Vengeance from the Deep - Book One: Pliosaur

by Russ Elliott

  She took another drag from the cigar and paused as if intentionally drawing out the moment. A tendril of smoke curled from the side of her mouth and rose beside her square-rimmed glasses. An excited look appeared in her eyes that seemed to brighten the room.

  “Okay, I was on a little island off South Africa. It’s about three hundred miles southeast of Port Elizabeth and was completely off the charts until only three years ago. Seems the Navy discovered it while searching for a fishing trawler that went missing in the vicinity. Oddly, the Navy found the capsized trawler less than a mile from this tiny island, but not a trace of her eight-man crew. They assumed that the sharks got to them before they could make the short swim to shore.”

  The professor leaned closer. Bubbles from the aquarium’s regulator rose behind her head. “Anyway, our expedition involved studying a remote fishing village on the island’s southern tip. After a quick gander at the village, Chief Omad led us into a large hut, where we were seated at a table. The chief stood, clapped his hands, and shouted, ‘Unda-Kuta-Legway.’ Then someone leaned over to me and said, ‘That mean let’s eat.’

  “That someone was Kota. As a youth, a visiting missionary took Kota back with him to South Africa where he was educated in Cape Town. I’m not sure how many years of schooling the lad received, but he spoke Afrikaans and some English. Later he returned to the island and became the villagers’ link to the outside world. He was like a shadow . . . never far from the chief’s side.”

  John listened eagerly as the professor spoke, perched on the edge of her chair. “Anyway, they served us these exceptionally large fish. I thought nothing of it at first because good-sized fish are not uncommon in those waters—especially that far out. I must say it tasted horrible in spite of all the seasoning, and it was extremely bony for its size. I continued to eat this foul-tasting fish because I didn’t want to risk offending Chief Omad. He was seated right next to me and watched my every move. I mean, I wanted to spit the fish into my napkin, but there were no napkins. It nearly made me ill.”

  “Yes, yes, I get the picture,” John cut in with a laugh. “They weren’t very tasty.” He impatiently motioned for her to continue.

  “Yes, anyway, as I was eating this fish, I noticed an odd fin configuration along its pectoral region, and asked myself, where have I seen this structure before? It just seemed so bloody familiar. Then it hit me. I was eating a coelacanth! A prehistoric fish that was, until recently, thought to have been extinct since the Cretaceous period, nearly seventy million years ago.”

  John’s brows raised. Only the low hum of the aquarium disturbed the long silence. The professor pulled a drawing of a fish from her desk drawer and set it in front of him. She pointed to the fin structure along its underside.

  “Old Four Legs, that’s what Professor J.L.B. Smith, a South African ichthyologist, nicknamed it when the first specimen was discovered off the tip of South Africa in 1938.”

  “I’m familiar with the coelacanth discovery,” John said, looking up from the drawing. The professor seemed not to hear and tapped the illustration. “He called it that because the pectoral and pelvic fins looked very much like legs. These fins even move in opposite directions of one another when the fish swims, the same way animals move their limbs as they walk.

  “Catching a living coelacanth was smashing news back in ‘38—practically the marine equivalent of running across a living dinosaur.”

  John nodded. “I didn’t realize there were any colonies that far off the coast. Why didn’t you bring a specimen back with you?”

  The professor leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “That’s just it! When I asked where they got the fish, Kota told me they’ve been catching them all around the island for generations and that the waters are full of them. Then he smiled and said, ‘Very tasty, yes?’

  “I guess the bloke thought I was trying to pay him a compliment. But when I tried to explain the scientific significance of a new colony of these fish . . . well, let’s just say the lads became considerably less cordial. They became extremely agitated. Kota said, ‘There no more fish. You must go now.’ He practically pulled me from the table.

  “I tried to explain that I was sorry if I offended him or his people in any way. But he didn’t seem to hear a word I said. Then they literally forced us from the village and escorted us all the way back to our helicopter.” She paused, remembering the moment, then sighed. She waved her hands in the air—empty. “So, there you have it. That’s all I know.”

  John rubbed the bottom of his chin. “That’s an interesting story, but I don’t see what all the excitement’s about concerning another coelacanth sighting. Pardon me for saying it, but it’s not like you discovered the first one. You just said local fishermen have been catching them off the South African coast since ‘38.”

  The professor leaned forward and peered over her glasses. “Yes, that’s true. But they’ve never appeared in such abundance. Take a look at this.” The professor pulled out a map of South Africa and the surrounding waters of the Indian Ocean. John stood in order to see the map clearly. The point of her pen rested on an area east of the southern tip of Africa. “The Chalumna River near East London. This is where the first coelacanth was caught in 1938.”

  Her pen made a red X on the area, then moved around the coastline until it stopped in the Mozambique Channel. She made another X on a series of small islands and said, “Fourteen years later, a second coelacanth was caught near the Comoro Islands.” The professor then moved her pen straight out and drew a circle in the Indian Ocean. “The island is located here. Notice anything interesting about its location?”

  John studied the red circle and its reference to the other marked areas. The professor nodded at the map. “See? It’s right between the first and second sighting. This island also has many deep caves and volcanic drop-offs similar to the Comoro Islands. So it’s really no surprise that it harbors undiscovered coelacanth colonies. Kota said that they’ve been catching these fish in abundance for generations, for as long as their ancestors can remember. So, chances are, and remember this is only a theory, that we can trace the coelacanth back to this island for at least one hundred years, maybe even back to the beginning of the Cretaceous period or whenever the earth’s shifting plates collided and first created this tiny little island.”

  John looked up from the map. “I suppose it’s possible.”

  The professor thumped her pen on the red circle in the Indian Ocean. “If this is true, it would be safe to conclude that coelacanths inhabited this island coast long before the first and second sightings off the coast of South Africa. This would then lead me to believe that the coastal area of this island is, and has always been, a primary breeding ground for coelacanths, possibly for millions of years. And that the first and second sightings off South Africa were merely misplaced residents from this island.”

  John nodded and began to speak, but the enthusiastic little woman raised a finger. “In other words, I believe that all the coelacanth colonies along South Africa today originated from this island.”

  The professor paused, and her eyes grew brighter. The chair made a long squeak as she leaned closer to the map. “There was also something else I noticed that night,” she whispered excitedly. “Something truly extraordinary if it turns out to be what I think it is.”

  John sat back down and pulled his chair closer to the desk as the little silver-haired woman continued. “The coelacanth is one of the groups from the Sarcopterygian subclass of bony fishes. From this subclass, three very significant groups emerged with paired fins containing bones and muscles. More importantly, they were the only fish that possessed functional lungs.”

  “The fleshy-finned fishes. Weren’t they from the Devonian period?” asked John.

  “Yes, precisely. I guess you paid some attention in class after all,” she said with a light chuckle, then back to her serious tone. “They all first appeared during the Devonian, in which three groups emerged. First, you have the coelaca
nths, with their fleshy fins and lungs that became swim bladders to regulate the fish’s buoyancy. Then, you have the lungfish, which have lobe fins and crude lungs that allow the creature to burrow into the mud during times of drought and survive on atmospheric air.”

  The professor pulled out another illustration. As she slid it closer, John stared at a fish like none he had ever seen.

  “The third grouping of these lobe-finned creatures is the Rhipidistians. They were long-bodied, flesh-eaters that lived in the shallows. They, too, had lobe fins and lungs that could breathe air. Another characteristic of this fish was its distinctive three-pronged tail.” The professor smiled widely. “However, what makes this group of lobe-finned fish so extraordinary is the simple fact that, unlike the coelacanth and lungfish, a living specimen has never been discovered.”

  She thumped her finger on the illustration’s tail. “That night, I thought I saw a long slender fish like this. It was about two feet long and had this, the three-pronged tail. It was difficult to tell for certain because it was cooked and a family of four had already eaten half of it. I hope the bloody thing tasted better than the coelacanth I was eating.” She slapped a hand on her knee. “Just imagine how brilliant it would be to come back with a Rhipidistian . . . a ‘true’ living fossil from 390 million years ago.” She looked John square in the eye. “I want you to go catch me one!”

  John leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You want to make a name for yourself?”

  The professor smiled sweetly. “While I’m still young.”

  Eyes wide, she tauntingly pushed the illustration closer to him. “But not just me. Can’t think of a better way to impress your colleagues, not to mention raise an eyebrow of those two brothers of yours . . . renowned surgeons, right? As I recall, they never had much regard for your chosen profession.”

  John squinted, thinking, she’s really working all the angles. She must really want me to go. The professor was still looking at him as if knowing the answer already but only awaiting confirmation.

  John still had one question. “Why me?”

  “Come now, John.” The professor gave a sly wink. “You know you’re the only one I can really trust. On previous expeditions, you’ve handled yourself well in these types of situations. Like the Minui we encountered in Ethiopia last year. You have a sense of gaining trust in people, a quality I rarely see.”

  “You’re not gonna fall for that line of rubbish, are you?” bellowed a female voice from a doorway adjacent to the office. In walked Kate Atkins. If John ever wondered what the professor looked like in her youth, the answer was standing in front of him. She was the spitting image of her mother at twenty-eight years old . . . stunning without a touch of makeup. She casually held onto a towel draped over her shoulders as her form-fitting workout clothes displayed every curve of her long, lean body.

  The professor smirked. “John, this is my soft-spoken daughter, Kate.”

  John perked up. The expedition was looking even more promising. It had been years since he’d seen the professor’s daughter. My, how she’s matured. He’d heard Kate was quite the adventurer, not to mention an excellent chopper pilot. “So, I guess you’ll be my pilot and guide?”

  Kate scoffed as the professor answered for her. “No, I’m afraid she has another engagement. But I’ve arranged another pilot for you.”

  “Yeah . . . Brad.” Kate arced her eyebrows. “He’s a real charmer. I still can’t believe this. She’s actually onto something big this time and won’t let me go.”

  John did his best not to show his disappointment. The professor seemed annoyed by the untimely interruption. “Don’t you have a spin class or something?”

  “Mother.” Kate said. “I’m not your sickly little girl anymore. Don’t you think it’s time to stop treating me as such?”

  The professor nodded toward the doorway.

  Before excusing herself, Kate gave John a long, warm smile that nearly knocked him off his chair. “It was really nice to meet you . . . John.” With that, she disappeared through the doorway. For a long moment, John found himself staring blankly at the doorway, wondering if Kate really meant anything by the suggestive smile, or was it just a childish ploy to annoy her mother?

  His eyes dropped to a business card holder on the desk. In it, the remaining card read: Alexander Aviation, Kate Alexander, Helicopter Pilot. He discreetly slid the card into his pocket. “Sickly little girl? Is your daughter . . . ?”

  “Kate was born with a congenital heart defect. Spent most of her childhood in and out hospitals, all while waiting to see if the hole in her heart would mend itself as she aged. If not, she would need surgery.”

  The professor’s gray eyes softened. “Then on her fourteenth birthday when Kate heard that the hole had closed, she practically made up for her sickly childhood in one week. She got a dirt bike, signed up for every sport . . . even joined the boy’s bloody soccer team.” She paused. “But I guess to me she’ll always be my little china doll.”

  “So she’s okay now?” John said.

  “Oh, yes." The professor scoffed. “And there isn’t a day that goes by that she doesn’t let me know it.” She cleared her throat. “Now back to business.” She tapped her finger on the illustration of the Rhipidistian. “I just know we’ll find this in the waters around this island.”

  John refocused on the professor. “We?”

  “Merely a figure of speech, my boy. Maybe you’ll have better luck with the chief than I did. Perhaps you’ll be able to haggle with him or work out some type of trade.”

  The room brightened at the sound of creaking door hinges. John turned around and saw a figure silhouetted against the blinding light of the corridor. As the dark figure entered the room, John saw a powerfully built blond, late thirties with a three-day growth of beard. The man stepped into the light. His thick neck rose to a wide, square jaw and a nose that was a little off kilter—a nose that had obviously been broken and reset one too many times, but not quite enough to distract from his rugged allure.

  The man patted the holster on his hip. “Yeah, I got something to trade if they don’t cooperate.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” replied the professor. “John, this is Brad Anderson, a transplant here from Australia. He’s quite a helo pilot and a splendid diver. He’ll be escorting you on the expedition. If that’s okay with you?”

  There’s a catch, thought John looking at the burly man standing in front of him. The professor doesn’t want to go herself, but wanted to send him with this poster boy for Soldier of Fortune magazine.

  John hesitated, “Well, my regular pilot is booked up for the next couple of weeks . . . I guess so.”

  The professor slowly smiled. “Then, it’s a deal?”

  “An undiscovered species of fish? Okay, I’ll go.” He looked at Brad. “But no funny stuff. We’re going there to offer them a trade and to reason with them, and I don’t want—”

  Before John could finish, Professor Atkins stood victoriously. “SPLENDID! You leave tomorrow morning.” She motioned for Brad to come closer to her desk where the map and illustrations were splayed. She leaned over her desk. “All right. Now listen carefully. This is vital to the survival of the specimen. On board the helicopter, you’ll be using a temperature-controlled aquarium to transport the fish back. The water temperature is critical. For the coelacanth, which is a deep-water fish, you’ll need to take the temperature reading at the same depth where you find the fish. Otherwise, due to the creature’s delicate metabolism, it won’t have a chance of making it back alive.”

  “Now, with the Rhipidistians, just the opposite is true. They’re shallow-water fish, so again . . . be sure to set the aquarium’s thermostat to match the surface temperature.” She sat down, clearly content. “Well then, if everything’s clear, that’s all I have for now. Get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll talk to you both tomorrow morning before you leave.”

  John nodded and reached for the door handle just as the professor
spoke again. “Oh yes, one more thing. Bloody glad I remembered this!” she gasped, hand placed dramatically over her heart. “Don’t fly over the southeastern side of the island. It’s some sort of sacred ground. I saw the area from a distance. It had huge pilings set out in the water to keep unwelcome boats from entering that side of the island. Apparently, they take their sacred ground very seriously. Just avoid that area to be safe. We don’t want them refusing to see you.” Brad turned to follow John to the door when the professor suddenly called him back. “Brad, wait. I have one more thing for you.”

  John turned to go back to the desk as well, but the professor looked at him curiously. “That’s okay, John. You’re free to go.”

  As he left the office, John looked back at the little woman smiling from behind the desk. He wondered if there were any other important bits of information that the professor failed to mention. Or for that matter, what part of the expedition was relevant to Brad but didn’t apply to him? John was curious as the door closed behind him.

  ~~~

  From a window in the small airport office, John could see Brad loading the last of the cases into the helicopter. He turned his attention to the phone at his ear.

  A deep voice sighed, “No can do, I’m booked.”

  “Come on, Charley. Are you sure you can’t fly me to the island? This could be really big. You owe it to science—could even get your name in the history books.”

  “Pax,” Charley laughed, using his nickname for John. “You give me that line every time I take you up. So, this time it’s a prehistoric fish? What’ll she have you looking for next, Jimmy Hoffa? Besides, I thought the old lady usually hooks you up with a pilot, chopper, the works?”