by Steve Alten
And then, on the night of February twenty-fifth at 8:52 p.m., sonar buoy number seven detected something immense moving out from beneath the Ronne Ice Shelf.
* * *
Zachary Wallace descended a steel stairwell into the bowels of the McFarland, accompanied by a disturbing sense of déjà vu. Reaching the lowest deck, he made his way aft through a tight corridor, past the engine room to a watertight door.
WARNING: PRESSURIZED DIVE CHAMBER
Do NOT enter when red light is ON.
The light was off, the door open.
Jonas was already inside, speaking with a silver-haired man in his fifties wearing a navy-blue jumpsuit and leather jacket stained with grease.
Perched on rubber blocks above a pair of sealed horizontal doors were two Manta submersibles. Attached to vessel number four’s nine-foot wings were two Valkyrie lasers. A harpoon gun protruded from beneath its prow.
Jonas was inspecting the unit. He looked up as Zach entered the chamber.
“Zachary, I don’t think you’ve met my chief engineer, Cyel Reed.”
Reed snorted sarcastically. “One chief, no Indians … and still no damn heater down here. I had to pour boiling water over the starboard wing just to tighten the support struts on the laser after your last test run.”
Jonas examined the Valkyrie strapped to the right wing. “It seems pretty tight.”
“A virgin’s tight until she’s been ridden a few dozen times. If I told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, you can’t fly this albatross like an F-15. Weight distribution’s off. You don’t put a luggage rack on a Ferrari and expect it to perform. Barrel rolls or the ability to melt ice—pick your poison, J.T.”
Jonas turned to Zach. “It’s your mission; your call. Or should I say, ‘your premonition’?”
“Melting ice is more important than speed.”
“Not if we’re being chased by a hundred-ton sperm whale with teeth bigger than a Meg.”
“True. But these lasers can plow us straight through any blocked passages below the ice shelf.”
“Zach, I don’t want to be anywhere near the ice shelf. At the briefing you said we’d park the Manta along the bottom and wait for your whale to return from his nocturnal feeding. Then, as it passed over us—”
“I ken whit I said, but things can change in a hurry. Whit if it’s echolocating and detects the sub’s engines before it passes over us? Whit if it takes another route back tae the lake? Having those lasers charged and ready tae go gives us another weapon in our arsenal.”
“Weapon? I don’t want to kill this thing, in fact, I was toying with the idea of capturing it.”
“Out of the question.”
“Hang on Zach, I haven’t even pitched you my idea—”
“Ye had the captain drain the hopper; I’m assuming ye think ye can create a vacuum effect powerful enough tae inhale the melvillei straight up intae the tank. Forget it. That might work for one of the sisters, but this creature is twice their size and mass. It’ll sink us, Jonas, and that’s not a premonition, that’s simple physics.”
Jonas glanced at his engineer, who shrugged. “What do I know about tagging whales?”
Zachary climbed inside the starboard cockpit of Manta-Four, stowing his laptop in a side pouch.
Jonas situated himself in the portside command console. Cyel Reed leaned into the open cockpit to point out the triggering mechanism he had rigged to fire the harpoon gun.
“Duct tape? For real?”
“I’m not ruining the cockpit’s finish to screw in some lame control; the duct tape will do just fine. Pleasant hunting, Ahab.” The engineer sealed the cockpit glass and left the chamber to occupy a small control room farther down the corridor.
Jonas methodically ran through an abbreviated systems checklist. “Hatch sealed. Life-support—go. Batteries—go. Backup systems charged. Valkyries charged. Chamber is pressurized.” He checked the radio headset. “Terry, are you there?”
“Yes, Jonas.”
“How long do we have before first light?”
“The captain says you’ve got three hours, give or take ten minutes. The McFarland will remain in position outside the sonar grid. Ask your friend if he’s heard from the Tonga.”
Zach shook his head.
“Nothing yet.”
“Jonas, are you sure about this?”
“One quick shot and we’ll be home for breakfast. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Mr. Reed, Manta-Four is ready for launch. Did you remember to release the clamps on our docking blocks before you left the chamber?”
“Kiss my ass.”
“Acknowledged, docking clamps released. Seal and flood the chamber, please.”
Water rushed into the compartment, lifting the buoyant submersible off its perch. A red warning light powered off, yielding to one in green. Seconds later the sound of rusted metal hinges groaned all around them as the keel’s three-inch-thick steel doors opened, venting the chamber to the Weddell Sea.
Jonas waited until the pressure equalized before maneuvering the two-man submersible out of the flooded dock and into the frigid black sea.
“Switching to night-vision glass.” Turning a rotary switch on his control console, Jonas changed the tinting on the cockpit glass, the darkness blooming into an olive-green world.
Moving beyond the hopper-dredge’s keel, Jonas descended eighty feet, the visibility incredibly clear. The sea floor was a brown nutrient-rich muck carpeted in pink starfish, strange-shaped coral, and colorful urchins.
Ahead loomed a wall of ice, the underside of which was suspended fifty to seventy feet off the bottom—the entire Ronne Ice Shelf floating on the Weddell Sea.
A gentle three-knot current flowed out from beneath the ice sheet, rocking the submersible. Jonas powered on the Manta’s external lights, revealing a seemingly endless passage squeezed between the muck and the ice shelf’s frozen ceiling.
“I’m glad we’re not going in there.”
Zachary checked the coordinates on the sonar buoy that had detected the Miocene whale’s emergence. “We’re three kilometers too far tae the west.”
Keeping the Manta just outside the opening of the horizontal chasm, Jonas headed east.
“Dr. Wallace … a question: How long can a modern-day sperm whale hold its breath?”
“On a deepwater dive? About ninety minutes. Why?”
“Lake Ellsworth is located approximately thirty to fifty miles to the south of our current position. Prior to the collapse of the ice shelf last summer the lake was seven hundred miles farther inland. Seven hundred miles is a long journey underwater on a single breath of air. How do you suppose your Miocene whale could have made it this far back in 1940 before the ice shelf collapsed?”
“Good question. The answer is—I’m not sure, although the issue has been on my mind as well. I’ve come up with three potential explanations.”
“I’ve got all night.”
“First, the passage that opened between Lake Ellsworth and the Weddell Sea back in 1940 could have contained air pockets.”
“That’s a bit of a cop-out.”
“Agreed. And even if it turned out tae be true, I doubt any air-breathing mammal would have attempted the journey unless one of the other possibilities were in play.”
“Go on.”
“Like your Liopleurodon, Livyatan melvillei could have evolved gills.”
“I very much doubt that. Liopleurodon was a sea reptile. Gills may have been a natural progression for a pliosaur; not so with a mammal. What’s your third theory—and make it a good one because I’m not spending all night waiting for a ghost.”
“A ghost? Jonas, you saw those photos, this whale is real.”
“I don’t know what I saw. The images were blurry and that lower jaw and teeth could have been photoshopped. So what’s your last theory?”
Zach exhaled, exasperated. “In studying how sperm whales are able tae hold their breath for so long, sc
ientists at the University of Liverpool recently discovered the mammals possess an abundance of myoglobin, a protein which binds oxygen in the blood. In deep diving mammals like sperm whales the myoglobin becomes electrically charged. The charge causes the proteins tae repel each other, preventing them from forming clumps that could impede their ability to carry oxygen. This innate form of electro-repulsion, combined with elevated levels of myoglobin, prevents the proteins from sticking together, increasing the ability of the sperm whale’s muscles tae store oxygen. Myoglobin is found in high levels in meat and is whit gives it its red color. Livyatan melvillei is a prehistoric cousin of the modern-day sperm whale, but it’s still a different species. While sperm whales prefer tae eat squid and fish, Miocene whales were voracious meat-eaters. According tae Captain Mikkleson’s log, the meat taken from the Miocene whale that attacked their ship was as black as the midnight sea, indicating extremely high concentrations of myoglobin in the creature’s muscles.”
Jonas nodded. “Okay, I’ll buy into that … for now. How close are we to—”
Without warning the Manta was barreled sideways by a tsunami-like current flowing out from beneath the ice shelf. Before Jonas could react the starboard wing flipped over, the riptide sweeping the inverted submersible out to sea.
Gripping the joystick, Jonas rolled the Manta right-side-up. Banking hard to port, he accelerated out of the intense stream. “Zach?”
“That was a subglacial river.”
“I wasn’t expecting that kind of intensity.”
“It’s the ice. It generates thousands of pounds of pressure. That’s got tae be the passage the whale followed out of Lake Ellsworth.”
“If that’s the case then we may have a problem. Your whale wouldn’t have battled that head current to re-enter the lake, it would have taken a different route beneath the ice shelf. While we’re waiting here, it could be making its pre-dawn return trip miles up or down the coast.”
“That’s unlikely, Jonas. Whales possess sensory systems that function like built-in GPS units; it’ll use the subglacial river as a reference point. No, I think we jist need tae find a place close by, settle in and wait.”
With the current fading on his starboard flank, Jonas flew the sub along the bottom, searching for a soft landing spot. Easing up on the Manta’s dual pump-jet propulsion units, he allowed the neutrally buoyant vessel’s belly to come to rest on an open patch of sea floor surrounded by sea urchins.
The digital clock on his console read 04:36. “Manta-Four to McFarland.”
“Go ahead, Jonas.”
“Terry, we located the subglacial river. Any sign of the whale?”
“Negative. It’s still off the grid.”
“Acknowledged.” Settling back in his seat, Jonas closed his eyes, the sound of rushing water soothing his frayed nerves.
* * *
“Just came on screen two-point-six kilometers due north of sonar buoy eight. Jonas, do you read me?”
“Huh?” Jonas opened his eyes, repositioning the fallen headset over his ears. “Two-point-six kilometers from buoy eight … acknowledged.” Turning to Zachary, he punched the sleeping marine biologist on his left shoulder.
“Oww. Whit was that for?”
“You fell asleep.”
“So did ye!”
“True, but I’m older than you. Check your sonar, the whale’s on the grid.”
“Got him. He’s thirteen kilometers due west, heading straight for us.” Zach pointed to the cockpit glass. “I think we picked up a few stragglers.”
Jonas looked up, surprised to find the cockpit’s entire field of vision obscured by red and orange starfish. “Damn it.”
“Can ye get rid of them?”
“Sure, I’ll just roll down the window and pluck them off one at a time.”
Zach shrugged. “I thought maybe the Manta had a windshield wiper.”
“Just keep an eye on your damn whale.” Pressing down on both foot pedals, Jonas accelerated away from the sea floor, attempting to shake the invertebrates loose.
To his horror the creatures remained suctioned to the Lexan glass.
“Son of a bitch, these things are glued on.”
“The whale jist passed sonar buoy thirteen. He’s less than eight kilometers away.”
“Hold on.” Whipping the sub 180 degrees to starboard, Jonas listened for the rush of water generated by the subglacial river. Locating the current, he aimed the bow of the sub into the intense sixteen knot stream, the blast of sea prying loose a cluster of starfish, leaving less than a third of the cockpit glass still obscured.
“Jonas, I lost him.”
“What do you mean, you lost him?”
“He passed sonar buoy fourteen and disappeared off the screen.”
“Christ, he’s under the ice shelf.” Banking to starboard, Jonas pulled the Manta out of the current and accelerated beneath the ceiling of ice. “So much for your theory about the whale using the subglacial river as a reference point. You Ivy League eggheads … you always think you’re right.”
“For the record, I played Division I football in college, jist like ye did.”
“You’re comparing Penn State’s football program to Princeton? Please.”
“Ah yes, forgive me. At an Ivy League school, we actually have academic requirements.” Zach winced as the sub barely missed scraping a jutting section of ice. “Okay, so I was wrong about the whale. But if ye stay close tae the river we should run right intae him.”
“Let’s not take a chance. Go active on sonar.”
“Go active?”
“You have a problem with that?”
“No. It’s jist—these whales, they become extremely agitated when you start pinging.”
“And I get extremely agitated when I have to fly an unstable sub beneath a mile and a half of ice without my anxiety pills. Now do your job and find that fucking fish … mammal—I know!”
Zach switched the sonar controls from passive to active and pressed a green button, causing a loud sonic ping to reverberate from beneath the sub’s prow.
“Nothing yet. Wait … there he is. Three kilometers tae the southwest on course two-two-seven. He’s ahead of us, heading right for the current.”
“Continuous pinging. See if you can bring him to us.”
Zach started to object, then thought better of it.
PING … PING … PING …
“We’ve got its attention. He jist altered his course to intercept. Two kilometers and closing fast.”
Zzzzzzzzzzt. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.
The burst of sound rattled the sub’s cockpit like a giant tuning fork.
“What the hell was that?”
“Echolocation. We’re not the only ones that can go active on sonar. He jist closed tae one kilometer. How do ye intend on tagging him now that he kens we’re here?”
Jonas reduced the sub’s speed to eight knots. “How about one right between the eyes on that big square head of his. Should be like tossing a football through a truck tire.”
“Only this truck tire wants tae eat ye. Three hundred meters.”
Jonas flipped the safety on the harpoon gun with his left hand, fingering the trigger as he stared into the olive-green abyss.
Then he saw it, and the sheer size of the creature caused his heart to race.
The squared-off head bearing down on them was as large and as wide as a three-story barn. Charcoal-gray on top, it faded into lighter shades of silver; its lower jaw and belly ivory-white. The whale’s entire body undulated as it swam, its head rising as its lower torso and fluke completed a powerful downstroke, its skull dropping below the hump midway down its back as its tail rose. From this angle Jonas could not gauge the bull’s length, but it was moving at a speed in excess of twenty knots.
Christ, it’s faster than the Manta.…
Cursing Zachary’s decision to use the laser-laden sub, Jonas accelerated at the charging beast.
Sensing its approaching prey, the Miocene sperm whal
e rolled onto its left flank, opening its formidable mouth to feed.
For a frightening moment the whale disappeared from Jonas’s view behind a cluster of starfish. Quickly adjusting his course to compensate, he targeted the gyrating head, allowing the massive skull to fill his partially obstructed field of vision.
“Sixty meters…”
“God, what a brute. Hey, that’s a good name—Brutus.”
“Naming the whale isn’t important right now.” Zach clenched his arm rests. “Forty meters … thirty. Jonas, that’s close enough!”
Jonas waited another three seconds before squeezing the trigger and banking hard to starboard.
Twice as thick as an arrow, the barbed spear exploded out of the gun barrel at sixty knots. With a puff of black blood the tag struck the whale two feet below its blowhole, the shaft’s remote sensors buried within the thick blubber ten inches deep.
The sting was barely perceived by the enraged cetacean. The eighty-foot Livyatan melvillei snapped its lower jaw upon empty sea even as its left eye caught sight of its escaping prey.
Jonas fought to regain control of the sub, the one gee maneuver shaking the Manta while nearly snapping the steel support bands securing the port laser to the sub’s wing.
Zachary opened his eyes. “We’re still alive?”
“For the moment.”
Zzzzzzzzzzt. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.
“It’s chasing us?”
“And here’s more bad news—it’s faster than us.” Jonas’s eyes jumped from the partially obstructed view of the bottom of the ice sheet to the aft camera monitor where the Miocene whale was bearing down on the Manta like a bat out of hell.
“It’ll be dawn soon. Can ye make it out of here?”
“We’re heading south, the exit’s north. Sharp turns are off the menu; I nearly lost one of the Valkyries on that last maneuver. Gradual turns and we lose ground—ah, crap, hold on!”
Jonas veered to starboard a heartbeat before the bull whale clamped its jaws on the port wing.
“Ye realize this is a losing battle.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I’m open to suggestions.”
