Tanner stepped away from the podium, threaded through the crowd, and sat next to Silva, who didn’t look his way. He was listening intently to the father talking about how those who’d died were now in Heaven with God, and how happy they must be.
After a few minutes, Silva said, “You believe in this voodoo?”
“Where you been? You disappeared pretty fast.”
“You know how it is. There was mess to cleanup. Higher-ups needed appeasement and bodies had to be sent home.” Silva kept his eyes on the preacher as he went into some half-song, half-verse rift.
“Were your guys laid to rest?”
“In time. Their bodies were sent to a war zone where they’ll be listed as casualties of war. That way the families will get closure, and can collect all appropriate benefits and honors.”
“Kind of the truth,” Tanner said.
“Kind of.”
“And we must always remember that God has a plan and…” the priest went on.
“Screw your god’s plan,” Silva said. He tore his eyes away from the preacher and looked at Tanner, his eyes cold with anger.
“Easy. Reverend Graham’s all right.”
“He’s a charlatan like the rest of them. Making a living off of sowing fear and division.”
“Where’s the sea scorpion’s corpse?” Tanner asked.
Silva chuckled. “On ice.”
Tanner’s felt his hackles prickle.
“It’s in a very safe place where nobody will ever find it except the big heads who are trying to make sense of the thing.”
“Anything new to report?”
The priest was finishing up, and Silva said, “In a minute. We’ll get a drink.”
“So go now in peace, and peace I giveth unto you,” Graham said. He lifted his arms to the heavens as if waiting for divine intervention, but when none came, he let his arms fall to his sides.
Silva got up, and the crowd dispersed, some folks making their way to the clubhouse and others heading for their cars. The captain joined Tanner and Silva as they walked.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. Captain Quinn.” The boss held out his hand.
Silva looked at it, but didn’t shake it. Quinn left his hand out there for several seconds as the two men jousted with their eyes, and when it became clear Silva wasn’t going to acknowledge the captain’s gesture, Quinn let his hand fall. Quinn’s face screwed up, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Silva beat him to it. “So you’re the guy that ordered Tanner off the bay? Good call there, boss.”
“Well, I—” the captain stammered. “I didn’t know. I was going on slim information and I wasn’t the one—”
“Yeah, OK,” Silva said. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Captain Quinn glared at Silva, then at Tanner, who shrugged. Tanner was enjoying this.
“I’ll speak with you later, Nate.” With a sigh, the captain peeled off and went to shake hands and kiss babies.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Tanner said.
Silva smiled. “But I wanted to. I hate these know-it-all suits who make things way more difficult than they need to be to justify their existence. Pisses me off. Anyhow, how are you? That’s really why I stopped by. I’m heading out soon and we might not see each other again.”
“No offense, but that’d be fine by me.”
Silva chuckled. “No offense taken. My name be trouble, and trouble be me. Not exactly the fun train.” They arrived at the bar and Tanner ordered a vodka martini straight-up with olives. Silva said, “Now that’s a drink. Make it two.”
As the bartender made their drinks, Tanner asked, “So what’s new?”
“Nothing really. The big heads say the monster shouldn’t exist. Surprise surprise. The tech told me that as he was standing right next to the corpse. My brains agree with the Coast Guard brains. This thing was some kind of freak, a Jaekelopterus hybrid. They believe the species survived over the ages by partnering with other species, like lobsters or horseshoe crabs.”
“Doesn’t make sense, though, does it? I mean, how could something that big, you know, screw a small lobster?”
Silva laughed. “Part of the evolution involved fertilizing external eggs, not coitus, but thanks for putting that image in my head. Thank you very much.”
“And it came from the canyons beyond the drop-off?”
“That part is more of a mystery, though that theory still makes the most sense,” Silva said.
As he spoke, Tanner noticed Silva’s attention shift from him to something across the room. Tanner turned to see a uniformed officer jogging across the patio toward the captain who stood laughing and yucking-it-up with Senator Jellison.
The cop interrupted the captain, who looked none too pleased. Tanner and Silva stared at the conversation, the cold moisture from their drinks dripping to the floor. Tanner took a long pull on his martini as he watched the captain’s face change from annoyance to concern.
Silva downed his entire drink with one pull, placed the glass on the bar, and headed for the captain and senator. Tanner put out an arm. “Hey, whatever it is, I’d stay clear.” Silva shook him off and continued on his way. “Shit,” Tanner said. He downed the rest of his drink and put his empty glass next to Silva’s.
When they arrived at the captain’s side, his face was flush. The uniformed officer fled, and the captain excused himself from the senator’s side.
“What?” Tanner said. “What’s happened?”
“Someone’s been killed on Carey Beach.”
***
Tanner found Randy and pulled him away from his family, and with Silva, they jogged to the station at the tip of Wood Point, where a twenty-two-foot SAFE boat sat moored in the station’s marina, bobbing on the gentle sea.
“Hey. Wait up.” It was Captain Quinn. “I’m coming along. Wait up.”
Tanner looked at Silva, who rolled his eyes.
“You want me to cast off before he gets here?” Randy asked.
Tanner looked to Silva. “Your boat. Your call,” Silva said. “But if I kill him, you have to cover for me.”
“Wait for him,” Tanner said. “What harm can he do?”
“You don’t want an answer to that question, do you?”
“No, not really.”
Randy fired up the engines as Silva and Tanner undid the mooring lines. Quinn arrived just as Tanner uncleated the last rope. The captain was dressed in a suit, and he almost fell into the drink when he jumped on the bow and the slick soles of his dress shoes sent him cartwheeling across the gunnel onto the deck. Tanner and Randy restrained their laughter, Silva didn’t.
They inched from their dock space and headed into open water. The bay was calm, and a light northeasterly wind pushed tiny whitecaps across the surface. It was the calm before the storm. Dan was on the way, and for now, the sky was free of rain clouds, but thin cirrus clouds stretched across the horizon like tattered clothes, and the air was crisp and salty. The reek of rot and decay had subsided.
Carey Beach was minutes from Woods Point. The boat skittered and hopped across the green water, and the captain asked, “You think we have another scorpion here?”
Tanner hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know. It makes sense, though, right? Maybe our bitch had a friend, and animals always return to the site of their kills.”
“Lover is more like it. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry, but my big heads said there was most likely a pair, a male and a female.”
The weight on Tanner’s chest that lifted when the beast sank into the river returned, and his stomach ached and the pain in his neck throbbed. Tanner looked at Randy, who shrugged.
As they approached the beach, a crowd of people stood around the snack stand, huddled together like a flock of birds with no wings. The beaches were open and commercial and residential traffic was allowed on the bay, though few boats could be seen. A red streak of blood ran across the white sand and disappeared in the bay.
The SAFE
boat screamed onto the beach, lights flashing, sirens chiming. Randy cut the motors and punched the tilt button, lifting the engines from the water as the boat crunched onto shore. Tanner pulled his Glock and leapt from the boat, landing in shallow bay water.
Grooves in the sand showed something had crawled from the water. Silva and Captain Quinn joined Tanner and Randy went to interview the crowd. Silva walked the beach in a grid pattern, looking for clues while Quinn stood in shock and amazement. Tanner had given everything to kill the sea scorpion, and all the time a second lurker in the bay had been waiting to strike.
“Look at this,” Silva said.
Tanner arrived at Silva’s side and his mouth fell open a crack when he saw what the agent pointed at. A scale, not unlike the ones they’d found inland, lay before Silva. A piece of large oval plating that had been part of a sea scorpion’s tail.
Randy arrived and said, “They claim everyone was hanging out on the beach when the beast rocketed from the water toward them. Most people ran, but it got a kid who was asleep. The kids forgot about him.”
Like the first few killed by the sea scorpions, there were no remains; no scraps of clothing, body parts, nothing. It was like reliving a nightmare. They’d fought and won, and it was supposed to be over. Tanner rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. The sea breeze picked up, and a chill ran through him. He holstered his gun and sat on the sand, glaring at the Great South Bay. Silva plopped down on his right, Randy on his left. The captain stood off by himself, talking on his phone.
“You think it’s smart to sit here?” Randy asked.
Tanner guffawed. “Sure. Got a blanket? Let’s layout and get some rays.”
“That’s not funny,” Randy said.
“It’s a little funny,” Silva said.
Tanner pulled his flask from a back pocket, twisted off the cap, and took a long pull. He handed it to Randy, who also took a deep drink. When Randy held the vodka out to Silva, the government man took it and said, “I sure need a hit.” Silva took a long draft and handed the flask back to Tanner. When Tanner went to take another drink, he found the flask empty.
“What now?” Randy said.
“We get more Stolichnaya,” Tanner said. Neither man laughed.
“We call the Navy,” Silva said.
33
Fifth precinct headquarters had been in the same spot Tanner’s entire life. The building’s gray-black rough concrete facade looked like dark rain clouds, which was fitting on this day. Hurricane Dan’s outer edge had rolled in and giant raindrops splattered on the Jeep’s windshield. Tanner hated going to the main office. His visits usually meant he’d done something wrong, because he never got called in to get complimented for busting dirtbags taking eighteen-inch fluke. This time around, the threat posed by the sea scorpion was established without doubt, and Tanner and the rest of the locals, including the Coast Guard, had become secondary players in the blink of a Navy man’s eye.
Despite this, Tanner had been summoned to a meeting at which the Navy would lay out the plan to deal with the second scorpion. Tanner still held some level of honorary status, plus the bigwigs were smart enough to understand there was value in local knowledge. Then there was Silva, who sang Tanner’s praises to the higher-ups. For these reasons, Tanner and Randy would be part of the massive assault.
The Great South Bay was closed again, and the Coast Guard cutter Vigilant and Navy destroyer Gridley were anchored in the mouth of the breach, preparing to fire up their big guns. The Gridley was a stray from the Pacific Fleet and was equipped with the most modern weapons available. It boasted two MK41 vertical launch systems, multiple heavy guns, Tomahawk missiles, and Mark 46 torpedoes.
Tanner’s head hurt. He hadn’t done any heavy drinking for a few days while preoccupied with the chase, but losing Jefferson, the discovery of a second creature, and a fight with the ex-wife all sent him running to the comfort of Jack Daniel’s loving embrace. Butterflies danced in his nauseous stomach, his eyes stung, and his throat was so raw it hurt when he swallowed. His right side was solid black and the bone bruises on his arms and legs hurt every time he moved.
When Tanner arrived at headquarters, he was surprised at how many people were there. It was a far cry from five short days ago, when the Navy insisted he present better proof before they’d even consider sending a ship. The alpha in charge was Navy Commander-in-Chief Drew Halphron, leader of the Atlantic Fleet. He’d arrived hours after the discovery of the second beast, and by sheer presence alone had taken over the operation. Several Coast Guard and Navy officers stood with Halphron, content to let the commander run the show. Not that any of them had any real say. Halphron was the top dog in the room by every measure.
Randy came up beside Tanner. “Quite the shit show,” he said.
“More testosterone in this room than is advisable.”
“You, always being the optimist.”
Captain Quinn spotted them and waved, so Randy and Tanner were forced to take seats next their boss. Tanner felt the room’s eyes on him. There was more brass in attendance than he’d ever seen in one place. Navy, Army, Suffolk PD, fire rescue, and harbor patrol, all waiting to learn how they could help.
The commander stepped to the lectern. He wore a light brown, casual dress uniform with all his chest candy proudly displayed. His shoes were shined and his brass belt buckle marked him as a brother of the sea. Tanner fingered the buckle in his pocket. It was most likely Sharkey’s, and every time he touched it, he heard the cracking of the submersible’s hull, and saw Sharkey’s blood clouding the water, and the rage would rise in him.
Halphron adjusted the mike and looked out on the crowd of thirty-seven men and women. Silence fell instantly. “Thank you for being here. This briefing is highly confidential, and all information provided here, or any part of our discussion about said information, is considered confidential to anyone outside this room.”
It was hot and humid, and folks fidgeted in their seats and fanned themselves with briefing papers. Halphron said, “I’ve been in the Navy thirty-seven years. Longer then some of you have been alive. I’ve seen some strange shit. Stuff that would make you wonder if you were going crazy. What we face here is such a thing. An animal out of our prehistoric past that doesn’t know its environment and is frightened and hungry. We know it will attack without provocation, and this time, we must organize a preemptive strike and not wait for the beast to attack.”
The commander paused, and Tanner thought his eyes flicked his way for the briefest of moments. “Our plan is simple. We’ll lay a chum slick starting in the center of the bay and leading to the breach. Then I’ll need PD and rescue units to work the inner waterways and canals until we locate the animal. We’ll also bait Carey Beach, since the creature’s familiar with that area and might return there. When we have a location for the thing, we’ll pull everything back. Then, using sonic weaponry I’ll go into in a moment, we’ll drive the scorpion into the breach. Air support will also engage at this time. The creature will head for open water and that’s when the USS Gridley and the USCGC Vigilant will be waiting to send it back to the depths.”
Pain shot up Tanner’s back. The Navy’s plan wasn’t much different than Jefferson’s. Maybe if he’d listened to her, she’d still be alive. The room fidgeted and stirred, but nobody spoke. Halphron was a big dog, one of the biggest, and questioning him in front of thirty-seven brass wasn’t wise unless you had a very good reason. Everybody seemed to understand this except Silva. “Ah, question here. Sonic weapons? You have these with you?”
The commander sized up Silva with an eye of recognition, and then answered the question. “I have one right here to show you.” The commander motioned to someone to his left and a young seaman rolled a Long Range Acoustical Device (LRAD) to the front of the room.
It looked like an ultra-high-tech stage light. A gray round casing sat atop a tripod, and several cords snaked from the device into a large generator-like box behind it. The seaman swiveled the device up and
down and side to side, showing how the weapon could be aimed. “The weapon creates a beam of extremely high-powered sound waves that can disrupt or destroy the eardrums of a target and cause severe pain or disorientation,” the commander said. “This is usually sufficient to incapacitate the target. Less powerful sound waves can cause nausea or discomfort. We believe these creatures are susceptible to sound waves. That’s how they know we’re coming. So the sea scorpion should flee before this device, and we’ll use them to drive the creature toward the slick and into the breach.”
“Is there any danger to the officers operating the weapon?” Captain Quinn asked. “I’ll not have my men affected by this thing.” Tanner almost laughed. Maybe there was someone other than Silva in the room who didn’t understand that this was a time to fly below the radar.
The Navy Commander stared at Quinn as though he were a plebe, and said, “Make no mistake, this weapon, if misused, can cause death and permanent injury. So it is with my deepest concern that I insist that you allow only Navy personnel to fire the weapons, which we must deploy on some of your vessels. In addition, as an extra precaution, ear protection will be provided and should be worn at all times.”
“You plan to hit the creature while it’s boxed in the breach?” a man in an expensive suit asked. Tanner wasn’t sure, but he thought the man was a congressman.
“There has been discussion about the stability of the breach and what might happen if Tomahawk missiles and 130mm guns rock the area. The breach is slowly closing on its own as the tides pull sand through it. Many experts believe it will eventually close on its own. Others believe the breach is a permanent addition to the natural ecology. Whichever be the case, it was decided that any unintentional effects wouldn’t significantly affect life on Long Island.”
“So…” the suit said. “You plan to attack it in the breach?”
“We feel that provides us the best opportunity for success because the animal will be contained and away from populated areas,” the commander said.
The Breach Page 17
