by Steve Alten
“Going after the Meg in those waters could be a tragic mistake,” Jonas said.
“Professor Taylor may be right,” the captain agreed. “Sailors call the area the ‘Graveyard of the Pacific,’ and rightly so. There’s a storm front moving in from the west. We’ll be facing fifteen-to-eighteen-foot waves of sheer white water.”
“Captain, I’m sure the William Beebe is large enough to handle a few waves.”
Jonas felt himself losing his temper again. “Listen, pal, what you’re not taking into consideration is that Dief will be in the Abyss Glider, trying to wrap a cargo net around the Meg in rough seas.”
“Enough of this.” Maren said. “Captain, I was hired by GTI to organize this recapture. What I don’t need is some cowboy paleontologist and his pilot sidekick to tell me how to do my job.”
Jonas took a menacing step forward.
“What, are you threatening me again? Go ahead, tough guy, hit me. Hit me and I swear to fucking Christ I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got.”
Jonas hit him.
Maren fell backward, spilling his cappuccino across the map table. He pulled himself from the floor, blood trickling from his nose.
“That’s quite enough, Professor,” the captain bellowed. “Dr. Maren, are you all right?”
“All of you are witnesses,” rasped Maren, pinching his nose to stifle the bleeding.
“Sue me, you little shit. Take me for everything I’ve got—”
Mac grabbed Jonas by one arm, signaling Dief to grab the other. “Come on, Jonas, let’s get some air.”
Mac and Dief led him down two flights of stairs and onto the main deck. They huddled beneath one of the Zodiac rafts as great gusts of wind threatened to tear the shirts from their backs.
“Man, Jonas, I’ve never seen you so uppity. Stop letting that little shit push your buttons.”
“It’s not just him, Mac. I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.”
“You’re exhausted. You need a good night’s sleep.”
“Yeah, well, I’m afraid to sleep—”
Mac grabbed him by the shoulders. “Listen to me. You know what needs to be done and you’ll do it. Once you do, the nightmares will end. In the meantime, let the hotshot fish expert do his job and capture the shark. He’ll place the Meg right in your gun sight for you, then we’ll see who laughs—”
“No!” He stared Mac hard in the eyes, the wind howling in his ears. “You and Dief—I want you guys to get off this boat.”
“Whoa, slow down, pal—”
“Mac, listen to me—we’re never going to capture that monster, do you understand? She’s way too big. She’ll sink this boat and kill everyone on board. This is my battle, not yours. I want you guys to go. Take the chopper and—”
“He’s losing it. Dief, grab his arm, let’s get him inside.”
“You’re not listening!” Jonas pushed Dief back.
Mac overpowered his friend, pinning him against the A-frame. “Now you listen to me. You’re exhausted, do you understand? Your brain’s fried, and you’re babbling like a fucking schoolgirl. So I’m giving you two choices. You’re either going to come with us and get very drunk, or I’m going to knock you out myself.”
Jonas closed his eyes. “Mac, my life’s already damned. I just don’t want you guys to die, too.”
“How fucking noble of you.” Mac grabbed Jonas by his arm, leading him inside. “Now that you’ve officially christened this the ‘Voyage of the Damned,’ I think it’s high time we got drunk.”
* * *
One deck up, Celeste stood out of sight, listening intently to their conversation. She waited until they had left before returning to her cabin.
Cape Disappointment
Cape Disappointment
6:45 A.M.
Under a gray morning sky, the U.S. Coast Guard rescue vessel, Chinook, raced head-on to meet another fifteen-foot wall of raging white water. With a bone-rattling smash, the wave stopped the vessel in its tracks, lifting its bow as it dropped more than twenty tons of sea onto the four-man crew.
Lieutenant Eric “Big Daddy” Wisdom smiled from his vantage behind the pilothouse as he watched cadets Geary and Richardson hold on for dear life. Both men were trainees enrolled in the Coast Guard’s heavy-surf and weather rescue course, taught exclusively in the waters off Cape Disappointment. Wearing protective helmets and heavy weather gear, the two cadets were harnessed to a steel rail mounted behind the open pilothouse. Today marked the two trainees’ first initiation to what Big Daddy called “challenging waves,” and Mother Nature was cooperating beautifully.
Fed by fierce Pacific storm centers, ferocious waves race across thousands of miles of open ocean, often traveling a week or more before arriving at the Northwest coastline. Approaching Cape Disappointment, these powerful swells become enormous walls of churning sea, battering anything in their path. More than two thousand vessels have sunk off Cape Disappointment since the early 1800s, making the waters off the Oregon/Washington coast some of the fiercest in the world.
Big Daddy Wisdom leaned forward to shout to his pilot. “Deacon, how do we look?”
“Winds at thirty-one knots, waves at thirty-three miles per hour. About a seven on the Beaufort scale.”
“Perfect. Take us out a bit farther. We’ll teach our boys here a little more about humility, then let them get acquainted with Oscar.”
Deacon flashed him a thumbs-up, then yelled out, “Starboard bow—starboard bow, hold on, we’ll push!” The wall of white water crashed into the boat, lifting it clear over its swell before slapping the airborne vessel thirteen feet down into the ocean.
“Hang on, kiddies, hang on. Two more coming, negative front—”
Geary and Richardson ducked behind the pilothouse as the Chinook rose up over the swell, its entire hull exposed in midflight.
“Whoah-hoo!” yelled Big Daddy as the vessel plunged bow first back into the sea. For a frightening moment they were in up to their waists, and then the craft righted itself, bobbing like a cork in an ocean of lather.
“Hold on,” Deacon yelled, fighting to realign the bow before the next blow. The pilot wiped foam from his face, bracing himself against the wheel as yet another thunderous wall of water rushed at them head-on.
* * *
The Megalodon moved lazily through the thermocline, its caudal fin just barely keeping the big fish above stall speed. Mouth slightly agape, its slack lower jaw quivered reflexively as it breathed in the sea, which rushed through its mouth and gills. Shards of blubber hung from gaps between the predator’s serrated teeth, all that remained of the 7,600-pound male elephant seal the shark had devoured only hours earlier. Satiated for the moment, the monster continued its northward trek.
Beneath the creature’s teethlike skin, running from head to tail along either side of its muscular torso, was a sensory canal known as the lateral line. Connected to the surface of the skin by small tubes, this canal contained specialized cells called neuromasts. Variations in pressure within the predator’s environment stimulated thousands of cilia within this incredibly sensitive movement detector, which was capable of registering even the faint heartbeat of an animal moving through water miles away.
The Megalodon remained within an acoustics waterway resonating with the vibrations of a thousand migrating whales. The pods were well aware that the hunter was close, just as a herd of zebra knows when a lion is about. But the cetaceans could also sense the predator had recently fed, and therefore, would not attack unless provoked. Still, they gave the beast a wide berth as it followed them north along the Oregon coast.
As the shark moved past Cape Disappointment, its lateral line detected a different kind of reverberation along the surface, one too massive to ignore. Aroused, interpreting the buffeting vibrations of the Chinook as a direct challenge, the Megalodon deviated from its course to respond.
* * *
“Stand by, Captain,” Dr. Maren called out from his SOSUS station. He readjusted his headp
hones, listening intently.
Jonas could see beads of sweat form on the man’s forehead.
“The Squalus just changed course. She’s now heading due east. Damn, her speed’s increased, too. Something must have spooked her.”
“Or gotten her attention,” Jonas said. “Captain, how close are we now?”
“Just under five miles, but we’ll have to make a course change if the Megalodon’s moving into shallower waters. Harry, take us farther out to sea. We’ll circle back and approach from the west.”
Maren looked up, obviously annoyed. “Is that really necessary, Captain? We’re so close—”
“Coast Guard reports fifteen-foot breakers. I can’t risk taking those waves broadside.”
Jonas left the control room and descended two flights of stairs, emerging on the main deck. He jogged to the stern, where the AG-1 submersible was being readied by two crewmen.
Mac and Dief were standing next to an immense hunk of whale blubber suspended from the large housing and winch fastened to the stern’s deck. They waved him over.
“How’s your head?” Mac asked.
“Pounding like a son of a bitch. Sorry about flipping out last night.”
“Forget it. Where’s your fish?”
“Moving toward shore. I take it the bait’s for luring her topside. Where’d you get the whale meat?”
“Fished it out two nights ago,” Dief said, taking a drag from his cigarette. “All that remained from one of her previous meals.”
“You nervous, Dief?” Jonas asked.
“Hell, yes,” he smiled. “Any last words of advice?”
“Yeah, don’t go.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Mac slapped Dief on the back. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t enter the water until we contact you from the copter. Jonas, if you don’t mind, I want to be airborne before those waves slam into the William Beebe’s ass.”
* * *
“Hold on, boys,” Big Daddy yelled.
The wall of white water exploded over the bow with the power of a raging river.
“Okay, Cadet, toss Oscar!”
Geary reached down and unclasped the life-size training dummy from its leash. “Man overboard, starboard bow,” he yelled, tossing Oscar into the sea.
“Stand by,” Deacon yelled. “We’ll come around the moment we get a hole.”
“Hang on,” Big Daddy said, “here comes a widow-maker!”
Deacon drove the Chinook’s bow into the barrier of water, hitting the swell just before it broke. The small boat catapulted over the wave, landing hard on its port side. For a split second, the pilot lost control, the twin screws spewing water into the air. And then the boat righted itself as the blades gained a foothold on the sea.
Deacon spotted the next swell approaching on the horizon. “Hold on, I’m coming about.”
He turned hard to starboard, pointing the bow east against the incoming wave.
“There’s Oscar,” Geary yelled, pointing off the port bow.
“Richardson, stand by with your rescue hook,” Big Daddy ordered. Staring over the transom, he watched the approaching swell race toward them from behind. “Faster, Richardson, go-go—”
Richardson reached over the starboard bow and hooked Oscar, pulling him back on board just as the fifteen-foot torrent of ocean burst over the transom, knocking him flat on his back.
“Goddamn,” Big Daddy said. “What the hell happened to Oscar?” He held the dummy up, inspecting what little remained of its upper torso.
“Jesus, Lieutenant, it looks like something bit it in half.”
“Oh, Christ Almighty. . . .” The memory of the seventy-two-foot great white feeding in the Tanaka lagoon flashed in his mind’s eye. Big Daddy had taken his family to see the monster only four months earlier. He broke into a cold sweat, his mind overcome by fear. “Deacon, take us in now!”
With a tremendous thud, the Megalodon’s head struck the hull of the Chinook, cracking four of its support ribs and caroming the boat sideways.
Deacon fought to regain control.
Big Daddy Wisdom looked to his left, swearing aloud as he ducked.
The churning fourteen-foot wave barreled into their exposed port side, pushing the vessel forward as it lifted, then rolled the boat upside down.
Big Daddy felt the breath explode from his chest as he was dragged underwater, the thunderous roar of ocean above his head overwhelming his senses. He opened his eyes to find himself submerged, caught within his safety harness as a powerful force tried to tear him away from the deck of the inverted Chinook.
Locating the line of his harness, he pulled his way to the safety clip and freed himself. Pushing away from the inverted deck, he surfaced, shivering from the cold.
Deacon appeared a moment later. “Lieutenant, behind you—”
Big Daddy turned to see an orange helmet bobbing at the surface. He swam to Geary, who was barely conscious, his life vest barely keeping his head above water.
“He’s still attached to his harness,” Big Daddy yelled to Deacon. “I need to free him before the next wave hits. Find Richardson.”
Deacon saw another wave approaching fast. He ducked his head and surface dived.
The Coast Guard captain had to kick hard to descend beneath the capsized hull, the cold water biting into his skin, making every movement doubly hard. Grabbing onto the boat’s rail, he pulled himself down another five feet until he was level with the inverted deck.
He spotted Richardson.
The cadet had become entangled in his harness. Deacon stared at the bulging eyes of the corpse, now bobbing against the submerged deck. The face was a frozen mask of terror.
A strange glow caused him to look down.
Deacon tried to scream, expelling his air as his mind snapped. Overwhelmed by primal fear, he paddled upward in maddening strokes, slamming his head hard against the submerged deck.
Rising vertically, the Megalodon opened its mouth and gently plucked its struggling victim away from the boat.
Deacon felt daggers clasp onto his kneecaps, pulling him away from the Chinook. Grabbing the rail, he tried to hold on.
With an agonizing snap, his legs severed in the demon’s mouth.
The Angel of Death rose, stretching her unfathomable jaws wide open, chomping down on Deacon’s upper torso and three feet of aluminum rail.
* * *
Big Daddy shook Geary until the cadet moaned. “Wake up, son, and hold on!” He ducked underwater, dragging himself below by the leash of Geary’s safety harness. The safety line led him straight to the inverted steel rail. He grabbed Geary’s safety clip in his numb fingers and strained to unfasten the line.
Then his eyes bugged out in absolute terror.
Suspended vertically, hovering directly beneath the capsized boat, was a stark-white creature at least twice the size of the Chinook. The gargantuan head shook, its hideous mouth gnashing upon Deacon’s freshly mangled remains.
Big Daddy pinched his nose, choking back acidic bile that rose in his gut. A flash of orange showed from above—Richardson’s drowned corpse. Still secured to the boat by its harness, the dead cadet bobbed against the submerged decking.
Wisdom’s heart ticked like a bomb ready to explode.
A menacing gray eye glanced up at him. In his feverish madness, Big Daddy heard Angel’s demonic voice speak to him as her quivering jaws opened and closed. Yes, Big Daddy, I’ll be with you in just a moment. . . .
A deafening roar in the distance broke the spell
The Megalodon ascended toward Richardson’s bobbing corpse.
Afraid to move, Big Daddy gulped, his lungs screaming for air. The roar from above thundered like a freight train. Fighting to hold his breath, he closed his eyes as the prodigious mouth closed on Richardson’s body.
A thought came to him. He opened his eyes, then ever-so-gently unclipped Geary’s harness from the rail.
The gray eyeball turned, registering movement.
Big Daddy
hastily wrapped the freed end of Geary’s leash around his forearm and clenched his teeth as the eye searched for him.
* * *
Geary snapped out of his delirium to gasp at the roaring horizon of white water bearing down upon him. He gulped a breath and ducked instinctively, pulling himself below by his leash.
Big Daddy spun around, Geary’s actions tugging him upward.
Homing in on the movement, the Megalodon rose majestically toward the source.
Paralyzed in fear, Big Daddy could only watch as the creature’s mouth seemed to yawn open before him, stretching out below him like a tunnel. A current sucked him closer. He closed his eyes.
Through blurred vision, Geary saw the albino’s glow. Fear drove him back toward the surface, his mind oblivious to the roar.
The wave slammed into the cadet, capturing him within its rolling vortex.
Launched upward by the arm he had wrapped in Geary’s harness, Big Daddy opened his eyes—horrified by hideous pink gums and an upper jaw that seemed to jut forward at him. The lieutenant’s heart seized in his chest as the nine-foot mouth slammed shut upon empty ocean; Wisdom literally yanked out of the jaws of death by another incredible force of nature.
The wave hauled Geary and the trailing Eric Wisdom two hundred yards inland before releasing them. Big Daddy surfaced, gagging and screaming and hyperventilating, his shattered mind gone beyond reason.
Something grabbed him and he lashed out blindly, striking Geary on the nose, drawing blood.
“Lieutenant! Lieutenant, calm down—” The cadet located the cord on Wisdom’s life preserver and pulled it, inflating the orange vest.
Big Daddy stopped thrashing.
Geary saw the terror in the lieutenant’s eyes just before the older man lost consciousness.
