No lives had been lost, but countless egos had been destroyed. As soon as his ship had stopped rocking back and forth like a cheap trailer in a bad earthquake, Captain Marshall stumbled backwards into the communications rack, smashing his elbow and knocking off a satellite transmitter, sending it crashing to the floor. Then the sonar shorted out and the computer keyboards went flying off the desks, yanking their connector cables out of the CPUs, or yanking the CPUs off the desks to crash on top of the men. Everything—men and equipment—went flying in every direction.
Meanwhile, back at the Pentagon, Lieutenant Wilson raced in to the Admiral’s office. “Admiral! We’ve lost communications with the ships!” he alerted his commander.
“Which ship?”
“All of them, sir.”
“What…?” roared the admiral. “How is that possible?”
“They reported the nets were deployed and they had her in sight, but that she was surrounded by an enormous number of sea creatures,” the lieutenant explained.
“Sea creatures?”
“Whales, dolphins, sharks, you name it. Just as they started to identify them, communications started getting distorted, then went dead.”
Three thousand and some odd miles away, Captain Marshall struggled to his feet, trying to take stock of the situation. At least the ship was no longer rocking.
“Seaman, get Washington on the line immediately!”
“I can’t, Captain,” Miller blurted out. “It will take me at least an hour. The satellite dish is smashed. I’ve got no uplink. The Internet server is toast too, and the—”
“Just fix it all! ASAP! I want a full report of all the damages in fifteen minutes,” he barked. Then the captain crossed to his desk, unlocked the center drawer where he kept his personal satellite phone, and headed for the deck.
In Hot Water
“Admiral,” said the lieutenant as he rushed into the room holding a phone out, “we have Capitan Marshall of the USS Olympia on the phone. He’s being patched in through the main switchboard.”
“What happened out there, Captain?” Admiral Greystone hollered into the phone. After listening for a minute he exclaimed, “What? Have you been drinking? I want that footage on its way to Washington within the hour! No! Do not upload it under any circumstance. I don’t want anyone to intercept it or see it but the president and myself. Do you understand me, Captain? No one!” And he slammed the phone down.
“What happened, Admiral?” the lieutenant inquired.
“Call the White House, Lieutenant, and inform the president that I’m on my way over to see him,” the admiral directed in an uncharacteristically tired voice. Then without another word or order, he picked up his jacket and walked out of the Pentagon.
An Encounter With Evil
The great Vasili Thermopolis—Greek billionaire, shipping magnet, CEO of a dozen international corporations—was on the floor of a cave, groveling. This was not new to him. He had come to this cave for the first time as a small boy when he had lost his way in the coral reef and almost drowned, a day seared forever in his mind.
Just as he realized he would probably drown, Vasili saw an opening in the coral. He prayed it would lead to air. He rose up into a dark cavern, gasping for a breath, his chest exploding. When he stopped heaving, he began to look around. He was in some kind of pool. The area around him was dimly lit by the glow of phosphorescent moss that was growing at the edge of the water and by some strange kind of bioluminescent anemones that seemed to be everywhere. The light they gave off was just enough for him to see that he was in a large, vaulted cavern made of coral.
At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, so he crawled over to the cavern wall and brushed his fingers across it. It wasn’t a trick. The walls all around the cavern were sculpted and carved. There were jewels and gold in the walls too, and they went up as far as he could reach. His foot touched a small stone or chip of coral so he snatched it up, tossed it straight up above his head, and counted three seconds before it rebounded off the ceiling above. The cavern was also very high.
Then a voice called to him. “Boy!” He recognized the very old Greek dialect his grandmother had spoken.
“Who’s there?” he whispered and whirled around, looking for someone.
“You have come to my cave!” the voice snapped. “I shall ask the questions!”
Vasili had grown up as a child of the streets. He’d lived and survived by his instincts. Right now, all of those instincts screamed, “Run!” He turned to dive back into the pool, but found his way blocked by six or seven large, black lobster-like creatures with human torsos and strange heads. More and more of them came skittering out of the walls to glare at him.
“That’s right, my pets, do not let the man-child leave,” the voice cooed.
“I meant no harm!” Vasili shouted in panic as the black creatures, almost as long as he was tall, circled him and herded him with snapping claws backwards toward one wall of the cavern. “I would have drowned if I hadn’t found the passage into your cavern.”
“You still may,” hissed the voice. Then three or four of the black lobster creatures reared up on their hind legs, clawing the air in front of his face, forcing him back even farther. “Come to me, bow to me, and I shall decide if you are worthy to live or not.” The voice dripped with venom.
“Where are you?” he cried.
“Just stay where you are, turn around, and look,” the voice answered.
Several torches around the cavern suddenly flared to life, flooding the space with light. When Vasili turned around to look, he screamed. He screamed over and over again as the black lobster creatures with strange man-like heads grabbed him with their pinchers and dragged him toward the hideous thing. He just kept screaming.
He was Vasili the little bull, the young street urchin who’d beaten up the rich kids and stolen their food and coins. A boy who’d survived living on the streets of Mykonos since he was eight years old, dodging police, charitable do-gooders, and greedy-eyed men. But, oh how he screamed! Echoing his screams, creating a mad duet, the being let out a sadistic, malevolent laugh that rose to a roar.
Tall for his twelve years of age, as handsome as a prince, as fierce as a warrior, he trembled in abject horror until he had screamed himself hoarse. Then he just collapsed as he stared up at the oldest, ugliest, living being he had ever seen.
It appeared to be female from the shape and look of the bloated, corrupted form. “She” was dripping ooze. Her rolls and mounds of flesh were draped in woven nets of kelp. With growing horror, he realized the macabre glowing eyes in her heavily jowled face might once have been human as they leered out from underneath the gold and jeweled crown that was tangled in her hair. Beneath the slime that covered her arms, shoulders, and neck, pearls, gold, and sets of rare and precious emeralds and rubies, glittered back at him like snake eyes, sentient with evil.
The being repeated her sadistic, malevolent laugh. He knew that kind of laugh. It was the kind of laugh you heard when someone stronger than you had you in his—or her—grip, and intended to cause you great harm. It was the laugh of someone who would enjoy hurting you … the kind of laugh he had heard far too often when he was far too young. He had killed the last man who had laughed at him that way. He’d sworn he would never hear it again. But here he was, cowering, with that same laughter reverberating off the walls in every direction. He tried again, but he could scream no more, and everything went black.
Medea—the Hag
“I’ve decided to let you live.” These were the first words young Vasili heard when he regained consciousness. His face was pressed against the rough, wet coral floor; grit and sand clogged his vision. A single torch sputtered, giving him barely enough light to see a dim outline of his surroundings—and a silhouette of “it.”
Her horrifying creatures seemed to be gone, and a small handful of jewels and gold lay next to him on the cavern floor.
“Why?” was all he could think to say. Then he sat up slowly, testing th
e condition of his hands and limbs.
“Good question,” the voice said, chuckling. “A very clever little boy, aren’t you?”
“I can take care of myself!” he snapped.
“Yes, well …” The voice grew deadly. “Not if I decide to kill you. Your life is mine if I want to take it, or do you doubt that, boy?”
“No.” He trembled. And Vasili never trembled. “I believe you, but you said you would let me live!”
She—“it”—cackled, sending shivers up his spine. “Yes, clever boy, I did indeed say you might live. But, there is a price!” She chuckled.
“What do you want?” he asked. “I’ll do anything you say.”
“Do you see the opal ring on the floor next to you?” she whispered.
He looked around quickly and found a gold ring set with a large, fiery oval opal. He picked it up and held it for her to see from where she was in the darkness.
“Yes, I have it.”
“Put it on,” she ordered.
“I have it on,” he called out, as he slipped the cool, heavy gold ring onto his index finger. Immediately he felt the ring jab three needle pricks into his skin.
“If you ever take that ring off, you will die,” she hissed. He knew with all certainty that was true.
“Now swear on your soul and the souls of all your unborn children that you shall serve me without question until the end of your days.”
“I swear it,” he whispered.
“Then listen to my commands, for I can now kill you at any time, in any place, should you fail me.”
“I will obey you always,” he vowed.
“Every year on this same date, you will visit me here without fail until the day you die.”
“I swear it,” he agreed.
“Whenever the opal on your ring turns red, you will come here with all haste to receive my commands.”
“I swear it.”
“Any messages or orders delivered to you by my pets, you will follow without question,” she added, as several of the black lobster men scurried forward so he could see their eyes glowering all around him.
“I swear it.”
“Then take the jewels and gold at your feet and use them well. Return to me in two moons, tell me how you have profited with them, and bring me news from the world above,” she snapped. “Go now!”
“I swear it,” he repeated once again, then snatched up the jewels and gold, shoved them into his pockets, and raced toward the pool. Before he dove in he stopped. The pool was now full of sharks, moray eels, and barracudas.
“I … I can’t leave,” he stammered. “The water is full of sharks and barracudas,” he shouted at her desperately.
“Those are my pets,” she whispered. “They will not harm you, and they will obey you as long as you wear my ring.”
Suddenly the reality of all that had happened, the depth of age and power he had stumbled onto, began to sink in. “Who are you?” he asked.
“For centuries men have called me ‘The Hag,’” she said, then lowered her voice to a whisper of regret. “But long ago, when I was young and beautiful, the people of this world called me Medea.”
The power of that knowledge nearly knocked him off his feet. Vasili swayed, and nearly stumbled as he took a deep breath and steadied himself. The next thing he did surprised him as much as it surprised her. Vasili turned and walked back to where he had seen her sprawled in the dark and knelt, bowing his head. “Then what I swore in fear, I now swear with pride,” he pledged.
Her reply was simply a surprised sigh of contentment, and that meant much more to him than words.
Then he rose, walked to the pool, and dove in without fear. The sharks made way for him, as did the eels and the barracuda, then followed respectfully behind him at a distance.
Vasili was clever, brave, and resourceful. He used the jewels well, fencing them in one city, then stealing them back and fencing them in another. He loaned the money he got from them to desperate fisherman and charged them outrageously high interest. Those who didn’t pay their debts fell victim to sharks and barracudas, and their boats became Vasili’s. He gathered all the street urchins into a gang of his own, and rented an old warehouse to house them. Then he put them to work for him in his various nefarious dealings. Soon he’d amassed a healthy amount of money and a small ragged fleet of boats. When he’d grown old enough, he bought better buildings and better boats.
Vasili never forgot the Hag. He served her faithfully, bringing her newspapers and magazines about the world above, which he read to her. Every year on the date of his “consecration,” as he now called it, she would give him more jewels and gold to use to increase his wealth.
The more she learned, the more adept she became in the ways of the world above, and her guidance was always quick and insightful. Once he reached his legal age, she gave Vasili a large chest filled with the finest of her spoils. “You must sell these to the museums and archeologists that you have told me about, for they are very fine and very old, and should bring you great wealth. Then you must buy ships that can carry this oil you seem to need so much. I shall tell you where in the sea you can find more of it so you can grow even wealthier and more powerful,” she instructed with great satisfaction.
“You are very wise and clever, and I shall do as you say,” he replied. “But tell me, mistress …” He paused for a moment to draw the courage to ask the question he had been burning to ask for years. “Who, or what, is all this for?” he asked, and she laughed.
“Oh, you are a clever man-child,” she said, chuckling. But then she suddenly roared in challenge. “A life of wealth, power, and luxury is not enough for you?”
Vasili did not tremble. He did not cower or bow. He just looked up into her face, looked deeper into her eyes, smiled, and said, “It is more than enough for me, but not for you.” Then they both laughed.
Prince Charming Number One
Miranda’s voyage to Denmark was blessed with clear skies and strong winds. Of course if a storm had tried to form, she would have banished it. If there had been no winds, she would have called them. But, it was nice to be simple, and behave like a mortal, and just enjoy the elements as they were. She felt free and unburdened. The anticipation of music, shops, and conversation burned a hole in her soul. She felt like a hungry man wasting away for lack of sustenance.
Being a mermaid was the most glorious life anyone could ever imagine. As much as she adored music and the concerts of man, however, even Mozart’s delicate and complex orchestrations paled in comparison to floating in the sea surrounded by the songs of whales for hundreds of leagues. Listening to their songs of love and sorrow, of new births and deaths, of the secrets the sea unfolded from its depths to its shallows, was extraordinary.
As far as conversation went, as a mermaid, she had only ever had her father and her mother as equal intellectual companions. In the persona of the Duchess of Egeskov, though, she’d had parties and ballrooms full of people to talk to about endless subjects.
News of her arrival must have reached her advocate early, for the representative of the investment management firm of Bruun & Gottorp was waiting to greet her on the dock when she arrived. One look at her new advocate, and no one would be surprised to learn that the firm was an arm of the old Knights Templar. It was easy to imagine this tall, handsome man as a knight in shining armor. He had pale blonde hair; soft, gray-blue eyes; broad shoulders; and an eager smile.
“Duchess, I am Frederic Bruun, the new executor of your estates. It is a great honor to meet you,” he intoned officiously as Miranda stepped down the gangway dressed in black and swathed in her veil of mourning. “I was so sorry to hear of the passing of your father,” he continued with a modest bow.
“You are very kind, Mr. Bruun,” Miranda responded as she lifted her veil to speak to him directly.
Frederick glanced upward as he began to rise from his bow and froze as he saw her unveiled and gazing down at him. It was simply the most glorious face he had ever see
n. She was an unsurpassed beauty, completely open and unaffected by pride or vanity … so unlike every other noblewoman he’d ever met. He stayed there for several heartbeats, falling upward into her eyes feeling like a hawk soaring into a lavender sky.
“Did you hurt your back?” Miranda giggled as she extended her hand to help him rise.
“Oh, no … no, Your Grace. I … I was just lost in thought for a moment.”
“Well, I’m glad you found your way back, Frederick,” she said, and smiled mischievously.
“I apologize, Your Grace,” he began all over again in his officious tone, trying to recover his professional demeanor.
“Miranda,” she said sweetly, as she squeezed his hand gently, making him realize he was still clutching hers.
“Oh, yes, Your Grace,” he sputtered and dropped her hand quickly.
“Now, Frederick,” she admonished him, “may I call you Frederick?” she asked impishly, knowing full well she was roasting him on a spit of flirtation and enjoying it immensely.
“Of course you may, Your Grace.”
“Well then, Mr. Bruun, if I may call you Frederick, then I insist you call me Miranda.” She beamed up at him.
And he beamed right back, suddenly aware that as guileless a beauty as she was, here was a woman who understood her place in the world, and knew how she would have it serve her. Here was a woman he would die for, would serve and protect with every fiber of his being.
“So, Frederick,” she spoke, breaking him out of another reverie. “I have much to do to settle in. And there are many things to attend to with my steward at the moment. But, I would love to discuss whatever you deem urgent at dinner tonight. Can you come to the castle?”
“I would be most honored, Your—”
“Now, Frederick, don’t make me cross!” she warned him with a tap of her dainty foot and a wag of an elegant finger.
All The Mermaids In The Sea Page 18