“I’m on it,” the retired ironworker responded. He galloped up the ship’s congested gangplank, calling out to the two mercenaries.
Jake watched Joe vanish from view. “Would you like me to join you?”
“Sure, I could use the company.” Amara turned on her heel, moving along the pier with purposeful strides. The sounds of people and equipment continued. She looked at Jake as the two made their way past the line of SUV’s and trucks. “So, do you think the senator is serious about capturing the pliosaur?”
“I wouldn’t count on it, doc.” He cast a sideways glance at the heavyset politician and his lawyer as he and Amara moved out of earshot. “Don’t get me wrong. When it comes to Dean Harcourt, anything is possible, especially if there’s some political angle. But, given his well-earned reputation for ruthlessness, plus the loss he suffered, I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“I see.” Her pace slowed as they approached the second flatbed truck. It was old and worn, its shocks weighed down by its tarp-covered load. Pausing while surveying the area, she positioned herself so she was obscured by the leading vehicle. She crept closer to the flatbed, an intense expression on her face.
“What are you doing?” Jake asked, following her.
“I want to see what they have under here.” Amara glanced back over her shoulder. She grasped the edge of the thick tarp and grunted. It was practically welded to the vehicle’s frame. “Ugh. If Karl’s got some kind of new sub design like he says, I want to see it.”
Despite Jake’s whispered admonitions, Amara continued to pull and tug at the tarp. Cursing under her breath when the rough material resisted her efforts, she twisted her head sideways and struggled to peer under its rim.
“I see something yellow . . .”
She was straining for a better look when someone bellowed.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Caught off guard, Amara gave a frightened yelp. One of Von Freiling’s men appeared from behind the truck. He was half-ahead shorter than Jake, though just as broad, and had a huge scar running down the right side of his unshaven face. Jake instinctively put himself between Amara and the scar-faced intruder. The merc had a large bone-handled machete slung from his belt. He reached for it as he drew closer, his already cold eyes growing wild and dangerous.
“I don’t think so,” Jake advised, resting his hand on the butt of his Beretta.
“Easy there, Markov!”
Half turning, Jake watched as Karl Von Freiling came jogging over. He had an amiable grin spread across his features. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
“Your buddy Markov was about to attack us,” Amara snapped as she stepped out from behind Jake.
“They were snooping around one of the subs,” Markov replied matter-of-factly, not denying the charge.
“Is that so?” Von Freiling said. His amused smile seemed etched onto his face. “Don’t worry yourself about my little toys, Amara. You’ll have plenty of time to look them over at sea.”
“Why wait until then? What’s the big secret?”
“Now, now, love. There’s no secret. And patience is a virtue.” Von Freiling reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He turned to Jake. “Care for a smoke, sheriff?”
“No thanks. Not my thing.”
“Suit yourself.” Von Freiling nodded as he lit up. He puffed rapidly, running his free hand atop the edge of his craft. He drummed his fingertips contemplatively on the taut fabric, then turned to his waiting underling. “Markov, why don’t you go back to the ship and get me a status report? I want to leave within the hour, and we still have to get these loaded and stowed.”
“Yes, sir,” Markov replied, casting Jake and Amara a dour look, before backing away and vanishing from view.
“You’ll have to forgive my associate,” Von Freiling offered. He took a long drag from his cigarette, funneling the smoke out his nostrils, then flicked the butt over the nearby railing. It struck a seagull sitting below, spraying embers and eliciting an irate squawk. “He’s been with me a long time, and we often travel in parts of the world where people aren’t as . . . civilized as we are here.”
“No problem, Karl,” Jake said. He began leading Amara away by the arm. “Now if you’ll excuse us . . .”
“Of course,” Von Freiling replied, grinning one last time. “Just be back within ten minutes of our claxon, Amara. That is, if you’re still going.”
Winking at Jake and the scowling cetaceanist, Von Freiling turned to go.
The pliosaur awakened. It surged to life, its eyes opening wide and its monstrous body submerging in a tremendous splash. Blinking repeatedly as it scanned the adjacent seas, the marine reptile uttered a resonating grumble. Its temporarily dormant appetite had returned, and it strained to lock onto the trail of the warm-blooded food it detected the previous evening. The pod was nowhere to be found.
Whipping its triangular-shaped head from side to side, it picked up on a school of fleet-moving fish. With a quick shift, it adjusted its course to intercept them, its paddle-shaped appendages switching to a simultaneous power stroke to close the distance.
With its toothy jaws already beginning to open in anticipation, it moved in for the kill.
Forty minutes after they left the dock, Jake watched Amara hang up her payphone in disgust. While he waited, he’d distracted himself by observing a pair of CH-47F Chinook military helicopters loading Von Freiling’s mystery subs onboard. With their noisy task complete, the big copters faded into the distance. In their place, a group of gulls flew directly overhead. The abnormally silent birds arced slowly in the breeze, scanning the expanse of Harcourt Marina’s damaged and deserted wharf for any possible meal.
“What did they say?” Jake called out as she moved within earshot.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Amara steamed. Her lips were scrunched, her toned arms compressed tightly across her chest. “They’re a bunch of hypocritical cowards. Either that or that damn senator of yours has a lot more power than I thought.”
“Probably the latter,” Jake said. He inclined his head in the direction of the pier. “They finished loading while you were on the phone. Looks like the remainder of your guys are headed this way.”
Still fuming, Amara watched as Willie Daniels drew near, followed closely by Joe Calabrese and a disgruntled-looking Adam Spencer. The Harbinger’s videographer was carrying a box piled high with data sheets, discs, and personal items, and his expression was every bit as outraged as his employer’s had been when she first heard the news.
“Amara, what the hell is this?” Adam said. He stopped to adjust his thick glasses while balancing his burden against one hip.
“It’s just like Willie told you. They’ve got the Harbinger and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Nothing?”
Amara shook her head. “Not for the time being.”
Adam tugged nervously at his ear and looked down. “Look, boss, I don’t want to seem like some rat deserting the ship, but there’s no way I’m sticking around to work with those goons. You should see what they’ve done to my work station already.”
Amara placed a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. “It’s okay, things may get hairy on board anyway. I’d feel better if you stayed behind and waited for us to get back.”
“If we get back, mon,” Willie interjected, staring glumly at the nearby Harbinger.
“Hey, let’s have none of that,” Amara said. “I’m counting on you to look after me while we’re out there.”
“Don’t I always?”
“Yes, you do. What about you, Jake? Are you coming with us?” Amara zoomed in on him with hopeful eyes. “We could continue our conversation from earlier . . .”
“Well, technically I can’t say I was invited . . .” Jake said with a sardonic grin. “But being the law in these parts, I can pretty much assure you that as long as they’re operating within the twelve mile limit, I’ll be onboard and keeping an eye on things, whether
Harcourt likes it or not.”
Amara sighed with relief. “Thanks.” She looked at Joe Calabrese. “What’s the word on the William?”
“I lowered her onto their lead flatbed.” The grizzled ironworker pointed back toward the pier. “Did it myself – and a good thing too. Those guys are pretty reckless. I tried to warn Karl about the problem we’ve been having with the starboard crane, but he was busy directing his helicopters and didn’t want to hear it. After a few tries, I got their second submersible winched off the deck and locked in place. I just hope the hydraulics hold up.”
“And the rest of our crew?”
“Already gone. They took cabs into town to whatever cheap-ass hotel Harcourt set up for them,” Joe said bitterly. “All of em, even Lane and Mike. They wanted nothing to do with Von Freiling and his guys. Shit, can’t say I blame them.”
“I see. Well then, I guess it’s just us,” Amara announced, looking back and forth from Jake to Willie. She gave Adam and Joe each a tight hug. “Thanks guys. I’ll call you when we get back.”
Jake watched them exchange embraces, then turned toward the Harbinger as the ship’s warning claxon sounded, its baritone bellow dispersing the birds overhead as it echoed across the marina.
“We better get going,” he said.
“I guess you’re right,” Amara nodded. “Karl is asshole enough to leave us behind.”
As Willie waved to Joe and Adam, Jake turned to Amara. “You know, it’s not my style to pry into people’s personal lives, doc. But, I’ve noticed a lot of hostility between you and that ‘Doc Savage’ reject. Is there some problem between you two that I should know about?”
“Hmm, let’s see . . . Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“So, what is it?” Jake asked. He felt a twang of annoyance as Amara turned her back on him and started to walk away.
“He’s my husband!” she yelled over her shoulder. Her stride increased, and she continued on without looking back.
“Your hus . . .” Jake stalled out. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he felt a sick feeling rolling around in the pit of his stomach. He stared slack-jawed at Willie. “Well, that . . . certainly explains it!”
Willie grinned reassuringly. “Now, don’t go worrying about dis mon, Jake. Tings been over between dem for years.”
“I see. Well, thanks for the heads-up,” Jake said affably. His expression turned staid. “But I think we’ve got bigger problems.”
As they reached the reporters and troopers encamped on opposing sides of the barricade, Willie edged close to Jake. “Who knows if we even got anyting ta fret about?” He glanced around, murmured under his breath. “Wit any luck, maybe we won’t even find dat ting. Maybe da beast ain’t even in da area anymore.”
Before he could formulate his reply, Jake found himself distracted by a commotion on the nearby beach. He spotted a couple of early morning beachcombers – far fewer in number, due to the devastated docks – rushing excitedly down to the edge of the surf. They squatted down and started grabbing at several large objects, struggling to drag them from the water, up onto the sand.
Jake shielded his eyes and took a closer look. To his surprise, the gleeful tourists were wrestling with a small school of yellowfin tuna. For whatever reason, a dozen of the five-foot fish had ended up beaching themselves. As he watched the group of sun worshippers hauling the quivering tuna onto their towels, he wondered how a bunch of pelagic fish could end up getting stranded like that. He gazed past the surf, toward the foreboding waters of the harbor, and knew the answer.
“I think there’s a good chance our pliosaur’s still in the area.” Jake turned from the beached fish with a grim smile and clapped Willie on the shoulder. “Trust me.”
Up ahead, Amara waited for them.
Jake looked up at the Harbinger and hesitated. Her imposing form loomed over the edge of the old pier like some lurking monolith, poised to plunge any who boarded her into an impossible adventure. As he studied the ominous-looking whaler, the rays of the morning sun washed over her, altering her normal grayish coloration and giving her a more ruddy hue.
Jake shrugged and continued on, heading toward the converted murder machine they would all call home until their mission was complete.
TWENTY-ONE
Ten miles from shore, the Harbinger plowed through twelve-foot seas. Like a cast-iron juggernaut, the big vessel’s reinforced steel foredeck rose and fell with the motion of the waves, while walls of white foam crashed thunderously against her bow.
Inside the ship’s windowed bridge, a tall, black-clad mercenary manned the helm. Shifting position from time to time, he synchronized his movements with the approaching waves. Behind the pilot, Karl Von Freiling, Jake Braddock, and Amara Takagi stood watching, the latter with her arms akimbo as she scrutinized his every move.
“Well, your man seems to know what he’s doing,” Amara muttered. Despite appearing conciliatory, her words were laced with sarcasm.
“Who, old Barnes?” Von Freiling inquired over the roar of the big diesels. “Now, don’t go worrying your pretty head about my man. He’s piloted destroyers in the dark under full combat conditions. I think he can manage your little ship without difficulty . . . right Barnes?”
“No problem, sir,” the soldier of fortune responded. “Wind’s kicked up pretty fierce, but it’ll die down soon.” He glanced at Amara. “If you don’t mind my saying, ma’am, your ship handles well. Considering her age and the heavy seas, that is. Diesels are in good shape, and she’s seaworthy. My compliments to your maintenance team.”
As he turned to look directly at her, Amara inhaled sharply. Barnes was missing an eye.
“Mortar fragment,” Von Freiling said, chuckling in her ear before addressing Jake and Amara. “Perhaps it’s time I show the two of you my new hardware. After all, you were both so eager to look over my little gadgets back on the dock. So . . . now’s your chance.”
“Lead the way,” Jake replied.
Amara trailed behind, looking over the pile of crates and containers Von Freiling had stored in the old radar station behind the bridge. Most of the wooden and metal boxes were unmarked, leaving the beleaguered cetaceanist to worry just what her eccentric spouse had brought onboard her ship.
“So, Karl, where do you plan on starting your little safari?” Amara probed. Her gaze wandered to the largest crates, the two his men struggled to push up the loading ramp, earlier. “The creature was last seen by the marina, so why go so far offshore?”
“Not to worry, love,” Von Freiling smirked back at her as he ducked through a narrow doorway. “We’ll be stopping soon. As always, there’s a method to my madness.”
Methodically making their way through the Harbinger’s cramped corridors, they emerged onto her sunlit aft deck. The two loading cranes stood waiting, their canvas-covered burdens gently swaying with the motion of the ship.
“Markov, it’s time to reveal our two beauties,” Von Freiling said to the guard stationed nearby. Amara gave a start; the sentry was the same machete-wielding thug that almost attacked them that morning.
“You got it, boss,” Markov said, casting a malevolent look in Amara and Jake’s direction. He drew his weapon and moved around the nearest mini-sub in a wide circle, deftly cutting the ropes that bound its coverings with quick and accurate strokes. From the look on Jake’s face, Amara imagined the young swordsman recognized a formidable adversary when he saw one.
“Ah, Senator Harcourt . . .” Von Freiling spread a well-oiled smile for the approaching politician. “You’re just in time for the unveiling.”
“Good,” Harcourt replied, slightly out of breath. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Amara’s eyes widened. Looming behind the senator was an enormous albino mercenary, so huge, he towered nearly a foot over Jake’s head.
“Indeed,” Von Freiling said. His eyes shifted to Markov. “If you please?”
Nodding, the merc sheathed his bolo, then reached up and grabbed one end of the noisi
ly flapping canvas. With a quick yank, the tarpaulin cascaded down into a fluid pile.
“Gentlemen, I give you . . . Eurypterid I!” Von Freiling exclaimed, gesturing at the bizarre craft hanging proudly in the breeze. Amara stepped forward for a closer look, her gaze intensifying. She could tell immediately, that compared to the William, Eurypterid I was an entirely different class of vessel.
Sleek and streamlined, as opposed to her blockier craft, Von Freiling’s creation measured twenty-five feet in length. It was wedge-shaped in design, and had short wings like the fins of a colossal ray. Instead of the single rudder the William possessed, it sported a pair of matched dorsal and ventral fins to regulate pitch and yaw, like the tail section of an advanced fighter plane.
She also noticed its propulsion system, or rather, apparent lack of one. There was no visible prop, only a pair of sloped intake valves that ran from stem to stern.
There were some similarities between the two vessels. Like the William, Eurypterid I had an observation bubble and a pair of actuators. However, the yellow submersible’s steel graspers were twice the size of her sub’s and ended with powerful-looking pincers that appeared capable of wrenching a bank vault’s door from its hinges. In terms of overall size, the ships were similar, but Eurypterid I was ferocious in appearance, designed more for undersea combat than exploration.
“Impressive looking vehicle,” Harcourt announced, interrupting her thoughts. “Can it do the job?”
“Can they do the job,” Von Freiling said, indicating the other craft hanging less than ten feet away. “And yes, they can.”
Amara cleared her throat noisily. “Your design is very interesting, Karl.” She moved to stand between him and Jake. “How long have you been working on this?”
“Since we parted ways, darling. Almost three years now.”
“I see. So, basically, a few months before you moved that “Miss Bum-Bum” wannabe into our house.”
“My house . . . and as I recall, you left me.”
“Whatever.”
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 40