The Trench

by Steve Alten

  “No, not yet. I had planned on doing it yesterday, but the police had other ideas. We’ll get to it first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “And what does your plan to reinforce the doors involve?”

  “Again, it’s all in my proposal. The construction work would take place along the outside of the gateway. Pilings would be driven into the seafloor to prevent the doors from opening. Then a four-foot wall of concrete would be poured in sections along the outer doors and pilings.”

  “And the lowest bid you received was three million?”

  “Three million, two. Angel will also have to be doped up for at least ten days to complete the work. You’ll probably have to shut down the arena.”

  Celeste glanced down at the proposal. “I think I want to hear more about this before I just say yes. Masao, may I steal your son-in-law for a business dinner?”

  “Sorry, I can’t,” Jonas said. “Too much work.”

  “It’s all right,” Masao said. “I’ll take care of things here.”

  “Excellent.” Celeste hit a button on her phone. “Margaret, have my car brought around.”

  Jonas gave Masao a long, hard look.

  * * *

  The maître d’ showed them to a table facing the water. Celeste ordered drinks, then excused herself to use the ladies’ room.

  Jonas looked around the Victorian dining room, noticing couples smiling and laughing together. He ran the tips of his fingers above the candle’s flame, staring at his wedding band. He thought of Terry, and his heart ached for her. He had been caught off guard the other day when she confessed her unhappiness. Were things really that bad? How could he have missed the signs?

  You missed the signs because you’re selfish....

  He tried to recall the last time he and Terry had laughed together, or had made love when it hadn’t seemed an obligation. When was the last time they had spent time away together from work?

  Jonas felt a lump in his throat. His obsession with the Megalodon had made him blind.

  He detected Celeste by her jasmine scent moments before she brushed past him to take her seat. She smiled at him, the candlelight dancing in her eyes.

  This one’s poison in a million-dollar wrapper.

  “I’m tired,” she cooed, slipping her sandals off. “My feet could use a massage.” She ran her toes up Jonas’s pant leg. “So what are you hungry for? I bet they have great lobster here.”

  “Stop.”

  She smiled at the brush-off.

  “Celeste, this is supposed to be a business dinner.”

  “It is. I’m working on employee morale.”

  He pushed her foot away again. “Employee morale. That’s a laugh. The last time you blew through town, you showed nothing but contempt for our entire staff.”

  “Not you.” She drained her martini. “Maybe you can help me to mellow?”

  “I doubt it. I think you get off on controlling people.”

  The words seemed to affect her. She gazed out the window, lost in thought. “You’re right, Jonas, I can be harsh. Oderint dum metuant . . .”

  “What does that mean?”

  “One of Benedict’s favorite expressions. ‘Let them hate, so long as they fear.’ I only know one way to do things, and that’s the way my guardian has taught me. I’ve spent more than half my life being groomed by Benedict to take over his organization when he retires. He’s given me a set of—how do you say—brass balls. I’m his partner and confidante, the son he’ll never have, the mistress he’ll never marry.”

  “How is it that you and Benedict met?”

  “My father was a Russian nuclear engineer. He and Benedict met at a seminar at Oxford in 1970 and became friends. My mother was a beautiful Russian woman. Benedict actually introduced her to my father. I was born in England, but my father moved us to Byelorussia when I was eight to take a position at Chernobyl.”

  She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. “April twenty-sixth, 1986, was the last day I saw my father alive. My mother and I were relocated after the accident, but Benedict truly saved us. He moved us into a small apartment in Moscow. He would visit us when he came to the city on business, which was frequent back then.

  “A short time later, Benedict introduced my mother to another man, a powerful member of the Politburo whom many felt would become the new Minister of the Interior. They began seeing each other—discreetly. The man was married with a family. Two days before my eleventh birthday, I came home from school and found someone had shot my mother and her Politburo lover while they were making love in her bed.”

  “Did they ever find out who did it?”

  “I have my suspicions. I remember it being a huge political scandal. But my bigger concern at the time was trying to survive on the streets of Moscow, only twelve years old, with no family or money. Benedict found me eight months later. I was working as a prostitute. He sent me to America to a boarding school. On vacations I’d return to one of his homes in California, though he was usually gone, flying to one country or another on business.

  “Then, when I turned fourteen, everything changed. I was home for summer break, just sitting outside by the pool, when I saw him staring at me from inside the guest house. At the time I had no idea what he was doing, but I remember liking the fact that I finally had his attention. I even teased him, removing my bikini top, rubbing oil over my breasts.

  “We never spoke of what happened, but he pulled me out of school to travel with him around the world. He hired a woman to tutor me. Her name was Anne Barry. I remember her having one of those real twangy Tennessee accents. Anyway, Anne traveled with us everywhere. At first I thought she might be Benedict’s mistress. Then one night, just after my fifteenth birthday, Anne slips into my room and crawls into bed with me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, I certainly wasn’t into women, but I was confused. Anne was the first person who had shown me any affection since my parents had died. She desired me and was gentle, and I needed the warmth of another human being, so I let her use me. Anyway, those little conjugal visits went on until Benedict found us naked in bed together.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “Benedict’s an opportunist, and he never lets his emotions impair his judgment. He was furious at Anne, but decided to use her to teach me one of life’s most important lessons—how to deal with one’s enemies. The next morning we boarded his private jet to fly to England. On the way over, he had one of his personal staff, a former KGB agent, take Anne into a private compartment and work her pretty good—”

  “In front of you?”

  “No, Sergei liked his privacy. Probably gave Anne the first heterosexual experience she ever had. Halfway over the Atlantic, the Muscovite brought her out, her arms bound behind her back, bruises everywhere. Benedict pulled the gag from her mouth and told her to apologize to me. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes—a frightened, insane animal. The next thing I know, the jet drops to three thousand feet, and Sergei’s opening the outer door. Benedict grabbed Anne by the hair and said to me, ‘Celeste, my dear, always remember to keep your enemies close, so that you can dispose of them properly when the time is right.’ Then he stepped back and kicked her right out of his jet.”

  “My God . . . he murdered her? Just like that?” Is she playing me again? I can’t tell.

  “Yes, Jonas, just like that. Cold, calculated, and efficient, that’s my guardian. The truth is, I was flattered. It was the third time Benedict had come to my aid. As far as I was concerned, Anne had crossed the line and deserved to die. I even remember running to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her body smashing against the water. Then I gave Benedict a hug. What? Tell me what you’re thinking?”

  Jonas exhaled. “I don’t know what to think. I guess you’ve had a pretty twisted childhood.”

  “Perhaps, but is this not better than a twisted adulthood? Nivazhna.” She drained her drink. “It turns out the real reason Benedict was so angry at Anne was because he
wanted me for himself. He came to me two nights later. From that moment on, our relationship changed. I became his trusted confidante. And he realized that I had not only inherited my mother’s looks, but my father’s intelligence. Benedict became my personal tutor in the school of the real world. By day, he taught me how to be ruthless in a corporate world ruled by men. At night, he taught me the art of love. I’m a product of Benedict Singer, his creation.”

  “Does he allow you to see other men?”

  “I’ve fucked other men, if that’s what you mean, but only for business. Benedict’s not crazy about sharing his toys, unless he gets something back.” She looked at him with a sad smile. “I’ve never been in love, in case you were wondering. Never had the chance.”

  “Why did you change your last name to Singer?”

  “Benedict’s idea. He knew his men would respect me more as Celeste Singer than Celeste Alekseyev.” She signaled the waiter for another drink. “Now you talk. I heard you were once one of the top deep-sea submersible pilots in the world until the Navy accident in the Mariana Trench.”

  Jonas shot her an icy glare.

  “Darling, give us a little credit. We did a thorough check on every principal involved with the Tanaka Institute before agreeing to buy in. You’d be surprised what we know.”

  “That was a different life. My piloting days are long over.”

  “I just told you my deepest, darkest secrets. Now I want to know. What happened to that cocky young submersible pilot I remember seeing on PBS when I was seventeen?”

  “Christ, now I really do feel old.”

  “Come on.”

  He leaned forward. “About eleven years ago, I was piloting a three-man submersible for the Navy. It was a top-secret dive, almost seven miles down in the Mariana Trench. I was tired, it was my third dive in a week, and I knew I shouldn’t have been down there, but they had no one else. It’s a long, five-hour descent in total darkness, so your mind tends to wander. I remember staring into the pitch, several thousand feet from the bottom, when a white glow appeared, then disappeared before my eyes. The other two scientists on board saw nothing. I continued watching, when all of a sudden, this monstrous white head appears out of nowhere, rising out of the abyss—”

  “The Megalodon?”

  “At the time I had never even heard of a Megalodon. All I knew was that we were about to die, so I jettisoned all of our weight plates and raced the sub to the surface. On the way up, something went wrong within the dive pod and we lost pressurization. One man hit his head, rupturing a blood vessel in his brain. He bled to death before we hit the surface. The other man died in sick bay. I spent three weeks recovering, then was shipped to a psychiatric ward for evaluation. That’s where I met Mac.”

  “So you changed your career?”

  “Yes. For the next seven years I became consumed with trying to prove to myself and everyone around me that the creature really existed, that it wasn’t some aberration of the deep like the Navy said. So I gave up piloting submersibles, the one thing I truly loved, to become a paleo-biologist.”

  “But you went back down. You proved everyone wrong.”

  “I was foolhardy. I allowed my ego and emotions to impair my judgment. Meg or no Meg, entering the abyss in a one-man submersible was just plain stupid. Masao Tanaka convinced me to go. He needed me to escort his son into the Trench to retrieve a damaged UNIS robot. I let him talk me into it . . . hell, the truth is, I wanted to go.”

  “And you ran into the creature again.”

  “Two of them. The first attacked us, killing Tanaka’s son. It became entangled in the submersible’s cable, and the surface ship unknowingly began hauling it topside. And then a second creature appeared, a larger female, who began devouring its helpless mate, ascending through the icy waters in the warmth of the dead male’s blood.”

  “Angel’s mother?”

  Jonas nodded. “Attempting to capture the Megalodon instead of killing her was the biggest mistake I made.”

  “Nonsense. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have our star attraction. You’re responsible for the greatest show on earth.”

  “What I’m responsible for is a lot of innocent people dying, like those three boys.” Jonas felt his patience wearing thin. “Celeste, I need to know. Are you going to reinforce the gateway, or not?”

  “Tomorrow you’ll determine if the doors are being damaged. Tonight we’ll get better acquainted.” She slipped off her sandal and rubbed his leg again with her toes.

  Jonas stood. “Since you’ve already checked me out thoroughly, I think I’d prefer a good night’s sleep. Da-svidan’ya.”

  Celeste swore under her breath as Jonas headed out the door.

  Tokamak

  Western Pacific Ocean

  Terry kicked the sheets away in frustration. Despite having gone to bed more than three hours ago, she could not sleep, her concern over her father refusing to allow her mind to rest.

  She looked at the digital clock: 2:38 A.M.

  The hell with it . . .

  She climbed out of her cot and unlatched the cabin’s porthole, breathing in the brisk night air.

  Go for a walk. Clear your mind and cool off.

  She slipped into her jogging suit and opened the door to her cabin, carrying her tennis shoes in hand. Barefoot, she entered the deserted corridor, emerging five minutes later on the starboard deck of the Goliath.

  She pulled her shoes on and began walking at a brisk pace. A tapestry of stars sparkled against a black velvet sky, soothing her soul. Unexpectedly, an ocean breeze whipped across the deck, sending shivers down her spine, breaking the trance. Pulling the jogging suit up around her ears, she stared at the Goliath’s pyramidlike superstructure rising above her head and listened to the cold wind as it howled through the maze of steel.

  She passed a steel turret, the remains of what had been the missile cruiser’s thirty-millimeter Gatling guns. Continuing forward, she crossed the wide-open space of deck leading to the Goliath’s massive bow, the only visible structure being a series of steel hatches that had once covered several dozen missile silos.

  Terry leaned against the bow’s guardrail, staring at the lead-gray sea. Four years ago her brother, D.J., had descended into the Trench with Jonas, only to be devoured by a species of shark her family now earned a living exploiting. She and her brother had been so close. How could so much have changed so quickly?

  The wind blew tears across her face. She thought about her father, how the last few years had aged him. The Tanaka lagoon had been his life’s dream—an aquarium so large that a pod of whales could swim in and out without restriction. Not only would the facility never house a single cetacean, but financial difficulties over the Megalodon’ s capture had forced her father to turn over control of his organization to Benedict Singer. It had been the final straw that had crushed his spirit.

  She thought about Jonas, realizing she had probably been a bit harsh. Her husband had suffered as much as anyone, yet, for some reason, her love for him had grown cold over the last year. Deep down she knew she still blamed him for the loss of her stillborn, as well as her father’s diminishing health. She wondered if their relationship was salvageable.

  Terry’s teeth began chattering from the cold. Turning to head back, she heard the sound of hydraulics coming from one of the steel hatches. Ducking behind a wall of stacked life rafts, she watched three men in white lab coats emerge from what appeared to be a stairwell built within one of the missile silos.

  The men stretched, inhaling the night air as if they had been below for quite some time. Terry heard dialect that sounded Russian. One of the men removed a bottle of vodka from his lab coat, took a massive swig, then offered the bottle to his comrades. They waved him off, heading aft without him.

  The man with the vodka spotted the stacks of life rafts. Barely able to stand, he removed a small device from his breast pocket and aimed it at the open stairwell, swearing aloud until the hatch sealed. Then he drained the remains
of the bottle and staggered toward the spot where Terry was hiding.

  She moved to the opposite side of the stack, remaining out of sight. The Russian collapsed on deck, leaning back against one of the life rafts.

  Several minutes passed. The man began snoring. Terry emerged from hiding and leaned over him, gagging at his breath. She stared at the hideous scar slicing horizontally across the base of the man’s throat. Then she noticed the remote-control device in his hand.

  Gently she pried open his fingers. The man stirred. She froze as he opened his eyes halfway and flashed her a drunken smile. “U minya tasnit—” He passed out.

  Terry removed the device from his hand and looked around. The foredeck was deserted. Moving to the sealed hatch, she pressed the green button on the remote control. The hatch lifted, revealing a steel stairwell that disappeared below deck. A shot of adrenaline coursed through her. She recalled the words she had spoken only days ago to her father: Dad, how much do you trust Singer?

  Descending several steps, she turned around and pressed the red button, sealing the hatch behind her.

  The hum of a powerful generator filled her ears, the noise coming from somewhere down below. She descended two flights of stairs, coming to a sealed door. Terry turned the circular housing counterclockwise, then pulled the hatch open, revealing a brightly lit, antiseptic-white corridor.

  She secured the door behind her and moved quickly down the passageway. At the end of the hall was an imposing security door. She felt disappointed, realizing that a personal identification card was necessary in order to enter.

  Swearing under her breath, she turned to head back down the corridor when a loud buzz startled her. The hydraulic door began opening outward.

  Oh, shit, what have you gotten yourself into?

  Totally exposed with no time to flee, Terry squeezed out of sight behind the steel door as it swung open with a metallic hiss. She flattened herself against the adjacent wall, the back of the door pressing tightly against her face and chest. She heard men’s voices speaking in an Arabic dialect, diminishing as they continued down the corridor.