The Trench

by Steve Alten

  Jonas made his way slowly along the wooden pier, limping heavily, a duffel bag slung over his right shoulder. The morning sun felt good on his face. He found the cawing of gulls and the creak of boards beneath his feet somehow comforting.

  As he approached the vessel, he noticed a familiar figure seated alone on one of the benches facing out to sea.

  “Masao?”

  Without looking up, the elder Japanese patted the bench, signaling his son-in-law to take a seat.

  Masao stared at the bandaged leg. “Why are you doing this, Jonas?” he asked, his voice raspy and weak.

  Jonas noticed Masao’s hands were shaking. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  Masao continued staring at the Pacific. “There is much bad karma surrounding this voyage. You have looked death in the face twice now. I’ve already lost one son because of this monster. I do not wish to lose another.”

  Jonas looked into the old man’s almond eyes. “I began this, only I can end it.”

  “In your mind, I know you believe that to be true. There’s too much hate in your heart to see clearly. There’s no reason to jeopardize your life again. If you can’t think of yourself, then think of my daughter.”

  “I am.”

  They watched the one-man submersible, Abyss Glider-1, as it was lowered onto the aft deck of the ship. The sight caused Jonas’s heart to race. “Why is that being loaded on board?”

  “Celeste says the sub is needed to secure the creature in its harness once it has been harpooned and drugged.” Masao saw fear wash over his son-in-law’s face. “What is it?”

  “I . . . never mind. It’s nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  Jonas rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “The night terrors I’ve been experiencing . . . in a lot of them I’m piloting the Abyss Glider into the Trench.”

  Masao squeezed Jonas’s hand. “Terry told me about your dreams. That is why I would only permit the AG-1 to be loaded on board, not its deep-water version.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Still, I don’t want you to pilot that sub—”

  “He doesn’t have to.” Celeste came strolling down the pier, accompanied by a man in his late forties. “Meet Richard Diefendorf, our new submersible pilot. Dief, this is Masao Tanaka and Dr. Jonas Taylor.”

  “Hey, Doc, a real pleasure to meet you.” Diefendorf placed his cigarette into his mouth so he could shake Jonas’s hand.

  Jonas couldn’t help but stare at the man’s partially bald scalp that brandished a fresh sunburn and knotlike welt. “Richard, have you ever piloted one of these one-man subs?”

  “Hey, call me Dief, all my friends do. Yeah, I’ve piloted the Abyss Glider a few times, but never in water as deep as you have. Celeste tells me this job is fairly routine. I’m curious why you guys even need me along?”

  Jonas looked up at Celeste. “There’s nothing routine about capturing a seventy-two-foot shark.”

  “Don’t let him worry you, Dief,” she said. “The creature will be drugged long before we lower you into the water.”

  “If it’s so easy, why not have Dr. Taylor—”

  “We need Dr. Taylor on board to coordinate the shark’s capture,” Celeste said. flattening the short gray hairs sticking out along the side of Dief’s balding head. “Besides, Jonas is wounded.”

  A deep thrumming echoed off the water. They looked up to see a small white helicopter with green trim circling down to the forward deck of the William Beebe.

  “Is it really necessary to bring Mackreides along?” Celeste asked.

  “We need Mac to help us pinpoint the Meg’s location.”

  “No offense, Jonas, but I don’t trust the man. I’d prefer my own helicopter and pilot.”

  “Mac and I are a team. If he doesn’t go, neither do I.”

  “Fine, fine, just get on board already.” Celeste marched off toward the ship, Dief in tow.

  Masao stood. “I wish you’d reconsider.”

  “I’m sorry, Mas. I’m sorry about a lot of things. It was my fault you had to sell the Institute to Singer.”

  “Stop. No one is to blame. Since you won’t listen to reason, go and do what you must, just come home in one piece. Terry and I will be waiting.”

  Jonas started to say something, then thought better of it. He squeezed the old man’s shoulder and headed for the end of the dock.

  * * *

  As the newest addition to the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute’s Shipboard Science fleet, the William Beebe was a floating laboratory designed for a wide range of ocean research missions. The vessel was divided into three upper and three lower decks. An enormous mast rose high at its center, holding lights, navigation antennas, a crow’s nest, and the ship’s radar. Below the mast, occupying the smallest of the upper decks, was the control room and pilothouse. One deck below was the officers’ quarters, followed by the third or main deck, which housed the staterooms and ship’s labs. At the stern of the main deck stood an enormous A-frame and winch designed to raise and lower heavy equipment overboard. Two motorized rubber rafts hung suspended on either side of the ship, along with a heavy cargo net. The net would be used to tow the captured Megalodon back to the lagoon. Scientific storerooms, the ship’s galley, the sick bay, and an enormous engine room comprised most of the lower decks.

  Jonas boarded at the stern, pausing to watch a high-tech harpoon gun being mounted into the deck. When readied, the barbed head of the harpoon would be filled with a massive dose of tranquilizers.

  Two of the ship’s officers approached.

  “Professor Taylor, I’m George Morgan, Captain of the William Beebe. This is my first officer, Harry Moon. Harry’s had quite a bit of experience with SOSUS back at Woods Hole.”

  Harry extended his hand. “I know you’ve been through this before. Any advice you care to share with us?”

  “Yes. After you harpoon the beast, move your vessel away as fast as you can.”

  “Why?” Harry asked, tugging at a gray hair in his bushy eyebrow.

  “The drugs caused the first creature to react violently. It attacked and crippled the Kiku, which was a lot larger than this vessel.”

  “That’s because you had no idea what you were doing.” A man in his late twenties joined them. He was wearing a tie-dyed shirt, his shoulder-length brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

  “Professor Taylor, this is Mike Maren—”

  “Doctor Maren, if you don’t mind. I’m an ichthyologist. You amaze me, Taylor, you really do. Four years ago you shot up an adult Carcharodon megalodon with near lethal dosages of Ketamine and pentobarbital, and you wonder why the fish went ballistic on you. Unbelievable.”

  Jonas felt his temper flaring. “At the time, no one could have predicted how the creature would react.”

  “You should have tested your concoction on smaller sharks first, or, at the very least, contacted us at Woods Hole. If you had, we would have advised you against using the pentobarbital. It’s amazing your little chemical cocktail didn’t kill the animal. Instead, it wore off prematurely, allowing the fish to slaughter a few more innocent people—”

  Jonas stepped forward, pushing Maren backward with one hand. “Do you have a problem?”

  “Yeah, I have a problem with gutless stupidity—”

  Jonas grabbed Maren by the shirt collar with both hands and lifted him off his feet.

  It took the combined effort of Captain Morgan and Harry Moon to get Jonas to release his grip on the stunned scientist, whose tie-dyed T-shirt was torn apart in his assailant’s hands.

  “You’re nuts, Taylor!” Maren yelled. “And you’re dangerous. It’s your fault all those people died—”

  “Maren, get out of here,” the captain yelled.

  Jonas pointed a finger menacingly at the younger scientist’s face. “Stay out of my way or I’ll shove a hook up your ass and use you for bait.”

  Mac joined the group as Maren skulked back to his lab. “Damn. Looks like I missed all the fu
n.”

  “I want to apologize for Maren’s behavior,” Captain Morgan said. “You should know that he’s as brilliant as he is obnoxious.”

  “He’s devised a method to feed medication continuously into the Megalodon, once we harpoon it,” Harry added. “It’s like a giant IV tube. We won’t have to worry about the creature waking, and the mixture of drugs should put it to sleep right away—without the violent side effects you had to go through.”

  “Wonderful,” Jonas said. “When do we get under way?”

  Captain Morgan checked his watch. “Twenty minutes. Harry, would you show these gentlemen to their quarters.”

  Jonas picked up his duffel and followed the first officer inside.

  Trapped

  Mariana Trench

  Terry felt the eyes of the Benthos crew upon her as she sat alone at the small table, picking at her powdered eggs. The excitement of being aboard had quickly turned to anxiety and a strange, foreboding sense.

  The depths did not frighten her. It was Benedict. The man had changed, his entire persona undergoing a frightening metamorphosis since their arrival in the abyss. A dark monomania had emerged, a hidden malignity freed within the confines of the Benthos. Narcissistic rage was slowly being released in a fine madness, a madness she was certain was fueled by Benedict’s true purpose for being in the Trench.

  Terry knew she had stumbled upon something vastly more important to Benedict when she had invaded the Goliath’s lab. Although she still had no idea as to its significance, she now realized that Benedict had lured her into the deep. He had baited the trap, and she had plunged in willingly, and now everything in her being told her that Benedict Singer was intent on keeping her captive.

  The Russian stood over her, a sheepish grin plastered on his sea-worn face.

  “Benedict wants you.”

  Terry recognized the scar slicing across the man’s throat. The drunk Russian technician aboard the Goliath. She felt herself shudder. “Where is he?”

  “I take you.”

  Her heart pounded heavily in her chest. She stood, nodding to the Russian to lead the way. As he turned his back, she grabbed a steak knife from her plate, slipping it nonchalantly into the back pocket of her jeans.

  The Russian pulled open the watertight door of the companionway, beckoning her inside.

  He motioned down the steps. She began descending the narrow stairwell, pausing at E deck. He pointed downward with his index finger, smiling as if toying with her.

  They exited on G deck, the lowest level of the Benthos. The Russian led her through a brightly lit, antiseptic corridor. Benedict was waiting for them at the end of the passage.

  “Ah, there she is, an angel in the depths of hell. Did you sleep well?” The emerald eyes glittered down at her.

  “Yes, thank you. I’m actually anxious to get back to the sonar records. Everything looks to be in order,” she lied, “just as you said—”

  “Of course, my dear, but first, a brief distraction before you continue your toil at the computer.” He pointed to the thick titanium door leading into the hangar.

  “What’s inside?” she asked, unable to disguise her fears.

  “Are you nervous about something?”

  “No, it’s just . . . well, doesn’t the hangar lead directly outside?”

  Benedict smiled at the Russian and translated. Both men laughed. “Come with me,” he said, pushing open the door.

  The hangar was a circular chamber, sixty feet long and thirty feet deep, its concave ceiling rising twenty feet above the bowl-shaped flooring. To their right was another door leading into a small control room sealed in nine feet of titanium and portholes of LEXAN glass. Moving beyond the control room, Terry located two massive inlets constructed beneath the hangar floor, each of the five-foot openings covered by titanium grating. An array of powerful air ducts lined the ceiling.

  Benedict walked across the chamber to an immense titanium door. “Come here, Terry. I want to show you something.”

  She joined him, aware that the Russian had entered the small control booth.

  “Touch this door. It’s six-foot-thick titanium, paper thin in these depths, and all that separates us from instantaneous death.” He pressed his face to the metal. “Can you feel the pressure behind it? It’s searching—probing our technology for the tiniest flaw to exploit.”

  Benedict slapped his palm against the titanium. Terry jumped. He smiled, placing a heavy arm across her shoulder, pulling her ear close to his mouth.

  “Look here,” he whispered, pointing to the grating on the floor. “With a flick of the switch, Sergei can vent this chamber.”

  The Russian smiled back at her from behind the control-room window.

  “To hold such power over life, even for a moment, is to play God, is it not?” Benedict could feel her shaking. He smiled, releasing his grip on her shoulder, walking away. “Quos deus vult perdere prius dementat,” he mumbled to himself. “Those whom a god wishes to destroy he first drives mad.”

  He strolled to the far end of the room where two dozen UNIS robots were lined up in rows of four. “Your father’s inventions, standing in line like little children, waiting to board a school bus. Give me a hand,” he said, his demeanor changing.

  Terry joined him. Using a specially designed forklift, they secured one of the five-foot-high by four-foot-wide titanium barrels and pulled it across the room, positioning it next to the hangar door. Attaching a custom-made fitting to the end of a drill, Benedict unbolted the robot’s watertight, pressurized seal as if removing lug nuts to change a tire. Having removed the bolts, he proceeded to unscrew the two-and-a-half-foot titanium lid, pulling it aside to reveal the complex inner workings of the hollow UNIS device.

  Benedict motioned to the insides of the deep-water robot. “Would you do the honors?”

  Terry reached inside the shell, located the main control panel, and activated the sonar device. Once buried within the seafloor, the unarmed Nautical Information Submersible would begin recording and tracking seismic disturbances in the Mariana Trench. By dispersing the twenty-five robots at selected intervals, the Japanese would have an array of seismic detectors providing them with an advanced warning system to predict and prepare for earthquakes along their island chain.

  Benedict resealed the top of the UNIS. “We’ll leave the robot close to the hangar door. The Prometheus will extract it from the flooded chamber using its mechanical arms, then transport it to the designated coordinates. I’ll be heading out this morning with the sub. I’d invite you to come along, but I know you’re anxious to return to your work.”

  She followed Benedict toward the exit. “I have an idea,” he said. “Why don’t you watch us extract the UNIS from inside the control room? It really is quite fascinating, and I’m sure Sergei will enjoy your company.”

  Terry’s pulse raced. “Perhaps another time. JAMSTEC really is waiting for—”

  “Nonsense. Seize the day.” Benedict pulled open the control room’s heavy titanium door, motioning her inside.

  Sergei grinned.

  Benedict closed the hydraulic door behind him,then exited the chamber. Terry watched the Russian unlock a large valve on the control console, turning it a half-dozen times in a counterclockwise motion.

  On the other side of the LEXAN window, thousands of gallons of seawater blasted upward from one of the two circular gratings on the floor of the hangar. Within minutes, the entire chamber filled with water.

  Sergei turned to her. With the hangar flooded, the two of them were trapped together in the control room. “We must wait for the sub,” he said, grinning.

  Terry tried to make conversation. “How is the Benthos able to drain the chamber so quickly? It must take an ungodly amount of power to—”

  “Water is not sent directly to sea. From chamber, it is pumped into smaller catches, then pumped out over several hours using hydraulic rams on F deck.” He unbuckled his pants. “Enough talk.”

  The pulse in her neck thro
bbed. She reached behind her back, grasping the handle of the steak knife. “Sergei, don’t—”

  Sergei lunged forward, grabbing her by the hair, pulling her face to his, and buried his tongue in her mouth.

  Terry bit down hard, tasting his blood. She spit it out onto his chest, then stabbed him above his knee.

  Sergei screamed, swearing in Russian as he slumped onto the floor in agony, blood streaming from his thigh and mouth. A hunting knife fell out of his hand.

  Terry snatched it up.

  “Prometheus to hangar control room, we are in position. Open hangar doors.”

  Sergei stared up at her, his eyes burning.

  “Open it,” she said, brandishing a knife in each hand.

  Sergei reached up and turned a small key two clicks to the right. A red light flickered on.

  The hangar door began opening. The titanium walls inside the chamber groaned.

  Bright lights from the Prometheus illuminated the inside of the flooded hangar. A pair of mechanical arms extended from the sub, latching onto the UNIS robot.

  “We have the UNIS. Close hangar doors and depressurize.”

  Sergei continued staring at her, not moving, testing her resolve.

  “Do it.”

  “Fuck you—”

  Terry plunged the steel steak knife into the Russian’s right calf muscle, retracting it quickly. Sergei screamed in pain, pulling his wounded legs toward him.

  “Want some more? The one in the middle’s next.”