Jake reached over and rested a hand on his deputy’s shoulder. “Forget it. She’s not worth it. You’ve got a heart of gold, and you deserve better. Besides, people like that usually get what they deserve.”
Chris took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and nodded.
They spent the next few minutes cruising in silence. As they circled the farthest point of the marina, Jake’s eyes narrowed. He threw the Infidel into neutral, grabbed his binoculars, and scanned the channel, focusing his lenses on the Harbinger. He spotted a large flatbed tractor-trailer pulling up directly adjacent to the big whaler with a covered load, and several members of her crew coming down to meet it.
Jake turned to his deputy. “Hey, kid . . . I think I’m going to stick around for a while and check out a few things.”
“Um, okay . . .”
“Don’t worry. I know you’re itching to get home,” Jake nodded. “If I drop you off at the landing, do you think you can find a way back to your car and meet me here in the morning?”
“No problem, chief. I’ll just call my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend and have her pick me up. Probably cost me dinner or something.” Chris paused thoughtfully. He cracked one knuckle hesitantly, then checked his pants pockets. “Um . . . hey, Jake, can you lend me another twenty bucks until payday? Please?”
“Oh, brother.” Jake made a show of rolling his eyes as he reached for his wallet and turned the Infidel back toward shore.
Ten minutes later, Jake piloted the Infidel next to the Harbinger’s deepwater mooring. Slowing to a crawl, he pulled up beside the enormous, barnacle-coated pilings that supported the ancient steel and cement dock. Ignoring the sun’s oppressive rays, he grabbed hold of the closest piling and tied his bobbing craft to a pair of cleats. He donned his shades and checked his watch before climbing the nearest ladder.
Paradise Cove Pier, or, “the fishing pier,” as it was known to the locals, who caught snapper and jacks all along its one hundred yard length, was an ambitious, early twentieth century construct. Situated right along the drop-off point that separated Paradise Cove from the sound, proper, the pier was immensely popular with tourists and anglers.
As a dock though, it saw little activity. Elevated fifteen feet above the high tide mark, the cove side of the pier was universally rejected by boat slip renters, who turned their noses up at the idea of climbing a slippery ladder every time they wanted to use their vessels. There were more convenient slips readily available. Actually, the only docking use the pier ever experienced occurred when a large ship such as the Harbinger arrived.
Jake grabbed the gull dropping-encrusted railing at the top of the ladder and vaulted onto the hard surface of the pier. He was surprised to find no one in sight, especially since there was a miniature submarine resting on the flatbed he’d spotted earlier.
Moving over to the big tractor-trailer, he scrutinized the vessel it carried. At seven feet in width and over twenty feet in length, the gleaming white submersible was something Jake had never seen before. Cylindrical in shape, the William rested on two metallic pontoons, assumedly used to control the vessel’s ballast. There was a large prop and rudder assembly comprising the aft section, and a small conning tower to direct movement located centrally above the craft.
What Jake found to be the most interesting part of the tiny sub was its prow. Shielded by four intersecting tubular pieces of steel, the nose of the William consisted of a five-foot wide hemisphere of some lightly tinted material that formed an observation bubble. Shielded from the ocean’s deadly effects, its occupants could view the surrounding sea with ease. Extending out from beneath this bubble was a pair of long metal arms equipped with pincers on their ends and an array of underwater cameras and lights.
Jake shielded his eyes with one hand in an attempt to block out the sun’s glare. He pressed his forehead against the bubble and peered inside, trying to discern the helm’s layout. The tinting made it difficult to see, but he could make out a pair of contoured chairs. There was a confusing array of equipment arranged toward the nose of the sub, and the equipment designs were like nothing he’d ever seen. Fascinated, Jake continued to study them, straining his eyes in an effort to make out details. Just then, vice-like fingers dug deep into his shoulder.
“What ya tink ya doin, mon?”
Caught off guard, Jake glimpsed a hulking male figure brandishing a heavy wrench. A lifetime of martial arts training took over. Spinning around, he tore his attacker’s hand free with a circular motion and twisted it about, maneuvering the trapped limb into an agonizing wrist and elbow lock that brought the yelping man to his knees.
As he noticed the wrench was still in his attacker’s hand, Jake dramatically increased pressure on the imprisoned arm. He heard a loud scream, accompanied by the satisfying clatter of metal as the heavy weapon dropped from nerveless fingers.
“Aargh! Gosh, mon, what da hell ya doin?” his opponent sputtered struggling ineffectually to rise.
“What am I doing? You see this?” Jake freed one hand and yanked his shirt tail up, exposing his badge. “In the future, you might want to take a good look at who you’re dealing with before you start putting your hands on people.”
An alarmed voice called out, “Jake? What the heck is going on?”
Looking up, Jake saw Amara Takagi walking nervously in his direction with two men in tow. One he recognized as Stanley Berkowitz, the sniveling bill collector. The other, from his dress and mannerisms, had to be the flatbed driver.
“Afternoon, Dr. Takagi,” Jake said through his teeth. He realized to his annoyance he’d left his handcuffs onboard, and tried to look as nonchalant as possible. “Sorry about the intrusion. I’m just having a little conversation with someone. Be out of your hair in a minute.”
“A conversation?” Amara repeated. She moved surprisingly close to the two struggling men. “Well Jake, if you could finish having your ‘discussion’ with my first mate, I could really use his help getting this thing loaded.” She gestured toward the mini-sub.
“First mate, huh?” Jake asked. “Well, if he’s going to go around assaulting people, maybe you should keep him on the ship.” He nodded at the fallen wrench for emphasis.
“Jake, I honestly don’t think Willie was trying to attack you. He probably thought you were snooping around our very expensive DSOV. And this,” she picked up the discarded tool, hefting it for effect, “is what we use to attach our winch assembly in order to bring her onboard. Now, can you let him go, please? We plan to sail in the morning, and we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
The sincerity on Amara’s face quickly convinced Jake of the truth. He relinquished his grip and reached down to help the disheveled man to his feet.
Obviously embarrassed, the Harbinger’s first mate avoided making eye contact with Jake. Sullenly rubbing his wrist, he looked to Amara for support.
“Thanks, Jake,” she explained. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to introduce you guys. Unfortunately, I was being forced to address Mr. Harcourt’s outrageous docking bill.” Behind her, Stanley Berkowitz fretted, his weasel-like appearance the same as always. “Do you have any idea how much this character is charging us for our brief stay?”
“I can only imagine.” Jake glanced at Stanley and fought back a smirk. He turned toward the tall fellow in the Bahamian shirt and khakis and extended his hand. “Sheriff Jake Braddock. Sorry about all of this. I hope you’ll be decent enough to accept my apology for the misunderstanding.”
“No problem, mon,” the big Jamaican replied. He hesitantly took Jake’s hand. “I understand how tings looked.”
“Jake, this is Willie Daniels,” Amara said, beaming so brightly she lightened everyone’s mood. “He’s my second in command and co-designer of the twelve million dollars of unbridled excitement you see lying before you.” She spread her arms wide, trying to take in the entire mini-sub with the gesture.
“A pleasure, Willie,” Jake nodded. He followed Amara’s stare back to the unusual craft. “So, what exactly is thi
s thing? A DSOV, you called it?”
“Deep Submersible Observation Vehicle,” Amara said. She leaned her head back, catching Jake off guard with her smile. “The William weighs just over six tons. She’s got both battery and diesel power, can carry up to four passengers including pilot and manipulator, and has a top submerged speed of five knots. With over four hundred hours of total life support, she’s going to be our eyes and ears for an exciting new age of cetacean studies.”
Jake nodded, impressed with her pride in the gleaming white craft. “The William, you said?” he asked, looking at Willie. “Named after you?”
“Actually, da wee sub is named after da great bard himself,” Willie said, bowing at the waist as he continued. “As am I honored ta be.”
“The bard?”
“William Shakespeare, Jake,” Amara said. “Mr. Daniels here is the world’s biggest Shakespeare fan.”
Jake pursed his lips and nodded. “Really?”
“Oh, really,” Amara continued with a smirk. “In fact, I don’t know how I’d survive some of those boring days at sea, sitting around and waiting for something to come within range of our cameras and acoustics, if I didn’t have him quoting Hamlet all day.”
“I see,” Jake said. “And the design thing? I thought you said you studied whales? You design submarines too?”
Amara laughed, “No, Jake. I told you I have a degree in underwater robotics, which has nothing to do with submersible design. The main portion of our mini-sub is a standard construct made by an affiliated offshore manufacturer.”
She ran her hands over the William’s prow as she spoke. “Our big contribution,” she said, pointing to Willie and herself, “was in the design for the manipulators.”
“The arms?” Jake pointed at the six-foot long extensions.
“Exactly. We have a state-of-the-art, neurologically linked control system that lets the manipulator’s operator control the mechanical arms as if they were his or her own. And with just as much control and dexterity, I might add. With a little practice . . .” She raised one eyebrow for effect. “You could pick up an egg with one of these things without breaking it.”
“Remind me to never let you make me breakfast.” Jake’s face colored the moment the words left his lips. “I mean, not that you’d be interested in cooking me breakfast . . .”
Amara grinned. “Actually, if you experienced my culinary skills, I don’t think you’d be interested.” She winked at Willie. “Right?”
Her first mate leaned forward, palms on his thighs, and chortled like a braying sea lion. “It’s true, mon. I taught her last omelette was hash browns!”
Jake chuckled. “Sounds yummy.”
Amara looked up, gave the crewmembers staring down at them from the Harbinger’s railing the thumbs-up sign. “I’m sorry, but if you don’t mind excusing me, Jake, we’ve got to get the William loaded and secured before it gets dark.”
“No problem, doc,” Jake said. He looked up, his gaze following the cable that hung suspended over the waiting mini-sub. It was attached to the nearer of a pair of matching cranes lining the rear portion of the big ship. They were situated port and starboard, each just inside and above the gunnels. They seemed like miniature construction cranes, their jointed arms controlled by an operator who sat cocooned inside a tiny cockpit, swiveling the arms back and forth with a joystick. “Say, this may sound like a dumb question, but did those cranes come with the ship?”
“You are correct, Jake,” Amara said. “Those cranes were originally used to manipulate the carcasses of slaughtered whales, to prevent them from drifting or sinking. Now, we put them to productive use, such as loading heavy crates of gear and supplies, bringing the Sycophant on deck for servicing, and of course, launching and retrieving our new submersible.” She thumped the William’s hull proudly for effect.
“The Sycophant?” Jake echoed, looking up at the Harbinger’s sprawling decks.
“Our Zodiac.” Amara pointed down at the waterline, near the big ship’s aft section. A sixteen-foot, outboard-equipped inflatable bobbed gently up and down from where it was tied off to the ship’s metal launching platform. “We use it to do reconnaissance while we’re anchored, and to move gear and personnel to the scene of an Orca attack.”
“I see,” Jake said.
The portside crane operator swiveled the diesel-powered device and lowered its connector assembly toward the William. Jake was impressed. As soon as the cable came within range, Willie moved into position, using his wrench to make the necessary connections between the mini-sub and the winch hook.
“Just one more question, doc,” Jake said.
Amara turned toward him. “Yes?”
“I notice you brought your ship in stern first. As the helmsman, knowing that the shallower portions of this cove could pose a serious risk to your props, wouldn’t it have made more sense to pull in prow first and then back out later?”
Amara smiled sweetly. “Jake, from the moment I met you I could tell you have a remarkably firm grasp of the obvious,” she said. “Actually, you are quite correct. However, our starboard side crane is on the fritz right now – some sort of hydraulic problem. And, since I doubt even a big, strong officer of the law like you is capable of picking up a six-ton submersible and carrying it onboard for us, I figured it made more sense to back the ship in carefully, and then use the portside crane.”
“Serves me right for asking,” Jake said. Shaking his head amusedly, he turned and walked away.
As Jake headed back toward his patrol boat, Amara watched him leave. Behind her, Willie looked up from his work and cleared his throat. She glanced over and noticed him intently following her gaze.
“Well, what ya tink?” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “Interesting fella, wouldn’t ya say?”
Amara blinked and shook her head in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? He’s a cop. Not exactly my type.”
“Yeah, but we both know him got some damn strong hands, mon.” Willie rubbed his arm and smirked. “Can’t ya just imagine dem gently massaging dat bad hip of yours when ya wake up in da morning?”
“I’m trying not to. And in case you didn’t notice, he’s wearing a wedding ring.”
“So . . . when he massages ya, he’ll take it off!”
“Very funny. Seriously, though. Even if he wasn’t married, we both know the only man in my life is my work.”
Willie gave forth an exaggerated sigh, then turned to her and winked. “Oh well. I guess I’ll keep looking, den. After all, I can’t have ya ending up some crotchety old spinsta, ya know.”
“As always, you’re my guardian angel, Willie,” Amara laughed. She looked up, arching her slim neck as she yelled up at her waiting crane operator and crew. “All right you lazybones, let’s move with a porpoise!”
Both guffawing now, the two friends went about their business.
Far below, Jake Braddock was already back aboard the Infidel and motoring out to sea.
The creature advanced on the blue whale. The sight of potential prey fleeing had stimulated its hunting instincts and it surrendered to its primeval urges to stalk the larger animal. Closing to within fifty yards of its quarry, the creature scanned its target’s colossal bulk. Its jaw muscles flexed in anticipation, yet caution kept it from blindly attacking.
Suddenly, its deep-set eyes blinked. The larger animal appeared to be struggling along, as if it were suffering from a wound or malady of some kind. An injured animal meant an easy kill.
Millions of years of engrained instincts and evolution took over. The creature’s fear of becoming prey vanished and a voracious feeding response took over. Accelerating to maximum velocity with its enormous fangs bared, it slammed into the whale with the speed and power of a freight train. Crunching down, its arsenal of teeth sheared through thick layers of blubber, tearing deeply into the muscles of the whale’s exposed flank.
The attack drew a fountain of blood that instantly stained the surrounding seas a bright crimson. Though unable to
completely avoid the attack, the cow sensed the creature’s strike as it was about to happen. Spiraling away in an effort to protect its exposed abdominal region, the whale drastically diminished the force of the blow.
The cetacean uttered a grunt of pain and fought back ferociously, slamming its twenty-five foot flukes down upon its attacker’s exposed muzzle with a force sufficient to shatter a bull killer whale’s spine. The blow was staggering, and left the creature stunned. Its thick skull ringing, it drifted lopsided toward the surface, slowly swiveling its monstrous head from side to side.
The blue whale wasted no time. Disregarding its injury, it accelerated to full speed, seeking to put as much distance between them as possible.
Drifting upward, the creature regained consciousness in a loud blast of air bubbles. It shook its head violently as it righted itself with its flippers and took in the situation. Its opponent was moving rapidly away, trailing blood but apparently unhampered by its injuries.
It considered breaking off the chase, but the smell of fresh blood wafting through the water column continued to call to it. It opened and closed its jaws as it hovered in place, tasting the shredded fragments of tissue that remained embedded in its teeth. The familiar flavor of mammalian blubber greeted its taste buds. It was similar to that of the elephant seals it had fed upon its entire adult life. The instant association linking the two tastes triggered a crave response in the creature’s primitive brain, reinforcing its desire to make the larger animal prey.
With a water-muffled roar, it took off at top speed. Within moments it reached a velocity approaching fifty miles an hour. Closing the gap between itself and the whale, it moved in from the rear, readying itself for its next assault.
The whale sensed its enemy’s approach and began to swim in an evasive pattern, its giant flukes working furiously to speed it along.
Only twenty yards back, the creature hesitated, its ruby-colored eyes fixed on the blue whale’s barnacle-tipped tail. Its head still rang from the force of the thunderous blow it sustained, and it knew better than to make the same mistake twice.
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 8