port side. They ended up lolling nauseatingly, but at least they didn’t remain capsized, upside-down in the water.
“Brett!” Ellie yelled to him, “We have to get off the ship!”
“Go get in a lifeboat—I’ll catch up! Go!”
The outsize head of the dragon serpent crashed to the surface of the water as the beast tried a different attack. It plunged underwater, which to Brett looked more dangerous than it just ramming the ship. An enemy unseen was an enemy with an advantage.
But that was secondary for the moment. Brett stood with Lathrop’s shirt once again bunched in his fist. “If the underground world is where the cryptids live, then what is this? Why is this thing out in the open water? Tell me!”
Lathrop hesitated but then obviously saw no advantage to be had in prevarication and said, “Merco must have left the opening to the subterranean ecosystem open. Part of that opening must incorporate a lagoon or other water access, and that thing must have swum out of that opening. I’m as shocked as you are; one might expect this on land there, but—”
“Whoa—a giant sea serpent is something we should have expected? What in God’s name is down there?”
“I mean in general,” Lathrop said, completely sidestepping the question, then turned his gaze to someone standing twenty feet behind Brett, apparently waiting for a break in the “conversation” to address his boss. “Crane, some assistance would be appreciated. What in blazes am I paying you for?”
“Not bodyguard service, I’m pretty sure,” Crane said. “I just wanna ask: what do you want us to do with the weapons. Leave ’em on the boat, or take ’em with us? We can’t take the heavy stuff in the lifeboats. Like heavy. The lifeboat wouldn’t float.”
Lathrop asked in a near-whisper to Brett, “Could you please unhand me? I’m not going to be staying on the ship, obviously, and these dolts need guidance if we’re to have any chance at all of finding Merco. You may ‘rough me up’ at a more convenient time for all of us.”
Brett sneered and shoved Lathrop away. “Don’t assume the boat is necessarily—”
The three men plus the soldiers were hurled into the overhead as the serpent came from under the boat and rammed in from beneath, into the hull a few decks directly below the mess hall. One of the commandos, who was at the immediate epicenter of impact, shrieked in pain, his ankles and knees shattered. The five other mercenaries, plus Crane, Blake, and Lathrop, seemed not too much worse for wear, but they were all stunned by hitting the overhead and then smashing back down onto the deck, groaning and trying to remain conscious.
“Get the weapons into the lifeboats and get out of here!” Lathrop yelled to Crane, who for once seemed to understand something told to him and ordered the four uninjured men out of the compartment. He followed them and began barking orders amidst the shouts and occasional scream coming from those in the lifeboats already on the water.
“You’re not leaving yet,” Brett said to Lathrop as he watched Captain Bantu run toward the bridge, no doubt to assess the damage to the Slangkop. “There’s something you need that’s still on this boat. But you can’t have your goons get it. Why not? What is it?”
“You’re talking nonsense, Mister Russell.”
“Then let’s go. Follow me—I’ll rescue your sorry ass.” He moved to exit the mess hall but stopped when he noticed Lathrop wasn’t behind him. “What? Tell me what the thing is, and maybe I’ll help you get it.”
Lathrop opened his mouth to respond, but a rending and buckling of metal roared through the ship as the middle of the vessel collapsed, sending rushing sea water up to their ankles in a matter of seconds. Still, even though his pallor showed the terror within him, Lathrop used the fixed tables and chairs to help steady and propel him toward the staircase to the area with his cabin.
“You’re not going down with the ship, you son of a bitch!” Brett yelled at him and, casting a regretful eye at the lifeboats he could see out the window, launched himself to follow the Organization man and grab him and drag him out if need be. There was no way the fool was going to a watery grave still possessing the secrets he had promised to Brett. The others could access their bearer bonds, but Lathrop hadn’t told Brett where his information was, so Brett would have to keep the weasel alive until he had it. Not much point to surviving himself if he lost this chance to enact his revenge.
Before Lathrop made it to the hatch to the cabins, Captain Bantu appeared in front of him. “The ship is going down. Get to a lifeboat while you still can!”
“Out of my way, sir!” Lathrop ordered, but the water was to everyone’s mid-shin now and it was time to live or die. “I need something from my cabin!”
“You need to be on a lifeboat or you will go down with the ship. Once everyone is off, only then may I not go down with the ship! Get off of my boat—the longer a boat is near the ship, the more chance it will be eaten by that sea monster! You all must get away now!”
As if on cue, screams arose from the lifeboats as the dragon serpent slid through the water, opened its enormous jaws, and consumed a lifeboat filled with Slangkop II crew members. Then it went under again to swallow and digest its meal. Even a giant cryptid sea creature had to obey the laws of biology, and eating something the size of a lifeboat would take at least a few minutes to be ready for another. There were still leagues to go before they could reach the island, and it would take perhaps an entire day to row to it. But for any of them to stand a chance, their mariner Captain Bantu was the only one who could navigate them there on the open sea. Bantu had to survive.
Ellie had to survive.
Brett, not so much, even though he would prefer being alive to hurt those who hurt him. His survival was optional, and the sea serpent’s survival could not be allowed if anyone was to make it to dry land. They could call for help on the satphones (if they had them on the lifeboats), but no help could get here in time to save every boat from being eaten whole by the monster.
That gave Brett a brilliant, or possibly brilliantly stupid, idea. He said to Lathrop, who was up to his waist in freezing water now but still trying to push through Bantu to get whatever the hell was so important in his cabin, “The equipment in the hold—are there explosives in there?”
“Of course there are. We might need to blast a new tunnel if they sealed it off behind them … although it seems like it might already be open.”
“Ya think?” Brett snapped, but focused again: “Which container?”
“I don’t know that.” Lathrop looked annoyed at him; he must have been highly committed to being annoyed if he could shine through with that while they were all about to die. “Perhaps the solid captain here can—”
Bantu named the container ID immediately. He looked at Lathrop’s surprise and said, “I know everything that happens on my ship.”
“Is there a code to arm them?”
Lathrop goggled at him. “Are you serious? They’re underwater already! You can’t get to them, you moron!”
Brett didn’t hesitate: he punched Lathrop in the middle of the chest, just far enough off the sternum not to break it with his knuckles. Lathrop buckled and puked into the swirling water. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Is there a code to arm them?” He raised a fist in a plain threat to smash his fist into some point on Lathrop’s body once again.
“Fine! It’s written in indelible marker when you open the control hatch!” At Brett’s look, he said, “Crane forgets things.”
Brett lowered his fist, although he didn’t want to—what possible reason could there have been not to tell him anything he wanted to know about arming the explosives? The man was just a complete dick, even though being like that was making it more di
fficult for Brett to save the man’s life. No matter now—he had what he needed. What to do now, he didn’t really know yet, but it definitely included reaching and arming those explosives. He said to the captain, “Please drag his sorry carcass to a lifeboat and get out of here. If you possibly can, drop an empty lifeboat but keep it lashed to the ship. I’m hoping our little friend outside will get tempted by it before any of the ones with people actually still in them.”
“I cannot leave while you are still on board,” Bantu said.
“I appreciate your honor, sir, but you’ll kill every one of us if you stop me from doing this. And you staying on board will stop me from doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Get the hell out of here!” Brett shouted in the captain’s face, and he swept by Bantu and Lathrop in the chest-high water to get below decks before it really was too late to save anyone at all.
He rushed down the passageway to the steps he guessed would lead to the cargo hold. He didn’t know the layout of the ship, but he did know such vessels in general, and the cargo hold hatch was usually in about the spot where this set of steps led. The water was almost to his neck now, and he would have to dive if he was going to get down there and do what he needed to do.
He took a moment. How long would it take the serpent to be ready for another lifeboat morsel? Brett had no idea, but he didn’t have much choice about the timing of getting down there, no matter how long he set the delay on the charges for. When he was in Special Ops, he and his brothers were trained how to hold their breath for a long time, and he had been called upon to use that training in the Amazon on more than one occasion over the previous two years. But that had been for only five minutes at the most; his record was eleven minutes. He might need to tie or even break his record for this little stunt.