by Steve Alten
The Manta sub soared three feet over a horizontal line of floats which marked the top of the mouth-like opening of the trawl net.
The male shonisaur went straight into the steel mesh trap until its snout struck the cod end marking the tip of the triangular enclosure. The net quickly tightened around the creature, pinching its four limbs to the side of its body.
The enraged ichthyosaur twisted and shook—to no avail; the bridle having been pulled closed, sealing the opening.
The trawler captain veered hard to starboard, the deeper trawl snagging the ichthyosaur’s mate. The female attempted to spin around within the net, only the steel cables had been pulled tight.
The two trapped shonisaurs thrashed and fought until near exhaustion, their thirteen-foot offspring darting between them, refusing to abandon its parents.
Two hundred feet overhead, the Dubai Land-II circled in five-foot seas, its elated crew celebrating the culmination of their six month hunt. The Mogamigawa approached in the distance, its deckhands preparing the supertanker’s crane that would hoist the captured sea creatures out of the water and into the ship’s hold.
Jacqueline Buchwald paced excitedly by the starboard rail, debating whether to keep both ichthyosaurs in the same pen.
* * *
David circled the two nets, giving the captured creatures and their anxious young a wide berth. Coming down from his adrenaline high, he edited his mental “to-do” list. Can’t dock the Manta until the trawl nets are secured … that’ll be another hour. Figure twenty minutes to net the little guy. Dock the sub, board the supertanker … grab some food and a hot shower, then eight hours’ sleep. By that time Jackie should have the creatures secured in their pens and we can be together.
“David—”
Better yet, maybe I can pull her away for a quickie and then get some sleep.
“Active sonar was left on. There’s something out there, circling along the periphery.”
“Another shonisaur?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Probably an orca waiting for its opportunity to grab junior. How big is it?”
“Fifty-two feet.”
The blood rushed from David’s face. “Where is it?”
Nick pointed.
David reduced his speed to three knots. In the distance he could see something ominous circling back and forth, its features becoming more distinguished as they approached.
It was a sleek creature, as quick as it was massive, weighing in excess of fifteen tons. Crocodilian jaws were lined with five-inch teeth; four short fins steered a hydrodynamic body powered by a thick, long tail.
David’s pulse raced as he hovered the sub seventy yards from the creature, which was clearly growing more agitated as he neared. Now he understood why the family of shonisaurs had fled the Panthalassa Sea—the species sizing him up had been responsible for the ichthyosaurs’ demise ninety-eight million years ago during the late Cretaceous. For the next thirty million years their kind had ruled the seas—until an asteroid had impacted the planet, leading to the extinction of the dinosaurs.
“Dubai Land, this is Taylor. How soon can you have another net in the water?”
“David, it’s Kenney. What’s wrong, pal?”
“Oh, nothing much. I’m just staring at the business end of a fifty-foot mosasaur and she looks seriously hungry.”
10
Captain Steven Beltzer stood in the Mogamigawa’s bridge, his binoculars focused on the horizon. He was emotionally spent, having been up all night worrying about whether the Taiji fishermen would harm his son, Nick. In truth, he was angrier at David Taylor and his refusal to obey orders than he was at the Japanese.
And then, in the last forty minutes everything had changed; the capture of the two shonisaurs altering the pilots’ status from zeroes to heroes. All that was left to complete the amazing turnaround was for divers to attach cables running from the supertanker’s crane to the trawl nets. Once the two beasts were loaded into their pen, Steven would place a call to the boy’s mother back in the States and bask in the afterglow of his decision to override her maternal fears and bring Nick along on the voyage.
Beltzer waited while his executive officer, Craig Myrick, systematically shutdown the supertanker’s engines, beginning the ten-mile “braking” process calculated to bring the massive vessel’s forward inertia to a stop in order to rendezvous with the trawler.
“All engines shut down, skipper.”
“Full reverse, all engines.”
“Full reverse, all engines, aye sir.”
The radio crackled with static, drawing his attention. “DB-II to Tank-II, what’s your ETA?”
“Seventeen minutes. Is there a problem, Commander?”
“Call it an unexpected challenge. The ichthyosaurs were being stalked by a fifty-foot mosasaur. It’s circling the perimeter in full attack-mode. I can’t risk putting divers in the water to connect your cable.”
Beltzer’s gut tightened. “Is the Manta docked?”
“Negative. We need the Manta to keep the mosasaur away from the two netted ichthyosaurs or we’ll lose them.”
“Dammit, Commander, my kid’s on that sub!”
“Which is why we need the tanker. David feels the mosasaur will interpret the Mogamigawa as a far larger predator and back off enough to allow us to send down a diver.”
“What diver would be crazy enough to get in the water with a fifty-foot mosasaur?”
“We’re asking for volunteers. The Crown Prince is offering ten thousand per dive. Check with your SCUBA teams. If no one goes for it, I’ll make the dive myself.”
* * *
It had become a dangerous game of cat and mouse.
Three times the mosasaur had broken from its holding pattern to make a run at the juvenile shonisaur. The first two times the Manta had swept in and cut off the beast, the sub’s pinging sonar enough to chase the creature back to where it had been circling. The last time the mosasaur had snapped at the submersible before it had finally backed off, blinded by the vessel’s exterior lights.
David feared what the emboldened predator would do next.
“Tank-II to Manta-Two, do you copy?”
Nick switched his headset to the radio setting. “Manta here. Dad, where are you?”
“Less than half a mile to the east.”
The massive keel could be seen in the distance, displacing the surface like an ominous dark iceberg, the supertanker’s forward momentum reduced to two knots.
The mosasaur sensed the larger challenger and retreated another hundred yards before continuing its frenetic figure-eight pattern.
A dull whine reverberated through the sea as the trawler reversed its engines and began taking up cable, hauling the net containing the male ichthyosaur to a more accessible eighty-foot depth. The forty-ton shonisaur thrashed within its bonds, the strain on the steel cables causing the trawler to tilt astern and the winches to shudder.
David gave the approaching Mogamigawa a wide berth. The supertanker’s port flank moved into place thirty yards away from the trawler, the massive vessel’s presence agitating the four prehistoric sea creatures.
The tanker’s crane operator lowered a hoist line composed of eight four-inch-thick steel cables attached to a three-foot-wide U-shaped shackle. Minutes passed, and then a lone SCUBA diver wearing a wet suit and facemask fitted with a radio entered the water. Slipping his right arm inside the shackle, he signaled to the crane operator to release slack, hitching a slow, steady ride to the trawl net holding the male shonisaur.
The Manta ascended, circling the sinking diver, who seemed to be having trouble equalizing. David stared at the man behind the mask a full minute before he realized it was Monty.
“Taylor to DB-II; Kenney patch me through to the diver.”
“Go ahead, Manta-Two.”
“Monty, it’s David—can you read me?”
“No, but I can hear you. Actually, I can’t do that very well either with my ears buzzing.”
“Dude, you work in the kitchen; what the hell are you doing in the water?”
“Cooking sucks. You can’t get face time slicing veggies.”
“Do you know you’re diving with a mosasaur?”
“Sure. What’s a mosasaur? Is it that big flounder with the four flippers and beak?”
“That’s the baby ichthyosaur. Never mind. Just stay close to the sub; I’ll lead you down to the bridle.”
“What’s the bridle?”
“It’s the thing that pulls the net shut. There’s a big O-ring next to it. You need to attach the shackle to the O-ring. As soon as you do, I want you topside in the trawler while they haul the ichthyosaur out of the water.”
“Did you know forty-one million Americans drink tap water that contains sex hormones and anti-seizure medicine. Maybe I should drink more tap water—”
“Monty, watch out!” David accelerated, blasting his lights at the curious juvenile shonisaur, chasing it back to its hiding place between the two nets.
* * *
A hundred and sixty yards to the south, the mosasaur descended. Blue water quickly melded into curtains of gray, the creature’s dark dorsal pigment disappearing in the black depths.
* * *
It took Monty several minutes to secure the U-bolt to the bridle’s O-ring, the former soldier unnerved by the size of the animal wriggling in the trawl net beneath him.
David escorted his friend to the surface, his mind easing only after Monty climbed aboard the trawler.
Kenney Sills’s voice snapped him awake. “The other Manta has launched. Dock your sub, David. We’ll do a crew change while the first ichthyosaur is being moved. You and Nick earned some needed rest.”
David’s eyes followed the second sub as it slid into the sea, its pilot’s hesitation in leaving the shadow of the trawler indicating a healthy fear of their environment. “If it’s all the same to you, Commander, I want to be the one escorting the diver on his second dive. Monty’s a friend; he’d do the same for me.”
* * *
Jacqueline Buchwald stood by the tanker’s port rail, walkie-talkie in hand as she and thirty other crewmen watched the first ichthyosaur rise out of the water. She had converted pens one, two, and three into one large holding area to accommodate the two adult shonisaurs and possibly their young, but she was more than ready to use junior as bait to net the mosasaur. Shonisaurus was a sea cow compared to the prehistoric hunter. That it had been stalking the trio of ichthyosaurs was beyond sheer luck.
Metal groaned as the crane’s counterweight adjusted to compensate for the 80,000-pound behemoth now rising out of water. Jackie knew the device could handle the weight, though it was not as large as the crane aboard the Tonga—that equipment had been specifically designed to wield the Liopleurodon’s ungodly mass.
The onlookers followed the crane as it swung the netted creature overhead and lowered it into the tanker’s hold. Jackie squeezed through the crowd, taking the stairs down into the ship’s infrastructure to supervise the unloading and care of their precious cargo.
* * *
Matt Evans maneuvered Manta-One around the netted female ichthyosaur, marveling at the size of the creature. “Fucking Taylor; six months we patrolled the Philippine Sea and you know he’s going to get the full bounty on both of these monsters.”
Eric Stamp fumbled with the settings on his headset. “Don’t forget Nick Porter. Talk about luck. The guy wasn’t even on the active roster before the ‘Boy Wonder’ arrived.”
“You realize what we have to do, don’t you, E?”
“Capture the Shonisaurus runt.”
“Screw the runt. I want that mosasaur. That fish is worth both of the Ickies combined.”
“Marine reptile.”
“If it evolved gills like the rest of the Panthalassa species then it’s a fish. Where is it anyway?”
“About two thousand feet below us. I don’t think it’ll come up with the tanker in the area. The only reason it’s still lurking is because it wants the runt.”
“Then let’s bring it to him. The Manta is equipped with a net. The moment Big Mama leaves the water we’ll capture junior and use him to lead the Mose into the DB’s trawl net.”
“I don’t know, Matt. The sub’s net is made out of nylon; it may not even hold the runt.”
The radio chirped. “DB-II to Mantas: Tank-II reports the big male is safe in its pen. Trawl net is back on board and is being readied for deployment. We’re going to begin taking up slack on the female. Manta-Two will escort the diver to rig the net; Manta-One will maintain a defensive position sixty feet below the trawl net’s cod end.”
“Manta-Two; acknowledged.”
“Manta-One; acknowledged.” Eric turned to his pilot. “If we’re going to do this then you’d better grab the runt while its attention is still focused on its mother. Once she’s out of the water junior’s going to go ape-shit.”
The trawler’s winch engaged, gathering up slack on the net holding the female. The ichthyosaur thrashed about for twenty seconds and stopped, conserving its energy.
The fifteen-foot juvenile flitted about nervously, following its mother to the surface.
* * *
The sun was setting, the weather picking up. Having survived his first dive, Monty was shaking considerably less as he secured his swim fins to his bare feet and made his way down the trawler’s stern ramp to the crews’ applause. Knee-deep in the water, he turned to James Gelet and offered the reality show camera man a thumbs-up, then jumped awkwardly into the sea.
The O-ring swung several feet above the five-foot waves like a pendulum. Monty swam over and reached up but was unable to secure the device.
A Middle Eastern voice crackled in his ear. “Galley-boy, this is the crane operator. If this O-ring hits you in the head it will crush what little is left of your brain. Get out of the way so I can lower the hoist line.”
Monty knew several Arabic expressions ripe for the occasion but refrained, knowing they’d be edited out. Instead, he went with an old Paul Simon song, mangling the lyrics. “Just drive the bus, Gus, we don’t need to discuss much. Just drop the O-ring, Ali, and I’ll hook the fishy.”
“You are a strange man.” He unleashed the hoist line, sending the O-ring dropping like an anchor.
Without thinking, Monty reached out for it—a frayed edge along one of the steel cables catching his right glove, dragging him by his arm into the depths.
Monty yelled out for help as he fought to free himself, the stabbing pain in his ears unbearable.
Manta-Two swooped in beneath him, David able to catch the O-ring on the sub’s port wing … followed by Monty, who splayed across the cockpit face-first, staring at his friend on the other side of the bulletproof glass.
“Dude, you okay?”
Monty nodded as he pinched his nose and held his breath, increasing the internal pressure in his sinus cavity and ear canals until his ears popped. Sucking in deep breaths of air, he tore the rubber glove from the cable and pushed the heavy U-bolt over the side.
He gave David a thumbs-up and was about to follow the hoist line down another forty feet when the ichthyosaur’s agitated offspring suddenly charged the sinking U-bolt, caught it in its mouth, and shook it wildly before releasing it.
Monty stared at the fifteen-foot, three-ton sea creature and decided not to mess with junior.
“No worries, diver, we’re on this.”
Before Monty could figure out who was speaking to him, the second Manta rose from the depths and circled Big Mama.
The juvenile Shonisaurus charged the sub—only to be enshrouded in a bright yellow nylon net.
The runt darted off, sealing the net and hauling the submersible for a ride.
Matt Evans high-fived his co-pilot, allowing the cable attached beneath the Manta’s prow to feed out its full sixty feet.
That was a mistake.
Seeking its mother’s aid, the young ichthyosaur circled its trapped parent, entangling i
ts own netting in hers—along with Manta-One, which was now pinned bow-first to the mess.
David circled, filming everything; Monty still perched on the sub like a hood ornament. “Kenney, you seeing this?”
“Looks like a major cluster-fuck. Mr. Evans, can you detach your cable?”
“Negative, Commander. The mechanism’s jammed.”
“Mr. Montgomery, looks like you get to play the hero. There’s a red lever located along the underside of the Manta’s prow. Pull it toward you and the cable should detach from the winch.”
“Hold on, Monty, I’ll bring you closer.” David maneuvered around the fluttering juvenile ichthyosaur, now hopelessly twisted within its own net. The second Manta was pinned beneath the trapped offspring like a Christmas tree ornament, its nose buried in the net.
Monty adjusted the pressure in his buoyancy control vest so he floated without having to tread water. Sliding off the wing of David’s sub, he skulked over to the other Manta, its two pilots strapped vertically in their cockpit like an astronaut crew awaiting launch.
The sun had set, taking with it the sea’s last colors of the day. Using his flashlight, Monty located the faulty winch but could not squeeze his arm far enough between the sub’s belly and the creature’s left rear flipper that was pressing against the net, to access the red lever.
“I can’t reach it; it’s tighter than a virgin’s twat.”
“Mr. Montgomery, can you attach the U-bolt to the O-ring? If you can we’ll raise the trawl net and cut the sub loose on the surface.”
Locating the hoist line, Monty swam it over to the bridle and quickly attached it to the trawl net, anxious to get out of the water before the gray sea turned completely dark. “Okay, Commander, you’re good to go.”
Monty jumped as the eight steel cables grew taught and the trawl net jerked to life, sending mama ichthyosaur and her offspring roiling within their bonds.
* * *
The mosasaur wriggled like a python along the sea floor, its senses registering the distressed movements of its prey. With a whip-like thrash of its thick tail, the creature rose, homing in on its escaping quarry.
* * *
For the last two hours, Nick Porter had been drifting off into thirty-second catnaps, knowing that his sonar array would alert him if his target closed to within a thousand feet. Now, as a wave of adrenaline washed away his fatigue and the mosasaur rose beneath them on a near-vertical plane, his mind reeled with the possibility that this could be the last few moments of his life.
