by Michael Bray
"That’s all you have to say? Don’t you have questions or anything?"
"Nope. Ye answered all mah questions."
Rainwater stammered, and shifted in his seat.
"Wassamater wi ye?"
"Nothing, I just... I thought you might have more to say, that’s all."
"Nothin else te say."
"So you believe me?"
"Aye. It sounds more like oor Jimmy the way ye describe it. Better than the fookin' shite story I was given first time roond anyway. As fer yer sea monster, well,
I’ll keep mae opinions tae masel'."
"Okay, I respect that."
"So, wi that outa tha way, what is it ye really want?"
Rainwater cleared his throat, unsure if he even really knew the answer to the question. "Well, I was hoping to stay here for a while, clear my head. I'm willing to work of course, whatever it takes to earn my keep."
"I’m not so sure aboot that. As ye might ae noticed, this place ain’t exactly welcomin'.There's a reason it’s oot ere in tha middle o’ nowhere. I like mah privacy. Ah don’t like to be bothered."
"I won’t get in your way. I just need a quiet place away from the world to get my head together. Somewhere off the grid, somewhere I can stay hidden if I want to. Somewhere like this."
Ross didn’t answer. Instead, he opened his tobacco tin and started to roll another cigarette. "Our Jimmy sais you were a fisherman once, before all this monster talk. Are ye willing to go oot on the water?"
Rainwater looked out of the window at the churning, white tipped waters of the lock. "Yeah, I fish."
"Ah know ye fish. Ahm askin' if yer willin to go oot there?"
"What do you catch?"
"Trout or salmon. None o' those king crabs mah brother used to fish in the Bering sea. Mug's game that. Dangerous stuff."
"The lock," Rainwater said, trying to choose his words carefully, “is it...landlocked?"
"Aye, it is. Don’t worry, lad, yer monster won’t find ye here. Oor Nessie might though, eh?" Ross said with a smile.
"So I can stay then?"
"As long as ye earn yer keep, and only because yer a pal of oor Jimmy, else ye'd be doown the road."
"Thank you, I really appreciate it."
"Aye well, let’s just see hoow it all works oot. Ahm not used to havin people aroond."
"As I said, I’ll keep out of your way."
"Ye'll ave tae kip on the sofa. Only got one bed."
"That's fine. I don’t mind."
"Alright then. Ye start earning ye keep in the morn. Up at half past five. I wanna be oot on the water by six."
"Understood. I’ll be ready."
"There’s just one thing ah doont understan'," Ross said as he lit his cigarette. "Why oot here? Don ye have a lassie? Someone tae help ye get through whatever this is yer hidin’ from?"
"No, not anymore. I did once. She was part of it too, the expedition to find the creature. She was with me when Mackay sacrificed himself to save us. Anyway, for a while after, we were together, we were helping each other to get through, and then, things changed."
"She cheat on ye?" Ross asked.
"No. She outgrew me. It was my fault. I was just too stupid to see it until it was too late."
"Aye, women'l do that te ye. Makes a man really see his limitations, eh lad?"
"Yeah, well, she made me see mine. I just didn’t know how to deal with them."
"So where is she noow, this lassie o’ yours?"
"I don’t know," Rainwater said with a sigh, "I really have no idea."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Four thousand miles away, Clara Thompson sat on the deck of the boat, infinitely less excited than she expected to be. Her two camera operators, Toby and Luke, were rigging static cameras to the frame of the boat as they made their way through the north Atlantic. She stared at the water, trying to figure out exactly what went wrong with her life. The plan was to refuel in Brazil before making the journey south to the Antarctic waters where Clara had first encountered the creature’s mother. She had no scientific reason for choosing such a route, it just seemed logical. Ideally, she would rather not be out there at all. The horrific memories of last time out were still fresh, and reminded her more than anything of just how much she had changed. Something caught her eye then, something unusual enough to snap her from her self-pity. The shadows on the deck were moving, shifting position. She looked out to sea, taking a second really to feel how the boat was moving. There was no doubt about it. They were turning around.
She stood, just about to head inside to question Andrews, when he arrived, striding onto the deck.
"We're heading back to Washington," he said before Clara could say anything.
"Why?"
"We had a carcass wash up on a beach in Madagascar. Definitely a victim of our creature."
"Madagascar? Are you sure?"
"My team reviewed the images and video footage. It's definitely our creature."
"It makes no sense, unless of course..." Clara frowned, for the first time really engaging the scientific portion of her brain. "The aquarium where you held the creature. What temperature was the water?"
"What does it matter?"
"Never mind why, just answer the question."
"Around seventeen degrees I think."
"Jesus Christ, didn’t you think to tell me this before we set out?" Clara said.
"Well, I would have mentioned it if you weren’t busy planning shots with your damn TV crew. What does it matter anyway?"
"It matters because it completely changes where we should be looking for this thing. When we encountered the first creature, it had acclimatised to living in colder Antarctic waters. Sure enough, it could go into warm water to feed, but always went back to the cold, to its preferred environment. I would have expected those conditions to be replicated when it was placed into the facility in Florida."
"We were going to, but Doctor Comwell thought it would be better to keep the creature in a more hospitable temperature."
"Why?"
"Well, if we needed to get in the water and repair the structure or clean the filters, it would be easier on the dive crews."
Clara shook her head. "So you're telling me you changed this creature's natural environment just to make sure your staff wouldn’t get a chill if they had to go into the water?"
"It wasn’t just that, it was the costs. We couldn’t afford the modifications needed to keep the water cold enough."
"I'm not sure I believe that, but either way, it changes everything. By keeping the water temperature higher, the creature has obviously adapted to the new environment. The aquarium was in essence its comfort zone. It's all the creature ever knew. Now it's out there in the world, my best guess is it will be looking to replicate the conditions of the holding tank as best it can."
"You think Madagascar is the right place for that?"
"Could be. The Indian Ocean is rife with underwater caves. Most of them are deep and isolated. Potentially it’s the perfect place for our creature to call home."
"But we don’t know for sure?"
"No, but the conditions are right, and if there's a kill on the beach, it's a hell of a place to start looking."
"That’s why we're going back. We'll never get there on a boat this size. Tomlinson has a plane waiting to take us to the kill. We can hire a boat when we get there."
Clara nodded. The flash of excitement had reminded her of the life she had left behind, a time when things seemed much simpler.
A time before you became a fraud.
Her inner voice was, of course right. Behind the hard exterior, she was incredibly fragile. Worse than that she was completely alone. She had sacrificed her life for a career, and even that was built on a lie. She thought about Rainwater, and wondered if the reason for his self-destruction was because he was feeling the same way. Despite the gulf which had grown between them, they were actually more alike than she was comfortable with admitting.
Someth
ing inside her, a feeling deep down in her gut told her she was heading into dangerous territory, not just with Andrews, but by pursuing this creature for the second time. Her mother always used to tell her not to push her luck too far, because eventually, you were bound to lose. Clara thought this was one of those situations, and the only outcome would likely be bad.
II
After a two hour boat ride back to Washington, a twenty hour flight to Madagascar and another three hours out at sea on their much larger and more luxurious boat, Clara and the rest of the crew were exhausted. She had tried to sleep on the flight, yet despite the luxury afforded by the private jet sent by the government, she couldn’t settle. As exhausted as her body was, her mind raced and pondered on scenarios, about decisions made and ones yet to come to fruition. The result was she was running on empty, and even the beautiful blue skies of an equally beautiful day couldn’t lift her spirits.
Andrews sat opposite her in the luxury lounge area on the inside of the hundred and forty foot luxury yacht. “So, where are we heading?" he said, rolling out a chart on the table.
"The cave system beneath us is pretty extensive. There are so many places it could be hidden that our best chance is to cover as much area as possible, depending on the fuel we have."
"Don’t worry about the fuel. This boat can do almost seven thousand miles on a single tank."
"Are you sure about that? It seems like a lot."
"Absolutely. As much as people hate the government, we do get some perks," Andrews said, trying to lift Clara’s spirits.
Despite herself, she returned his smile and relaxed a little. "Alright, I’ll take you at your word. Now you say the tracker on the creature has a range of around five miles, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, here, take a look at this." She placed a plastic overlay onto the map, and started to draw a series of lines on it in red pen. "These are the migratory patterns of orcas and blue whales at this time of year. It stands to reason that our creature would be targeting these as a food source."
"Wouldn’t we have seen remains washing up, or whales beaching themselves like last time?"
"No. Remember, the creature then was enormous. At over three hundred feet, it was natural to expect it to cause panic amongst the local wildlife. Although big, the current creature isn’t large enough yet to cause that level of agitation. As for remains, again, we need to consider the size of the creature. Unlike before, where everything was a potential meal, the creature won’t attack anything too large. Things like blue whales for example would be too risky. It will stick to smaller prey, things around half its size. The downside to that is that anything it kills and doesn’t finish off will be devoured by other sea predators before it ever makes landfall."
"Okay, so what do we do to find this thing?"
"Can you get choppers out here?" She asked.
"No problem. Whatever you need."
"We need some in the air spotting the whales as they migrate. They will be able to see any attack by our creature way before it comes and give us an idea of where we ought to be."
"Okay, yeah, of course, that’s a great idea," Andrews said, genuinely impressed. "How will they know what to look for?"
"They'll know when they see it. It might be an idea if I go up there too. I can probably do more up there than down here anyway."
"Alright, I’ll make a few calls, see what I can do. In the meantime, can I give you a little advice?"
"As long as it's not to get some sleep. If it is, I've tried," she replied with a smile.
"Try harder. You look like you could use it. You won’t do anybody any favours, yourself included if you burn out. There's a long way to go yet."
"You're right. The problem is, I can't sleep. I've tried. My damn mind won’t rest."
"Can I make a suggestion?" Andrews said.
"Go ahead."
"Go back to this Clara," he said as he rapped on the map with his knuckles. "Leave that one behind," he added, nodding to the camera crew who were filming their conversation.
"You know I can’t do that. There are expectations on me, I have commitments."
"To who? Your readers? Your agent? Rainwater? What about you? Where do you find the time to do what you want to do?"
"I have no regrets," she snapped, "I'm happy in my new life."
"Then answer me one thing."
"Go on."
"Why is it that in all the time since we first set off from Washington, the happiest I've seen you is just then when you were drawing on that map?"
She opened her mouth, but no words came. Instead, she closed it and waited for Andrews to go on.
"Russo picked you for a reason. Hell, I picked you for a reason. You were the best. For the record, I think you still are if you can get your head out of your ass and remember who you used to be."
"What’s so wrong with trying to make something of myself?"
"Nothing at all as long as it's what you actually want."
"It is."
"Well, in that case, I'll shut up about it. Either way, try to get some rest. I'll go make those calls."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Greg stood in the cargo hold of the Lady of the Mist, looking at the equipment spread out in front of him. Pavel, the shorter of the two Russev brothers and the only one who seemed to have any grasp of the English language, stood beside him.
"You understand equipment, yes?" he said flatly.
"Yeah, I understand it. It's a tracker of some kind."
"Yes. Long range, very expensive," Pavel said, turning his icy gaze on Greg.
"Believe me, I know how expensive it was. It's costing me a fortune. Where's your brother?"
"He drive boat."
"Good. Are you sure this will work?"
"Yes. American government are stupid. They scramble signals and think they stay hidden when scrambled signal itself is just as easy to trace."
"So where they go, we follow?"
"Exactly," Pavel said.
"How will we know which signal is theirs?"
"Government use very specific frequency, very unique."
"Okay then, let’s get to it. I need to get on with this as quickly as possible. Is the other cargo secure?"
"Yes. It's in the back there," Pavel said, nodding towards the crate in the corner.
The Russian started to assemble the tracker as Greg walked across the hold, laying his hand on the hip high wooden box. Inside, was his vengeance, one that he hoped to take soon.
II
Twenty minutes later, the scanning equipment had been set up. Pavel was sitting at the desk in front of the unit, which resembled an old radio with a dial on the front. The unit was attached to a computer, and the Russian was frowning, one ear pressed to the headphones whilst he turned the dial with the other.
"I think I find signal," he said, making a few minor adjustments to the controls. Greg hurried to the desk, hoping to see something he understood instead of a computer screen full of numbers.
"What am I looking at here?"
"Scrambled data. Definitely government signal."
"Where?" Greg asked.
"Wait," Pavel said as he made a minor adjustment to the dial, then turned to the keyboard and started to punch in commands. "This is Russian technology. If the Americans knew we had this, it would cause all sorts of trouble, you understand?"
"I thought the cold war was over," Greg said, trying to keep the tone light.
"You think we stop watching just because countries no longer fight?" Pavel said, flashing a white grin at Greg. "You people are more ignorant than I thought."
"I don’t care about squabbles between countries. For the record, I’m an Australian, not a yank."
"I know. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be showing you this equipment."
"So how do we find out where the signal is?" Greg said, trying to get the conversation back on track.
"Within scrambled signal sent by Americans is GPS data. All boats have to have this to enable rada
r to function. The Americans think signal is hidden and untraceable. This system reverse engineers signal and lets us trace."
"So, can we set it off and find out where we need to go?"
"Already doing it. It takes a little time to unlock information. It shouldn’t take long," Pavel said as he entered more commands onto the computer screen. "Here, I think we have it."
Pavel clicked a button on the screen, and the jumble of numbers switched to a world map. "There," he said, zooming in on the red marker on screen. "Indian ocean, just off coast of Madagascar."
"Jeez, that’s miles away from where we are."
"A few days, yes."
"Will we have enough fuel?"
"Yes. This vessel designed for long distance. Fuel won’t be a problem."
Greg watched as Pavel scrawled down coordinates onto his notepad.
"I'll give the data to my brother. In a few days, we will be right on top of them."
Greg nodded, glancing back towards the crate in the corner, then down at the fleshy stump of his wrist, realising that soon, the last few years of hell would finally be avenged, no matter the cost to anyone else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The charcoal grey helicopter sliced through the air, keeping pace with the pod of twelve sperm whales as they moved through the crystal clear waters below. Ever since the banning of all whaling in the area, the Indian Ocean had become something of a sanctuary for the majestic animals.
Clara watched through binoculars as the creatures obliviously went on their way, occasionally breaking the surface to breathe. For the last three days, she had tracked more than five separate pods, all without any sight of the creature. She had expected to see something, perhaps diversionary tactics to avoid an encounter, and yet, there was nothing to report. The radio on her lap crackled, and she picked it up.
"This is Thompson."
"You see anything out there?" Andrews said, his voice distorted by static.
"I'm still tracking this pod of sperm whales."
"It’s been three days now. I would have expected to see something by now."
"Look, this isn’t an exact science. I’m doing my best."
