by Steve Alten
*
“Hard to port,” growled Captain Barre, picking himself up off the deck of the bridge. “Masao, when the hell’s this shark of yours gonna fall asleep?”
“Just lead it away from that tour boat.”
*
Hovering two hundred feet above the Pacific, Mac watched as the Kiku headed south, the enraged Megalodon circling back to ram the ship again. “Sweet Jesus. Jonas, you guys okay down there?”
“We’re taking a beating. What’s it look like to you?”
“Looks like I’m flying home alone. What happened to those drugs of yours?”
“My guess would be a bad reaction. Stand by.” He changed frequencies. “Masao, what’s the harpoon getting on the Meg’s vitals?”
“I think we overdosed her. Her pulse just rocketed from seventy-seven to two hundred and twelve beats per minute.”
“Hold on,” yelled Nash, “she’s breaching again!”
Wa-BOOM!
The Kiku shuddered, the impact sending books and charts flying.
“She’s gonna tear my ship apart!” yelled Barre, grabbing the ship’s internal phone. “Captain here … speak.”
“Skipper, the engine room’s taking on water. Another blow like that last one and we’ll be swimming home.”
“You think I don’t know this? If it’s leaking plug it, if it don’t work fix it!” Barre slammed the receiver down, then turned his ship hard to port.
*
The Megalodon’s brain was on fire, her blood boiling, her heart racing out of control. The predator’s sensory system was overloaded by the madness brought on by the overdose of pentobarbital. Unable to reason, the creature was bound to her primordial instincts.
Dragging the steel cable to a depth beyond fifteen hundred feet, the Meg targeted its challenger, her senses homing in on the electrical impulses given off by the Kiku’s steel hull moving through seawater. The crescent tail whipped back and forth, driving the monster back toward the surface as she rammed the ship again, smashing the forward compartment of the keel.
This time, the force of the blow knocked the giant predator senseless, stymieing her heart rate long enough for the pentobarbital and ketamine to take hold, shutting down the creature’s central nervous system.
*
“Taylor-san, the creature’s heart rate is plummeting. One-twenty … one hundred. Stand-by. Okay, it seems to be stabilizing … fifty-three beats per minute.”
“We don’t have much time. Al, take up the slack and release the net; I’ll get Terry into the water.”
He hurried to the Abyss Glider. The mini-sub was ready to launch, Terry waiting by its open rear hatch.
“You sure about this? It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“Shut-up,” she said. Reaching for him, she buried her tongue in his mouth, the kiss more lust than passion.
Terry pulled away, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide. “Okay, let’s do this.”
She crawled head-first into the sub, sealing the hatch from the inside as he started the A-frame’s winch. The Abyss Glider was hoisted twenty feet off the deck.
Pivoting the A-frame aft caused the mini-sub to swing outward over the rail away from the Kiku, allowing Jonas to lower the craft into the sea.
*
The Meg was losing feeling in its tail. The female slowed, barely moving, dangling by the steel line almost twelve hundred feet beneath the surface.
DeMarco and his assistant, Philip Prousnitzer stood at the stern, watching the Kiku’s winch strain to gather in steel cable.
“Phil, secure the winch at five hundred feet, then help me ready the net.” He looked down as the Abyss Glider’s saddle sunk beneath the mini-sub, freeing the buoyant craft.
Terry started the engine. The sub leaped forward, submerging into the vast blue world.
“Terry, can you hear me?” Masao’s voice filtered over the radio.
“Loud and clear. I’m at five hundred feet. Visibility’s good.”
“The Meg’s respiration rate is plummeting.”
“Stand-by.” Terry descended the glider, following the cable at a forty-five-degree angle. At eight hundred and sixty feet she saw the Meg.
The monstrous albino shark was suspended head-down, its tail thrashing uselessly. Unable to channel water into its mouth, the creature’s gills could not function.
The Megalodon was drowning.
“Masao, the Meg’s not breathing. You’ve got to tow her immediately. Do you copy?”
“Hai. Stand by.”
The Kiku’s engines restarted with a metallic, grinding sound. The line grew taut, causing the Megalodon’s head to jerk upward toward the sub. Terry circled the glider out of harm’s way as the creature leveled off.
Keeping the submersible parallel with the shark’s gills, she focused her attention on the five 15-foot long vertical slits. They remained pressed tight.
Moving ahead to the Meg’s mouth, Terry realized the creature’s jaws were clamped shut, perhaps a reflex action brought about by the drugs which targeted the shark’s central nervous system.
Looping the glider into a tight three-sixty, she circled back and accelerated, smashing the mini-sub’s Lexan nose against the Megalodon’s mandible where the lower jaw hinged with the upper, the collision nearly tossing her head-first from her harness.
The Meg’s lower jaw dropped open, seawater rushing in.
Seconds later, the gills began to flutter.
“Whatever you just did, Terry, it seems to be working. According to the harpoon’s sensors, the creature’s blood-oxygen levels are rising. Well done.”
She beamed proudly. “Thanks … Dad. You can tell Al to lower the net.”
“Stand by.”
Terry hovered by the Meg’s right flank, marveling at the sheer size of the creature, its stark-white hide, its savage grace. For the first time she found herself looking at the Megalodon as something other than a menace that needed to be killed. The shark was a product of evolution, perfected by nature over hundreds of millions of years. It was the true master of the ocean, perhaps the last of her kind, and Terry felt better about not destroying it.
Looking up, she saw the Meg harness—a weighted cargo net, feeding out along the surface. Jonas had ordered flotation buoys attached along its perimeter, the inflatable devices designed to be operated from the Kiku. In this way, the Megalodon could be released safely once secured inside the lagoon, with the net simply dropping away as the devices were deflated.
Ascending to meet the sinking cargo net, Terry extended the glider’s retractable arm, using it to grab hold of the lead marker buoy. Submerging, she dragged the net straight down on a ninety-degree descent, stretching out the rolled-up slack.
Passing the Megalodon’s head, she leveled out, racing beneath the creature’s scarred belly and beyond its caudal fin.
“Masao … father, I’m in position. Inflate the harness.”
“Stand by.”
The net’s perimeter buoys sprang to life, the compressed air causing the suddenly buoyant net to fit the contours of the Megalodon. The thirty ton shark rose, the tension releasing from the harpoon as it leveled off a hundred and sixty feet below the surface.
“That’s perfect,” Terry said. She descended beneath the half-moon tail, inspecting the netting supporting the Meg’s belly.
“Uh-oh.”
“Terry, what is it?”
“Masao, the female gave birth.”
“Are you certain?”
“One hundred percent. Have Jonas stand by with the glider’s saddle, I’m coming aboard.”
“Terry, before you surface, Leon requests that you check the damage to the ship’s keel.”
“On my way.” Terry accelerated past the captive female, moving beneath the boat’s hull.
“Oh, wow…”
The multiple impacts by the Megalodon had taken out one of the ship’s two propeller shafts and dented the other. Worse, a twelve-by-twenty foot section of steel plating had
been crushed.
The boat was taking on water.
The Kiku was sinking.
Dusk
LEON BARRE POINTED TO A SECTION of the Kiku’s keel on a computer schematic. “Terry counted seven bent plates,” the captain said, “at least three of which are taking on water. They’re right on the seam; no way to seal them while we’re at sea. The starboard shaft’s completely bent, it won’t turn at all. The portside shaft’s turning, but it’s also damaged, making a helluva noise. Rev her any faster than six to seven knots and she’ll tear loose.”
“Will we sink?” Masao asked Captain Barre. The ship had taken on a tremendous amount of water, her decks were now listing at a fifteen-degree angle to starboard.
“Sink? Yes. Maybe not tonight, who knows, maybe not tomorrow. We sealed off the forward compartment and the pumps are running, but she’s still takin’ on water.”
“How long until we arrive at the lagoon?” asked DeMarco.
“Pulling that monster out there, that’s a lot of drag, lots of work for one screw. It’s just after seven. I say we make it back tomorrow morning, just after dawn.”
DeMarco looked at Jonas. “Will the Meg stay unconscious for that long?”
“I hate to add to all the uncertainty, but honestly, I don’t know. There’s no way of telling. I gave her what I thought was a sufficient dosage to keep her under twelve to sixteen hours.”
“Taylor-san, can we inject her again?”
“We can, but it’s dangerous. There’s a risk of permanent damage to her nervous system. And we’ve already seen what happened before the drugs took effect. If she reacts that way along a populated shoreline like Monterey…”
Masao shook his head, unsure. “Not many options. Leon, how many crew members do you need to run the ship? Maybe we should evacuate some of the men now—”
“No. With the damage to the screw and the sea knocking on the door, I need every hand I’ve got, plus some. We leave this ship, we’re all gonna leave together.”
“The problem is not the Kiku,” Terry interjected, “it’s the reliability of the Meg’s cardiac monitor. Jonas and I can set up shifts to watch her in the Abyss Glider. If she appears to be waking up, we’ll radio you to hit her with another injection. Maybe we can reduce the dose a bit and keep her under just long enough to make it inside the lagoon.”
“Taylor-san?”
“It sounds like our best option.”
“Very good. You and Terry set-up a schedule; begin the first shift at four AM. Alphonse, I want you and Philip Prousnitzer to set up similar shifts at the harpoon gun.” Masao paused, listening to the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. “Is that a storm front moving in?”
Mac entered the bridge, having just refueled his chopper. “Not thunder, Masao. That’s the sound of helicopters. News choppers, five of ‘em to be exact, and there’s more coming. I’d say it’s gonna be mighty crowded around here by dawn.”
*
Frank Heller paused from his work, looking up at the television screen for the fourth time in the last hour to watch the latest news update:
“... two hundred feet below us, lying in a comatose state is the sixty-foot Megalodon, a monster responsible for at least a dozen deaths over the last forty-two days. From our view, you can clearly see the creature’s snowy-white hide, its skin almost luminescent in the lunar light.
“At her present course and speed, the heavily damaged Kiku is expected to reach the entrance of the Tanaka Lagoon sometime around dawn. Channel 8 News will be keeping a vigil all night, bringing you the latest on this breaking story. This is Michelle Cylwa, KSBW-TV, reporting live from the …”
“Turn it off already, Frank,” yelled Danielson. They were aboard the Magnate, assembling a homemade depth charge in the yacht’s exercise room. Danielson was hard at work, installing the fuse to the four-by-two-foot steel barrel. “Haven’t you had enough? You’ve been watching the same story all night.”
“You asked me to find out how deep the Meg is,” Heller said in his defense. “Did you expect me to swim out with a tape measure? From the camera angle, I’d guess she’s about a hundred and fifty to two hundred feet down. What kind of kill zone you rigging that charge with?”
“Enough to fry that fish and the rest of her kind. I’ve added extra amatol, which is rather primitive but highly explosive. The challenge will be getting close enough to make an accurate drop. We’ll have to rely on Harris for that. Where the hell is he anyway?”
“Up on deck. Did you hear the guy screaming in his sleep?”
“Half of San Francisco heard him. I’ll tell you something, Frank, I haven’t been sleeping well myself.”
“Relax, skipper, after tomorrow, you’ll be sleeping like a baby.”
*
Bud Harris stood by the starboard rail, staring at the reflection of moon on the black sea. The Magnate was anchored three hundred yards south of the Tanaka Lagoon, and in the lunar light, Bud could just make out the white concrete wall of the huge canal entrance.
“Maggie ...” Bud drained his beer as he watched small wakes lap at the hull. “Look what you’ve gotten me into. Hanging out with a bunch of navy bozos, playing war against some freakin’ fish.”
Bud tossed the empty can in the water and opened another. “Ahh, Maggs. Why couldn’t you have just dropped the stupid camera?” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Well, don’t worry, your man’s gonna kill that monster and cut out its eyes.” He turned, staggering past the grand spiral staircase to one of the guestrooms. Bud found he could no longer sleep in the yacht’s master suite. Maggie’s perfume still lingered, her presence too vivid. When the mission was over, he planned to sell the yacht and move back east.
Collapsing onto the queen-size bed, he passed out.
*
The two-foot albino-white dorsal fin cut the surface, circling the discarded aluminum can as it sank into the black waters of the sanctuary.
*
Aboard the Kiku
The Kiku crawled across the Pacific, listing twenty-eight degrees to port. All but two of the news helicopters had left, the others expected back by dawn as the ship moved within fourteen miles of the Tanaka lagoon.
Terry stood by the stern rail, staring at the soft white glow reflecting in the moonlight. Her hand caressed the switch controlling the air pressure feeding the net’s inflatable buoys.
“Be easy to do, wouldn’t it?”
Terry turned, surprised to find Jonas watching her.
“Release the net and she drowns. Been thinking about it myself. But it’s not what your brother would want.”
“Maybe it’s what I want.”
“Then do it.”
Terry fingered the controls. Her hand quivered.
Jonas placed his hand over hers. “It won’t bring him back.”
She turned to face him and wept. Jonas hugged her to his chest.
*
The female ascended slowly, rising through the gray curtains of light that could no longer harm her, her great caudal fin beating harder as she rose, her jaws agape.
At four hundred feet Jonas saw her rising through the blue underworld. The triangular head…the satanic grin. It was seven years ago and he was back on the Sea Cliff … only this was different, this time there was no retreat, no escape.
I’m going to die…
*
“Ahhhh.”
Jonas shot up in bed, bathed in sweat. Terry was next to him, wearing his grey Penn State tee-shirt. She had turned on the light and was now kneeling beside him.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded, struggling to find his voice.
“You screamed so loud, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Was it the same dream?”
He nodded again, then reached for the open bottle of water by the bed, his hand trembling. He thought about popping one of his yellow pills, then changed his mind.
“What time is it?”
She looked at her watch. “Three-forty. The first
shift starts in twenty minutes. It’s mine.”
“No.”
“Jonas, if these nightmares really are premonitions—”
“The dream takes place in the Abyss Glider during the day. If you really want to help me then let me have the pre-dawn shift. We can switch at sunrise.”
“Okay, that makes sense.” She straddled him, removing his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
She smiled. “We still have twenty minutes.”
*
Alphonse DeMarco loaded the injectable cartridge of pentobarbital and ketamine into the harpoon, then checked his watch again. Four-fifteen. Where was the man?
Terry approached, smiling. “Morning, Al.”
“Not yet it’s not, but it will be soon. Where the hell is Jonas?”
“He’s coming.”
Jonas hustled out of the Kiku’s infrastructure, zipping up his bio-suit. “Sorry. Forgot my good luck charm.” He held up the lead-gray fossilized Meg tooth.
DeMarco shook his head. “Ever hear of a rabbit’s foot?”
Jonas winked at Terry, fighting to take his eyes off her. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt happy.
He tucked the tooth inside a Velcro pouch over his chest, then he and Terry completed a visual inspection of the Abyss Glider. “Looks good. I’d better get going.”
“Don’t forget, I relieve you at sunrise.” She squeezed his hand, then leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Jonas, what I said before about you bringing bad karma to the mission … you know I didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, you did. But karma can change. I think it usually takes about twenty minutes.”
She smiled, watching him crawl inside the aft end of the glider.
DeMarco was standing by at the winch. He waited until Jonas sealed the hatch and gave a thumbs-up before reversing the cable, lifting the mini-sub off the tilted deck by its saddle.
Jonas held on as the A-frame swung him out over the Kiku’s stern. For a long moment he swayed, DeMarco allowing gravity to rectify the awkward angle of the A-frame before lowering the glider into the dark waters of the Pacific.