“Thanks, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Jake felt the intensity of Amara’s stare as he walked toward the nearby stairwell. Suddenly, her glass clattered to the floor, fragmenting as she sprang out of her chair.
“Hey, Jake,” she called to him, breathing scotch as she caught up to him.
“Yes, doc?” Jake paused to check his radio settings.
“It might be better if we bring the Harbinger back to Paradise Cove, and tow your boat along with us.”
“What for?”
“It’s quite possible our pliosaur had decided Harcourt Marina is part of its hunting territory. If it has, a ship this size is immune to an attack – at least, much more so than your little center console. Also, you might need me for your press conference. Last but not least, if we’re going after this animal, we’ll need my submersible repaired and running, something that is going to require more resources than we have here onboard.”
Jake gave her an analytical look. “You’re very persuasive, doc. Fine. I’ll make my call and you start prepping things on your end. How much time will it take before we can get under way?”
“I’d say fifteen or twenty minutes. I’ll radio Joe and Willie to see if they’ve finished rigging the explosives. Once they have, we’ll weigh anchor.”
“Sounds good,” Jake said. “I’ll be topside if you need me. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“No problem.” She smiled cooperatively.
Amara remained immobile while Jake made his way back above decks. She waited patiently, her eyes alert and ears pricked. Finally satisfied, she jogged back to Adam’s station and grabbed him by one shoulder.
“I need you to go online for me, quickly.”
“What for?”
“I want the contact info for Fish and Wildlife, in the Department of the Interior, and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration Fisheries, in the Department of Commerce, both in regard to the ESA. And as quickly as you can, please.”
“The ESA?” Adam hung a confused sign on his face.
“The Endangered Species Act,” Amara said. “Now hurry!”
Turning to keep watch as he typed furiously, Amara reached for her radio.
“Hey, Willie, it’s Amara. How’s it going?”
“We just about done,” Willie radioed back. Amara could hear the whistling sea air in the background. “Da fuses are ready and we about ta cut da whale loose. Dis ting stinks like da devil, mon!”
“Good work. Cut the carcass loose and let’s get moving. Tell Joe to weigh anchor. I want us under way in ten minutes or less.”
“Okay . . . where we goin?”
“Back to the marina.” Amara took a two-page printout from Adam, scanned it and smiled. “It looks like we’ve got a press conference to attend, old friend. And after that, a date with a monster.”
“Oh, Lordy. Now don’t dat sound wonderful.”
The pliosaur drifted motionless, basking in the midday sun. Its considerable presence was betrayed by the flock of seabirds hovering above it, waiting to obtain scraps from one of its messy kills.
It had lain comatose for several hours, submerging only once, when it detected an approaching ocean liner. It sounded as the metallic monster passed overhead, remaining immobile beneath the surface until the noisy ship faded far into the distance.
Resurfacing later in an explosive blast of water vapor, the creature remained at the surface like the tiny island it was, its broad back bereft of vegetation. Oblivious to the wheeling gulls and the schools of baitfish that explored its vast bulk, it waited for something to draw its attention.
Moments later, it was unceremoniously yanked from its slumber. The cause was a reverberation of prodigious proportion that struck it to its core. The shockwave resonated throughout the surrounding waters, scattering birds and fish alike. Its origin was many miles away, and completely alien in nature. Still, to an opportunistic predator, it might be indicative of an unexpected source of food such as an underwater earthquake or landslide.
With its hunger and curiosity both stimulated, the pliosaur sprang to life. It filled its massive lungs and submerged. Powering its body along with rapid strokes of its boat-sized flippers, it cruised in the direction of the stimulating echo. At thirty miles an hour, it would arrive there in minutes.
SEVENTEEN
Two miles off the coast of Paradise Cove, the great white shark continued its relentless quest, scenting its way along the region’s thermocline as it searched for prey. Bereft of a swim bladder, the six thousand pound predator was unable to remain suspended while at rest, and forced to swim endlessly through life.
At twenty-three feet in length, the giant Carcharodon carcharias female was at the peak of her power, a genetically perfect eating machine that feared virtually nothing except pods of killer whales.
Having been forced to give up the drifting sperm whale carcass to the encroaching orcas, the great fish now hunted in desperation. Her tremendous appetite had only been fueled further by the brief mouthfuls of fetid flesh she’d wrenched from the giant cetacean’s remains. Now unbearably voracious, she was becoming more aggressive by the minute.
Suddenly, she twisted her giant body to and fro, jaws opening and closing, then turned in a more easterly direction. Her incredible sense of smell had detected something. Working feverishly, her olfactory system broke down and analyzed the scent. It was blood – mammalian. The odor was heavily diffused, miniscule in quantity, perhaps just a few ounces per several million gallons of seawater.
Increasing her speed with powerful thrusts of her man-sized tail, the huge fish cruised toward the source of the blood trail. It was coming from the nearby shoreline. The seas beneath her became shallower, and the female became more and more aroused.
The scent grew stronger. She could sense the food source somewhere up ahead. Soon, she would find it. And this time nothing would force her from her kill.
As he leaned over the Harbinger’s railing, Jake couldn’t help likening the crowd of reporters to a pack of bloodthirsty hyenas. Just last week, he’d watched a documentary on the spotted variety, cackling hysterically as they tore a zebra mare and her foal into bloody pieces. His jaw muscles slowly tightened. He had a feeling his impromptu press conference would end up being just as messy.
Amara moved next to him, touching him gently on the shoulder. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, as she studied the frenzied group directly below them. Ignoring the array of inquiries they yelled up, she shielded her eyes against the relentless barrage of flashbulbs.
“I’m used to dealing with the press, doc,” he said coolly. “I’ve dealt with far worse than this.”
“Yes. Listen, just so you know, I’m with you on this, one hundred percent. I would, however, like to know what you’re going to tell them.”
“The truth.” He reached for his carry bag and turned toward Willie. To his amusement, the Harbinger’s first mate seemed even more apprehensive than his captain as he took in the sea of reporters.
Jake grinned. “Don’t worry, Willie. This is Paradise Cove, not Salem. They’re not going to burn us at the stake.”
“Maybe not, mon. But den again, ya never know.”
Jake caught Amara’s eye. “You ready?”
“You go on and get yourself situated,” she replied, exhaling long and low. “I’ll be down in a second.”
Jake nodded. He moved easily, descending the research vessel’s creaking gangplank. At the bottom, a group of uniformed officers were waiting to escort him to the podium Paradise Cove’s town council had put together.
Amara remained motionless as Jake vanished into the crowd. Her lips were pursed, her brow furrowing up. She noticed Willie staring at her with an amused expression on his face.
“What?” she started. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Oh, no ting, boss,” he said. He gave her an appraising look. “I was just tinking. Dat’s all.”
“Thinking about what?”
&
nbsp; “Dat mon. I tink ya really be likin’ ‘im.”
“Like Jake? Gee, I really hadn’t thought about it but . . . yes, I guess, I do.” Her wistful expression hardened. “Not that it matters.”
Willie studied her intently. “Why, cause ‘im married?”
“No, his wife died tragically a few years ago. But he blames himself for her death.”
“Was it his fault?”
“Of course not.”
Rising on her toes with her arms folded across her chest, Amara stared petulantly into the crowd, struggling to make out Jake’s location amid the bickering paparazzi. She glimpsed him for a fleeting moment. Then he was gone.
“I’m worried he’ll never get over it.” She started to sulk, realizing she was battling her own emotions. “It’s been three years, Willie. Don’t you think that’s enough time to mourn?”
“Everyone can master a grief but he dat has it. Ya know dat.”
“Romeo and Juliet?”
“Nah, Much Ado about Nutting.” Willie grinned reassuringly at her. He reached over and put one arm around her shoulders, giving her a comforting hug. “Well, ya better get goin. I keep an eye out for any email from da ESA.”
“Thanks, but it’ll be a good thirty-six hours before even a preliminary verdict,” she said, forcing herself to smile. As she moved toward the gangplank, she looked back. “I just realized something. The pliosaur killed one of Jake’s closest friends. It doesn’t matter if he does get over his wife, he’ll end up hating me for protecting it.”
Willie shook his head. “I tink ya assumin too much. But time will tell.”
Nodding her head, Amara brooded her way down to the concrete dock that ran parallel to Paradise Cove’s deepwater drop-off. Accompanied by police, she wound her way toward Jake.
Despite the circumstances, the big lawman appeared quite at ease with his surroundings, hobnobbing with a group of well-dressed business types. As she mentally separated herself from the mob scene, she unexpectedly found herself staring at the length and breadth of the huge pier.
Suddenly, she could no longer hear the crowd. The bits and pieces of an idea started to coalesce inside her head. It was an exciting notion, albeit challenging in both implication and application. She puffed out her cheeks, blew out a hiss of a breath. It would take a miracle to make her idea work. But then again, the way things were going, she was due for one.
As its massive body executed repeated figure-eights a hundred yards outside the marina, the ravenous great white shark grew frantic. The irrepressible need to consume flesh was beginning to overpower its innate cautiousness, pushing it to the brink of madness.
The source of the great fish’s distress was an unprecedented sensory overload, caused by the cacophony of stimuli emanating from the wooden pilings directly in front of her. The sounds of splashing bodies and flailing limbs, along with the delightful scent and taste of discarded fish parts and blood, lured her into the area. With these enticing sensations was a painful barrage of noises being emitted by an assortment of fast-moving forms that swept over her with frightening regularity.
On edge and starving, the female reached her boiling point. An experienced hunter, she knew that the slow-moving bipeds by the docks were not her usual prey, but her finely tuned senses were overwhelmed. Slowly but surely, her brain began to misinterpret the stimuli they gave off as that emitted by the area’s resident sea lion population.
Finally, the female’s senses betrayed her completely. She shook her head and flew into a feeding frenzy, unable to differentiate between edible and non-edible objects. Swimming in tighter and tighter circles, she entered the marina proper. Her enormous mouth, filled with serrated teeth bigger than a man’s palm, snapped reflexively at anything within range.
Up ahead, in less than twenty feet of water, she detected a small group of clumsily swimming pinnipeds. Twisting her three-ton body in their direction, she built up speed. Oblivious to all else, the huge predator began to stalk them.
His strong features well anchored, Jake looked down from his podium at the crowd.
Seated on the stage to his left was a group of local business owners. This included members of the town council, the harbormaster, and Amara Takagi. On the landing below was a colorful field of photographers, reporters and journalists. There was a smattering of local shop employees and patrons, as well as uniformed personnel.
Jake paused for a moment to wipe a trace of sawdust off the podium with his fingertips. He tapped hard on the microphone head before he continued.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I want to thank you all for coming.” His voice emanated loudly from the overhead speakers. “Before I go into details, please be aware, that effective immediately and until further notice, my office is shutting down all boating activity in and out of Paradise Cove.”
A harsh wave of inhalation traveled through the astonished audience, followed by an increasingly turbulent sea of finger-pointing, questions and comments. Jake waited for the inevitable tumult to die down, then pointed at a wiry reporter in the front row.
“Yeah, hi, sheriff . . . Mike Hodges from the Tampa Bay Herald,” the bald man said. “We were told you uncovered the identity of Brad Harcourt’s killer. What new information do you have?”
“You’ll find out in a minute, Mike,” Jake advised. He ignored the sea of raised hands and continued speaking. “I have a statement to make, after which all your questions will be answered as quickly as possible.”
Oblivious to the crowd’s response, Jake reached for the bag he’d tucked inside the podium, and placed it in plain sight.
“For those of you who are not aware, over the last few days there have been a number of deaths in and around the waters of Paradise Cove. I doubt you knew Phil Starling or Angelo Melito, but I imagine many of you did know, or at least came into contact with, Bradford Harcourt.”
He gauged the crowd’s reaction to the unpopular teen.
“All of these individuals had one thing in common.” Jake said as he unzipped the bag in front of him. “They were all killed by the same animal. And until this creature can be tracked down and dealt with, I am closing the harbor.”
Jake stoically waited for the shouting to subside. He gave Amara a sideways glance, drew a deep breath, then extracted the pliosaur’s tooth. He held it up, shielding his eyes as flashbulbs went off by the score.
“This is a piece of tooth that was extracted from the transom of a boat the creature attacked,” Jake said. He held it at arm’s length, moving it from side to side. “I say a piece because, as big as it is, it is an incomplete specimen. Even so, it is still as large as the tooth of an adult sperm whale.”
“Are you telling us some whale ate those people?” Mike Hodges yelled.
“No,” Jake said. He placed the tooth on the podium in front of him, its needle-sharp tip pointing straight up. “Our research indicates the creature that lost this tooth is larger than most of the whales around here, and that it feeds on them as well.”
“You keep calling this thing a creature,” Mike managed over the increasingly raucous crowd. “Exactly what kind of animal is it?”
“I’m going to let someone else answer that question,” Jake said. He gestured for Amara. “This is Doctor Amara Takagi from the Worldwide Cetacean Society. She’s an expert on marine life, and the commander of the research vessel Harbinger, anchored alongside us.”
Her eyes pensive, Amara stood up and walked stiffly to the podium. She paused alongside Jake, whispering as he stepped back. “Nice work, sheriff.” She covered the microphone with her hand. “Tell me something. Do you always throw your friends to the wolves?”
Jake suppressed a smirk. “Listen, you’re our resident marine expert. If you want to make a case for this creature’s preservation, this is the best opportunity you’re going to get. He winked at her. “So quit complaining and go for it.”
Her eyes narrowed, Amara took possession of the microphone. She looked down, fidgeting her way through the disorganized
stack of papers she carried. She started to speak, recoiling when her first words blared out, startling her.
“Sorry about that,” she said, adjusting her distance from the mike. A breeze kicked up, blowing strands of hair in front of her face. She shook her head to clear her vision. “The uh, creature in question is a unique specimen. It is a leftover from the lower Cretaceous – a hitherto thought to be extinct species of pliosaur.”
“English, please!” someone yelled out.
“Right . . .” Amara hesitated. She shot Jake a hateful look. Exhaling heavily, she lowered her eyes. “It’s a . . . marine reptile from the time of the dinosaurs.”
For a moment . . . silence. Then, derisive laughter ensued.
If Jake thought the journalists and paparazzi were ill-mannered before, their reaction to Amara’s statement made their previous behavior look downright polite. The verbal abuse was unrelenting, complete with heckling catcalls, and continued until Jake grabbed the mike.
“That’s enough. This is a news conference, not a free-for-all.”
“Yeah, right, Sheriff Braddock. Manny Silver from the Miami Inquirer, here.” A pot-bellied reporter with bushy eyebrows raised his hand. “Are you and your girlfriend trying to tell us there’s a dinosaur running around eating people? Cause if you are, I gotta say you guys got a lot of balls, and a hell of an imagination!”
“It’s not a dinosaur, it’s a marine reptile,” Amara said, leaning toward the microphone in an effort to be heard.
Jake calmed her with a raised hand.
“The creature we’re talking about lives in the water,” he said. He found himself wondering if Manny had any outstanding parking tickets, and fought down the urge to call him what he really wanted to. “It swims, it doesn’t run.”
“Oh, give us a break,” the journalist shot back, smirking at his colleagues. “I want to make sure we’re hearing you right. You’re actually trying to get us to believe you have some sort of dinosaur on the loose in the waters around Paradise Cove!”
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 32