“Exactly,” Von Freiling sneered.
“Hmm . . . I don’t see any sample baskets,” Amara muttered, bending at the waist and knees to peer underneath the mini-sub. “And your manipulators are oversized, to say the least. It’s safe to assume you designed your subs to–”
“To capture marine life,” Von Freiling said. “The Eurypterids were initially intended to ensnare giant squid. I’ve got standing offers from some of the world’s largest aquariums up to one point five million dollars for live specimens. I was in the midst of planning our first hunt for one when I heard about your little dinosaur problem. And you know me, always looking for a bigger trophy . . .”
Amara stiffened. “How deep can she dive? And what’s your means of propulsion?”
“Crush depth has been calculated at five thousand feet, and the engines are a caterpillar impeller system. They’re quiet, fuel efficient, and incredibly fast.”
Amara glanced back at him. “How fast?”
“She’ll go thirty-five knots submerged, faster on the surface,” Von Freiling said. “Not quick enough to catch a big Architeuthis already on the move, but fast enough to put you in the strike zone if it’s not.”
“There’s a big difference between chasing down a thousand-pound mollusk and grappling with a fifty-ton reptile.”
Von Freiling’s toothy smile turned suddenly serious, and he gestured to an array of features on the underside of his craft. “My subs come equipped with laminated, Kevlar-reinforced armor a full six inches thick. These flush-mounted ports expel four pairs of CO2 powered harpoons that can punch through concrete at a range of fifty yards. The main port – located here – launches a larger, steel-cabled harpoon that’s anchored to a hydraulic winch. When fired, the harpoon embeds itself in the target, discharging enough electricity to light up a city block.”
“So, your plan is to electrocute it?” Harcourt looked the exotic mini-sub over with a critical eye. “Sounds brazen. I know a little bit about electricity. What happens if it gets too close to fire your weapon?”
“The mechanical arms are designed to immobilize a squid the size of a cabin cruiser,” Von Freiling said. “They extend a full twelve feet and can hoist five tons each at nominal load. I’m sure they can keep our little dino at bay if it becomes necessary. Of course, if things get really ugly there’s the stinger . . .”
“The what?” Jake moved over to stand next to the two men.
“The stinger,” Von Freiling repeated with a grin. “After all, a Eurypterid is a prehistoric sea scorpion, Jake. And a scorpion’s gotta have a stinger.”
“So, are you going to show it to us or not?” Amara grated. She peered all over the exterior of the sub.
“You can’t see the stinger from down here,” Von Freiling said amusedly. He pointed upwards with a knobby thumb. “It’s on the dorsal section.”
“Enough games, Mr. Von Freiling.” Annoyance laced Harcourt’s voice. “Where is the stinger and what does it do?”
Von Freiling acquiesced. “It’s a concealed device, senator – kind of a weapon of last resort. It springs up out of the back of the submersible, like an arm that bends at the elbow. It’s activated by a lever contained within the pilot’s right armrest and moves like this.” He displayed a serpentine striking movement.
“And?”
“And, the tip is armed with what is basically an oversized bang stick, the kind divers use to fend off sharks. Except the shotgun shells we customized for this little girl are two feet long and six inches thick. They can punch a four-foot hole through a full-grown elephant. So . . . whatever the stinger comes into contact with, including your fifty-ton pliosaur, Amara, is going to have its guts exploded out the other side of its body. End of story.”
He winked at her.
“That’s barbaric! I should have expected that from you.” Amara wore a disgusted look as she moved toward the bow of the sub. Shading her eyes with her hands, she pressed her face against the observation window’s tinted surface.
Von Freiling turned toward Dean Harcourt. “Senator, do you disapprove of my use of military technology to even the odds against this thing we’re hunting?”
Harcourt arched an eyebrow and gazed at the Eurypterid. He rubbed his eyes, reaching inside his jacket for a pair of dark sunglasses.
“Canst thou draw out Leviathan with a hook? Or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down? Canst thou put a hook into his nose, or bore his jaw through with a thorn?” He looked at the faces surrounding him. “An excerpt from the Book of Job, people. And no, I believe your vessels were destined to be instruments of divine retribution before they left the drawing board.”
“I see . . . well then, there you have it, people,” Von Freiling announced, nodding. “If there’s nothing else–”
“Actually, I have a question,” Jake said.
At the sound of his voice, Amara glanced up from the mini-sub’s observation port. She turned back, her eyes scrunching up. The Eurypterid’s control panel had a familiar look . . .
Von Freiling followed Jake’s line of sight. “It’s layers of reinforced Lexan.”
Jake shook his head. “I’m not talking about the sub’s window. I’m curious how much these two ships cost.”
“C’mon, Jake. That’s not a topic for open discussion,” Von Freiling said, smiling hawkishly as his wife’s head turned in his direction. “Let’s just say my investors have put a considerable amount of money into this particular project and leave it at that.”
Jake stroked his chin as he looked the submersible up and down. “Humph. Well . . . I imagine you’ll have to catch a hell of a lot of calamari before your backers start making any money back.”
“You shouldn’t concern yourself with such things,” Von Freiling said amiably. He slapped his arm around the sheriff’s broad shoulders with surprising force. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Besides, who knows? Maybe there are some military contracts out there, just waiting for my little toys.”
“Karl, you son of a bitch!” Amara wheeled on him, her pale eyes flashing as she stepped angrily back from the Eurypterid’s bow section. “You stole my design, you bastard!”
“Whatever do you mean?” Von Freiling wore an expression of mock fear on his leering face.
“My design for the William’s manipulators.” She started toward her estranged husband. “You thought I wouldn’t recognize my own neural interface design through your little attack craft’s tinted windows?”
“Actually, since we’re still legally married, and worked on that project together, I have legitimate access to all our designs, Amara,” Von Freiling replied, taking a step backward and ignoring the assorted looks he was getting. “In addition, you only filed for patent protection here in the US. My backers and manufacturers are foreign, so technically . . .”
“Technically, you found a loophole and felt free to steal my work,” the infuriated cetaceanist said. “You know, just when I was starting to think there was no way you could stoop any lower, you surprise me yet again.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Harcourt said, stepping between them. “We don’t have time to waste on nonsense.”
“My point exactly,” Von Freiling smiled. “In fact–”
He stopped in mid-sentence as one of his mercs rushed up from a nearby stairwell.
“What is it, Gibson?”
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” the bearded merc said. “But we’re approaching the coordinates you set.”
“Thanks,” Von Freiling turned to Jake and Amara. “We’ll be anchoring shortly. I’m going downstairs to meet with my team. Feel free to come along.”
“Oh, we’re coming all right,” Amara fumed.
Von Freiling started to head below deck. He paused at the doorway. “Senator Harcourt? Will you be attending?”
The burly politician ignored him.
Von Freiling opened his mouth to repeat his invitation, then had a change of heart, shrugged and walked away.
While the others disappeared
below, Harcourt remained behind. His oversized escort waited soundlessly nearby, alert and attentive, his column-like arms resting atop his chest.
His eyes cool and calculating, the wealthy politician stared for long moments at the nearest Eurypterid before turning his gaze to the surrounding sea. He walked to the railing, grabbing onto the painted metal. Except for the faraway look in his eyes, his scarred face was impassive.
He gazed intently out at the windswept waters, the stiff breeze pushing his hair back. His expression hardened. Somewhere out there, within ten thousand square miles of uncharted ocean, his enemy roamed free. It was a creature that lived to kill, a mindless engine of primal fury whose insatiable lust for dominance exceeded even his own. If he had to track it to the blackest bowels of the abyss to have his vengeance, he would.
“Gentlemen, let’s start our preparations,” Von Freiling announced.
He moved to the middle of the room, his bronze eyes gleaming as he signaled for his men to gather round.
While the boisterous group of mercenaries eagerly surrounded their leader in the center of the Harbinger’s high-tech command center, Jake and Amara took up position close by. Moments later, they were joined by Willie, who had been keeping watch at his sonar station with a wiry little mercenary nicknamed “Stitches.”
The red-haired fellow with the goatee seemed friendly enough. But, given the nature of his peers and the moniker he went by, Jake was sure, when push came to shove, “Stitches” was just as dangerous and unpredictable as the rest of them.
Von Freiling held up a hand for silence. “Before we get started, Stubbs, if you wouldn’t mind?” He signaled to his second-in-command.
The big, black-and-gray-bearded soldier with the missing phalanges nodded in response and vanished, returning moments later hauling an unwieldy polymer case four feet in length. The straining merc’s arm muscles bulged like bridge cables as he lugged the heavy container to Von Freiling’s position, depositing it on top of a sturdy metal table, where its oversized locks could be unsnapped.
“Okay, pass em out,” Von Freiling said, heading to the case.
For a moment, Jake wasn’t sure what was going on. Then, Von Freiling turned back and began fastening a military-style, ballistic nylon combat harness around his waist and shoulders. It came complete with a Glock semi-automatic pistol, extra magazines, a large, black-handled combat knife, and a pair of grenades.
“Whoa, what the hell is this?” Jake spoke up as the remaining soldiers armed themselves. His concerns were fueled further by the fearful expressions worn by both Amara and Willie. This was obviously something they hadn’t anticipated.
“What’s the problem, Jake?” With a suppressed grin, Von Freiling tossed several of his men Uzi submachine guns.
“The problem?” Jake shook his head. “Gee, I wonder what that could be . . .”
Deftly snatching the lethal firearms out of the air, the four recipients proceeded to check and clear them, before mechanically slinging them over their shoulders.
“Listen,” Von Freiling said. “This is a potentially dangerous mission which may require us to defend ourselves with more than harsh words. However, if you’re apprehensive about our weapons, rest assured my men and I are all seasoned professionals. And if it’s legalities that are on your mind, we’re in international waters now, so no laws are being broken.”
“That may be the case,” Jake looked intently around the room. “But, I don’t think either Dr. Takagi or her first mate are comfortable with the idea of your men strutting around with all this firepower.”
“In case you haven’t noticed yet, you’re not in charge here. Karl is,” Stubbs said, checking the safety on both of his weapons and snapping them loudly into place.
Jake locked gazes with the massive mercenary, and felt a fight-or-flight adrenaline surge. Stubbs was undoubtedly dangerous; he had three inches and seventy pounds on him, and eyes that looked like they should be staring at you through the bars of a cage.
Jake’s own eyes hardened, and his jaw became granite. “In charge of you Stubbs, not me.”
The rapidly escalating tension dissipated as Harcourt and his escort made their way into the room.
“Senator Harcourt,” Von Freiling greeted him with believable enthusiasm. “I’m glad you could make it. We’ll be anchoring shortly. I was about to discuss our plan of action.”
“Very well, Mr. Freiling,” Harcourt said. He moved beside the tall adventurer and reached for one of his cigars. He was fumbling for his lighter when the nearest merc offered him a match. He looked up and carelessly surveyed the heavily armed group. With the scar on his jaw, he looked like a retired mercenary in a borrowed suit. Even Jake was impressed by how comfortable the wealthy politician appeared in his current surroundings, as well as the obvious deference he was shown by the gang of cutthroats, their smirking leader inclusive. Then again, their loyalties were assured by money. And if there was an earthly deity existing for blood money, the senator from Florida was it.
“Please proceed.” Harcourt puffed a huge smoke ring that drifted across the poorly ventilated room.
“Excellent,” Von Freiling said. He reached down with a rag and wiped away Amara’s enclosure designs in a few quick swipes, then took a dry erase marker and proceeded to make a series of squeaking strokes.
“This jagged line represents Ophion’s Deep.” He gestured at his crude drawing, utilizing the marker as a pointer. “It’s by far the deepest water in the region. Whereas the Blake Plateau in these parts drops to only about five hundred meters, Ophion has been sounded to over three thousand.”
There was a sharp inhalation, followed by some low muttering. One of the mercs spoke up. “Whoa, we’re not taking the Eurypterids down there, I hope?”
“No, Stitches, we’ll be anchoring in this area, near the Cutlass,” Von Freiling continued. “It’s an underwater mountain peak that juts up into the shallower waters adjacent to the crevasse. It’s as good a place as any to hold bottom.”
Amara drew attention to herself by loudly clearing her throat. “Why have you chosen that area to start your hunt?” She edged closer, leaning her hands on the desk and bending at the waist as she glanced at the rough diagram. “Almost all the attacks we know of took place close to shore.”
Jake felt a sting of annoyance as a high-pitched catcall came from one of the mercs standing directly behind them. It was either Stitches or the tall blonde guy next to him. He wasn’t sure which.
“The attacks we know of,” Von Freiling said from beneath raised eyebrows. He gave an irritated glance over Amara’s shoulder at the men responsible, then continued. “This is a huge animal we’re talking about. It’s not going to survive snatching people off passing boats. It needs meat, and a lot of it.”
The mercs behind Jake gave a low chuckle, with the blonde one speculating in hushed tones about just how much “meat” Amara needed. Von Freiling’s eyes zoomed in on him like rifle sights.
Harcourt pointed at the chart with his smoldering Cuban. “And, you think it’s going to go looking for it down in . . . what did you call it?”
Von Freiling held up a finger. “One second, senator.”
Taking advantage of the two snickering men’s distracted state, he made for them like a guided missile. Amara was directly in his path. Spotting his expression, the cetaceanist turned pale, nearly falling over herself getting out of his way. By the time the blonde-haired merc looked up, Von Freiling was right in his face.
“Do we have a problem, mister?” he asked quietly.
“Uh . . . what?” The merc wore a surprised look.
“You’re quite the comedian, aren’t you . . . Barker, isn’t it?”
“Yeah . . .”
“You’re our new sniper – Stubbs’ friend, right?”
Barker grinned disarmingly, trying to make light of the situation. “Yeah, that’s right. What . . . is there something wrong with two guys joking around?”
Von Freiling cricked his neck to one si
de and glanced up like he was reading an invisible computer screen. “You’re the one they booted out of the Corps – tried to frag your sergeant, right?”
Barker’s expression turned ugly. “That asshole tried one blanket party too many. And what the fuck does–”
“This is my team, mister!” Von Freiling snarled through his teeth. He stepped menacingly close. “And cherry or no, you will do things my way. I’m not losing any more men because of faulty Intel, or because a walking hard-on like you is too busy checking out a piece of ass to know how to do your fucking job.”
“I’ll do my job.”
“You better, mister. Because if you don’t, something very bad is going to happen to you.”
“Oh yeah . . .” Barker’s eyes were hard, but there was a hint of nervousness in them. “And what’s that?”
Von Freiling moved a half-step back, his thumbs in his belt, his eyes never leaving Barker’s. “Me.”
He waited.
Barker’s lips tightened and he hesitated, feeling the unwelcome weight of a roomful of watchful eyes. Finally, he looked down at the floor and nodded.
Von Freiling smiled. “Good.”
As the merc’s leader turned back to Dean Harcourt, Jake studied Vladimir Markov from across the room. During the confrontation between the two men, the squat merc with the machete paid rapt attention. He wore a blank expression, but his black eyes jogged back and forth between the two with undisguised interest. All the while, his hand tightly gripped his weapon’s bone-covered handle, his thumb caressing its rounded pommel with what could only be described as abject fondness.
Jake’s lip started to curl up in disgust, but he froze when Markov noticed his scrutiny. Their eyes met and a staring contest ensued, interrupted only by Von Freiling.
Jake felt the muscles running up the back of his neck tighten. He’d garnered a lot in the last minute or two. Markov was a true sadist, and Von Freiling was the leader of this pack of killers for good reason. It had nothing to do with money. He had earned his position. He was the most dangerous of them all.
And his wife was deathly afraid of him.
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 41