Praise for KRONOS RISING
“A word to the wise: if you bite your nails, you’d better wear oven mitts when reading Kronos Rising. It will drag you down to the depths of fear and take you back for a breath of air as fast as you can turn the pages. Readers beware: a new master of marine terror is in your bookstore, and his name is Max Hawthorne!”
–Stan Pottinger, NY Times Bestselling author of THE BOSS
“Max Hawthorne explores the sinister side of the dark abyssal world with a new kind of beast, one that makes white sharks and giant squid as threatening as guppies and tadpoles.”
–Doug Olander, Editor-in-Chief, Sport Fishing Magazine
“Until today, the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean remained an impossible mystery. But no more – a violent earthquake has finally unleashed a wonderfully horrific secret waiting to eat you alive. From the opening scene of black market shark hunters invading forbidden waters, Kronos Rising sweeps you onto a surprising, wildly inventive, thrill ride. A fabulous debut by Max Hawthorne. Simply put, it’s got teeth. Big ones!”
–Chris Parker, screenwriter (Vampire in Brooklyn,
Mulan II, Battle of the Year, Heaven is for Real)
“What a ride! An adrenaline pumping, non-stop descent into terror, Kronos Rising will do for this generation what “JAWS” did for the last one. Forget going into the water; I’m not going near it!”
–Mara Corday, sci-fi classic star of Tarantula,
The Black Scorpion, and The Giant Claw
Praise for MEMOIRS OF A GYM RAT
“Max Hawthorne’s raunchy, revealing memoir is certain to induce bouts of calorie-burning laughter, embarrassed grins, and reconsiderations of one’s gym membership. A smutty and enjoyable exposé of life behind health club doors, Memoirs of a Gym Rat is both a scandalizing and edifying read.”
–Foreword Clarion Reviews
Also by Max Hawthorne
MEMOIRS OF A GYM RAT
Kronos Rising is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2005 by Max Hawthorne, Registration Number: TXu001299236
Updated Version: Copyright © 2013 by Max Hawthorne
ISBN-13: 9780615964959
ISBN-10: 0615964958
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information contact:Far From the Tree Press LLC.
Published in the United States by: Far From the Tree Press, LLC.
Visit Far From the Tree Press, LLC online at: www.farfromthetreepress.com
First Edition
Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “lost and destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
For Ramona, in loving memory.
“None is so fierce that dare stir him up. Round about his teeth is terror. His back is made of rows of shields, his scales cannot be sundered. In his neck abides strength, and terror dances before him…When he raiseth himself up, the mighty are afraid… He maketh the deep to boil like a pot. Upon earth is not his like, a creature without fear.”
-- Job 41:12-34 --
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It is with great pride that I acknowledge the following individuals for their support and/or contributions.
First and foremost, I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude to my publishers at Far From the Tree Press. Thanks for believing in me and my book.
A special thanks to my assorted publicity and marketing contacts. Without their tireless toiling, many would never know this book exists. I’d also like to extend my sincere appreciation to Satish Kodavali and his team over at Eprosoft, for manufacturing such a superb web site for Kronos Rising.
I’d like to give a shout-out to my shark-fishing buddy, NFL great Anthony Corvino, and a big “Rock on!” to screenwriter Chris Parker, for taking the time to guide a neophyte author along the dimly-lit path to creativity. Also, all my best to Family Guy former executive producer David Goodman, who helped show me how to take a run-of-the-mill story and make it great.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the individuals who were kind enough to read and contribute to Kronos Rising during its infancy. This includes my father Joe, my brother Stephen, and my often-verbose colleague, Chris Molluso. Without their combined efforts, this book would not be what it is today.
I am forever indebted to my one-and-only “Maestra of Typos,” Hollywood screen legend, Mara Corday. Thank you for giving me much-needed feedback, for fine-tuning my manuscript, and for being such a good friend. I look forward to your book.
Lest I forget, a sincere thank you to paleo-artist Joshua Ballze, who weathered all of my “constructive criticism” and still managed to come up with a superb piece of cover art. Thanks, Josh!
Last, but certainly not least, to my incredibly supportive family: my eternal devotion. And to all of my readers out there: Thank you for your support. I’m honored to serve you. You have my solemn promise to always do my best to keep you entertained.
Max Hawthorne
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
EPILOGUE
GLOSSARY OF NAUTICAL/MARINE TERMS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ONE
The predator hunted.
Poised atop pearl-black seas as flat as a field of asphalt, the Oshima drifted alone in the darkness, one hundred and sixty miles off the coast of Florida.
From his vantage point, high above the ship’s helm, Haruto Nakamura watched as the slaughter continued across the deck below him. He breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of fresh blood blending with the warm sea air. Off to one side, a dark splash of movement in their searchlights caught his eye. He turned, nodding his approval. Despite a ferocious struggle, another catch was being hauled aboard by the ship’s foremost starboard-side hoist, its streamlined form thrashing violently back and forth as it was wrenched from the depths.
It was a blue – a big one. The fish’s thirteen-foot body came crashing to the deck with a thud reminiscent of a soaked bag of cement. Overhead, the hoist’s arm hummed as it released its hold on the hissing creature. The sounds of the blue’s impact and subsequent writhing were punctuated by the encouraging voices of nearby crewmen as two pole men moved in.
Haruto watched with interest as the men lunged
forward. Avoiding the blade-like tail and snapping jaws, they used their crescent-tipped tools to pin the quarter-ton fish tightly against the nearest railing. Deprived of oxygen, its efforts quickly subsided. With the majority of the danger removed, the stony-faced cutters moved in and went to work. Soon, new rivulets sprayed like crimson spider webs across the once pristine deck.
Backlit by the ship’s powerful searchlights, Haruto smiled.
He surveyed the forward portion of the ship once more, then pulled back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. Adjusting his captain’s hat, he rested his hands atop the railing in front of him, his index finger caressing its freshly painted surface.
“She’s turned out even better than expected. Yes, Captain?”
Haruto glanced over to see Sagato smiling as he climbed up the metal rung ladder leading from the helm to the observation tower. He nodded almost imperceptibly as his first mate moved to his side, then returned to his surveillance.
Sagato waited a moment before clearing his throat, then held out the clipboard he was carrying. “I have our current tallies, sir.”
Haruto wordlessly accepted the clipboard. He scanned it, nodded, and then handed it back. His lips were a tight line. The numbers were excellent; no doubt the reason behind his young first mate’s enthusiastic demeanor.
Suddenly, a small photograph slipped out of the stack of papers, catching the captain’s eye as it fluttered leaf-like to the floor. He glanced down and raised an eyebrow.
Flushed with embarrassment, Sagato knelt to pick it up.
“Sorry, captain,” he stammered, fumbling to put the picture inside his uniform shirt pocket. “I forgot it was in there.”
“May I?” Haruto’s question was accentuated by the flailing of a seven-foot dusky as it vaulted over the port side and hit the deck in a shower of blood and salt spray.
“Uh . . . yes, of course, captain.” Sagato bowed and handed the photo to his superior with both hands.
Haruto accepted it politely. He held it close, using the whiteness of the searchlights to illuminate it. “Your wife and son?”
Sagato nodded.
Haruto noticed the tiny beads of perspiration forming on his first mate’s forehead. He nodded. “An attractive woman and a strong young boy. You are fortunate to have such a family.”
“Thank you, Haruto-san.” Sagato took the photo back, beaming at the praise and bowing low. “But you should know that you and the Oshima are just as much my family.”
“Really?” The captain gave him an appraising look. “Well, she is a good ship.”
“Yes sir. You of all people should know.”
“Indeed. Very well, Sagato. You may resume your duties. I will join you on the bridge shortly to discuss your figures.”
“Yes, sir.”
Haruto nodded again as his first mate bowed and turned to leave. He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Sagato placed the photo in his shirt pocket and carefully buttoned it.
Haruto found himself smiling. He liked Sagato, which said a lot. Despite his relative youth, he was proving himself to be an intelligent and able-bodied officer, one with the unique ability to magically appear at his captain’s side whenever he was needed. His energy and devotion were boundless – an impressive feat. Especially considering his newly assigned position kept him at sea for months on end, away from the wife and young son that, despite his words, meant the world to him.
A commotion below caused Haruto to look down just in time to see the dusky being tossed back over the rail. He nodded approvingly at the men responsible, then turned and headed for the ladder that led to the ship’s helm.
As he made his way toward the bridge, Sagato Atsushi struggled to rein himself in. The excitement he was feeling was almost more than he could bear. The Oshima was successful beyond expectation. In fact, the shiny two-hundred-and-forty foot vessel with her twin 1,600 horsepower diesels was fast becoming the pride of her company’s notorious lineup.
At the forefront of her elite crew’s growing pride was their renowned captain. Ever since he’d worked the docks as a teenager, Sagato had heard tales about Captain Nakamura. They said he was the descendant of ancient samurai lineage, a shogun in fact, who could find fish by simply sniffing the breeze; fish-finders and other man-made instruments were for average men.
Sagato believed the stories. He’d seen the ancient swords the silver-haired Okinawan kept in his stateroom. And his carriage and demeanor certainly fit the bill. Samurai warlord or no, the captain of the Oshima was a living legend revered throughout the country’s well known fishing community. He was a hard but fair man, one who valued discipline and dedication above all things. He’d trained many of the fleet’s current fishing captains, men Sagato had personally served under. It was said that good fortune followed both the man and those who served under him. For that reason alone, Sagato fought hard to obtain his current position. The young first mate was brimming with ambition. With a successful run as the Oshima’s first mate, it was just a matter of time before he was awarded a command of his own, and the measure of success that came with it.
So far, everything seemed to be falling in place. Their ship had been blessed with tranquil weather and bountiful seas since leaving port. He smiled, secure in the knowledge he would succeed. His wife and son would never suffer the poverty he had in his youth.
Suddenly, another prize hit the deck. Sagato grimaced as the crew pounced. Although he didn’t approve of what they were doing, it was the reason they came. Unlike the regular fishing boats that spent long days in Japan’s coastal waters pulling in tuna or flounder, the Oshima was a long-range huntress that preferred to stalk her prey in distant seas, and under cover of darkness. Her crew was after something far more dangerous and profitable than mere flounder.
They were after sharks. Not the whole shark – which took up too much valuable hold space. They wanted only the fins. It didn’t matter if their victims were bulls, threshers, or even great whites. With bowls of shark fin soup going for a hundred dollars apiece back home, the profits were astronomical. The ship’s gigantic freezers were filling up at record speed with assorted pectoral and dorsal fins.
He entered the bridge and nodded to the helmsman and radar/sonar operator. They were grinning ear to ear. It was a good time for those onboard the Oshima. The crew was happy, the captain was pleased, and the investors were ecstatic. Business was booming, and the Yen was rolling in off the water.
Of course, no one cared that their entire operation was illegal.
The bridge crew sprang to their feet, snapping to attention as Haruto walked in.
“As you were,” he commanded. Then, to the helmsman: “How’s our drift?”
“Textbook perfect, captain,” came the reply. “We’re moving south-southeast with the tide. Drift speed is one point seven knots.”
Haruto nodded as Sagato took position by his side. He glanced at their radar/sonar station. “Anything to report?”
The acoustics operator’s eagle eyes never left his screens. “Nothing of any significance, sir. I have a large reading holding position a hundred meters off our bow. It’s stationary sir, probably a mass of kelp or debris drifting along with us.”
“I’m interested in ships, ensign. Not seaweed.”
“Uh, yes sir,” the tech swallowed. “I have . . . one large ship, heading away from our position and moving due east. She’s traveling at fifteen knots.”
“How large?”
“Very large, sir. Container ship size.”
Haruto tensed, his brow furrowing up. He peered over the operator’s shoulder, intently studying his radar screen. “Military?”
“No, sir. At least I don’t think so. I’ve been monitoring their transmissions. It appears to be a luxury liner of some kind.”
“Humph. Very well then, but keep an eye on that scope, ensign,” Haruto said. “Economic Exclusive Zone or not, we’re far enough from U.S. territorial waters that the Coast Guard shouldn’t be a problem. That being said, t
he last thing I’d like is to have an unexpected run-in with their navy.”
“Aye, sir!”
Haruto moved to the rear of the bridge, gesturing for Sagato to follow him. He glanced back at the remainder of the bridge crew, waiting for his second-in-command to draw closer.
“Captain, are you really that worried about the Americans?” Sagato’s eyes were wider than normal.
Haruto waved off the question. “I don’t want them taking us off guard and concocting a reason to board us. We could lose everything. Our cargo . . . even the ship. If we have to, we’ll cut our cables and ditch our lines.”
“I see, sir. Don’t worry. I’ll stay on top of them.”
Haruto nodded. He looked back toward the helm, his brow lines tightening, then leaned in closer to his first mate. “On to another point, Sagato. I’ve been reviewing your projections. Based on the unprecedented tallies you’ve shown me, we are catching many species of shark that should not even be in these waters, and in record numbers.” Haruto glanced speculatively at him. “What are your thoughts?”
“My thoughts, Haruto-san?”
“Yes, Sagato,” Haruto said. “We seem to be experiencing a mass migration of sea life. The whalers and white-tips I expect. But we’ve brought in bull sharks and lemons – shallow water predators that should be circling the Bahamas or Cuba right now. What do you think is causing it?”
“I wouldn’t dare speculate on such a thing, captain.”
“But I insist, Sagato.”
“Um, I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s the current changes brought on by global warming. Or maybe–”
Sagato stopped in mid-sentence, his hand springing up to his earpiece.
“Sagato?”
“I’m sorry, captain. There’s a call from the watch commander.”
“Yes?”
“Your reputation for good fortune continues. Portside hoist number two just reported a huge shark on the line.”
Haruto forced down the smile that threatened to crease the corners of his mouth. “Ah yes, my reputation . . . did they say what kind of shark it is?”
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 1