by Steve Alten
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Nonsense.” Benedict poured her a double shot of vodka, then walked around the bar, shoving the glass into her hand.
“Àvotre santé—to your health.” Benedict tossed back his drink, then said something in Russian to Captain Prokovich.
Terry left the drink on the bar. She watched the one-eyed man descend to the bridge, sealing the hatch behind him.
Benedict walked over to the control panel. He switched off the interior lights, then activated the retractable dome.
The titanium barrier parted. A red glow from the exterior lights revealed the sheer rock face of the canyon wall, surrounded by the impenetrable darkness of the abyss.
The Benthos slowly ascended.
Terry stifled a scream as two enormous Kronosaurs glided past the bay window. Seconds later, a metallic boom jolted the ship.
“They’re getting more aggressive,” Terry whispered.
“They don’t want us to leave. For some reason, they see us as a source of food.” Benedict picked up her drink from the bar and handed it to her, escorting her to the window. “Watch. As we continue to rise closer to the current of hydrothermal soot insulating the bottom layer, the creatures will go into a positive frenzy.”
Terry focused nervously on the forty-foot Kronosaurus slowly maneuvering between the face of the canyon wall and the observation window.
“Benedict, that one looks like it’s going to charge—”
As if in reply, the beast turned, rushing directly at them.
“Here it . . . Benedict, what are you waiting for? Shut the dome!”
Benedict remained impassive. The monster’s head grew immense, its eyes becoming specks of fire in the artificial light. Terry’s heart pounded. She turned to run—
Benedict pressed a button on the tiny remote control in his hand. Instantly blazing white lights shot out from the Benthos, the blinding beacons igniting the abyss.
The charging Kronosaurus pirouetted sharply, its upper torso quivering as if it had been struck by a ten-thousand-volt charge. Terry watched the creature nearly collide with the canyon wall, then disappear into the inky gorge.
Benedict laughed.
Terry drained her glass, then, feeling light-headed, collapsed into a crushed velvet chair. “You enjoy taunting me, don’t you?”
“It’s the schoolboy in me,” Benedict said, flashing a triumphant smile. “Another drink?”
“No.” She watched the turbidity of the water increase as the Benthos ascended through the dense layer of sulfur and minerals hovering above the Trench like a blanket of smog. She heard faint crackling sounds, like pebbles colliding against the exterior window.
And then they were through, rising above the hydrothermal layer, continuing to ascend along the face of the primordial canyon.
“The Kronosaurs won’t follow?”
“No, they can’t leave the hydrothermal layer,” Benedict said. “The vents are the life-support system of the abyss. Without them, the entire chemosynthetic food chain dies.”
For a long moment she felt him staring at her. Then he descended to the bridge, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Benedict’s never going to let me off this ship alive. It’s up to me to save myself. I need to find a weapon. I need to kill him before he kills me. . . .
An hour passed in eerie silence.
At 24,312 feet the Benthos rose majestically above the canyon’s summit and over the small plateau separating the northern and southern regions of the Mariana Trench. Like a gigantic man-o’-war, the great ship moved through the darkness, heading north, its exterior lights punching holes in the abyss, revealing a gray barren expanse of seafloor covered in sediment.
Terry stared into a seascape devoid of life, a veritable Death Valley beneath the waves. She imagined her lifeless body drifting along the bottom, her waterlogged flesh picked apart and devoured by dozens of white crabs.
Hyperventilating, she clutched her hair as tears poured down her face, a cold sweat breaking out all over her body. Hugging a sofa cushion, she curled into a ball and closed her eyes, rocking back and forth.
It took several minutes for Terry to regain her composure. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. That’s when she noticed the lens of the remote camera, focusing on her from the panel above.
Pacific Ocean
625 Nautical Miles Northeast of Devil’s Purgatory
Jonas and Mac stood at the stern of the William Beebe. Sheets of plywood had been nailed into place over the damaged deck, a temporary wooden barrier serving as a rail. The cool night air whipped against their backs as they stared at the ship’s churning wake.
“How soon until the Meg enters the Trench?” Mac asked, turning his face as he soaked a rag in his hand with a clear liquid.
“The report said Angel attacked the sperm whale off the coast of Japan. At the rate she’s moving—a couple hours, at the most.”
“We’ll fly out at first light.” Mac checked his watch. “You ready?”
Jonas stared at the dark surface of the ocean, remembering his last encounter with the shark. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.” He followed Mac into the ship, then up a flight of stairs leading to the officers’ quarters.
Mac knocked on the cabin door.
After a minute Harry Moon opened the door, dressed in a T-shirt and boxers.
“Fellas, it’s kind of late.”
“Sorry, but this is a bit of an emergency,” Mac said. “It’ll only take a minute.”
Harry looked at them suspiciously. “All right, come in.” He opened the door, allowing Mac and Jonas to enter.
“So what’s the emergency?”
“Somebody tried to kill me last week,” Jonas said.
“What?” Harry looked shocked. “When?”
“That night off the Alaskan coast,” Mac said.
“When you were attacked in the Zodiac? Are you sure?”
“We’re sure,” Mac said, circling about the small cabin. “The rope supporting the Zodiac was deliberately cut.”
“We know who did it,” Jonas said, “but we need your help dealing with the guy.”
Harry seemed nervous. “Maybe we ought to inform the captain?”
“No, we’d rather handle this ourselves,” Jonas said as Mac whipped his arm around Harry from behind, pressing the rag of ether to his face in a viselike grip.
* * *
Harry opened his eyes and found himself on his back, staring up at the winch that had once held the Zodiac. He tried to speak, but a hand towel had been shoved in his mouth, duct tape covering his lips. Struggling to sit up, he realized his ankles and wrists were also bound in tape.
“Evening,” Mac said, slipping the end of the rope around Harry’s waist. “Nice night for a swim.”
Jonas leaned over Harry. “You should have known about the Ring of Fire, Harry, that’s basic knowledge to someone who’s supposed to have a background in oceanography. I did some checking with some friends at Woods Hole. Turns out you’ve never been involved with the SOSUS program or the Institute. Fact is, you only received this assignment hours before the ship left port when the real first officer mysteriously had to leave town to resolve a family matter. I don’t know who you are, but you’re about to become bait, just like you made me.”
Wide-eyed, Harry began mumbling something incomprehensible.
“What’d he say?” Mac asked, reversing the winch, the line pulling Harry to his feet.
“I think he said he forgot his towel,” Jonas said, tearing the tape from Harry’s lips.
Harry spit out the gag. “It wasn’t me, I swear! Don’t do this . . .”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Mac said, pushing him out over the side.
Jonas released the winch.
Harry uttered a scream as he plunged feetfirst into the sea.
Ice-cold water exploded the breath from his lungs as he was dragged through the blackness of the Pacific. He swallowed a gulp of seawa
ter, the icy liquid scalding his skin as if a thousand daggers were stabbing him. The rope around his waist went taut, jolting him sideways, sliding up beneath his armpits to tighten in a viselike grip as the boat continued pulling him four feet below the surface.
Twisting wildly, Harry grabbed the rope in his bound hands and desperately inched his way toward the surface. His muscles felt like lead weights, his body convulsing in spasms.
Unable to make headway against the force of the churning sea, Harry released the rope, slipping back beneath the waves to drown. Just as he was about to pass out, the rope hauled him painfully from the sea.
Mac reached out and pulled him aboard.
Harry flopped onto the deck, gasping for air, shivering uncontrollably.
“Next time, we cut the rope,” Mac said.
“Wa-wait,” gasped Harry, fighting to speak. “I’m C-C-CIA.”
Jonas and Mac looked at each other. “Bullshit.”
“It’s true. Le-let me warm up inside and I’ll prove it.”
“Prove it here,” Mac said, tossing him a wool blanket.
Harry pulled the blanket around his shoulders. “The cell phone I gave Jonas—it has a miniature microphone and transmitter inside. I was monitoring his conversations with Celeste Singer. You told her about Devil’s Purgatory—”
“I did?”
“In the hospital. You sounded delirious. She must have drugged you.”
“Son of a bitch—”
“What’s Devil’s Purgatory?” Mac asked.
“The location in the Mariana Trench where I piloted the Seacliff eleven years ago. What’s so important about that spot that she would drug me, and you’d want to kill me?”
“Celeste recruited you for this trip just to get the location from you,” said Harry, his teeth chattering. “I knew she was getting close. Cutting the line to the Zodiac seemed an opportune way to keep you from spilling your guts.”
“I told you that bitch was after something,” Mac said. “I say we forget about having him arrested and let this piece of shit swim with the fishes.”
“Wait.” Jonas knelt down to face Harry. “What’s in the Devil’s Purgatory that’s so important?”
“I can’t tell you that—”
Mac restarted the winch.
“Okay, wait—I’ll tell you, but only because we could use your help.”
“First, you try to kill me, then you want my help? You got a lot of balls, mister.”
“They’re probably turning blue about now,” Mac said.
“Benedict Singer has your wife,” Harry said, shivering. “If you want to see her alive again, you’d better untie me.”
Devil’s Purgatory
Mariana Trench
Like a flying saucer descending through a cloudy night sky, the Benthos dropped through the layer of soot, reentering the isolated deep underworld of the Mariana Trench. Red lights revealed a forest of jagged black smokers, each billowing mushroom clouds of minerals and superheated water, the stacks rising more than eighty feet off the prehistoric seafloor.
Benedict Singer stood impatiently over Professor Kwan, awaiting the results of the Gas Chromatography detectors.
“Excellent,” Kwan reported. “We’ve detected plumes of tritiugenic Helium-3 being vented from the seabed throughout this area.”
“We found similar plumes at least a dozen times.”
“Not like these, Benedict. Not with the same concentration of Helium-3. I’d say we have definitely arrived.”
“Sir, Epimetheus ready to launch,” Captain Prokovich said. “We also have an incoming message from the Goliath.”
Benedict walked to the closest computer terminal and typed in his access code. A scrambled message appeared. He entered another code word to translate the cryptogram:
CELESTE SINGER ETA: NINE HUNDRED HOURS. PROMETHEUS REPAIRS COMPLETE, ADDITIONAL EXTERIOR LIGHTS MOUNTED. CREW PREPARING FOR DESCENT. LAUNCH TIME: TWELVE HUNDRED HOURS.
“Excuse me, sir,” Prokovich interrupted. “The captain of the Epimetheus says the girl is in the docking area, requesting permission to board.”
Benedict smiled in amusement. “Our mouse is preparing to play her last card. Instruct Captain Warren to welcome Mrs. Taylor aboard.”
“Aye, sir.”
* * *
Terry climbed down into the Epimetheus, taking a position adjacent to the pilot’s seat.
“Rig ship for dive,” said the captain.
“Aye, sir. Seals tight, depressurizing hangar sleeves.”
Terry studied every movement, memorizing every switch as it was activated.
“Release docking clamps.”
“Aye, sir, clamps released, sub is now free of docking station.”
“Engage shaft, take us out.”
Terry held on as the engine started, propelling the Epimetheus away from the Benthos toward its destination in the Devil’s Purgatory.
* * *
Camouflaged by the abyssal darkness, the family of Kronosaurs glided effortlessly above the warm seafloor, the adult female taking the lead. At forty-nine feet and twenty-five tons, she was nearly a third larger than her mate and twice the size of her surviving female offspring. With her two smaller companions trailing along either side of her pelvic girdle, the behemoth reptile guided her pack in a tight triangular configuration through the gorge.
The streamlined V formation was used by the creatures to conserve energy, the big female’s girth creating a channel of water which actually towed the two smaller pliosaurs forward. More important, swimming close together gave the sensory appearance of a much larger creature to the Kronosaurs’ voracious enemy, Carcharodon megalodon.
Being cold-blooded “fish-lizards,” the creatures followed a swimming pattern that kept them moving in and out of the hydrothermal vents. Seventy million years ago, the species’ primordial ancestors had required the heat of the sun to warm their bodies. Adapting to life in the abyss, the surviving genus now used the superheated waters of the vents to keep their body temperatures elevated, their gills allowing them to breathe in the sea.
Propelling themselves forward using wide downward strokes from their front flippers, the pliosaurs were fast, efficient hunters, their dark coloring making them nearly invisible in the blackness of the Trench. Only the glow of their luminous nocturnal eyes gave away their presence, crimson specks that lured unsuspecting fish mortally close to their powerful crocodile jaws. The creature’s vision, surprisingly good for a deep-sea dweller, was capable of distinguishing the darting movements of bioluminescent fish up to two hundred feet away.
But when it came to stalking prey within the abyss, the Kronosaurs relied on an entirely different sensory faculty. Located within the creature’s external brain tissues, situated in close proximity to the nerve endings, was a high concentration of iron oxide magnetite crystals. Like mini-magnets, the crystals allowed the creatures to continuously orient themselves within the Trench by using the Earth’s natural magnetic force fields. Over millions of years, this sensory system had evolved to the point where the Kronosaurs could detect minute disturbances within the canyon’s magnetic field, disturbances created by schools of fish or giant squid—or by their mortal enemy.
Traveling south on their endless quest for food, the Kronosaurs sensed strong disturbances along the seafloor. With a unified downstroke of their forelimbs, the three creatures moved as one to investigate.
* * *
Terry stared out the tiny porthole, her mind racing. Over the last four hours, she had watched the vacuum tube of the Epimetheus inhale manganese nodules and sediment from the Cretaceous seafloor. At these depths the process was extremely difficult. To pull in a cubic foot of rock in sixteen thousand pounds per square inch of water pressure required a one-thousand-horsepower engine running for four minutes. Every so often the suction process would cease, allowing one crew member to remove the precious rocks from a pressurized holding chamber beneath the sub while another serviced the equipment.
The bounty had proved so plentiful that the crew had surpassed their hold limits an hour ago. Benedict had refused to allow the sub to return to the Benthos. Now dozens of ten-gallon buckets overflowing with nodules littered the narrow passage, forcing the captain to climb over the rocks just to get to his control console.
For the hundredth time, Terry repeated the piloting sequence over and over in her head like a mantra. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself sneaking into the docking station later that night, slipping into the sub and sealing herself in. Within minutes she would free the sub of its docking clamps, making it impossible for Benedict to prevent her escape. First, she’d maneuver the Epimetheus away from the underbelly of the Benthos, then ascend quickly to clear the hydrothermal layer, removing herself from the creatures’ habitat. Then she’d head west, remaining in four thousand feet of water to elude the Goliath before surfacing to run aground somewhere along the Marianas island chain. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself climbing out of the hatch to behold a tropical island. Ditching the sub in shallow water, she’d wade to shore, the sun bathing her in its warm glow, her nightmare over forever . . .
The radio squawk startled her.
“Captain, the Goliath has detected a single life-form moving quickly in our direction. Too big to be a Kronosaur. Range, sixteen kilometers and closing fast.”
Terry’s heart pumped hard and fast. A single large bio form meant a Megalodon!
“What are Benedict’s orders?” the captain asked.
“He wants us to continue mining the nodules while the Benthos maneuvers into position directly above us.”
“Inform the Benthos that we are filled to capacity now,” the captain said
“Benedict’s orders are to continue mining,” relayed the radioman.
* * *
The three Kronosaurs circled the strange creature from a safe distance, evaluating their prey. Sensing the larger Benthos approaching in the distance, the pliosaurs split up. The male and female offspring closed, intent on driving their prey away from the larger creature and toward the big female, which remained circling in the shadows.
