As she trudged past the hard-to-resist couch, she heard it again. It was the same beating sound that woke her. It was coming from Jake Braddock’s apartment.
Using the bathroom’s poorly lit mirror, she gave her hair a few quick brush strokes. As she passed the station’s tiny kitchen she thought about making a cup of coffee, but decided to investigate the strange noise first.
The door to Jake’s apartment was closed, but she could hear the sound resonating through the wood. It was like a baseball bat colliding with an old tree stump. Curiosity overpowered caution and Amara knocked on the door.
No answer.
Frustrated, she knocked louder. Eventually, impetuousness took over and she tried the doorknob. A look of bemusement crept across her face as she realized Jake left his door unlocked. Opening it to the halfway point, she could see a dimly-lit, loft style apartment with tall, rounded windows, mostly blocked by drapery. There was a living room to the right, centered on a large LCD television, and a bedroom set cordoned off by Shoji screens.
Jake was nowhere in sight. Clearing her throat, Amara called for him. The muffled noise was almost deafening now, and was accompanied by loud music. She frowned and shook her head. It’s no wonder the big oaf can’t hear.
Amara’s partially opened eyes grew annoyed. Impatience, combined with sleep deprivation, began to chafe at her. Throwing caution to the wind, she flung the weighty door open and walked brazenly inside. A few feet in front of her, a large punching bag creaked back and forth on its chain.
She spotted Jake off to her left and immediately started blushing. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but loose sweatpants, and was an astonishing physical specimen. He had rock music blasting, while performing some sort of martial arts routine. Soaked with perspiration, the lawman was engaged in combat with a bizarrely constructed wood statue. It was man-sized and cylindrical in shape, with several pieces of wood extending from it like arms and legs.
Weaving in and around this durable construct, Jake launched a blinding barrage of attacks. Some appeared defensive, as he slammed his forearms and elbows against the protruding limbs with circular movements. Others were definitely offensive, as his thick knuckles smashed again and again between the protective limbs and into the exposed body, striking with a force that made Amara wince.
Unnoticed, she watched Jake with fascination. It was like observing a panther stalking its prey. His movements were fast and powerful, and very hard to follow.
Stopping with his sweat-soaked back to her, he bent to pick up a towel and a remote control. He clicked off the CD and stood there, chest heaving and guzzling a bottle of spring water.
“You’re up earlier than I expected, doc,” he said, turning and looking her in the eye. He shifted position, tossing the empty bottle into a recycling receptacle, then winked as he wrapped the towel around his neck and shoulders. “Just as well. You’ve relieved me of the dubious task of waking you up.”
“Um, right . . .” Amara’s face was on fire and she looked in any direction she could, as long as it didn’t involve locking eyes with the perspiring Adonis in front of her. God . . . Home Depot must have banned him for setting off every stud-finder in the place. She exhaled slowly. “Sorry to interrupt your exercise routine,” she mumbled, “the noise woke me. I didn’t know you were beating up on . . . whatever that thing is.”
Jake cocked his head. “The wooden dummy? It’s an old kungfu training tool. Sorry, it makes a lot of noise. There’s never anyone around this early in the morning.”
“A wooden dummy, eh?” Amara grinned mischievously. “Sounds like a couple of ichthyologists I know.”
Finally starting to relax, she peered around his place. The layout was Spartan, and nearly half the available space was dedicated to training. There was a speed bag, a double-end bag, and a self-standing punching bag, designed to resemble a human being from the waist up.
It was the bristling array of awards and weapons that caught her eye. Standing against the wall like soldiers at attention were a dozen trophies and several medals, hanging from ribbons in glass cases. Beneath these awards, a series of wooden shelves supported an impressive sword collection. She could see a brace of ornate katanas similar to her family’s heirlooms, as well as an assortment of broadswords, cutlasses and sabers. Some were new, albeit dusty, while others were antiques dating back hundreds of years.
Weaved between the deadly weapons and trophies were photos of Jake and a striking blonde. There were pictures with famous sports figures and celebrities, and even a few politicians.
“Wow, is that you with the president?” she asked, gawking at an autographed photo that hung beneath a glass case on the wall.
“Yeah,” Jake replied, not looking up as he dried himself off. “That was taken after the nationals, four years ago. The sword was a gift from the first lady. She was a fan of my mom’s.”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah, she was a silver medalist in the Olympics, thirty years ago. She was the reason I started in the first place.”
“Wow, your mother won a medal at the Olympics? In what sport?”
Jake gave a sarcastic smirk, his eyes doing a quick jog around the room. “Gee, I wonder what it could be.”
Amara frowned and gazed wide-eyed up at the swept hilt rapier that hung point down above the framed photo. She looked around and found herself at a loss for words.
“I’m confused,” she announced. “So, you’re some kind of fencing champion?”
“Used to be,” Jake said. “I don’t compete anymore.”
Amara whistled. “That’s too bad. It looks like you were really good at it. I’m embarrassed to say, but I’ve never heard of you. Then again,” she added, “I’m away at sea for months on end, and marine biology geeks don’t usually follow sports.”
“That’s okay, doc,” he said, squeezing into a t-shirt. “Like I said, it’s in the past. It doesn’t matter.”
Amara paused in front of one of the photos. Curiosity got the better of her.
“The woman in these pictures, is she your wife?”
There was a long silence. “She was.”
“Was?” Amara asked. She leaned on the wall as she studied the photo. “But you guys look like you were so much in love. Why did you divorce?”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, we didn’t divorce. She died, three years ago.”
“Oh!” Amara gasped. One hand covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Jake acknowledged, dropping into a nearby recliner. Exhaling heavily, he reached for an ornately framed photo resting on the table in front of him. He stared thoughtfully at it, then put it back in its assigned place. “We were your stereotypical athletic couple. Samantha was a competitive swimmer, and I was headed for a career on the professional fencing circuit.” Jake sat back and stared up at the ceiling. “A few months after we got married she got the diving bug.”
“The diving bug? You mean, like platform diving?”
“I wish. She fell in love with free diving. Personally, I never saw the draw of it, but she loved the thrill and excitement. She just couldn’t get the idea out of her head, you know? She was great at it. In fact, she took second at the world championships.”
Jake closed his eyes. “That was a few months before she died.”
Amara observed the mournful expression encompassing the sheriff’s features. She sat quietly on the couch, her hands clasped on her lap, afraid to ask more.
“I should’ve been there, doc,” Jake said suddenly. His eyes opened with surprising fierceness. “When she needed me most, I wasn’t there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sam had a big competition coming up. Not more than six miles from here. I was offered a photo shoot for some sneaker company that same day. I was going to pass on it, but Sam told me ‘Just go and show up when you can.’” He stopped talking and stared into space. “It was her first meet without me . . .”
&n
bsp; There was an interminable silence. He stared grimly at the ceiling, his fingers interlocked across his chest, his mind lost in the past.
Amara cleared her throat. “Listen, if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. I feel like an ass for ask–”
“It’s okay, doc,” Jake interjected. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
Amara walked shakily to his chair. Ignoring the pain that shot down her leg, she eased herself onto the edge of the coffee table and took Jake’s hand in hers. His fingers felt as hard as concrete, and she wondered how deep those calluses went.
“Look, I know we don’t know each other, but if you want to talk about Sam it’s fine. And if you don’t, that’s fine too.”
“She drowned,” he said, his voice so mechanical it was frightening. “I was out posing with my sword, surrounded by models and hamming it up, while she suffered a seizure a hundred feet underwater.”
He looked squarely at Amara.
“I could’ve left an hour earlier, but I was hanging around the set signing autographs. My ego wouldn’t let me leave. By the time I finally got there, she was gone.”
Amara didn’t say anything. She just held onto Jake’s hand, squeezing it with a scaled-down version of the hug she knew he needed but wouldn’t accept.
“Did they discover what caused the seizure?” she hazarded.
“Yes, they did.”
“What was it?”
“She was pregnant.”
Amara swallowed a gasp. “Oh God, that’s awful.”
“Yeah . . . the autopsy said she was eight weeks pregnant.” Jake shook his head. “I don’t think she even knew. The oxygen depletion, combined with the pressure, was just too much for her condition.”
“I’m so sorry, Jake.” She struggled to get the words out. “You gave up fencing after that, didn’t you? You blame yourself for her death.”
It was a statement of fact.
“Free-diving is a dangerous sport,” Jake said. “She was my wife. I should have been there. Instead, I was playing musketeer, while Sam and my unborn child were drowning. So to answer your question: yes. I’m done. I have no desire to touch a sword again.”
“I see. If you don’t mind my asking, how does your mother feel about your decision? Does she support it?”
Jake’s eyes hardened. “My mom doesn’t feel anything, doc. She was killed by a drunk driver, a month before nationals.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Amara’s eyes dropped and she exhaled, long and slow. She looked up. “Hey . . . come to think of it, I remember seeing your wife’s death on the news. They said the doctors tried everything to save her and couldn’t. Forgive me, but even if you were there, a hundred feet of cold sea separated you. You wouldn’t have even known what was happening, let alone been able to reach her.”
He exhaled through his nostrils. “I would have found a way.”
She released his hand and drew herself up. “Jake, you have to stop beating yourself up about it. I’ve seen you in action, and there’s nobody I’d rather have by my side, but there was nothing you could have done for her.”
Amara stood where she was, her tanned arms folded across her chest as she waited for Jake’s response. When the big lawman sat there brooding, she turned to go.
“So . . . what happened with your research?”
Amara hesitated, stopping in mid-stride to turn toward him. She tried to see Jake’s eyes as he rose to his feet but he avoided her gaze.
“The system couldn’t find anything,” Amara said with a shrug. “I nodded off around three. We ended up with an unknown quantity, as I feared. Anyway, I’ve got to log off before we get out of here,” she said as she walked away. “I’ll double-check the system’s findings, but I don’t expect anything of significance.”
As she opened the door to Jake’s apartment, Amara looked back at him with a perplexed expression.
“You know, I’m confused by what Archimedes found. Or rather, by what it didn’t. Evolution is a laborious process. It takes tens of thousands of years to perfect a design. Yet, our mystery predator appears to have just sprung into existence from thin air. Or water, if you will.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know, it just seems very strange . . .”
Jake watched Amara close the door before he hopped in the shower. He turned on both faucets and disrobed while waiting for the water to heat up. As he stared at the miniature whirlpool vanishing into the bathtub’s blackened drain, a cloud of nausea blindsided him. A curse escaped his lips as he felt his knees and equilibrium both take a vacation. He reached for the doorjamb, his hands clawing ineffectually at the wood. A moment later, he felt the floor’s cold, ceramic embrace.
He was powerless. Clamping his eyes shut, he held on tight, his sweat-soaked body shivering in waves as he waited for the episode to run its course.
An eternity later, he relaxed his grip, opened his eyes and climbed wearily back to his feet. Relieved that Amara wasn’t witness to what he considered an embarrassing display of weakness, he climbed into the shower, praying for the rushing water to wash away his regrets.
Downstairs, Amara collected her belongings. She was agitated over the morning’s developments. Her conversation with Jake was revealing, but unsettling as well. The lawman carried so much sadness inside him. He reminded her of a lonely, battle-scarred old whale, left to wander the seas in solitude after watching its mate get slaughtered by hunters. He was a lost cause.
Of course, lost causes are my specialty . . .
She stared at the computer desk, still upset she spent a good portion of the night there. The mysterious tooth and skin fragment stared mockingly at her from their resting places. She frowned as she leaned over to initiate Archimedes’ complex shutdown sequence.
She was so engrossed in thought, it took a few moments for her to realize it had found a match after all. It stared at her from the screen – a full-color illustration of a large aquatic creature. A cursory examination indicated it was not a whale, as she expected. It was a marine reptile: a predator with four powerful flippers, a short neck, and an enlarged skull filled with sharp teeth.
Amara gaped at the image. She eased herself down into her seat, her gaze latched onto the monitor screen. She blinked, straining her eyes as she moved closer to the image. She scanned the text and did a double-take as she spotted the animal’s time period. The creature Archimedes had identified was from the Cretaceous period. It died out with the dinosaurs sixty-five million years earlier. She laughed until she read its scientific name.
A wave of lightheadedness swept over her and she realized she wasn’t breathing. Consciously sucking in air, she continued to stare at the computer generated image of the extinct colossus. Her mind waged war over the incredulous nature of the find. The report was ridiculous and impossible. There must be a script error or undetected flaw in the system’s interpretation program.
Archimedes had made a mistake.
Unless . . .
Suddenly, Amara’s heart pounded in her chest. She looked fearfully at the giant tooth, sitting upright on the desk. She studied its ribbed edge, designed for ripping through flesh, and its armor piercing point. She blinked rapidly as a parade of gruesome images flashed through her mind in rapid-fire succession.
The disemboweled blue whale she saw on the news.
The blood-spattered wreck of the Sayonara.
The giant sperm whale, with its gaping wound.
The decapitated Xiphactinus, whose head she had on ice.
The monstrous shape as it passed under her ship . . .
“Omigod!”
A second later, she was kangarooing up the stairs to Jake’s apartment and pounding on his door like a maniac.
FOURTEEN
The signal was almost on top of them.
Willie’s exhalation was an icy chill escaping his chest. He cursed and snatched up his radio, spitting into the hand piece. “Lane, what da hell’s takin so long? Where are ya, mon?”<
br />
“We’re in position, Harbinger,” Lane replied. “Joe just lowered the winch.”
Willie’s eyes met Adam Spencer’s and he shook his head. “Dey’s not gonna make it! I’m goin topside.”
His boots rang as he bolted out of the observation room. He sprinted up the starboard stairwell, nearly bowling over two chatting interns. He emerged seconds later on deck, radio in hand.
The daylight was unbearable. Used to the confines of the dimly lit research vessel, the morning sun was blinding. Willie squinted against the glare, shielding his eyes as he waited for them to adjust. He moved to the nearby crane and rapped on its window.
“Hey, Joe!” he yelled, struggling to be heard over the crane’s sputtering diesel engine.
The salt-stained partition slid open.
“Yo, Willie, what’s up?” Joe Calabrese stuck his head out, pulling a pair of levers to lock the crane’s cab in place.
“Can’t ya get dem up any faster?”
“Seas are pretty rough,” Joe said. “I can’t just eyeball it like usual. I got the cherry down there trying to lock her in place.”
His eyes wide, Willie rushed to the railing. He saw their newest intern, Christian Ho, with a snorkel, surfacing for air as he wrestled with the connector between the Harbinger and the submersible.
Willie rubbed his temples. Christian was an expert swimmer, but the idea of even their steel-hulled mini-sub being in the water right now, let alone a defenseless human being, was more than he could handle. The Harbinger was expecting some very unpleasant company.
“Adam, what ya got?” Willie’s eyes scanned the sea for the approaching behemoth. He lowered his handset and peered over the side as Christian signaled that the link was finally secured.
“Whatever it is, it’s almost within camera range,” Adam said. “It’s one hundred and fifty yards off our starboard and closing.” His voice trailed off. “Hey Willie, come take a look at this. The reading is getting all weird!”
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 26