Vengeance from the Deep - Book One: Pliosaur

by Russ Elliott

  “But the man you talked to . . . Paxton. He’s on the way with bait and chum.”

  “I know that,” Nemo snarled, “but they had to refuel first. By the time they arrive, the pliosaur could be too far off to pick up a scent. Now get to it!”

  ~~~

  From the bridge of the Nauticus II, Nathan continued to make calls for bait. With this Paxton character on the way with chum, he knew it was a complete waste of time. But there was no arguing with the captain. “I repeat, this is the Nauticus II. We’re a research vessel in need of some baitfish. We’re trying to attract a rare species of marine life. We’ll pay top dollar for anyone out there with a good catch. Any takers?”

  “Nauticus II, this is Jimbo’s Baby again!”

  “Jimbo, you having any luck today? Over.”

  “More than you, it sounds like. Just landed one drop-dead gorgeous black marlin! Over.”

  “Great! That’ll work fine. Over!”

  “Just give me your coordinates, and I’m on my way.”

  After relaying the ship’s position Nathan sat down, content. He racked the mike and eased back, tempted to call it a day. But after thinking it over, he had no idea how long it would take Jimbo to reach the ship—he hadn’t thought to ask where Jimbo’s Baby was—so he decided to give it one more shot. The moment he picked up the mike, a voice came over the radio, breaking through the static. “Exactly what kind of creature you trying to attract?”

  Nathan quickly keyed the mike. “Actually it’s of the reptilian variety, so we’re really not that picky. Any type of fish or even meat would be—” Nathan was interrupted by Freddie and Nemo entering the bridge, bickering.

  “We can’t go in for bait!” the captain raised his voice. “We’ve got to attract the beast while it’s still in the area. We just can’t risk leaving the area.”

  “But a creature that size needs a lot of food!” Freddie’s tone was even louder. “That sixty-five-pound bag of beef was probably just enough to whet its appetite. Besides, we’re not even getting a signal from the homing device any more. The pliosaur’s probably miles away from here. We’re going to need a strong scent to lure it back.”

  Nathan turned around. “Could you guys hold it down? I’m trying to remedy the problem now.” He turned his attention back to the mike, just then realizing he still had the button pushed in. “Sorry about the shouting match in the background. So, do you think you can help us out?”

  “What are your coordinates?” asked the unidentified voice.

  After giving their position, Nathan asked, “So, what kind of bait do you have?”

  The unidentified voice ignored the question. “You said reptilian . . . exactly what species?”

  Nathan paused, as if thrown by the question. Then he keyed the mike. “I really don’t have time to go into it. Do you have any bait on board or not? Over.” No response.

  Nathan stared curiously at the mike. He switched frequencies and began to repeat his call.

  ~~~

  Fifteen miles east of the Nauticus ll, a dark hand racked a mike. After glancing over at Kolegwa with a grim smile, Kota looked down at the compass. He turned the wheel and adjusted the small boat’s course thirty degrees northwest.

  ~~~

  Staring ahead through the helicopter’s windshield, John saw the ocean appear beyond the trees. The sky grew darker. He was pumped, adrenalin racing as he spoke into his headset. “That’s right, Admiral, apparently the pliosaur swallowed the transmitter when it attacked the whale. The signal is intermittent, but they still have the best chance to locate the creature.” He listened for a moment. “Yes, we’re headed to the Nauticus II now, loaded with chum. We’ll relay you the coordinates the moment we pick up a signal. Out.”

  John lowered the mike on his headset and looked at Kate. “Admiral Henderson is up to speed, although he’s not so optimistic. He says these transmitters weren’t designed to be swallowed, questions how long the signal will last, or if the transmitter will even stay inside the creature.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Like he has the master plan. After flying around blindly with him all day, my money’s on the transmitter.”

  John nodded his agreement as the treetops ended, and they soared out to sea.

  Chapter 37

  SURPRISE VISIT

  Struggling, perspiration dripping from his forehead, Nathan slid the last section of black marlin into a burlap sack. Freddie stood and leaned back against a large crate on the ship’s stern. “Whew! That was one big fish. Glad your calls for bait finally paid off.” He wiped his brow, “Maybe now Nemo’ll lighten up.”

  “Wouldn’t count on it,” grunted Nathan, tightening the clamp around the sack’s end. He came to his feet beside Freddie. The two looked like they’d pulled a double shift in a slaughterhouse. Shirtless and slick with sweat, they were covered in blood up to their elbows.

  Freddie took a whiff of himself. “Wow! I smell worse than that bait sack. I’d better get cleaned up before Nemo tries to affix my tucas to the crane.”

  After Freddie disappeared below deck, Nathan grabbed the long cable extending down from the crane. Guiding the cable toward the bait sack, he thought he heard something. It was a voice coming from starboard. Again, a faint voice echoed from beyond the rail. “Hello, over here! Over here!”

  Nathan let go of the cable and curiously approached the rail. In front of the setting sun, he saw a small white boat about thirty yards out. Someone waved from the vessel. As the tiny fishing boat drew closer, Nathan could make out two people on board, both of them tall and black. The first man was clad in a maroon sailing jacket and khaki pants. The larger of the two looked like he’d dressed in the dark with his skintight, multicolored shirt and lime-green pants.

  The boat continued to approach, and the man in the sailing jacket shouted, “We’re low on fuel! We don’t have enough to make it to shore. Can you help us out?”

  Captain Nemo walked up behind Nathan. “What do we have here? Someone else bringing us bait?”

  “No, I think they’re low on fuel.”

  Nemo grumbled on his way back to the stairwell, “What do we look like, a filling station? Give them just enough to get to shore, and send them on their way!”

  Nathan motioned the fishing boat back to the stern, toward the ladder. The man in the sailing jacket tossed up the bowline, and Nathan tied off the boat. Wiping his bloody hands on a towel, Nathan greeted the men as they stepped on deck.

  “Thanks for letting us board,” said the man in the maroon jacket, giving a firm handshake. In spite of his overpowering presence, his eyes expressed a gentle gratitude. “We were on our way back in, and . . . well, I guess we underestimated the amount of fuel we would need. Oh, pardon me, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Kota and this is Kolegwa. So, do you think you could help us out?”

  Young Erick walked up with his dog Rex at his side. Nathan introduced him to their new guests, then turned to Erick. “Could you go below and ask Freddie to bring up a couple of the five-gallon gas drums?”

  The boy looked up through his thick glasses, “No problem. I can do it.” He called to Rex, “Come on, boy!” They ran back to the stairwell.

  When Nathan turned back to his guests, he found Kota wandering around the stern. The powerful figure approached the crane and looked down at the bloody burlap sack lying on the deck. “Looks like you’re getting ready to do some pretty serious fishing.”

  “Yeah, we’re out here conducting research on sharks. Studying the population, feeding habits, that type of thing,” replied Nathan.

  “Sharks, you say!” Kota smiled. He noticed the bent side rail and walked over to examine it closer. Kolegwa followed close behind. “My, my! What in the world did this?” Kota looked over the rail at the enormous indentation in the hull.

  Nathan scrambled for words, then blurted out, “It was a ship . . . ah, we got tangled up when docking the other day and got rammed from the side. We were fortunate not to take on water.” His tone sounded unconvin
cing, even to himself.

  “And you left port with it that way? A bit risky, no?” asked Kota, eyes narrowing. “Guess that’s what knocked over the mini-sub on the stern too, huh?”

  After a couple minutes of silence, Nathan was relieved to see Erick back on deck, followed by Freddie carrying two gas cans. “They were a little heavier than I thought,” said Erick as Freddie sat the cans near the stern.

  “Thank you. You’ve been a lifesaver,” Kota said. “But could we trouble you for one more thing?”

  “What’s that?” replied Nathan, feeling his hospitality nearing its end.

  “We didn’t bring enough water either.”

  “Wow. You guys really weren’t prepared, were you?” Nathan shook his head. “Okay, come on. Let’s go below and get something to drink. I imagine you guys won’t mind getting out of the sun for a few minutes anyway.”

  Kota flashed Kolegwa a subtle smile, then followed Nathan down the stairwell. They walked through a long, dim hallway, passed the video and surveillance room, and headed toward the galley. Along the way, Nathan glanced backward on occasion to converse with the strangers and noticed that they seemed exceptionally curious, pausing to look into every doorway they passed. Particularly odd was their over-interest with the monitors in the surveillance room. So disconcerting was their behavior that, if Nathan didn’t know better, he would have sworn the two knew something about the new focus of the expedition. Their knowing nods and smiles and continued nosing around was far too conspicuous to be coincidence, but then Nathan could not see how they could be anything other than needy seafarers. Entering the galley, Nathan walked over to the refrigerator and reached inside. He pulled out two water bottles and handed them to Kota. Then he reached back in and pulled out two more. “A couple extra for the road.”

  Kota nodded in appreciation. Nathan saw the captain walk by the doorway, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the three in the galley. He motioned at Nathan and silently mouthed, “Get them out!”

  After a long drink of water, Kota leaned back against the sink. The harmless look in his eyes that Nathan had first noticed was now gone, replaced by some smoldering sense of confidence. “So. Exactly what species of shark are you researching? Do you think you could show us around? I’ve always found sharks to be quite interesting.” He paused, took another sip, then gave a smile—a fairly wicked smile, thought Nathan. Kota added, “But I’m even more fond of reptiles . . . especially the really big ones!”

  Nearly choking on his water, Nathan said hastily, “I’d like to show you around, but I’m afraid we’re running behind schedule. We’ve got a lot to finish up before dark. So, if you don’t mind . . .”

  Kota glared at him, well past the moment of politeness, then said, “Oh, sorry for the inconvenience. We also need to be on our way. Wouldn’t want to, as they say, wear out our welcome!”

  Once escorted back to the stern, Kota and Kolegwa slowly descended the ladder. Kota looked over his shoulder and noticed the two gas cans already loaded on their boat. He looked up at Freddie. “Appreciate you loading them on board for us!”

  Freddie gave a friendly wave. He then whispered to Nathan, “Nemo told me to load those gas cans. Anything to get those two out of here.”

  Nathan untied the bowline and tossed it to Kolegwa. After pouring gas into the boat’s fuel tank, Kota sat down at the helm and fired the engine. Then as the small fishing boat pulled away, Kota raised his hand and shouted back, “Good luck with your research. And be careful…dangers lurk everywhere in these waters, whether you can see them or not.”

  As the small boat drove away into the African sunset, Freddie looked at Nathan. “That was really strange.”

  “What do you mean? The way that one guy was dressed? Quite the fashion statement, huh?”

  “No, not that,” said Freddie. “When I loaded the gas cans onto their boat, I noticed about a half-dozen gas cans by the stern . . . and three of them were completely full.”

  ~~~

  Peering over the mike on his headset, John studied the darkening horizon. “Kate, looks like we’re running short on daylight. What’s your ETA on the Nauticus II?”

  Kate squinted at the instrument cluster. “About twenty minutes, tops.”

  John lowered his gaze through the passenger’s side window, deep in thought. Now, with the Navy’s cooperation and the assistance of the Nauticus II, he finally had the means to locate and destroy the beast. Staring into the inky blackness, a familiar tingling rose in the pit of his stomach. Was it the anticipation of having the pliosaur dead in his sights? Or a fateful warning signal that something was horribly wrong? Relax, he thought, easing his head back against the seat and letting his eyes close. You overthink everything.

  Kate’s voice rang in his headset. “What’s that in the distance? . . . there, at two o’clock?”

  Looking up, he saw Kate squinting at the windshield. She pointed to where John saw something white contrasting against the dark, hazy sea. Kate hovered over the object, the searchlight cutting through the haze. Lowering altitude, the downdraft from the rotors swept back the fog to reveal the glistening flank of a sperm whale. Behind the lifeless eye was a colossal wound—and not a clean bite mark either. It looked like an enormous clawed hand had raked across the creature’s flank. Long shards of bloody blubber spilled out from the deep incisions and drifted hideously on the waves.

  Kate lowered altitude until they were fifteen feet above the whale.

  John looked into the lifeless eye that seemed to be peering up at him. “We’d better call this in to the Admiral. What are our coordinates?”

  Kate glanced at the instrument cluster, but when she looked back to the whale, she froze. The muscles beneath its pale flesh rippled, and the huge fluke swept across the mist.

  “It’s still alive!” she gasped.

  That’s when it hit John: this just happened.

  He swung his gaze frantically. Then looking thirty yards out from the whale, his heart all but stopped. He saw the tip of an enormous frill gliding above the fog, then he lost sight of it. “Get out of here!” he roared into his headset.

  Before Kate could move the stick, the giant reptilian head burst from the sea—the canyon-like jaws spreading before the windshield.

  Kate pulled up, and the creature missed the cockpit, but still there was a violent jolt. In falling, the spiked teeth snared the landing gear, hurling the helicopter straight toward the sea.

  “I can’t save this!” Kate shouted as the clouds turned into haze-covered waves. A violent jolt and a coolness swept over John as his vision turned to bubbles.

  John grabbed the passenger’s side door handle, but it wouldn’t open. He woke to find his hands tugging the handle. The main rotor thundered above, the Indian Ocean flashing far below.

  “Going somewhere?” Kate’s perky voice echoed in his headset.

  Gaining his senses, he looked around the dim cockpit. Come on, just a nightmare, he told himself. But the adrenaline coursing through his veins wouldn’t let him come down. He wiped the sweat from his brow and rubbed his tired eyes.

  Kate’s voice again crackled in his ears. “So, I see you managed to get some shuteye? Do you feel more rested?”

  “Sure,” John said, still trying to catch his breath. “Much more rested.”

  “Hope so.” Kate pointed toward the horizon. “If you look dead ahead, you can just make out the Nauticus II.” John raised his gaze from a small boat below and focused on the distant ship.

  Seriously, I’ve got to stop falling asleep.

  ~~~

  Kota looked up from the fishing boat’s windshield to a roaring overhead. For a brief moment, he saw the jagged-toothed maw on the vintage army helicopter until the craft faded into a gray speck over the endless sea.

  Awakened by the noise, Kolegwa rose angrily from the passenger’s seat. “How long must we wait in this sea?” he blurted in his native tongue.

  Kota grabbed him by the nape of the neck and turned his head towa
rd the ship sprawled across the horizon. “Fool, can you not see it yet?” Kota snorted. Releasing the tribesman’s throat, Kota studied the Nauticus II. “For it is as the prophecy foretold . . . all who interfere with Kuta Keb-la’s wrath shall be delivered into our hands.”

  He then noticed that the helicopter seemed to be heading toward the ship, and his lips curled into a wicked grin. “Ah, looks like someone else will be joining the party.”

  Don’t miss Book Two

  Vengeance from the Deep: Blood of the Necala

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My special thanks to my editor Janet Fix for her keen eye, boundless energy, and enthusiasm for the project.

  Also thanks to my friend Steve and his encouragement for this project from the very beginning, which helped push me through the challenging times.

  Lastly, to my wife Danielle for her love and understanding, and for putting up with my endless hours on the computer and seeing to it that I managed to get some sleep throughout this process . . . and to my mom, the greatest mother on earth.

  ABOUT RUSS ELLIOTT

  Growing up in a small town near Lynchburg, Virginia, one of Russ’s earliest memories is standing at the front of his first-grade class with his vast collection of dinosaur figures. One by one, he would explain in great detail the various characteristics of each creature to the class.

  The seven-year-old’s prehistoric presentation was so compelling that his teacher would then send him off to repeat it to every grade in the elementary school.

  A move to Tampa, Florida, and nearly three decades later, Russ became an award-winning art director at a Palm Harbor advertising agency. Collecting over a dozen ADDY Awards for creative excellence (advertising’s equivalent to the Grammy), Russ later became intrigued with fiction writing. An accomplished painter and sculptor, he found that writing offered something new. It was a medium that could be easily shared. A good sculpture, for example, could only be truly appreciated when viewed in person, where one could walk around it and experience it in its world of light and shadows—an experience that could not be captured in a photograph, therefore not easily shared. But writing offered him something more; it allowed him to sculpt an image in the reader’s mind. Someone on the other side of the globe could read a scene and experience the images just as the artist had intended. Russ still considers himself a sculptor, though . . . only now, instead of clay and plaster, he uses words.