by Russ Elliott
He got up from the deck and stared into the rocking water, but the great shadow had already vanished into the depths. He turned and saw the boy brushing himself off while walking toward him. “Did you get it?” shouted Erick.
Freddie pulled down his shirt, held up his camera, and gave a confident smile.
~~~
Inside the surveillance cabin, Nathan and Nemo recoiled from the shock. Neither of them uttered a sound, their expressions said it all. As the ship steadied, their attention slowly returned to the gridded monitor following the homing device. The red dot slowly moved north of the ship and disappeared.
“That’s it. It’s gone,” grumbled Nemo.
Nathan nodded with relief. “Still, I’m not so sure,” he added. “It’s no longer in the vicinity of the ship, but I’m not sure how far it’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“The transmitter stopped sending a signal long before it went out of range. The creature was only a half mile from the ship when the signal stopped. It could just be a malfunction.”
Nemo eased back against the doorframe. “Do you think it’ll be back?”
“It’s not likely,” replied Nathan. “I don’t believe it has much of an appetite for a steel hull.” He glanced up at the console, at the large main monitors. Monitor two showed only snow. “Guess we can stop filming. There’s no more feed coming from the camera.” Nathan reached beneath monitor two and froze. The red light was off. “What happened?” He whipped around to face Nemo. “It’s off! Someone turned it off!”
“What?” Nemo’s complexion paled slightly as he began to realize . . .
Nathan pointed and talked and pointed again, animated, hands flying around his head for emphasis. “The switch to record the live feed from camera two. I left it on before I made the dive, but someone turned it off!”
Nemo’s face then turned a deep shade of red. “You mean the feed coming from the whale when it charged the beast . . . that magnificent footage . . . none of it was . . .”
“No.” Nathan gave a blank stare. “None of it was recorded.”
“This isn’t another one of your jokes?” warned Nemo. “You know I don’t have a sense of humor.”
“Sir, I wish I were joking.”
Nemo’s legs gave way. He slowly slid down the doorframe until he was seated in the doorway. His face buried in his hands in frustration. He’d been a mess with those switches, so panicked was he to get the scenes recorded but not transmit them to the schools. He’d meant to turn the recording switch on, but in his panic, must have inadvertently turned it off. The opportunity of a lifetime had just slipped through his fingers.
“Don’t worry,” assured Nathan. “I’m sure Freddie will come up with something.”
Just then, Freddie appeared in the doorway. He looked down at Nemo slumped in the doorway. “What happened?”
Nemo’s face rose from his hands. He could barely get the words out, stammering, “You got it . . . tell me you got . . . the shot!”
Freddie held up his camera. “They don’t call me Ready Freddie for nothing.”
Chapter 33
SIMON’S TOWN
John gazed through the side window, watching the helicopter’s shadow pass the shoreline and sweep across blue-green waters of False Bay. He anxiously drummed his fingers on the leather flute case sprawled across his lap.
Kate glanced at the flute case. “I can only imagine the admiral’s face when he gets a look at that. Still, I think this is a good call, taking the tooth straight to him instead of following Tom in the search. Now we can have the entire Navy searching too.”
“Hopefully,” John said, still concerned about the outcome of the impending meeting. “But it’s odd that we haven’t been able to reach Tom since we lifted off. Wonder why he’s not answering his phone?”
Kate looked over. “Got me, but he was certainly eager to start the search. He could be over Dyer Channel as we speak.”
“How far are we from the naval headquarters?” John asked.
Kate returned her gaze to the windshield. “It’s just on the other side of the bay, about ten more miles up the Cape’s coast. See that long, flat mountain in partial cloud cover? Simon’s Town is not far from there, and that’s where the naval headquarters is located.”
“Good, I can’t wait to have this chat with Admiral Henderson,” said John as he patted the flute case for reassurance.
Just then, the helicopter vibrated slightly as if in rough winds. He looked at Kate, and she pointed out the window just as the sky broke into a roar. Seemingly from out of nowhere, a 109 Agusta LUH naval helicopter shot past them and followed the coastline in the opposite direction.
Kate said, “Must be still searching at Dire Channel.”
John gazed into the distance toward Simon’s Town. “In a few minutes they’re going to find out what they’re really searching for.”
~~~
Tension mounted in the ship’s video room while Captain Nemo, Nathan, and Erick watched Freddie anxiously plug his digital camera into the computer. “Okay, Freddie, it’s all up to you,” said Nemo, arms folded in front of him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
A voice came over the intercom. “Captain, can you pick up?”
Nemo keyed the mike. “Roger, I’m in the middle of something!”
“Captain, I’m getting dozens of calls from the school representatives. They’re all asking about the sixty-second transmission that went out . . . the whale . . . Sir, they keep asking why the whale was bleeding. What am I supposed to tell them?”
“Tell them whatever!” barked Nemo. “Tell them it had hemorrhoids for all I care—just hold all my calls!”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Freddie squinted at Nathan. “Can whales get hemorrhoids?”
Racking the mike, Nemo returned his attention to the monitor. “Okay Freddie . . . show me why I pay you so much.”
Freddie perked up. “Captain, you won’t believe your eyes!” The photographer confidently clicked on the icon to open the first image.
The screen filled with what appeared to be dark water.
Nemo squinted. “That just looks like a close up of an oil spill!”
“Wait a minute, there’s more,” said Freddie. He quickly clicked on the second image. “At first it was so big, it filled the frame, so I backed up to pull the whole shadow into frame. Here.” The second image appeared on the screen.
Nemo looked at the new image on the monitor, “Great. An oil spill from a distance.”
Freddie nervously clicked on the third image. “Wait, there’s one more!” The third photograph slowly appeared, and the screen filled with blurry clouds. Freddie looked back from his chair. His tone was defensive. “That’s when it rocked the ship; it threw me back as I was taking the shot!”
“You’re right,” replied Nemo sarcastically. “I don’t believe my eyes. Two oil slicks and some blurry clouds. Good job, Freddie!”
“Hey, it’s not my fault! You should have seen the size of that thing!” pleaded Freddie. He clicked back onto the second image of shadowy water. “I mean it’s there! That’s the creature!”
Nemo stared blankly at the screen. He had the best ship and equipment money could buy. Still the greatest zoological find of all time had dropped into his lap, and he had nothing to show for it. What if the beast returned to the abyss never to be seen again? What if word got out that he’d missed it all? He would be known as the man whose negligence robbed the scientific world of its greatest find. His hands trembled in rage.
“All right,” he said, barely able to contain his fury. “Nathan, get back to the surveillance room and keep an eye on the monitor. Let me know if the signal comes back on.”
Nemo turned to Freddie. “You come on deck with me. We’ve got to find a way to lure this thing back to the ship. And this time we’ll be ready for it, right?” Stepping toward the doorway, he looked down at Erick. “And you . . . just stay out of the way.”
~~
~
“There she is. Cape Town, the mother city of South Africa,” Kate announced as the waters of False Bay terminated against the shoreline below. “And behind her, the world’s most easily recognized mountain, Table Mountain. One long, flat table of rock shaped so perfectly, one would swear it was manmade. But, no sir, she’s all God’s work. On some days, the clouds even pour right across her top and form the perfect tablecloth.” Kate glanced at John, eyes twinkling as she grinned. “You have to excuse me. Sometimes when I fly this way, I revert back to my chartering days.”
Looking down, John saw enormous gray rocks protruding up from the white sands of Boulder Beach, while hundreds of black dots represented the resident colony of jackass penguins. Flying farther up the coast, he began to make out the silhouettes of ships anchored in Simon’s Bay.
Slowly, the helicopter descended toward the small airport runway beside the Simon’s Town Naval Headquarters. Through the window, John stared at a dozen or so naval patrol vessels that towered above the aqua-green waters of the bay. He was quick to notice that four of the ships were equipped with helicopters. If I can just get the admiral on our side, we’ll have all the air power we’ll need . . . and fast, he thought.
The moment the skids touched ground, John cracked the cabin door. Stepping out beneath the slow-moving blade, he shouted to Kate, “Keep it running. This won’t take long!” He snatched the flute case from his seat and closed the door.
John jogged around to the front of the long, white building and slowed to a fast walk as he reached the double doors. Before stepping into the lobby, he held the door for a man leaving the building. The gray-haired man with a gray moustache nodded politely while passing.
Entering the lobby, John felt a surge of confidence as he headed for the reception area. Behind the desk, an attractive black woman frantically took a call while three other phone lines continued to blink. Putting another caller on hold, she looked up at John with a forced smile. “May I help you?”
John rested the case on the counter. “Yes, could you direct me to Admiral Henderson’s office?”
“Is he expecting you?”
“Yeah, well, kind of. I’m a little late for an appointment. It’s very important.”
“I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting right now and can’t be disturbed. If you’d like to leave a message for him, I’ll be sure that he receives it as soon as he’s finished.”
One of her phone lines began to beep from being on hold. When she looked down, John heard the admiral’s voice coming from behind an office door nearby. He pulled the case from the counter and fast-walked to the hallway.
The receptionist sprang from her chair and cupped her hand over the receiver. “Sir! Sir, you can’t go in there! Sir—”
John cracked the door open to make sure he had the right room. A guard rapidly approached him from behind. At the end of a long conference table, he saw the admiral standing with his back to a large picture window overlooking a busy naval yard. For once, John’s mental picture of someone he had spoken to over the telephone was dead on. The admiral’s face was as stern as he’d imagined. Gathered around the table were five other men, four of them in naval uniform. John opened the door wider and stepped in. To his surprise, he saw Tom Hayman from the Sharks Board among the group. No wonder I couldn’t reach him! John’s eye went back to the big window. Below, he could see a landing pad bristling with activity. Six 109 Agusta LUH naval helicopters were being prepped for lift off. Men in uniform hefted barrels into cargo doors. Two choppers had already taken to the air. He had definitely walked in on something. The entire naval yard and every face around the table had a sense of urgency.
“Sir! Who let you in here?” barked the admiral. A guard grabbed John’s arm.
Tom quickly spoke up, “It’s the gentlemen I was telling you about earlier . . . John Paxton!”
The admiral held his hand up and indicated for the guard to let go of John’s arm.
“That will be all,” he said to the guard, who retreated to the hallway. Without further introduction, John sat the flute case on the end of the long conference table, opposite the admiral. “Sir, I have something you need to see.” He quickly unfastened the case, pulled out the bundled tooth, and unwrapped it from the towel. His face beamed with confidence and no small sense of relief. Finally.
There was a loud clank from the opposite end of the table. John looked up as the admiral slid a huge pliosaur tooth toward him like a disk on a shuffleboard court. When the tooth came to rest, the Admiral spoke matter-of-factly, “Mr. Bensley’s fourth-grade class. Show-and-share day.”
John slowly laid his tooth beside it. I guess he believes me now, he thought as he looked across the table expecting to hear a long-overdue apology. Instead, he found Admiral Henderson staring back at him with somber eyes. “Two more lives were lost yesterday morning.”
There it was again—the dead, empty feeling in the pit of John’s stomach. A rancid taste rose and mixed with the dryness in his mouth.
None of it seemed real anymore.
The admiral went on explaining the attack, but John couldn’t hear the words. His mind was lost, trying to figure out what the total must be by now. First the fishermen at the Motanza; the surfer near Jeffrey’s Bay; then the two fishermen killed at Dyer Channel before his very own eyes—and now two more. He steadied himself against the table. A moment later, the admiral’s voice became audible, and John faded back into the conversation.
“Yesterday, Lieutenant Vic Greeman regained consciousness long enough to give a statement.” The admiral paused for a moment. “Seems you two are lucky to be alive.” His voice was different; gone was the sharp tone of certainty that John had heard over the telephone. “He confirmed the statement you gave at the hospital, about commandeering a boat in the Dire Channel to check on a couple of shark tour operators that he had ordered to stay docked. He confirmed the creature’s size . . . everything that transpired.” The admiral rubbed his forehead. “Vic was just taken off the intensive care list this morning. His leg was lacerated and badly broken, but fortunately the doctors were able to save it. As far as the other fishermen . . . as you may have guessed, their bodies haven’t been recovered.”
John slowly looked over at Tom and paused. His dry mouth struggled to get out the next question. “Have there been any other fatalities . . . that I’m not aware of?”
Tom dropped his head, unable to look John in the eye.
“There was a yacht,” answered the admiral. “About three miles off the coast of Maputo, a young woman literally ran across the tip of a mast while skiing.
“Upon investigation, we found a thirty-eight-foot yacht lying on the seafloor beside the carcass of a whale shark. At first, we assumed the obvious. We thought it was a case where a ship had rammed a whale shark feeding too close to the surface. Upon further investigation, however, we found that the wound on the shark and the damage on the ship’s hull didn’t line up with this theory.
“The damage to the hull was very strange in a sense that it wasn’t cracked or pushed in . . . it was just missing. Then we measured the hole in the vessel’s hull and found it to be within eight inches of the bite radius found in a whale carcass at Paradise Beach. Coincidentally, the same carcass beside where the fourth-grader claimed to have found that tooth.”
“What about the occupants?” John asked.
“The bodies of the couple that owned the yacht were never recovered. And that’s the only other incident we are aware of at this time.”
“What about all of the fishermen from the fishing festival?” John asked.
The admiral again rubbed his forehead and looked down at the pair of giant teeth in front of John. “That’s unconfirmed. But yes, we think that was the creature also.”
John felt his guilt turning to rage. He looked at all the men standing around the table in uniform. “Okay, men,” he said, anger slowly building in him, “I would say we now have . . . sufficient evidence! Yes? So what are you going to do about it?�
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The admiral looked somberly around the table and said, “That’s what we were going over when you came in.” He gestured out the picture window, where men were hustling to load barrels into the helicopters. “As we speak, a squadron of eight choppers is being deployed. They’re loaded with barrels of chum, depth charges, everything we need.
“We’ll be focusing on an area forty miles east and west of Dyer Channel, the last known attack site, and about three miles off the coast. As far as my men know, they are only looking for an exceptionally large marine creature.”
John looked around the table in disbelief. “So, no one outside this room really knows what they’re looking for?”
“No one other than our demolition team,” answered the admiral.
“Don’t you think you need to tell them?”
The admiral leaned his hands against the table. His face was tense. “I think it’s safe to assume they’ll know it when they see it. We can’t risk word of this getting to the public; our worst enemy right now is the media. If they get word of an eighty-foot prehistoric marine reptile on the loose, we’ll be trying to find the thing among hundreds if not thousands of boats, helicopters, or any other type of craft you can snap a picture from.”
Tom nodded in agreement. “He’s right, John. If the media gets hold of this, the amount of boats in the area will quadruple along with the pliosaur’s feeding opportunities. This thing could go public at any time. All it’ll take is someone in the right spot with a camera. We’ve got to get the creature today.”
“All right then!” said the admiral. “What are we waiting for?”
As the men around John rose from the table, he picked up his tooth and started to pack it away. He paused, staring at the plastic covering over the root. After all of the hell I went through to bring this back . . . I didn’t even need it.