KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back.

by Max Hawthorne

  As he waited for a response, Jake studied his radar screen intently. There was no signal – and no answer. He repeated his broadcast two more times before hanging up the microphone in disgust. As he reached for the patrol boat’s throttle lever, Chris tapped his shoulder excitedly.

  “Hey Jake, I think I spotted her!” he exclaimed. “She’s half a mile due south. Look!”

  Quickly handing Jake the binoculars, Chris took the wheel.

  “Get us over there,” Jake ordered.

  Chris slowly pushed the throttle back up to flank. With the Infidel back on plane, he pointed her prow at the distant charter boat.

  Within a minute they were close enough to positively ID the old Bertram. A cursory glance revealed no sign of life.

  From a hundred feet away, the damage to the fishing boat was readily apparent. The rear portion of the boat appeared to have suffered a collision, with much of the wood crushed or ripped away.

  As they circled the Sayonara from fifty feet out, Jake reached for the radio, but then changed his mind. Drawing his pistol instead, he chambered a round and turned toward Chris. “Bring us in parallel, as quietly as possible. We’re going to tie ourselves off to her starboard cleats.”

  “You’re going aboard?” Chris asked. His eyes were huge as he brought them alongside and then cut the engine.

  “Of course. Somebody’s got to.” Jake paused as he noticed his deputy’s alarmed expression. “Look kid, I don’t know what happened here. From the looks of things, I sure as hell don’t think this was some shark attack. So keep your wits about you and your sidearm ready. If anything goes down, you’re to cut the Infidel free, move to a safe distance, and call the Coast Guard for backup.” As he readied himself, he turned back toward Chris and fixed him with an unwavering stare. “Is that understood?”

  “Uh, yeah . . . sure thing, chief.”

  Waiting until the Infidel was about to bump hulls with the larger vessel, Jake placed the palm of his left hand on the Sayonara’s gunnels and sprang silently aboard her. He stayed low and reached back with his free hand, steadying their center console until Chris was able to tie two dock lines to the older boat. From his crouched position, Jake looked warily around, exhaling slowly as he surveyed the devastation around him.

  The Sayonara was a wreck.

  There was broken wood and fiberglass scattered everywhere, and dried blood covered everything. What stood out most though was the absence of the big tuna chair Captain Phil spent years saving for.

  Jake moved carefully around the boat, calling for Steve. With no answer, he went below and searched the beleaguered vessel for either Starling. He emerged minutes later, to the obvious relief of his deputy. Holstering his nine millimeter, he moved within conversation distance.

  “Any sign of them?” Chris hazarded as he caught sight of Jake’s expression.

  “No.” Jake shook his head in frustration. “I don’t get it, Chris.” He indicated the Sayonara’s damage with a broad gesture. “What the hell happened here? The boat looks like someone took a swipe at it with a Paul Bunyan-sized axe.” As he walked cautiously toward the back of the vessel, Jake fought to keep his exasperation under control. “And where’s the fighting chair?” he asked, scratching his head. “It looks like it was ripped out by the roots!”

  “I don’t know, chief. Maybe it was some kind of shark, like Steve was yelling about on the radio?”

  “No way. I don’t buy that for a minute.” Jake snorted. “Don’t get me wrong – they might have encountered a big fish, but there’s no shark in existence that could lunge onto a boat this size and devour two experienced fishermen. Not to mention an entire tuna chair.”

  “Maybe there is, Jake. Look at her transom. It looks like something really big bit into it. Maybe Steve was right. Maybe it was a huge shark, like one of those Megalodons people say they see sometimes?”

  Exhaling sharply, Jake gritted his teeth and strode to the mangled transom to examine it. “Let’s stay within the realm of reality, here. We’re not dealing with a fish that’s been extinct for millions of years. Now, I’ve caught big sharks before, real big ones, and their skin is like coarse sandpaper. If a shark came down on top of the Sayonara’s stern, its rough skin would have stripped the wood bare, like a rasp. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t see any marks that–”

  His eyes growing wide, Jake dropped to one knee. “Hey, wait a minute . . .” He breathed excitedly and started picking away at something with his thumbnail. “Chris, open that tool kit we keep onboard, and hand me a flathead screwdriver.”

  Tool in hand, Jake began to pry at a circular white object embedded in the thick teak wood.

  “What’d you find?” Chris asked, leaning over the Infidel’s gunnels to get a better look.

  “I’m not sure yet.” Jake grunted as he continued to pry away. “But whatever it is . . . it’s really in there!”

  The embedded object finally came loose. Jake pulled it free in one smooth motion and held it close, looking it over. It was ivory in color and almost nine inches in length. It was conical and slightly curved, tapering in thickness from four to five inches at its thickest part, until it ended in a sharp point. Hefting it in his hand, Jake estimated it weighed several pounds. Though he could scarcely believe it, he knew right away what he was holding.

  Chris teetered on his toes, “So, what is it? What did you find?”

  “A tooth,” Jake replied, holding it up. “And it’s not from any shark, either.”

  “Holy shit!” Chris whistled loudly as he caught a glimpse. “What kind of animal has teeth that big? And what animal with teeth that big attacks boats and eats–”

  Chris stopped, wincing as he saw the embittered expression on Jake’s face. “Geez, I’m really sorry. For a second there I forgot about Captain Phil and Steve.”

  His face grim, Jake gripped the huge fang. “It’s okay, kid. Don’t worry about it. We’re going to call the Sea Tow and have her bring the Sayonara in so a forensics team can look her over.”

  “No problem, chief,” Chris said, reaching for the radio. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Before you do, I want you to do something else first.” Jake climbed carefully back onboard the Infidel, the evidence held tightly in his hand. “I want you to get on the horn, and get me Doctor Amara Takagi of the Harbinger.” He studied the hunk of ivory he held, rubbing its pointed tip with his thumb. “I need to inform her that one of her whales has developed a taste for human flesh.” Jake fixed his wide-eyed deputy with a stare. “I think we have a serious problem on our hands, Chris.”

  TEN

  Brad Harcourt was only five miles from the marina and still couldn’t get a decent signal. Disgusted, he slapped his cell phone shut and shoved it back inside his personal flotation device. He checked to make sure his emergency shutoff lanyard was in place, turned on his GPS, and kicked the brand new Kawasaki back into gear.

  It had taken a good ninety minutes for Brad’s initial shock to wear off. Now, he was seething. He’d made several frustrating attempts to reach his father at his emergency number, each time failing to get through.

  He thought it over and decided it didn’t matter. It was better to speak to the old man in person. His dad always said, “When it comes to discussing delicate matters, never do it on a cell. When you’re a high stakes player in the political arena, you never know who is listening.”

  Cruising steadily along, Brad cut a foam-flecked swathe as he closed the distance between himself and home. He fought to keep his temper under control, distracting himself by preparing a mental checklist of all the babes he’d invited to Friday night’s pool party. He tried focusing on the ones most likely to put out, but it didn’t help. No matter how many girls he dwelled on, he was unable to quell his anger at the Sayonara’s wrinkle-faced captain. He was indignant that the crusty old bastard dared to pull a shotgun on him. He swore to himself, that when his father was gone and he was in charge of Harcourt Enterprises, charter fishing yahoos like Ph
il Starling were going to behave far differently – or they would find somewhere else to dock their smelly boats. That was, assuming they could afford his new slip prices at that point.

  Brad’s anticipatory smile vanished when he checked his fuel gauge. There was only a third of a tank left. He shook his head; his expensive new four-stroke was turning out to be a real gas guzzler. Oh well, he mused. There was still enough to get back, and to have some fun along the way.

  The teenager scanned the horizon through his designer sunglasses, hawking for fishing boats or pleasure craft. Disappointed that no one was around, he focused on ratting Phil Staling out to his father. As enjoyable as it was to torment the region’s boat owners with his wake-jumping, the prospect of seeing Starling fry for gun charges was infinitely more desirable. And the fact that he was friends with Jake Braddock was a nice bonus.

  Brad stopped to reach back and open a hatch containing a small cooler and extract a beer. The can popped with a loud spray of suds, and he guzzled two thirds of it. Shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun, he wiped his sweaty forehead with the cold brew, belched loudly, then pitched the aluminum can out as far as he could. He watched dispassionately as it filled with water and drowned.

  Brad started his Jet-Ski again, ducking down against the onrushing wind. He tried once more to push Phil Starling out of his mind. There were much more pleasant things to think about, such as his upcoming date with that hot little waitress at the Cove Hove. He grinned as he visualized himself nailing the ditzy girl doggy-style. Just as he was getting to the good part, he came across an object floating on the surface of the water, directly ahead. Whatever it was, it was huge.

  Brad slowed his fuel-injected mount to a stop and bobbed noiselessly up and down. As he shaded his eyes to see, a mischievous smile crept across his tanned face. There was a whale drifting on the surface, a hundred yards ahead.

  He could see it plainly, its enormous hump visible atop the swells. He’d seen whales before, but never one this size or this close. The huge mammals usually sensed his approach from afar and submerged long before his arrival. Brad smirked. The peaceful giant was asleep.

  Like a cat about to swallow a canary, he crept his Jet Ski closer to the slumbering cetacean, until he was only a hundred feet away. His forearms flexed as he revved his expensive toy. Adjusting his sunglasses, he readied himself. His eyes intense, he took a couple of deep breaths, then threw his skimmer into gear, its prow aimed directly at the whale’s broad back.

  As he careened forward at full speed, the unsuspecting behemoth failed to notice his noisy approach. Its monstrous bulk grew larger by the second. He held his breath and braced himself, throwing his weight back as he plowed into the whale.

  Brad’s speed, combined with the cetacean’s curved back and the streamlined prow of his Jet Ski, propelled him twelve feet into the air. He sailed a full forty feet forward, clearing the whale’s thick body and landing with a scream and a monstrous splash.

  Whooping at the top of his lungs, Brad regained control of the sputtering Kawasaki and spun back around. He blinked in disbelief. The whale still lay there dozing, adrift on the water’s surface without a care in the world. For a moment, the perplexed teen thought it was nothing more than a rotting carcass, but a gentle exhalation from its blowhole convinced him otherwise. It was definitely alive.

  Two possibilities passed through Brad’s mind. The first was that he was completely insignificant to the whale. Like a fly attempting to disturb an elephant, he was simply beneath notice. The other possibility was that the great beast was giving birth or ill, perhaps even dying, and thus incapable of movement.

  Brad maliciously gunned his craft into high gear. It didn’t matter to him why the whale failed to react. Its immobility meant he could jump it again. With a cry of expectation, he flung himself forward at breakneck speed, aiming once again for the cetacean’s indigo-colored back. As his momentum increased, the two hundred feet between them started to vanish.

  One fifty.

  One hundred . . .

  At the fifty-foot mark the whale woke, its head breaking the surface and swiveling groggily in his direction.

  Stunned, Brad threw his craft into reverse to avoid crashing into it. Despite the obscuring spray, he caught sight of one of its deep-set eyes, glaring at him. It was dark red and oval, like a melon-sized garnet. Then, unexpectedly, the whale snapped at him. Its mouth was enormous, and unlike the feathery krill strainers he expected to see, it was filled with big, sharp teeth.

  His eyes wide, Brad backed nervously away. The whale shook itself like a giant dog and surged to life. He blinked in disbelief as it reared its head out of the water. Its skull was long and wedge-shaped, like a gigantic crocodile’s, and covered with overlapping scales. Its eyes glared at him as it opened its dripping jaws and let out a booming roar that pealed across the surrounding waters like a foghorn.

  Brad closed his eyes and clamped his hands over his ears to shield them from the sound. A high-pitched shriek escaped his mouth as the monster wheeled in his direction. Its wrinkled lips snarled slowly back, revealing an arsenal of interlocking fangs as long as his forearm. It sucked in a huge breath, hissing as if it was the father of all serpents. Its foul exhalation washed over him in fetid waves, its stench the nauseating scent of putrefying flesh. Paralyzed with fear, he gagged repeatedly. A hot, wet sensation told him he’d urinated on himself, but he was too terrified to care.

  The creature lunged at him. From forty feet away, its limo-sized jaws snapped shut with a sound like thunder, closing only a few yards away and showering him with drool and flotsam. With a scream of horror, he regained the ability to move and took off like a missile. Gunning the Jet Ski’s engine, he rocketed across the surface of the water, his eyes the size of dinner plates.

  It was coming after him.

  Jake leaned wearily back against the Infidel’s helm. It was nearly two hours since his radio call to Amara Takagi. He’d spent the time scanning the waves and studying his fish finder. His eyes grew tired and he drew his sidearm. Ejecting the magazine, he inspected the Beretta’s action, reloaded it, and made sure its safety was off. He kept a watchful eye on the water the entire time. Images of Phil and Steve Starling screaming in terror as a sperm whale reared up over the stern of their vessel and seized them in its jaws kept popping into his head. The wind shifted, and even though the Sayonara had been towed in an hour earlier, he swore he could still smell their blood, splattered across the old Bertram like they’d been thrown into a mulcher. He shuddered in disgust and shoved the pistol back inside its holster, wondering how much the fine would be for emptying it into the cetacean responsible for their deaths.

  He checked the sonar again. There was a ton of movement, but nothing big enough to be a whale. As he watched, the screen got so congested he wondered if the transducer was fouled. It cleared, only to fill up again a minute or two later. He frowned. It was peculiar, considering it was slack tide.

  Suddenly, a fast moving blip on the radar caught Jake’s eye. He scanned the surface with his binoculars and spotted a small runabout approaching. A closer inspection revealed it to be the Sycophant, the Harbinger’s inflatable scout craft. Amara stood at the helm, her first mate Willie by her side. Jake frowned as they drew near, their outboard engine idling noisily as they pulled alongside the Infidel. He hauled back and tossed them a bow line.

  “How are you, Jake?” Amara asked as she tied her craft to his. Jake leaned over and reached out to help her aboard. She smiled and accepted his hand. “I was surprised to hear from you.” Her smile faded as she caught the grim expression on Jake’s face.

  “Hello, doc,” Jake nodded. He turned to Amara’s second-in-command, who appeared content taking up position at the Sycophant’s helm. “Willie, it’s good to see you again.”

  “Good ta see ya too,” Willie craned his neck and looked over Jake’s patrol boat. “Dee Infidel?” He chuckled, pointing at the center console’s name. “Well now, I guess dat’s not exactly what I’
d be callin politically correct deez days, now is it, mon?”

  “Never gave it much thought. Lately, I’ve got more important things to worry about.” Jake turned toward Amara, a befuddled expression on his face. “So, what’s with the Sycophant? Why didn’t you bring the Harbinger like I asked?”

  Amara’s eyes turned apologetic. “I’m sorry Jake, but I couldn’t interrupt a million dollar scientific study for a possible boating accident.” Noticing the dour expression he wore, she added. “Besides, you said it was urgent, and our inflatable is a hell of a lot faster than our mother ship.”

  “Fine,” Jake exhaled. He couldn’t argue with that. “I just figured you might have some advanced testing equipment on board to analyze what I found.”

  “Okay, Jake, I don’t usually come off as pushy, but you radioed me a wild story about a whale attacking a fishing boat.” She gestured about. “I don’t see any whale or boat.”

  “The boat’s already been towed back.”

  “I see,” Amara pressed. “You also said you got your hands on one of the whale’s teeth as evidence of the attack. Where is it?”

  “What I said, doc, was that we received a distress call from a local charter boat. When we arrived we discovered the boat was badly damaged. There were bloodstains everywhere and the people were missing. I believe a sperm whale was responsible.”

  “Sperm whales don’t usually attack boats. Not unless they’re harassed or threatened.” Amara moved a few steps from him and sat back on the gunnels, her legs crossed and hands resting on the hard fiberglass. “I’ve never heard of one deliberately devouring a human being.”

  Jake rested his hands on his hips. “Regardless, Dr. Takagi, I am absolutely convinced that one of your whales was responsible.”

  “One of my whales?” Amara and Willie exchanged looks. “Okay, Jake. And why are you so convinced that one of my whales was responsible?”

  Jake turned and reached for the bundle he’d stashed in his forward console. “Because I pried this out of the Sayonara.” He unwrapped the tooth and held out his hand. “Now, I’m no whale expert, doctor, but I believe this came from a big bull sperm whale.”