“They’re not sure, sir . . . but they think it’s a monster mako.”
Haruto nodded. “Very well, that is good news. You go on down. I’ll be there in a minute to join you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Watching as his first mate bounded out of the room, Haruto moved over to stand next to the helmsman. Suddenly, he turned toward their sonar operator.
“Anything on the scope?”
“I have a fairly strong signal coming from a fish being hauled in by one of our hoists, sir. The cruise ship has moved out of range. Other than that drifting mass of flotsam, I see nothing.”
“Very well, ensign. Keep up the good work.”
The operator turned towards Haruto. “Yes, captain.”
As Haruto left the bridge, neither he nor his sonar tech noticed the flotsam had changed position.
As Haruto made quick strides past one of the starboard hoists, he slipped in a thick pool of shark’s blood. He cursed and made a desperate grab for a nearby bulkhead to keep from falling. Ahead of him, several members of a nearby hoist’s crew were pointing and laughing. He followed their line of sight. Two of their comrades were hard at work, prying loose the jaws of a six-foot hammerhead that clamped down on the top railing before they could heave it over the side. Suspended tail-down over the waters below, the lacerated fish clung like a pit bull, while the frustrated crewmen pried away at its jaws with their tools. From forty feet away, Haruto could hear the sounds of teeth cracking as they tore through the railing’s paint and into the metal beneath. A sudden wrench and the hammerhead came loose, plummeting down toward the darkness that waited. The crewmen cheered.
Haruto looked down. To his surprise, he could see himself quite clearly in the crimson puddle at his feet. He studied his reflection, particularly the convoluted worry lines that creased his brow like old tire treads. He closed his eyes for a moment and found himself pondering the full impact of what they were doing.
Shark finning had been banned in most international waters for a decade or more. In his private thoughts, Haruto conceded that the waste they were responsible for was beyond abhorrent. The sharks they were slaughtering were highly sought-after food species whose flesh could feed untold thousands. But instead, they were simply dumped back into the ocean, spiraling straight to the bottom to drown.
Haruto’s eyes snapped open and his expression hardened. He straightened up, waving a hand before him as if dismissing such unproductive thoughts. In the end, it was all about the money. When the numbers were tallied up, shark meat just didn’t bring enough. The profits from finning operations were too great to resist. Back in Washington, they could pass any laws they wanted, but with the Oshima and her ilk drifting in international waters a hundred or more miles from land, the ban was impossible to enforce.
He continued on. As he approached the bow section, he watched as the foremost starboard hoist yanked a frantically struggling sea turtle clear of the water and deposited it on the deck. Within seconds, the winch’s crew tore the hook free and hurled the traumatized chelonian back over the side. They had the oversized hook re-baited and ready to go before the baby loggerhead hit the water.
The captain nodded in silent acknowledgment of their practiced efficiency with the ship’s revolutionary catch-and-cull technique. Traditional long liner methods involved using several miles of steel hooks and leaders, baited and set to drift beneath floats that indiscriminately caught anything the ocean had to offer. The Oshima’s cunning design utilized a far more exacting approach.
As was tradition, the ship’s crew put out a vast chum slick of ground-up fish parts, blood and oil measuring dozens of miles in length. But instead of using hooks and floats, they drifted back large chunks of bait, hooked to steel lines directly anchored to eight onboard winches. Each winch and its accompanying hoist had its own separate diesel engine and operator, and was backed by a thousand yards of 20,000 pound test steel cable. With a pulling capacity of five tons, the winches dragged in the biggest sharks with ease, depositing them in the hands of the waiting crew. They quickly maneuvered the big fish up over the side for dismemberment, mercilessly hacking and carving.
To Haruto, the winch technique was gloriously cutting edge, and not just because he designed it. It eliminated unwanted by-catch such as marlin, porpoises and seals, and brought many more sharks to the boat. It also replaced thousands of yards of expensive rigged line. Rigging that was hard to conceal, and would have to be abandoned if the authorities showed up.
Haruto’s winches were the way of the future. They had transformed the Oshima into what she was: a floating, shark fin-culling factory that worked non-stop to haul in the ocean’s top predators, strip them of their mobility, and then toss them back, spurting blood, into the surrounding seas.
They were also the reason why something far more dangerous had been shadowing the ship for hours.
Drawn to the big steel vessel by its infallible sense of smell, the creature lurked a hundred yards off the Oshima’s bow. It remained just beneath the waves, its huge body hidden from view. Initially focused on procuring one or more of the warm-blooded bipeds that scurried atop the vessel’s uppermost regions, it was wary of the painfully bright lights that continually scanned the water’s black surface.
Hesitant to move any closer, it remained where it was, descending every so often to inhale one of the still-writhing prey items that periodically drifted in its direction. Famished from its long swim up the Straits of Florida, the offerings were a welcome source of protein for the giant predator. Unfortunately, the sharks it devoured were only beginning to quench the searing furnace that burned within its belly.
Then, something garnered its full attention.
Deep down, a much larger fish had also responded to the overpowering scent of blood in the water, and was slowly being hauled from the depths.
Peering stealthily above the surface of the water, the creature could see a group of the tiny mammals gathering together on the ship. Scanning the rapidly fading fish below as it continued to ascend, the behemoth sounded with a hiss.
TWO
Haruto could see excitement brewing on the decks of the Oshima. The news of an exceptionally large shark on the line had spread like wildfire. Especially, since it was said the fish might be a mako, a sign of continuing good fortune. At least two dozen officers and sailors crowded around the hardworking winch crew in order to observe the action. They snapped alert as their captain appeared, parting like the Red Sea.
“Well, Sagato?” Haruto asked. He turned toward his first mate, who took up position at his left.
“Definitely a big mako, Captain,” Sagato announced confidently. He spoke loudly enough for all to hear, then angled his head and lowered his voice. “Very unusual for these waters though, sir. Especially this time of year.”
“Indeed.”
A crewman’s exuberant shout interrupted the two men. “I think I see it!”
Haruto and Sagato moved toward the railing to observe the final moments of the spectacle.
According to the crew’s log, the powerful fish had waged its losing battle against the hoist’s relentless strength for nearly three minutes. Astonishingly, several times it even managed to pull a few yards of line from the diesel-powered device’s oversized drag system. Now, however, the winch’s retrieval speed was becoming smooth and constant; a sign the big shark had exhausted itself and was being hauled in for butchering. Everyone present stared over the railing into the searchlight-illuminated depths, all striving to be the first to lay eyes upon the Oshima’s latest prize.
His eyes straining against the glare of their lights, Haruto caught a vague glimpse of something deep down. It was a shimmering flash of white and silver that could barely be seen. It’s our shark, he thought. Then, he noticed something moving rapidly toward it. Something bigger than the mako – much bigger.
As Haruto gaped, the partially obscured shape of the thrashing fish abruptly vanished from view. The winch cable shifted noisily and the
n started to shiver. Watching in disbelief, the nearby crewmen started chattering wildly amongst themselves, jumping up and down as they pointed and shouted about how something had just eaten their shark. Tales of snagged whales and sailor-devouring sea serpents began to circulate, with some of the more senior crewmembers scoffing at the ridiculous speculation.
That was, until the impossible occurred.
With a horrific groan, the entire ship lurched to one side, sending anyone and anything that wasn’t anchored to the decks slipping and sliding toward the vessel’s heavy-duty, four-foot-high railing. Caught with his arm extended over the top of the rail, Haruto slammed into the metal barrier. He saw a flash of white and felt a searing pain in his side. He cursed, realizing he cracked some ribs.
He collapsed to the deck, fighting the exquisite agony that shot through his side, and stared in astonishment at the thick steel cable behind him being wrenched from its spool. Its progress was slow at first, but then the cable’s speed accelerated. The winch’s complaining sound grew ever louder, until it seemed as if a nuclear submarine was attached to the other end.
Screaming to be heard over the racket, Haruto scrambled to his feet and ordered the winch thrown into maximum reverse power, in an attempt to stop the headlong flight of whatever was on the other end. The bug-eyed technician swallowed hard and nodded, then seized the resistance meter lever with sweaty hands and hauled back on it with his entire weight.
Nothing happened.
Haruto drew closer, pushing crewmen out of his way. His eyes went wide in disbelief. Another hundred yards of his indestructible cable screamed off the giant spool like fishing line. Barking orders, he watched as two crewmen hosed down the now-smoking hoist with the high pressure washes used to clean sharks’ blood and skin particles off the metal decks.
Despite his decades of experience, Haruto found himself on the verge of panic. The winch spool was down to less than two hundred yards with no sign of slowing, and the overheated engine was straining to maintain resistance. If he didn’t shut it down, the expensive diesel would burn out. And if he shut it down, the cable would continue to be stripped until its backing was gone.
Then anything was possible. The creature on the other end of the line might become exhausted, allowing them to retrieve their gear, and it as well. Or, the cable could snap, maiming or killing anyone standing close by. Haruto was betting on the latter. From what he had already seen, whatever they hooked into, be it an unfortunate whale or the Kraken itself, it appeared to be unstoppable.
Dismissing the notion of trying to cut the thick cable with a nearby fire axe, he took one final glance at the near-empty spool and made up his mind. He had no choice. He turned to order his men to clear the area and cut the power in order to save the engine.
Before he could utter his command, the cable ran out. There was an incredibly loud twanging noise, and the sound of straining steel was replaced by thunder, as the five-ton winch assembly and its housing was ripped off the Oshima’s swaying decks. Too fast to follow, it slammed into the nearby railing, heading straight for the moonlit seas beyond. Its deafening impact on the reinforced rail drowned out the screams of those who, unable to dive from its path, were scattered like ten pins.
Wild-eyed and trembling, Haruto sucked in a breath and clutched his side as he made it to his feet. Beneath him, the deck continued to rise and fall. His captain’s hat was gone, and his immaculate white officer’s jacket was now stained with soot and oil. All around, dazed men tried to stand, a few slipping on the viscous layer of shark’s blood that coated the deck. Several men lay where they were, unable to move, their agonized cries echoing across the surrounding waters.
Haruto fought down a powerful wave of nausea and dropped down next to the nearest, a pole-man who desperately cradled his left thigh with both hands.
“Are you alright?”
“I don’t know . . . sir!” The man grimaced, his ashen face a mask of untold agony.
At Haruto’s gesturing, the man hesitantly removed his hands. Instantly, a fountain of arterial blood sprayed from his leg, striking the captain directly in the face. A wicked looking hunk of steel from one of their tools protruded from the man’s thigh. He gasped aloud, desperately trying to stem the flow.
“Good God!” Haruto wiped at the blood that ran down his cheek and chin. He reached over and placed his own hands atop the man’s, increasing the pressure on the wound. He looked around and frowned. For the first time he could remember, his first mate was nowhere to be seen. “Sagato,” he yelled, “get a medical team up here at once!”
There was no answer.
“Sagato!” Haruto gestured hurriedly for another crewman to take over for him as he hunted for his second. “Sagato, where the hell are you?”
“He’s . . . over here, sir.”
Haruto turned in the direction of a nearby deckhand. The man was standing next to what was left of the ruined hoist, his arms tightly clutching his ribcage, his back pressed against the ship’s railing. He was trembling, his skin the color of cream.
“Where is he?” Haruto demanded, looking in every direction but seeing no one.
“There, sir,” the man said. He pointed to the blown-out section of railing obscured by the hoist’s wreckage.
Haruto stopped in his tracks.
Unable to fling himself clear in time, the Oshima’s first mate had been caught in the winch’s path as the pickup truck-sized assembly came crashing into the railing, burying itself in the heavy barrier and deforming it until five feet of twisted steel bulged out over the waters below. With no chance to escape, Sagato was entombed in the wreckage, his body crushed from the chest down. His death had been instantaneous.
Unable to move, Haruto stood there staring, his disbelieving eyes locked onto Sagato’s glazed-over ones. Try as he might, he was unable to pull himself away from the ghastly visage. He could barely hear the sounds of the wounded or the cries of the ship’s medical team as they fought to give aid to their injured comrades.
Finally, he shook it off and grabbed at the man nearest to him. “Get these wounded men down to the medical station at once! And I want all of this debris cleared up!”
“Yes, sir!”
Haruto gave Sagato a parting bow, then turned to face the watch commander approaching him. The man was moving in an s-shaped pattern as he drew closer, avoiding limping crewmen and stretcher crews as they arrived on the scene.
“Captain Nakamura, Watch Commander Iso Hayama, reporting for duty,” he said, his body rigid and eyes straight ahead as he saluted.
Haruto reached for the clipboard Iso held under his arm. He scanned it and handed it back. “I need a casualty report from you in five minutes, commander. I want to know how many wounded and how many dead.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Before you provide me with that, I want you to go around to all the hoist crews and have them retract their lines. Tell them to prepare to get under way.”
“Go around, sir? You mean, in person?”
“That’s right, commander. I don’t want any overhead announcements. I want you to inform the crews personally.”
Iso looked bewildered, but nodded as he turned to go.
“Watch Commander?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Whatever did this is still out there,” Haruto said. He gestured with a blood-spattered arm at the winch’s wreckage, then out at the darkened seas behind him. “I don’t plan on losing any more of my winches to it. We’re moving, quickly and quietly. I don’t want any more panic on our hands than we already have.”
“Aye, sir.” Iso hesitated, his gaze wandering back to the downed hoist.
“Is there something wrong, commander?”
“Oh, no, captain. It’s just that I was wondering–”
“Wondering, what?”
“Well, I was wondering what we’re going to do about . . .”
Haruto followed his eyes. “I see. Don’t worry, commander. Mr. Sagato will be properly seen to.”
>
“Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Haruto watched him go, before turning to the shaken deckhand who remained by the railing. He was young, sixteen at most. “Ensign, come here.”
“Yes, captain?”
“What is your name?”
“Akira Hidari, captain.” The teen’s hand trembled as he struggled to pull off a salute.
“Ensign Hidari, I know we’ve all suffered a terrible shock, but I need you to pull yourself together,” Haruto said. He fixed him with a stare. “The Oshima is wounded, and she and I need your help. Now, I need to know that we can count on you. Can we, sailor?”
“Yes, sir!” The boy puffed out his chest, trying hard to control his rapid breathing.
“Very well then, ensign. I have an assignment for you. I need you to get a crew of welders up here, as soon as the wounded have been cleared from the area.”
“Welders, captain?”
“Yes, welders. I’m not about to leave our first mate to the gulls,” Haruto said, nodding his head in the direction of the still-smoking hoist. “There’s no other way to free him.”
Ensign Hidari glanced fearfully at Sagato’s still-bleeding remains. The look of agony on the dead man’s face was enough to make anyone cringe. He swallowed hard and nodded to his captain. A quick salute, and he turned and vanished from view.
Haruto paused for a moment, taking in a few deep breaths while he mulled over his next course of action. He had a few minutes before the hoist crews finished. Walking over to the destroyed winch assembly, he willed himself to ignore Sagato’s stare and peered out at the darkened seas beyond. To his surprise, the winch’s cable was still attached to the spool. It was so close; if it wasn’t for the wreckage, he could have reached out and touched it.
Suddenly, he spotted a pair of men he recognized from a nearby hoist. His eyebrows lowered. “You two, come here at once.”
“Yes, sir?” the men said as one.
“Shift your hoist’s arm in this direction. I want a splice made between your cable and this one.”
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 2