“Actually, yes.” Jake placed the armful of items he carried on the desk next to her. “One tape measure, two digital cameras, each with more mega-pixels than you can shake a stick at, and a bottle of Tylenol Extra Strength, in case your hip is still bothering you.”
Amara beamed at him. “My gosh, could you be any sweeter?” She reached for the bottle, popping it’s lid with her thumbnail and pouring herself a small handful. She winked at him. “Of course, I’m really an Ibuprofen girl.”
“Me too. Normally. What I mean is, uh, I’m an Ibuprofen guy, that is. You know, being an athlete and all that. But anyway, I’m fresh out.”
Amara smirked and got up in the direction of the water cooler.
“No, no, I’ve got it.” Jake made it there in three quick strides, dispensing her a tiny cupful of water. “Here you go . . .”
“My goodness, you’re spoiling me.”
Jake felt his face starting to get warm. “So . . . do you prefer caplets or gels?”
“What?”
“Your Ibuprofen.”
Amara scanned the items before her and gave a tiny frown. “It doesn’t really matter. They both get the job done.”
“But, don’t you think the gels work faster?”
She stared at him. “Jake, if the need arises, I chew caplets dry.”
He made a face and stuck his tongue out. “Yuck! My God, woman, you must be made of stone. Remind me to never mess with you!”
“I will.” She grinned, then pointed at her desk. “No scale?”
Jake disappeared for a moment, returning with a small box which he deposited proudly on the desk in front of her. “One genuine postage scale. It’s limited to five pounds, so I hope it’ll do.”
“There’s one way to find out,” Amara replied. She wheeled her chair over and reached for the tooth. Standing up, she placed it gingerly on the scale. She pushed a few buttons, double-checked her readings, then removed the tooth and returned it to a stack of paper towels next to the test tube containing the creature’s skin fragment. She entered the acquired information into the computer in front of her. “Four point three seven pounds.” She whistled breathlessly. “Wow, that’s some piece of dentition. According to my calculations, the whole tooth must have weighed almost eight pounds.”
Jake moved closer, peering over her shoulder.
Amara breathed in through her nostrils and swallowed. Is it my imagination, or does the big galoot still smell good, even this late in the day? Berating herself for getting distracted, she gave a tiny snort and focused on the task at hand.
“So, how are you making out? Any luck?”
“I tried the Harbinger on my cell. They’re too far offshore. I had to instant message Willie and have him reroute Archimedes for an off-site linkup.”
“So, we’re . . . I mean . . . you’re in now?”
Jake loomed over her, fascinated by the display of natural history images making their way across the screen.
“Yes, I’m in,” Amara replied with a restrained grin. She twisted in her chair to jot down some notes, then rose, dodging him in the process. She began tabulating the tooth’s dimensions. Catching the curiosity in Jake’s eyes, she lowered her tape measure. She threw a glance at the wall clock and frowned. “Listen, it’s almost ten. I can see you’re interested in what’s going on here, but you staying up to watch is only going to slow me down and leave us both exhausted.”
She regretted her words immediately. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company,” she emphasized, “but with this computer’s connection speed, the analysis process alone could take hours.”
“Say no more,” he said, extending his hand palm out. “I’ll get out of the way.” He strode out of the room, returning moments later with a bundle of soft goods he deposited on the couch. “Here’s a pillow, blanket, and some fresh linens.” He pointed to a nearby doorway. “The kitchen and bathroom are through there, and there are fresh towels on the shelf. My secretary comes in at eight. I’ll wake you up at seven so you don’t give her a heart attack.”
Amara looked up and nodded.
Jake sucked noisily on his teeth. “Well . . . I guess I’ll turn in.”
“Turn in where?” Amara’s pulse quickened as she peeked over the top of her LCD screen.
Jake laughed. “In my apartment.”
“Oh. Is it close by?”
“I guess you could say that.” He pointed at a flight of steps leading upstairs. “It reduces traveling time. Feel free to knock if you need anything.”
Amara smiled and arched an eyebrow. “Like what? A late night snack?”
Jake gave her a wry grin as he started up the steps. “Well, I don’t know if my cooking skills rival yours, but I do make the world’s greatest scrambled eggs. And they don’t resemble hash browns. I’m saving them for the morning, however. Depending, of course . . .”
“Depending on what?”
“On how successful you are with your investigation, deputy Takagi.”
“Ah, so it’s deputy now, eh? Does that mean I’m getting paid for this?”
“I already told you . . . depends on how successful you are.”
“I think I want a raise.”
Jake chuckled. “Fine, I’ll throw in toast and a cup of coffee. But I’m warning you now, all I’ve got is dark roast.”
Amara sighed. “I always knew my research would pay off. I’ll be thinking of you snoring your brains out while I’m down here slaving away.”
“What a coincidence. I’ll be dreaming of you slaving away, too.”
She smiled as he loped off, then continued her analysis. Her fingers were a blur as she typed in information. Thirty minutes later, she leaned back, raised her intertwined hands over her head, and shifted her arms from side to side to stretch her neck and shoulders. A tiny bit refreshed, she reached for the desk lamp, adjusting its position so its light shined directly on her specimen. She wiped the desk with glass cleaner and placed sheets of paper underneath the tooth.
Amara stepped back to photograph the tooth from a variety of angles. After her last photo she closed her eyes for a few seconds, just to entertain the idea of rest, then opened them and began scrolling through the images in her camera. Satisfied with what she had, she removed the camera’s memory card and inserted it into the computer. After a few keystrokes, she’d downloaded the pictures.
She was ready.
To her surprise, she found herself sitting rigidly upright, her finger suspended over the button that activated Archimedes’ sensory scan. The anticipation of a potential discovery and the adrenaline rush that accompanied it swept over her.
Exhaling sharply, she pressed the button.
Archimedes’ response and subsequent analysis were breathtaking. Systematically breaking down the object’s mass, dimensions and composition, the program began to scroll through the divisions of the animal kingdom at light speed. Like a colored strobe light, creatures of every shape and design – from the largest to the smallest – flashed across the flat-panel monitor at a rate of twenty a second.
Archimedes mercilessly perused its data banks for any possible link. Every so often the system highlighted a prospective match, flashing the corresponding data so quickly it was impossible to follow. It latched onto a particular body part of the species it was focusing on, enlarging it for comparison and breaking it down into bio-schematic text. The teeth of Nile and Saltwater crocodiles, the tusks of African and Asian elephants, and even Pacific walruses all briefly appeared. Various whales’ teeth were highlighted, including the killer whale, false killer, and the sperm. Yet each time, a glowing red letter X flashed across the suspected life form, as Archimedes ruthlessly eliminated it and moved on. Minutes became hours, and Amara’s eyes began to close from too many images and too little sleep.
Shaking it off, she went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee so bitter it made her grimace when she gulped it down. She went back to her computer. Bored, she minimized Archimedes and started surfing th
e web. On a whim, she punched in “whale sightings” to see what came up. It was the usual stuff: killer whales at sea, info on the dead blue whale . . . nothing of interest. Next, she tried “sea monster” and “sea serpent.” She found numerous postings on a new species of squid. There were three confirmed attacks on surfers off the coast of Cuba. Tourists were up in arms, and her colleagues were insisting a nearby volcanic eruption was responsible. Despite protests, the Cuban government was refusing to allow researchers from the international community to investigate the site.
Amara snorted. Typical. She continued looking to see if there was anything on the monster fish she had in her freezer. Nothing. And no reports of any King Kong-sized predator either. Her eyes fought to stay open as she checked the time – nearly three o’clock in the morning.
Suddenly, there was a chime from the computer signaling the completion of the database analysis. Excited, she clicked back to the previous screen. The system’s notification flashed repeatedly.
No match found. No match found. No match found . . .
Disappointment weighed on her as her eyelids became anvils. Her head drooped, sleep coming so fast it was like she was hit over the head. Comatose, she failed to see Archimedes’ screen change.
No match found. Searching fossil record.
With its contemporary files exhausted, the program switched to its auxiliary banks and began running checks on extinct life forms. The monitor screen swarmed with images of prehistoric beasts. Beginning with the Pleistocene Epoch, Archimedes checked the tips of mammoth and mastodon tusks, the claws of giant ground sloths and the fangs of saber tooth cats.
Finding nothing of significance, it moved further back in time, encompassing the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods. It examined allosaur and tyrannosaur teeth and claws, as well as the conical canines of primeval crocodiles. A few of these momentarily gave the system pause before they, too, were summarily dismissed.
Its data banks shifting again, Archimedes expounded its search parameters. Images of extinct fish and marine reptiles filled the screen, including monstrous sharks with jaws big enough to swallow a cow, and sinister-looking mosasaur lizards with long tails and crocodile-like heads.
The system noticeably slowed, scrutinizing the dentition of each creature in detail and listing a probability percentage beside each one. Eventually, it focused on marine reptiles, specifically the plesiosaurs. Images of such strange creatures as Brachauchenius, Pliosaurus and Liopleurodon appeared on the screen. With each one, the percentages climbed. Finally, the system stopped, zeroing in on one particular animal: a powerfully built creature with flippers and razor-sharp teeth. An error message began to flash across the screen. Something was conflicting with the program’s built-in logic center. Checking and rechecking its findings, Archimedes discontinued its analysis and began to flash an alert.
Anomaly: specimen identified, probability percentage: 83%
Anomaly: specimen identified, probability percentage 83%
Anomaly: specimen identified . . .
Amara lay unconscious, with her head resting on one arm. The other was extended across the desk, fingers clinging childlike to the creature’s tooth.
A foot away, Archimedes continued to sound its alarm.
At 5 a.m. Jake woke up. He’d slept fitfully, but some rest was infinitely better than none. He reached over and killed the CD alarm clock before it went off. He had a mixed 70’s disc in it, but kept forgetting to change the wake up track. He was a fan of Barry White, but he swore if he heard “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe” one more time, he was going to throw the damn thing out the window.
He rolled out of bed and started stretching immediately, his naked frame resembling some hairless tiger. Like most athletes, he knew his muscles responded best to flexibility conditioning first thing in the morning, and although he no longer possessed the drive or desire to compete, old habits died hard.
Fifteen minutes later, with his stretching complete, Jake slipped into a t-shirt and lounge pants and made his way into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, poured himself a glass of filtered water, and chugged it down. He glanced out the window. It was still pitch-black outside and would be for another hour or so. He wondered how Amara made out with her research, and if she’d found anything that would help identify whatever was roaming around out there killing people.
He sat his glass down on the kitchen counter and decided to refill it. As he reached for the refrigerator door, he spotted an old photo of himself and Captain Phil. They’d taken it during one of Jake’s early ventures as the first mate of the Sayonara, posing with their very pleased charter and the enormous bull Dorado the husband and wife team landed after a fifteen minute tussle. The picture was reminiscent of Phil Starling himself, a little crinkled around the edges and yellowed with age, but still colorful and vibrant. Jake ran his fingertip gently over the surface of the old snapshot, studying his own youthful expression. He grinned sadly. His fourteen-year-old smile looked as bright as the day it was taken.
But that was fourteen years ago. Captain Phil was gone, and his ravaged Bertram wasn’t taking anyone fishing ever again. Jake didn’t smile like that anymore, either. Everything he ever loved was dead and gone, and there was nothing around that could make him smile.
He paused thoughtfully for a moment, then opened the door to his apartment and peeked downstairs. The office lights were still on, but except for a faint humming noise it was dead quiet. The possibility Amara had worked sleepless through the night dawned on him, and he decided to go down and check on her.
As he tiptoed barefoot down the stairs, he discovered the cetaceanist exactly where he left her. She was behind his computer desk, out cold, with her face and forearm resting on the keyboard. Her other arm was draped awkwardly through the office chair’s armrest. He shook his head. How she could sleep with one limb in such an uncomfortable position was beyond him.
As he crept closer to her, Jake’s eyes widened in disbelief and he took an involuntary step back. He stifled a chuckle. The humming sound he heard at the top of the stairs was now ten times louder, its source instantly identifiable.
Amara Takagi snored. Like a chain saw.
He moved next to her, cocking his head and dropping down on one knee to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Unable to turn away, he watched in abject fascination. Her perfect ruby lips compressed gently inward as she inhaled, the sucking noise they created remarkably similar to that of a straining vacuum cleaner. The sound of her exhalation was even louder; a throaty roar more reminiscent of a hungry animal than a human being.
Jake shook his head in bafflement. Amara was one of the most stunning women he’d ever seen, but watching the marine biologist sleep while listening to her snore was like seeing a swan open its beak and snort like a pig.
Amused, he made his way to the nearby couch and unfolded some of the bedding. He spread a sheet over the couch’s interior, smoothing it out and tucking it in carefully around the edges of the cushions. Then he propped a pillow at one end and unfurled a lightweight blanket, placing it at the other. Satisfied, he moved quietly to Amara. He hesitated. The idea of picking her up and carrying her to the couch to tuck her in was instinctive. Lifting the girl up was not a problem. She weighed one-thirty-five at most. But he was worried she might wake up unexpectedly and become alarmed; or worse, misinterpret his intentions.
With a heavy exhale, Jake crouched down. His eyes moved furtively about and his hands began weaving their way around Amara’s unconscious form, trying to decide what to grab and where. He took a deep breath and held it. For some inexplicable reason his fingers remained six inches away from her body. It was as if the girl was protected by an invisible force field.
His face contorted in genuine annoyance and he took hold of her anyway. He rested one palm gently across her lower back and reached down with the other, curling it around the underside of her thighs. Just as he was about to lift her up her mouth opened and she emitted a sharp, grumbling snort – someth
ing you might hear from an angry water buffalo. Jake’s courage evaporated and he recoiled. Breathing hard, he took two steps back and waited. He shook his head and stood there, watching her ribcage expand and contract, while listening to the National Geographic noises emanating from her face.
He went to the couch and stared at the pillow, retrieving the blanket instead. Spreading it out, he draped it over Amara’s form, covering her as best he could, allowing the excess to collect along the floor. He took hold of her left forearm, and with nervous fingers, carefully extracted it from the armrest, laying it gently atop the desk. His task complete, he looked her over, wishing he had other ways to make her more comfortable.
He shrugged and straightened up, then flipped off the light switch at the base of the staircase and made his way back up to his apartment as soundlessly as he came.
THIRTEEN
With less than an hour to go before dawn, activity levels aboard the Harbinger approached fever pitch. After arriving shortly before dusk at the dead sperm whale’s approximate location, Willie Daniels and the crew of the former whaler found themselves hampered by high seas and failing light.
Anchoring in the darkness, they sat back and waited for the wind to die down before attempting to use the ship’s radar and sonar to track the giant cetacean. The task of investigating the myriad sound images they received, any of which might be the dead bull, fell squarely on the shoulders of Lane Brodsky and Mike Helm, manning the ship’s runabout, the Sycophant.
It took them a good two hours of bouncing from signal to signal before they finally got lucky. The two interns located the rotting whale, tagged it with a radio transmitter, and radioed its location back to the mother ship. Within a half-hour, the Harbinger was anchored next to the carcass, waiting for Lane and Mike to secure a line to it.
Willie radioed them. “Lane, how’s it goin?”
“We finally got a cable around Elvis’s flukes,” Lane shouted into his hand unit, trying to be heard over the inflatable’s noisy outboard. “You can reel him in if you’re feeling nostalgic, but the King is definitely dead. This tub of lard stinks to high heaven!”
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 24