Von Freiling’s nose crinkled up. With his expensive suit soaked with human blood and baking in the hot Floridian sun, the unstable politician was starting to look and smell like mid-July road kill. He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, senator?”
Harcourt looked down, staring distractedly at his rust-colored hands. They made a papyrus-like sound as he started rubbing them together, slowly at first, then faster and faster, in a pointless effort at sloughing off the dried blood. Exasperated, he gazed up at Von Freiling and then laid his stained fingers atop his hired gun’s shoulder.
“Canst thou fill Leviathan’s skin with barbed irons, or his head with fish spears? Shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him?”
Von Freiling prayed for patience. “Now what does that mean?”
Harcourt gripped him tight, his fingers digging into bruised shoulder muscles with surprising strength. “You are the instrument of God’s vengeance, and my son’s. The beast awaits you. Go and face it with pride. You have naught to fear.”
Von Freiling tried hard not to snap. He stared at his employer, wondering how much of the senator’s spiel was an act, and how much was actually worth worrying about. He decided he had no time to waste on such nonsense, and a humorless smile cranked up the corners of his mustache. “You know, senator; it was entertaining in the beginning, but I’ve had enough of your Bellevue bullshit.”
“Oh, really?” Harcourt’s dark eyes rounded in surprise.
“Yes, really,” Von Freiling said. “I’ve lost good men, and there’s a chance I may be killed in the next few minutes. That’s fine, because it’s how I live my life. But in case I do, I want you to know something, Mr. Harcourt.” He stepped uncomfortably close to him. “I’ve worked with a lot of unstable people in my life, from demented dictators to the most murderous drug czars you could imagine. But, with all due respect, my good man, you are by far the craziest motherfucker I have ever done business with!”
Von Freiling whirled abruptly around, leaving the nonplussed politician standing there. He shook his head and walked over to Barnes. Raising one hand, he signaled for his chuckling pilot to climb aboard, then reached for the ladder himself. He just started up Eurypterid I’s bottom rungs when–
KA-BOOM!
The beleaguered Harbinger torqued hard to starboard, twisting violently against its anchorage.
“Jesus Christ!” Von Freiling lost his grip on the slippery rung and fell hard to the deck. His bellow was drowned out by the wail of buckling metal, as the wallowing research vessel struggled to right itself. He could do nothing but hold on as the mini-sub above him swayed dangerously on its thin, steel tether. A few yards away, his men were thrown across the hard, unforgiving deck, along with an assortment of loose pieces of equipment that crashed frighteningly close to several of them.
As Von Freiling watched in horror, the winch assembly that supported Eurypterid II succumbed to the strain. With a loud snap, the five-ton submersible dropped like a stone onto the Harbinger’s deck. It landed on top of Diaz, who was clinging to the deck beneath it, waiting for the ship’s swaying to subside. His high-pitched shriek was cut short by the sub’s thunderous impact, followed by a wet crunch as it settled into place.
Von Freiling was on his feet in an instant. He took a step toward the metallic dust cloud rising up around the fallen Eurypterid II, then stopped. Rivulets of blood and urine flooded across the cracked flooring beneath his feet, telling him more than he cared to know.
He lunged toward the intact section of railing adjacent to his own sub. Pistol in hand, he gazed furiously outward, searching for their nemesis. Other than the swirling waves that marked the primeval titan’s passage, there was nothing. The creature had submerged, vanishing back into the depths from whence it came, leaving death and destruction in its wake once more.
Angrily holstering his weapon, Von Freiling turned away from the frothing waters and stalked over to Eurypterid II. He stepped carefully over pieces of loose debris, taking care not to slip on body fluids that continued to stream out from under it. Out of the corner of one eye he spotted Markov, gingerly helping Harcourt back to his feet.
Stitches, caught half-hanging out of the submersible’s opened hatch when it dropped, struggled to right himself. He clung to the edge of his craft’s smooth hull with one hand, holding his aching head with the other.
“Barker, get her back in the air,” Von Freiling bellowed through cupped hands, not bothering to look for his megaphone. “Let’s launch before that damn thing comes back!”
Barker nodded through the window of the starboard crane, then turned over its diesel engine. The motor sputtered loudly for a few seconds, then flared to life.
“Stitches, you okay?” Von Freiling rested his hands against the armored hull of Eurypterid II, looking up at the dazed pilot. He glanced down at the submersible, noticing in passing that its winch connectors were still intact and in place.
“I’ll live,” the merc muttered. He rubbed his neck, shifted his head slowly from side to side. “Man, that fucking hurts. Where’s Diaz?”
Von Freiling scowled. “Don’t ask. Let’s just say Barker will be going with you now.”
Stitches shook his head skeptically. “Barker? But, he doesn’t know the sub’s interface system, boss . . .”
“Well, he’s all I can fucking spare!” Von Freiling bellowed. “So he’ll just have to do, okay?” Turning and stepping carefully away, he gave Barker the thumbs-up sign, then waited, readying himself for the sight of Diaz’s crushed body.
Barker shifted the crane into reverse, watching for the weighty craft to make its way up off the debris-strewn deck. The steel cables tightened, slithering upward. The winch began to exert its power, its diesel engine revving into the red against the heavy load.
Barker blinked, squinting down at his gauge dials, then scratched his head in confusion. The mini-sub wasn’t moving.
Quickly adjusting his equipment and tapping the unit’s pressure gauges, the befuddled merc threw the winch into low gear and pulled back on the control lever once more. The groaning engine revved higher, screaming from the strain. White smoke began to spew from it, then black. Finally Barker shut it down. He shook his head. Eurypterid II refused to budge.
“What the hell’s going on?” Von Freiling asked. “What’s the holdup?”
“The hydraulics are shot, Karl,” Barker surmised. He shook his head and swore, trying ineffectually to raise the sub one last time. “See? She won’t move. There’s a leak somewhere. I think that’s what caused her to drop in the first place.”
“Well, that’s just fucking great!”
As he spotted his estranged wife still standing in the distant doorway, Von Freiling cursed himself. He remembered one of Amara’s crewmembers, the stocky one with the Brooklyn accent, trying to warn him about the faulty hydraulics before they left port. Obsessed with his takeover of the Harbinger, he’d summarily dismissed the man. Now, he was paying for it – with lives.
Von Freiling lowered his voice. “All right, Barker, what are our options?”
“None that I can think of, boss,” Barker said. He stepped out of the crane’s cramped control booth and looked down at the tilted mini-sub. “These hoist booms only have about a 150 degree range of motion, and it’s all extended over the same corresponding sides of the ship. We can’t use the starboard crane to launch both, and the sub’s way too heavy to be moved any other way. If we’re gonna use both subs, we need another chopper.”
Von Freiling clicked his canines together, pawing at one end of his mustache with his thumb and index finger as he mulled over his choices. The Chinooks were no longer an option. He’d called in every favor he could to get them on such short notice. He’d have to go through military channels now. And even with Harcourt’s influence it would take days. He growled, slamming one fist into the opposing palm.
“Okay, we don’t seem to have much choice,” he said, turning back to Barker. He cupped his hands around his mouth once more. “Gentlemen,
we’re going to have to change our plans, so gather round!”
Stitches climbed carefully out of the Eurypterid II, skirting the bloody deck as he made his way over to Von Freiling. Barker, Barnes and Stubbs were already gathered around their leader. Only Markov remained where he was, watching from forty feet away, leaning against a bulkhead next to Harcourt.
“Well, guys, in case nobody’s been keeping score, we’ve already lost three of our best men to this monster,” Von Freiling said. He looked at what remained of his team, measuring their resolve. “And we’ve lost the ability to launch one of our subs. I think it’s safe to say this mission is turning out to be a bit more dangerous than we thought.”
“According to our contract, each of you was to be paid fifty thousand dollars for your part in this mission. Given our current losses, the gravity of our situation, and the added bonus our employer has decided to offer us, I’ve agreed to pay each of you five times that amount, if and when we kill this animal.”
Von Freiling held up his hands. “There is a catch, however. One Eurypterid is not going to be able to take this thing down in a head-on fight. We don’t have enough speed or firepower. We need to blindside it, like we originally planned.”
“What exactly do you have in mind?” Stitches asked. He wore a pensive expression. “You just said the second sub was down.”
“It is. We’re going to use the sled as bait.”
“Say what?” Stitches nearly choked. “Are you fucking kidding me? There’s no way I’m going in the water on the sled with that thing swimming around. That’s suicide. Forget it!”
“Look, I know the sled isn’t as well protected as one of the subs, but–”
Stitches scoffed. “As well protected? Try not protected at all! It’s wide open!”
Von Freiling tried to keep his expression supportive and understanding. Stitches was right, of course. The sled was not only wide open; it wasn’t armed, let alone armored.
“The sled is faster and more maneuverable than either Eurypterid,” he said. “And, we can give the guy in the backseat that big spear gun they’ve got on board. If the creature gets too close, it contains enough whale dope to knock it on its ass!”
“Sorry, but it’s not happening, Karl.” Stitches’ eyes were as hard as agates. “If you want to serve someone up as an appetizer to that overgrown lizard it’s fine, but it’s not going to be me.”
Von Freiling fought to keep his impatience from showing. He hated negotiating with underlings. “Stop worrying. I promise it’ll never get near you guys. I’ll nail it before it gets within fifty yards.”
“Fuck you, Karl.”
His bronze eyes compressing into slits, Von Freiling glared at his rebellious sonar operator.
“I’m giving you an order, mister,” he said. His big hands twitched as they crept toward the arsenal of weapons hanging from his belt.
“This isn’t the army,” Stitches said, his right hand already resting on the butt of his pistol. “And I’m through taking orders from you, freak.”
“Why you little . . .”
“Hold it guys.” Stubbs stepped warily between the two arguing men. “There’s no need to fight amongst ourselves. We’ve lost too many men today.”
Von Freiling bristled, his whole body tensing up. “That’s alright; I think we can afford to lose one more.”
“No, we can’t,” Stubbs said, striving hard to keep his eyes on both of them simultaneously. “Anyway, we already have a pilot for the sled.”
“Oh, really?” Von Freiling’s fierce gaze remained fixated on Stitches. “And who might that be?”
“Me.” A half-grin made its way across Stubbs’ craggy features as he caught the look of surprise on both men’s faces. “I’ll go.”
“You?”
“Yes, me, Karl. It’s a suicide mission, but I’ll be the bait to draw your little beastie out into the open.”
Von Freiling smiled. “You know, Stubbs, that sounds like an excellent idea! Well then, it’s settled. Let’s get the scuba gear and sled up on deck and get prepped.”
Stubbs held up a hand. “There is one condition, though.”
Von Freiling’s smile vanished. “Oh, and what’s that?”
“This is my last mission,” Stubbs announced. He peered contemplatively down at his disfigured hand, flexing it as he spoke. “Losing Johnson, Gibson and Diaz is enough for me. I’m tired of taking chances. I’ve made up my mind. I’m too old for this shit. I want out.”
“And that’s your condition?”
“No, a million dollars is my condition.” Stubbs looked up with a sagacious grin. “It’ll be enough for me to start over.”
Von Freiling balked. “A million bucks? That’s insane! Why the hell would I pay you that much?”
“Well for starters, because I overheard how much your fanatical pal over there is really paying you.” Stubbs nodded his head in Harcourt’s direction. “And, given our reduced roster, you seem to be a little short of volunteers lately. Or haven’t you noticed?”
“And if I refuse?” Von Freiling’s voice had an unpleasant edge to it.
“Then, I’ll happily step out of the way and let you and Stitches resume killing each other.” Stubbs grinned, looking back and forth between the two men. “Assuming you survive, you can relish the experience of taking that thing on all by yourself. You and Barnes, that is.”
Immobile, Von Freiling intently studied his second-in-command. Inwardly, he was furious at himself. He’d always known Stubbs was craftier than people gave him credit for. He should’ve anticipated this.
“Alright, Stubbs . . . I agree to your terms.”
“Hey, wait a minute.” Barker took a step forward. He had a whiney look on his face. “If I’m going to be out there risking my ass along with Stubbs, I want more money too!”
“Fine, Barker, you can have Stitches’ bonus,” Von Freiling said. He turned away, smirking and giving the little red-haired merc a vindictive look. “That’ll bring your pay up to a cool four hundred and fifty thousand.”
“Done.” His mood noticeably brighter, Barker spun off and headed for the bridge.
“Oh, and Stitches,” Von Freiling paused, looking back at him. “Since you’re too chicken-shit to go into the water, why don’t you go keep an eye on Jake Braddock? He’s tied up, so it shouldn’t be so frightening. And make sure my wife doesn’t get another rebellious idea in her head while we’re gone.”
Stitches glared petulantly back, but nodded his acceptance of the assignment and disappeared into the bridge.
Von Freiling was almost to his mini-sub when Stubbs extended a catcher’s mitt-sized paw and caught him by the arm. Drawing him close, the hulking merc waited for Stitches and Barker to move out of earshot before he spoke.
“Oh, one more thing, Karl.”
“What’s that, Stubbs?”
“I know how you are when things get hairy.” Stubbs said, holding up his scar-capped fingers and wiggling them. He was smiling, but his eyes and tone were menacing. “So don’t get any bright ideas about hanging me out to dry down there. Because if you do – and that escapee from ‘Skull Island’ doesn’t get me – it’ll be you and I that have unfinished business. Not you and the young sheriff.”
“You know, Stubbs, you’re starting to hurt my feelings.” Von Freiling grinned disarmingly. “I wouldn’t dream of screwing you over. Now c’mon, old friend, we’ve got a sled to bring out.”
Spotting Von Freiling’s approach, Amara retreated below decks, anxious to put as much distance as possible between herself and her volatile spouse. She felt a wave of dizziness and held onto the stairwell’s banister, touching the stinging mouse around her eye. Her body ached and her head was splitting from the beating she received. She gave an involuntary shudder. She was lucky. If Jake hadn’t arrived when he did, her deranged husband would’ve crippled her.
Amara shook her head in disgust and her lips contorted as if she sought to spit out something distasteful. For the thousandth time s
he cursed herself for getting involved with Karl in the first place. She hated to admit it, but it was the money that enticed her. With her father and fiancé gone, she’d been desperate; buying into an available research vessel like the Harbinger seemed the sensible, even noble thing to do. It gave her the opportunity to set things right and the power to avenge her loved ones. Back then, she’d been willing to sell her soul to do so. In many ways, she had.
Karl didn’t seem so bad in the beginning. A little scary around the edges, but his looks, physique and sheer fearlessness offset that, and then some. He was even romantic at times. It wasn’t until their wedding night that the real Karl Von Freiling emerged. High on painkillers and besotted with vodka, his usual love-making switched from being a tad rough to downright torturous, and when she complained he just laughed and hurt her more. Her life quickly spiraled down into a perverse form of learned helplessness. An ongoing series of beatings, coupled with occasions of horrifying sexual abuse. Karl was the type that didn’t appreciate the word “no,” and raping his wife to the point she bled was, in his eyes, just him taking what already belonged to him. Amara gritted her teeth as the suppressed memories flung themselves against the bars of the psychological cage she’d banished them to.
She let slip a nervous sigh. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting she moved nimbly downward. She could hear the sounds of her husband and his soldiers coming from somewhere up above, cursing and complaining as they dragged something heavy out of the old radar station. She descended into the ship’s observation room and walked over to Willie. He was back at his sonar station, his back rigidly upright, and his eyes staring unblinkingly at his glowing monitor screen.
“Any sign of it?” she asked as she drew up a chair.
“I had it on da scope for a while, but den I lost it,” Willie said. “Da tide is finally startin ta die down, so it’ll be easier ta track soon.”
Amara sighed, shaking her head as she watched the screen with him. Willie’s stolid presence was reassuring, even in the God-awful circumstances they currently found themselves. He was like the old oak tree she used to scale when she was growing up – always there, and always dependable. “Good. Listen, I’m worried about Jake. That was some shot he took. Do you think he’s okay?”
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 47