“That’s quite a ballsy maneuver, young lady. I’m impressed. But it’s game over now. You have thirty seconds to clear the area, at which point we will open fire.”
Amara had no idea who the speaker was, but it wasn’t Haruto Nakamura. The voice was much lower in tone and naturally menacing. She started to shake. “Go to hell!”
The ship’s gunner cupped one hand to his ear and nodded. His expression shifted from uncertainty to deliberate focus as he pointed his harpoon cannon directly at Avalanche’s defenseless form. Amara and everyone watching knew that she and her crew were still in the strike zone. She held her breath as the gunner’s thumbs crept toward his weapon’s twin triggers.
“Oh blimey, we’re gonna die!” one of the Englishman cried out.
With a diesel roar, Sea Green III surged closer.
Amara closed her eyes in prayer as she waited for fate to make up its mind. As she did a horrific rumbling sound assailed her ears, startling her and jolting her eyelids back apart. She gaped in astonishment, powerless to act as things went from bad to out of control. The Nagata’s bow suddenly spun wildly, crashing into the bow of Sea Green III.
The impact nearly toppled both ships. Men and machinery went crashing in every direction. The Nagata’s gunner, clinging desperately to his weapon, gave a startled cry as it went off. The oversized harpoon launched with a hiss, slamming into the bridge of Sea Green III, detonating in a thunderclap of red and orange. Hunks of metal flew in every direction and the conservationist ship’s bridge was engulfed in an inferno of smoke and flame.
Birthed by two thousand tons of steel, a wall of icy seawater engulfed Amara’s vessel, capsizing it and depositing them all in the frozen Greenland Sea. Her screams of panic were quickly drowned. She tried fighting her way to the surface but her lungs filled with frigid seawater and she went numb. Her eyes felt like frozen marbles rolling around in her skull. She sensed herself being buffeted by the current, but was powerless to resist. Enveloped in cold, she felt her back and buttocks brace up against a cushion of warmth. She realized she’d collided with Avalanche. Still recovering from his ordeal, the white cachalot remained motionless as Amara’s tiny form slid down his living room-sized head. Dreamlike, she clung to him, running her fingers over his surprisingly soft skin, marveling at the occasional rough lines: scars caused by battles with squid and rival males. She saw something round and realized through a fog of hypothermia it was his eye. Their gazes met and Avalanche gave a tremendous shiver. His lower jaw slowly opened and he uttered a mournful groan, a deep bellow that vibrated through Amara’s frame, penetrating her very core. Her own body shook in response as she sensed the immeasurable despair he felt. She experienced remorse welling up inside her, as well as a fierce maternal protectiveness, but the burgeoning feelings deadened along with the rest of her body. She knew her brain was shutting down from hypothermia but she no longer cared. Her numbed body could no longer sense the ocean’s frigidness as she drifted sleepily.
Suddenly, she was yanked back, her head snapping forward. She felt her eyes burning as she broke the surface. Someone was pulling her back, their strong arm holding her, their encouraging voice whispering into her ear. She opened her mouth to speak, but only seawater gurgled out. A dark cloud settled over her vision.
Then, Amara’s world became black.
As she opened her eyes to painfully bright white, Amara’s relief at being alive abruptly vanished. A barrage of flashbacks from her previous hospitalization formed an alliance with her pounding headache. The pressure inside her head grew until the suture lines of her skull felt like they were beginning to split. She wheezed in a lungful of plasticized air as she recalled the moments before she blacked out. With time, her vision cleared and she felt relief with every drawn breath. Slowly, she took in the sterility of her room.
“Mon, it’s a good ting ta see ya awake, finally.”
Amara turned toward the familiar voice, her headache spiking so badly it made her want to scream. She blinked through the pain, focusing on the voice coming from a nearby armchair. She stared blankly.
“It’s Willie,” he said with a grin.
“Oh my God,” Amara started. She fumbled to remove the oxygen mask that obstructed her nose and mouth. “Was it you that saved me?”
Willie nodded solemnly, his gaze dropping to the tiled floor at his feet. “I did what I could.”
“What happened?”
“We was all in da freezing water. Wit all da smoke I couldn’t see any ting.” Willie’s skin goose-bumped and a shiver ran through him. “I only found ya because I followed da sound of da whale, calling.”
“And the rest of our crew?”
“Dem people on da runabout are all okay. When I dragged ya onto da upside down Sea Scout, dey was already clinging to it.”
Amara nodded slowly in acknowledgment. “Avalanche?”
Willie gave her a hesitant smile. “He got away in all da confusion.”
Amara breathed a small sigh of relief. Then she felt another surge of panic. She swallowed hard before asking the question she truly feared. “Robert?”
His eyes still down, Willie pursed his lips and shook his head. “Da Nagata’s harpoon took out Sea Green III’s entire bridge. Dere were no survivors. I’m sorry.”
Amara’s rib cage became a hollow steel prison, trapping her breath inside her chest. She began to shake. Her fiancé was gone. She sensed it when she saw the explosion, but still couldn’t believe it. With her father gone this past year, Robert was the only person left that mattered to her. And they killed him. All the good he would do for the oceans and the world died with him.
Amara felt tears stream down her cheeks, her face flushing hot with grief. Then she felt a flame light within, the kind that came with fast growing fury. She blinked away her sorrow, her eyes becoming as cold and hard as sapphires. “What about my uncle? What’s become of him?”
The big Jamaican looked confused. “Your–”
“Haruto Nakamura. He was the captain of the Nagata.”
“The captain . . .?”
Amara felt her lips draw back over her teeth. “Yes, Willie. My uncle was commanding the ship that killed Robert and our bridge crew. Is he dead? Is he in custody?”
Willie turned ashen, obviously dreading what he was about to say. “Da whaler broke off after da explosion and vanished before da authorities made it dere. I’m sorry. Dey got away.”
Amara felt tears of rage and frustration replacing those of grief and loss. After a minute, she turned back to Willie, a tiny sniffle prefacing her speech.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“It was my privilege,” Willie said. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his long hands forming a steeple against his lips. “I gotta look after ya. No one else can keep up.”
Just then, a tall, middle-aged nurse walked over to Amara, chart in hand.
“It’s good to see you awake, young lady. You gave us quite a scare when they brought you in.” She gave a motherly smile as she reached over and adjusted Amara’s IV and pillow. She looked down at her clipboard, comparing her chart to her patient’s monitors. “Well, Miss . . . Nakamura. You seem to be healing up quite well. I imagine the doctor will release you tomorrow, next day at the latest.”
Amara nodded and gave her a determined smile. “Thank you, for your kindness. But there’s been some kind of error. My last name is not Nakamura.”
“Really?” The nurse wore a confused look. She double-checked Amara’s chart and left abruptly.
Amara stared up at the ceiling, her chin jutting out. “The Nakamura’s are despoilers of the sea. And now, they’re murderers as well.” She exhaled slowly, the sound like steam escaping from beneath the lid of a covered pot. “I’m going to take over Robert’s work. I don’t know how, but somehow I’ll get my own command. My father’s gone, and I have no desire to be associated with his brother or the rest of the Nakamura clan. Screw all their money. They’re dead to me. I’ll use my mother’s
name from this point forward. It’s Amara Takagi now.” Her eyes softened as she looked at Willie. “You can call me Amara.”
Willie’s inclined chin and lowered eyes were the equivalent of a courtier’s bow. “It will be my pleasure, Amara. So, what ya gonna do now?
Before she could reply, the nurse returned.
“There’s a gentleman calling for you. Due to your condition we’ve been holding calls, but he’s quite insistent – says it’s urgent. Something about your accident . . .”
Amara sighed. “Sure, I’ll take it. Thanks.” She accepted the handset from her, leaning wearily back as she hit the speakerphone. “Hello?”
“Ms. Nakamura?”
Amara felt a chill penetrate her like a pickaxe. It was the man who threatened her from the loudspeaker of the Nagata. She could never forget his voice. She swallowed hard, struggling to find her own. “Who is this? What do you want?”
“Don’t be alarmed. I want to speak with you.”
“Speak with me?” Amara’s rage began to overpower her fear. “You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me, whoever you are.”
“Who I am, is not important. What I am may be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The speaker’s deep tones remained smooth and sure. “I’m what some might refer to as a procurer of . . . trophies. Been doing it for years, never paid it any mind. But yesterday’s experience had a profound effect on me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It never occurred to me that someone might actually get hurt on one of my safaris. Now that it’s happened, I–”
Amara felt herself snap. “Now that it’s happened? Do you know what you’ve done?”
“I wasn’t in command of the Nagata. Your uncle was, if I’m not mistaken. Have you spoken to him?”
“No, and if I have my way, I never will – unless it’s when I testify against him in court.”
The speaker stifled a chuckle. “That’s fine. I sympathize with you. And I respect your desire for revenge.” There was a long pause. “I’m . . . curious about you. Perhaps we can meet?”
Amara’s eyebrows lowered, her nostrils flaring. “Oh, I’d love for us to meet. I’m curious too. I want to find out who you are, so I can have you arrested for being an accomplice in my fiancé’s death!”
There was a momentary pause. “I wasn’t in command, hence, I am not responsible. However, I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf and I want to help.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I want to make amends for your loss. Call it a donation.”
“A donation?” Amara repeated. “You mean a bribe?”
“Hardly, I’m prepared to offer you the advance I received from my backers – the foreign fucks who wanted that poor whale’s head mounted in their corporate office.”
Amara scoffed. “Oh, so, it’s a ‘poor whale’ now, eh? Yesterday you wanted to kill him. Why the change of heart?”
“Because your bravery and passion made me realize how small a person I really am. I want to make up for the things I’ve done.” The speaker cleared his throat. “Look, if you don’t want to meet me I understand. But at least let me mail you a check. You can donate it to whichever organization you deem worthy.”
“Look, I don’t need your pathetic donation, I will–”
“It’s seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“Seven hundred and . . .” Amara’s words ended in a strangled squeak.
“Yes, Ms. Nakamura. Where should I send the money?”
Amara exhaled through bowed lips. She glanced at Willie from beneath raised eyebrows. He wore a skeptical look, but nodded.
“It’s Amara,” she said finally. “Alright, I’ll meet with you, mister . . .”
“Thank you for your compassion, Amara,” the speaker said silkily. “My friends call me Pierce.”
As she hung up, a splash of cold water struck Amara square in the face. She gasped and spat, tasted brine. She opened startled eyes to find Willie gone and her hospital room with him. She was back on the Harbinger’s bow, her hands firmly locked onto its sturdy railing.
With an effort, she relinquished her grip. She stared bemusedly down at the swells that continued to reach for her. The headwind was howling, punishing her repeatedly with bone chilling whiplashes of salt spray. She felt a cold shiver run through her and hugged herself tightly. She shook her head and headed carefully back the way she came, toward the waiting shelter of her quarters. She yearned to climb back into bed, hit the lights, and cocoon herself for the rest of the day within her comforter’s downy womb.
Some dry clothes and a hot cup of coffee would have to do.
Supremely confident in his species’ unchallenged dominion over Earth’s oceans, the bull sperm whale silently stalked his quarry. His enormous flukes moved effortlessly up and down, propelling him deeper into pitch-black hunting grounds. Measuring a full seventy feet from nose to tail and weighing over ninety tons, the male Physeter macrocephalus was a giant. His massive head made up nearly a third of his total length, and his enormous jaws were lined with conical teeth twelve inches long.
At thirty-five, the whale was the region’s dominant bull for nearly a decade, emerging victorious in scores of battles with rival males.
The Equator’s winter breeding season where the big bulls fought for the privilege to mate with harems of females was still months away. Until then, the great beast would travel to the Antarctic Ocean, searching for food as the hot summer months wore on. The journey was a long and arduous one, with peril at every corner. It would require tremendous amounts of energy to sustain itself.
Although a twelve-foot thresher shark already rested within the whale’s sizable stomach, the cetacean was unsatisfied. Too impatient to scrounge for food on the surface, like the cows and younger males did, the bull dove deep to seek out his favorite prey. He hunted a rapacious killer, one few living things made contact with and survived: the giant squid.
Majestically, the monarch of the seas descended. He could hold his breath for an hour and a half, controlling his buoyancy by drawing in ice-cold seawater to cool the spermaceti wax stored within his head. Thick layers of blubber and a powerful musculature shielded him from the icy water and pressure.
As he approached his target area, the whale gave forth a series of noisy clicks and pings. The mile-long sonar cone he was emitting reverberated back, leading him directly to his prey, suspended a thousand feet below. It was fortunate to find food so quickly within the vastness of the abyss, but the detailed sound image the whale got back was disconcerting.
The prey item was huge.
Hovering within a deep-water current, the squid was a terrifying apparition. Known as a Colossal Squid, the female Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni was itself a formidable predator. It measured at least forty feet from the tip of its caudal fin to the ends of its shorter tentacles, and weighed as much as a full-grown basking shark.
Besides its intimidating size, the squid’s tentacles had twelve-inch suction cups equipped with swiveling black claws as large as the suckers themselves. These razor-sharp talons were capable of ripping a full-grown tiger shark to shreds. Only the largest and most dominant sperms dared to tackle such dangerous prey. A whale embroiled in battle with a mollusk of such proportion could run out of oxygen while locked within its opponent’s embrace. Predator could easily become prey.
This alpha male, however, feared nothing. The scars crisscrossing his enormous head gave evidence to that. Of all the creatures that swam the seas, only pods of killer whales gave him pause. And even the deadly orcas usually preyed upon the smaller female sperms, which lacked the giant bull’s strength and foul disposition.
Closing quickly on his prey, the whale channeled his sonar emissions into a tight beam, a ray of sound focused directly on the squid. This beam was nature’s greatest innovation in the arms race between predator and prey. In a chase, the whale would be far slower, but his sonar beam was a long range weapon tha
t enabled him to attack and disable the squid from afar. By stunning the Mesonychoteuthis with bursts of sound waves, he could reach it before it jetted away, clamping down on it before it had a chance to defend itself. The battle would be over before it began.
Blasting away with his sonar, the whale prepared to attack from a steep angle. The cetacean could see his sonic bursts taking effect. The cephalopod was drifting helplessly, its tentacles splaying out in every direction. Accelerating to maximum velocity with repeated sweeps of his eighteen-foot flukes, the sperm ceased his sonar attack at the last possible moment and spread his gigantic jaws.
He powered into the squid with devastating effect. Seizing it by the mantle, he crunched down, driving foot-long teeth deep into the rubbery tissue directly above the squid’s glowing green eyes, seeking to crush its tiny brain.
Still reeling from the sonar attack that scrambled its primitive synapses, the squid began to rebound the instant the assault ended. Sensing the whale’s approach by the pressure wave preceding it, it turned to fight just as its enemy descended upon it like a grey-colored rockslide. Though dazed, it was far from defeated. It lashed out with its two retractable tentacles and fastened them like grapnels to the whale’s head and shoulders, ripping its fleshy exterior to shreds. Bloody scraps of skin and blubber obscured the already dark waters. Now in full attack mode, the mollusk utilized its eight shorter tentacles, wrapping them around the whale’s lower jaw and probing for its eyes.
If it could tear into the whale’s sensitive ocular region, the cetacean would have to spit it out to save its vision. If not, the squid would immobilize the whale’s jaw, keeping it from inflicting further damage. Its adversary would eventually tire and have to surface. Once that happened, the cephalopod would have the upper hand.
The deadly struggle continued. Locked in combat, the two underwater titans struggled silently back and forth in the dark, each seeking to destroy the other.
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 14