MEG: Nightstalkers

by Steve Alten

  Monty approached, his friend handing him a ski jacket and wool hat as they watched Jackie being led inside. “Don’t feel bad; eighty-nine percent of couples surveyed report damaged relationships as a result of insensitive or inappropriate use of technology. From the look of things, I’m guessing you won’t be getting laid tonight.”

  “Nice to see you, too. Where’s bin Rashidi?”

  “Aboard the Tonga, waiting for you to debrief him. Is it true the Lio gave birth to a Lio Junior?”

  “It’s true. And just like a momma croc, she’s extremely protective of it. What are you doing aboard the trawler; I thought you were sick?”

  He nodded to a cameraman filming them from across the deck. “Can’t afford to miss my reality show bonus. Come, our chariot awaits.”

  Monty led them to a cargo net spread out across the middeck.

  A steel cable rose nine stories overhead, threaded to one of the supertanker’s winches. Standing back to back in the middle of the net, they waited for a crewman to take up the slack.

  Seconds later they were rising along the Tonga’s starboard flank inside their makeshift elevator.

  * * *

  Commander Molony greeted David with a bear hug as he entered the bridge. “Outstanding job, kid. How was Jackie? Rock-steady, I’ll bet.”

  “Absolutely. The last few hours—I barely heard a peep out of her. Where’s the Lio?”

  “She’s moving east, following the coast. We’ve taken up positions to the south, keeping her from escaping into open water.”

  Fiesal bin Rashidi entered the chamber, announcing himself by blowing his nose into a paper towel. “Six months we’ve chased this devil. Today was another wasted opportunity.”

  “Not at all,” Liam Molony said. “In order to have a chance to capture the Lio we first had to locate the monster and then flush it out from beneath the ice sheet. David accomplished both tasks in half a day—tasks that could have taken weeks, perhaps months. Even better news—the Lio gave birth to an offspring. Fiesal, we don’t need to capture the monster; only its pup.”

  “I don’t want the pup without the mother!” The tirade sent him into a coughing fit, which ended with the engineer spitting into another paper towel. “David, you know this creature better than anyone. Be honest—can it be captured or are we wasting our time?”

  David looked into his employer’s dark, fever-ridden eyes. “The adult is exhausted, that gives us a fighting chance. Plus she definitely doesn’t like the Manta. If we can drive her into the shallows, I think we can net her.”

  “How?”

  He turned to Commander Molony. “Under the ice, I got a good feel for the momma Lio’s speed. When she chased me and I ran fast she gave up the chase pretty quickly. But when I allowed her to feel like she could catch me, I got her to follow me a good mile.

  “Working in deep water like this makes it very hard; we need to force the creature into the shallows—find a coastal area that pens them in a bit. We’ll set the big nets up between the two ships like we planned, then cut both vessels’ engines the moment I make another run at junior. I’ll keep the momma’s attention by letting her nip on my heels as I lead her into the trap. Between trying to protect her offspring and chasing after me she won’t realize the boats are there until it’s too late. Once she’s hauled out of the water we use the trawler net to capture the baby.”

  Bin Rashidi moved to the chart table and a map of Antarctica. “Captain, we need to push the creature into the shallows; where do you suggest?”

  The captain took a moment, then pointed to a coastal area in the Amundsen Sea. “Pine Island Bay. The depths drop to about two hundred feet, but there’s dozens of shallow coves along the Thwaites Glacier to trap your monster in. If she maintains her current speed and heading, she’ll arrive there on her own in the next seventy-two hours.”

  Fiesal bin Rashidi nodded. “Pass the word to everyone on board: we either capture the Lio in Pine Island Bay or I shall terminate this mission, in which case no one shall receive their bonus monies.”

  Grabbing a fresh paper towel, he exited the command center, hocking up a ball of mucus from his irritated throat.

  Vancouver Island, British Columbia

  Paul Agricola stood on the shoreline by the decimated jetty, gazing at Denman and Hornby Islands to the northeast while a nervous forensic photographer leaned out over a twenty-foot gap in the pier, snapping photos.

  A detective approached, pulling Paul aside. “This stays between us; agreed?”

  “Andy, you’re my brother-in-law.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and your tab is getting full.” He pulled out a small notepad. “Two people are missing; one the resort’s manager, Tania Cruz, the other a guest from New Jersey who checked in two days ago. The groundskeeper claims Cruz had him remove the remains of a juvenile humpback whale from beneath the end of the pier Thursday afternoon. That was the last time he saw Cruz alive.”

  “You believe him?”

  “He was caught breaking into her apartment, so I wouldn’t exactly call him a credible witness. We’re running a background check to see if he has a history of violence. And yes, his boat is big enough to have taken out that section of the pier.”

  “You know what I’m going to ask…”

  “Could one of those mega-sharks have done it? Hell, I don’t know—you’re the marine biologist. If I was betting the farm, I’d go with the groundskeeper.”

  A police officer approached, carrying a framed photo. “Sir, we found this inside the woman’s apartment. Thought you ought to have a look.”

  The detective stared at the image. “Ah, geez.” He passed it to Paul.

  The photo was taken underwater—an elderly woman open water diving with an eighteen-foot great white shark.

  * * *

  The islands and islets of the Salish Sea are geological remnants of the last ice age, formed by glaciers which excavated the sandy trenches of British Columbia. Eventually these canyons filled with seawater, creating the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Georgia Strait.

  Located in the Georgia Strait off the east coast of Vancouver Island within miles of the jetty, Denman Island and Hornby Island were each home to about a thousand residents, including artists and Hollywood actors seeking privacy amid the tranquility of nature. Rugged and mountainous, the small islands were covered by a northwest rainforest of Douglas fir and were accessible only by ferry.

  Paul directed his helicopter pilot to fly over Denman Island’s coastal waters. Half an hour’s search yielded no signs of the two missing people nor anything that might render the highly trafficked area suitable as a Megalodon nursery.

  Hornby Island was another story. Shaped like a fisted hand with an extended thumb, its geography was dominated by Tribune Bay, a half-moon-shaped white beach overlooking warm water shallows. An extensive flyover revealed several seals and a pod of porpoises, but no sharks.

  It was already late in the afternoon by the time Paul finished his search of the bay’s emerald green shallows. Nursing a bad headache, he ordered his pilot to return to Vancouver. Heading southeast, they flew over Helliwell Provincial Park, its grassy meadows yielding to stunning bluffs along St. John’s Point.

  And that’s when Paul saw it—Flora Islet, a tiny landmass located just east of Hornby Island. Home to hundreds of sea lions, the deep waters were a favored stomping ground to a species of six-gilled shark. These rarely seen deepwater creatures returned to Flora’s waters every summer where they swam back and forth over the ledges and overhangs of a sheer rock wall, its vertical face dropping over seventy-five meters.

  The sun dipped below Vancouver Island, igniting a mass exodus of sea lions from the water.

  Paul quickly switched to his night-vision binoculars, scanning the sea.

  The first Meg pup he spotted was one of Lizzy’s, a pure albino that rose from the depths like a submarine-launched ballistic missile to snag an unsuspecting sea lion. A moment later a larger sibling surfaced to challenge her for the kill.


  The two juveniles suddenly dispersed.

  A moment later, a ghostly white figure came into view as it rose slowly from the depths along the rock face.

  Paul smiled to himself. Peek-a-boo, I see you, Lizzy. And I’m coming to get you, my precious.

  Beneath the Ronne Ice Shelf

  Weddell Sea, Antarctica

  They had used reciprocal transmissions—sonar pulses emitted in opposite directions at the same time, the shorter acoustical travel time revealing a swift current that led into the subglacial river and the way out of Lake Ellsworth.

  Twenty minutes later, the Manta was back beneath the Ronne Ice Shelf, the current driving them south toward the Weddell Sea.

  Emotionally and physically exhausted, the two men remained imprisoned by their predicament. Soaring beneath the unpredictable contours of the ice shelf, Jonas Taylor could not trust the autopilot to safely guide the sub. Fearful of the Miocene sperm whale, Zachary Wallace remained diligent at sonar.

  Jonas popped four aspirin, his lower back throbbing in pain, his legs feeling swollen. “This is it for me; if I never ride in another sub again I’ll be a happy man.” He glanced at Zach, who was rocking in his bucket seat. “We have plenty of urine bottles, you know?”

  “I dinnae have tae pee, I’m jist trying tae stay awake. Maybe ye can engage my brain with some witty conversation.”

  “Okay. When that bizarre ice squid captured one of those rays and hoisted it out of the water into its mouth—what were you thinking?”

  “Whit do ye mean?”

  “When I asked you how we were going to get back to the McFarland, you said you were working on a few options. Was one of those options allowing a squid to grab the sub with its tentacles and shove us into its mouth, at which point we’d jack up the lasers and essentially burn our way through the animal’s mouth and brains and ride the lake’s pressure straight up through a mile and a half of ice? Was that your brilliant plan?”

  Zach turned to him. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “And had that lame-brain plan worked, then what? We’d be sitting on top of the ice sheet in the middle of Antarctica with no radio, fifty miles from our boat.”

  “That’s true. I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was the ridiculousness of their situation, but suddenly Jonas couldn’t stop laughing. It was uncontrollable, spontaneous hysterics, a release of pent-up frustrations and fears and it was infectious, causing Zachary to burst out laughing. Both men’s eyes filled with tears, their lungs and chests convulsing as they gasped for quick breaths, only to break out again.

  After five minutes they laid back in their seats, their cheeks numb from smiling.

  Jonas downed the rest of his bottled water. “God, that felt good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed.”

  Zach nodded. “Me either. The last seven years of my life … all I’ve done is work and try tae prepare myself for this moment. Before that … I was only moderately miserable.”

  “You have a wife and kids who love you.”

  “As do ye. So why do ye hate yer life, J.T.?”

  “I don’t hate it as much as I’m tired of it. When you get older it seems like you’re always worried about the next health issue, the next bill, the next doctor’s appointment, the next lawsuit. Plus, I worry about my kids. And Terry. And then I do something stupid … like letting you talk me into this mission, and now all I want to do is hug my wife and kids and get back to the mundane.”

  “Yer life is far from mundane.”

  “You don’t get it. I want the mundane. I want to wake up in the morning and worry about whether I’m eating enough fiber, not whether my trainer was eaten by an exhibit or if some animal rights group slashed the tires on my Lexus.”

  “So get out. Sell the institute and move tae a gated community on a golf course, where ye can spend yer days playing with yer putter and balls.”

  “If it were only that easy.”

  Before he could get out the words, the ice above their heads became a velvet night sky, the stars sparkling like diamonds, the aurora a neon-green curtain lacing to the west.

  Remaining on the surface, Jonas quickly located the McFarland, the crew of the hopper-dredge acknowledging their presence with a flare.

  * * *

  Jonas waited impatiently for the docking chamber to drain and pressurize. The moment the red light blinked off and was replaced by the green he popped the cockpit hatch and struggled to pry himself out of his seat, his leg muscles weak, quivering with fatigue.

  The chamber’s watertight door squealed open and the captain entered, followed by Terry, the ship’s physician, three crewmen and Cyel Reed. The engineer took one look at the Manta’s chewed off tail fin and grimaced. “I’m not fixing that. Not in this igloo.”

  Two crewmen helped Jonas out of the sub.

  Terry embraced him, her almond eyes glassy with tears. “You were gone seventeen hours. So much for tagging the whale and leaving.”

  “This whale has a nasty temper. It chased us all the way to Lake Ellsworth.”

  “I know. We were tracking the whale by its tag and the Manta by its homing device.”

  “See that,” Zachary said, climbing down from the sub, “they would have sent the chopper for us.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Terry asked.

  “Ignore him. Where’s David?”

  “They’re on the move,” the captain said. “We received a transmission yesterday from Dr. Wallace’s contact aboard the Tonga. They’re going to attempt to capture the Lio and its offspring in Pine Island Bay.”

  “How far is … wait, did you say offspring?”

  Terry nodded. “It gave birth beneath the ice shelf.”

  “We’re two days out from the Amundsen Sea,” the captain said. “With any luck we’ll arrive a few hours before them.”

  Jonas was about to reply when the chamber started spinning.

  Terry felt her husband’s legs give out. She managed to hold him up long enough for the captain and one of the crew to grab the unconscious pilot before he hit the floor.

  30

  Aboard the Hopper-Dredge McFarland

  Weddell Sea, Antarctica

  Weak, feeling queasy and light-headed, Jonas looked up at the ship’s physician through feverish eyes.

  Dr. Tim Goldman connected the intravenous tube to the peripheral cannula protruding from the vein in the back of Jonas’s right hand and started the IV bag drip. “The danger in being immobile in a submersible over an extended period of time is that blood clots can form in your legs. This can happen during air travel as well, especially when sitting in cramped spaces with little leg room for more than eight hours. The medical term for this type of blood clot is deep-vein thrombosis or DVT.”

  “That’s why our pilots always wear compression suits,” Terry said, her eyes shooting daggers at Zachary Wallace. “Unfortunately, my husband was misled into believing this last dive would be relatively quick and easy.”

  Zach ignored the accusation. “Doc, if it was a blood clot that caused him tae black out, will it not jist dissolve on its own?”

  “Most do. However, a blood clot that forms in the deep veins of a person’s leg can detach and travel to their lungs, causing a pulmonary embolism. This can be life-threatening if not treated in time.

  “As a precautionary measure, I’m starting Jonas on a blood thinner. After the IV, he’ll take a pill a day for three months. We’ll do a full work-up when we get back to California. In the meantime, J.T., you’re grounded.” Dr. Goldman turned to Terry and Zach. “I mean it. No more submersible activities.”

  Terry nodded. “Jonas, did you hear Dr. Goldman?”

  Jonas closed his eyes, the elixir entering his bloodstream cooling off his fever, settling him into a deep sleep.

  Aboard the Tonga

  Amundsen Sea, West Antarctica

  The midnight sea, rendered olive-green by the sub’s night-vision glass, revealed an emp
tiness of liquid space that did not jive with the Manta’s sonar array. The creature was out there, biding its time, circling along the periphery, its presence unnerving.

  David knew the attack was coming, he just didn’t know the direction the charge would be coming from. Visibility was thirty feet at best, which meant the monster would be on him almost the moment he saw it.

  He turned to Kaylie, seated next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. “What do you think?”

  She looked at him, her complexion pale, her eyes cold. “Today you’ll die.”

  * * *

  “Ahhhhhh!”

  David shot up in bed, expelling a blood-curdling scream. Eyes wide, he flinched and screamed again as Jackie turned on the light.

  “David, it’s okay, it was just a dream. David, look at me!”

  He turned to her, his limbs shaking, his body bathed in a cold sweat. He attempted to speak, but couldn’t find his voice.

  Jackie brushed aside her strawberry-blond bangs and took his hand in hers. “You’re okay. Everything is going to be—”

  “I’m going to die today. March third. Today’s the day I die.”

  “It was a dream, David.”

  “No, it was real. Kaylie was in the Manta with me. She was pale as a ghost, her eyes lifeless. She told me today’s the day.”

  Jackie climbed out of bed, dressed only in David’s T-shirt. She walked to the porthole and pulled back the worn curtains to reveal the predawn sky. “Let’s get dressed and eat some breakfast, you’ll feel better.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Then let’s hit the gym, a workout will do us both some good.”

  “No.”