MEG: Nightstalkers

by Steve Alten

  “No! Terry, the Lio’s on the way. You need to get out of there.”

  “David’s sub is still suspended along the side of the trawler. I’m not going to allow that creature to grab it.”

  Zach tracked the Liopleurodon on sonar. “Terry, it’s moving along the sea floor, it’ll ascend directly beneath us.”

  Terry felt her Parkinson’s symptoms kick in, causing her right arm and quadriceps to shake uncontrollably.

  Jonas’s soothing voice reached out to her. “Terry, listen carefully. In thirty seconds you’re going to kill the Lio.”

  “How?”

  “Use the Valkyries. Aim for its neck.”

  Reaching for the makeshift power controls secured by duct tape by her left knee, Terry ignited the lasers, then accelerated toward the trawler, submerging beneath its keel.

  “Zach, start pinging.”

  * * *

  The Liopleurodon detected the reverberations, homing in on the irritating sounds.

  Terry descended the sub at a forty-degree angle, spiraling into the depths as she searched the olive-green sea for the monster.

  And then she saw it.

  Its jawline alone was thirty feet, its mouth filled with ten- to-twelve-inch dagger-like teeth, the largest of which jutted outside of its mouth. Its sheer mass was incredible—from its snout to the tip of its powerful stubby tail it was as long as a city block, propelled by forelimbs the size of a school bus—all wrapped around a lead-gray and white hide that partially morphed into the backdrop of the dark sea.

  Most frightening—it seemed to be hyperactive, its movements on overdrive as its crocodilian jaws snapped at their approaching submersible.

  “Terry, what are you doing?”

  She ignored Zach, closing the distance, her strategy based on her own frightful experience with Angel’s mother, a predator that had lived its entire existence in darkness.

  Not yet … not yet …

  Now!

  Flipping on her headlights, she blinded the charging pliosaur as she barrel-rolled away from its outstretched jaws and buried the Manta’s bow just above the Liopleurodon’s chest cavity, the twin lasers burning matching holes three feet deep into the creature’s hide.

  Blood spurted across the sub’s cockpit glass as the insane beast whipped its upper torso to and fro until it finally tossed the Manta free.

  Mortally wounded, the animal sank toward the sea floor, writhing in pain.

  * * *

  The captain of the McFarland reversed the hopper-dredge’s engines, preventing the ship from getting too close to the Tonga.

  Using his night-vision binoculars, Jonas searched the trawler, locating the damaged Manta. Sealed from the inside, the cockpit was being manually opened using a hydraulic device.

  Scanning the crew, he saw a familiar face.

  “Captain, I need to reach Mac.”

  The captain nodded to his first officer, who hustled over to the ship’s radio controls.

  The Manta-Three surfaced and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Jonas, something’s approaching on sonar … I think it’s the Lio’s young.”

  “Where is it? How deep?”

  “Sixty feet. It’ll be passing beneath our starboard bow in sixty seconds.”

  “Captain, is the hopper still drained?”

  “Yes.”

  “Open the hopper doors on my command.”

  The first officer waved to Jonas. “I have Mr. Mackreides on the line.”

  Jonas took the headset. “Mac, contact your nephew, Monty. I need to know if David is … if he’s okay.”

  “Stand by.”

  Jonas focused the night glasses on the Manta as the cockpit glass was pried open, allowing a medic and two crewmen inside the sub.

  Jason Montgomery hovered nearby. Jonas watched as the war vet answered his iPhone to read the incoming text.

  Monty turned toward the McFarland.

  A moment later he made the thumbs-up sign as David was helped out of the sub, his black compression suit covered in white powder.

  Mac’s voice came over the headset. “David’s a bit shaken up, but Monty says he’s fine. The air bag apparently went off, knocking him out.”

  Jonas bit his lower lip, wiping tears from his eyes. “Thank you, Mac. Stand by please. Sonar, where’s Junior?”

  “Passing beneath the stern … now.”

  “Captain, open the hopper doors.”

  * * *

  Situated within the keel, the hinged steel doors of the empty hopper unbolted, the force of the sea driving them inward. Within seconds the vacuous pressure differential sucked several hundred thousand gallons of salt water into the hold—the eight-foot baby Liopleurodon along with it.

  31

  Aboard the Hopper-Dredge McFarland

  Amundsen Sea, Antarctica

  Dr. Goldman finished examining David Taylor. “A mild concussion, other than that no other physical trauma to report. How do you feel?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “You look exhausted,” Terry said. “Are you still having those terrible nightmares?”

  “No, I’m good,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

  Terry glanced at Jonas, urging him on.

  “Listen, David, I know you needed to get away from things for a while, but your mother and I … well, we’re here to help if you let us. The Liopleurodon is dead. That alone should start making things a little easier on you. The question is—where do you want to be? Sure, the Crown Prince has an incredible facility, but do you really want to live in Dubai?”

  “Dubai’s beautiful. Plus they have one of Angel’s pups. She’s getting huge.”

  “Is that what you want to do, David?” Terry asked. “Work with Megalodons?”

  “I don’t know. Let me process things. What time is the pow-wow with bin Rashidi?”

  “Eleven o’clock.” Jonas checked his watch. “I’ve got a few things to do before then. By the way, I met your friend.”

  “Monty?”

  “Jackie. She’s very knowledgeable. If we end up keeping the baby Lio, I may hire her to be its trainer.”

  “Wait, Dad … I thought this morning’s meeting was about selling Lio Junior to the Crown Prince?”

  Jonas kissed his son on the forehead as he stood to leave. “I’m still processing things.”

  Aboard the Tonga

  Whomp!

  Fiesal bin Rashidi stood on the metal catwalk next to Jacqueline Buchwald, gripping the rail as he gazed three stories below. The immense storage tank ran the length of the ship like a rectangular lake, its fifteen million gallons of sea water divided in half by a three-inch-thick rubber-coated steel gate. The Miocene whale occupied the forward holding area.

  As they watched, a dark wake rolled from the bow toward the stern.…

  Whomp!

  The gate shook, the impact of the whale’s enormous head upon the steel divider reverberating through the guard rail.

  Jackie smiled. “I guess he wants the whole tank.”

  “Do you find this humorous, Miss Buchwald? Because let me assure you that I do not. I did not spend millions of dollars and six long months at sea to capture a whale.”

  “This isn’t just a whale, sir. Livyatan melvillei was a prehistoric sperm whale. Megalodon and melvillei were the two dominant predators during the Miocene era. This creature’s teeth are actually bigger than a Meg’s, its jaws and bite just as powerful. It’s longer and heavier than Angel was, and I doubt there’s ever been a bigger Megalodon on the planet. The whale would be an incredible addition to the Crown Prince’s aquarium.”

  “I think you’ve been at sea too long, Miss Buchwald. Besides the fact that this monster would probably destroy its own tank, we are simply not equipped to deal with a mammal of this size. All our aquariums are indoor facilities. This creature requires an outdoor venue.”

  “Can’t your cousin build him one?”

  “And what happens when it dies? All our specimens are female, capable o
f internal fertilization. You know firsthand that we’ve been storing eggs to maintain our stock. This menace is a male. This creature is not worth the investment.”

  “Then offer it to Jonas Taylor in exchange for the Lio offspring. The Tanaka Lagoon would be perfect for it.”

  Bin Rashidi turned to her, his unibrow furrowed. “You think this thought has not occurred to me?”

  Whomp!

  “The helicopter will transport us over to the McFarland in ten minutes. Examine the Lio; make sure it is not injured.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  Whomp …

  Six hundred and seventy feet beneath the Tonga’s keel, the Liopleurodon lay on its back in a catatonic state, gasping short swallows of sea water. Each inhalation produced soft oxygen-yielding ripples across its gill slits and searing white-hot pain through the damaged nerves in its neck and chest. A burnt scent filled its nasal cavity; fever racked its blood vessels.

  The Manta’s lasers had melted its hide clear down to its chest cavity, stopping just short of its closest vital organ while cauterizing the wound. The injured creature was in too much agony to use its forelimbs, let alone right itself to swim. And so it remained on its back, paralyzed by the pain, the frigid Antarctic water gradually soothing the damaged tissue.

  Aboard the Hopper-Dredge McFarland

  Fiesal bin Rashidi, Commander Molony, and Jacqueline Buchwald sat on one side of the conference room table, Jonas, Terry, and Monty across from them. Out of respect, David sat at the head of the table in neutral territory.

  Bin Rashidi forced a smile. “So, Mrs. Taylor, was it really necessary to kill my creature?”

  “Yes. And I don’t recall seeing a name tag on the animal.”

  The smile faded. “Six months my crew and I have been at sea in pursuit of the Lio, the last two weeks in this icebox. My cousin hired your son at his own request and paid him like royalty. Knowing all this you still chose to interfere with our mission just to stock your own facility!”

  Terry became livid. “What nerve you have! For your information, we were never after your monster. We were tracking the whale.”

  Jackie whispered to her boss. “There’s a tracking device on the whale’s head, three feet below the blowhole.”

  “The Miocene whale … where did it come from?” David asked, the question directed at his parents.

  “We don’t know,” Jonas replied. “There were a few documented sightings … we got a tip.”

  “Then this is a fortunate day for you,” said Fiesal bin Rashidi. “We shall trade the whale for the Liopleurodon’s offspring. The McFarland shall go to Dubai, the Tonga to California.”

  “And my son?” Jonas asked. “Where will he go?”

  “Wherever he wishes, of course.”

  “Dad, I’m not a bargaining chip.”

  “I know. I just don’t wish my legacy to be your nightmare. While you were away, your mother and I agreed to sell the institute. You and your sister will split our share of the proceeds.”

  Bin Rashidi’s eyes widened. “Who are you selling the facility to?”

  “At this point I’m not really sure. We have an offer on the table from Agricola Industries, but it’s predicated on recapturing Bela and Lizzy. However, having secured the juvenile Lio—”

  “Sign nothing,” bin Rashidi interrupted. “Whatever Agricola Industries offered, my cousin and I shall best it.”

  “You want to buy the Tanaka Institute?” David asked.

  “Of course. There are two Disney locations in America, plus facilities in Paris, Hong Kong, and Japan. With aquariums, there are strategic advantages in owning multiple facilities. We could use the lagoon to house the whale and the Meg Pen to hold the Liopleurodon until it grew too large. By that time the whale most likely will have died, but our Megalodon back in Dubai would be ready to give birth, in which case the adult Lio would take over the lagoon and we’d ship a Meg pup to California. Whatever the case, multiple facilities and a successful breeding program affords us many options.”

  Bin Rashidi turned to David. “I’m sure your parents and I would be willing to structure the deal so that you were one of the institute’s owners.”

  David looked around the table, all eyes on him. “How long will it take us to get the Lio and the whale back to Monterey?”

  “It depends on the Tonga.” Jonas said.

  Fiesal bin Rashidi calculated in his head. “Eight days. Possibly less.”

  “Dad, is that enough time for Mac to fix the Lexan panel that Bela cracked in the Meg Pen?”

  “It’s already been repaired. We also installed electrical sensors to prevent any wildlife from charging the glass again.”

  David tapped his fingers on the tabletop, a life-changing moment staring him in the face. He looked at Jackie. “Want a job in California?”

  “With you as my boss? That depends. Does it involve copiloting a submersible?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Where would we live?”

  David turned to his parents, grinning from ear to ear. “Lock it down.”

  32

  Ten days.

  Three ships.

  Two monsters.

  And the reality show film crew covered nearly every moment of the return trip on tape. From the negotiations of the sale of the Tanaka Institute, to a rogue wave in the Drake Passage that nearly capsized the trawler, to the daily feedings that drove the weekly ratings through the roof and spurred animal rights protesters across the globe.

  What does an eight-foot, two-hundred-and-sixty-pound Liopleurodon eat?

  A thirty-hour stopover at Grytviken Island stocked the McFarland with king penguins, fur seals, and elephant seals, the meat frozen in walk-in freezers.

  What does an eighty-foot, two-hundred-thousand-pound Miocene sperm whale eat?

  An adult minke will quench the appetite of a full-grown Livyatan melvillei for two to three days, a humpback twice that time period—if you can keep the blubber from going rancid.

  Of course, audiences tuning in to the reality show never saw the trawler’s crewmen netting these sacrificial mammals, nor did they watch the meat being filleted in much the same way Grytviken’s whaling community did over seventy-five years ago.

  By dawn of day eleven the three ships, crews and two monsters were located ninety miles south of Baja, California, steaming up the coast—unaware that an even larger creature was hitching a ride in the Tonga’s displacement current, its wound healed, its senses attuned to its captive offspring sealed within the McFarland’s steel hopper.

  Flora Islet, Georgia Strait

  Salish Sea, British Columbia

  Situated off the eastern tip of Hornby Island, Flora Islet was a moonscape of bare rock inhabited by hundreds of sea elephants and seals. The mammals barked and belched and dove in and out of the sea, but none would venture far from land.

  The captain of the hopper-dredge Marieke positioned his ship to the north of the landmass, then powered off his engines as instructed.

  Out on the main deck, Paul Agricola sat on a bench by the empty hopper as his engineer, Michael Tvrdik, used the starboard winch to lower the remotely-controlled Sea Bat into the emerald-green water. Sunset was thirty minutes away, but the skies were overcast and the sisters were never timid about making a daytime appearance.

  Opening his briefcase, Paul powered up the drone’s remote control console—a laptop with two small joysticks.

  The engineer waved from the winch. “You’re good to go.”

  Paul activated the drone’s exterior camera, then pushed down on the right joystick as he accelerated with the left, sending the Sea Bat into a steep dive along the vertical rock face.

  The monitor revealed a dazzling array of life attached to the volcanic rock. Purple and yellow sponges and pink algae were adhered to the wall, along with bright green sea urchins and orange coral.

  Mike Tvrdik joined him, a walkie-talkie attached to his belt. “The captain’s standing by at the hoppe
r door controls. You sure you brought enough phenobarbital on board to handle these monsters?”

  “We’re good.”

  The engineer watched as the laptop’s depth gauge dropped below seventy meters. “You’re halfway to the bottom. Where are your sharks?”

  “Watch and learn, my friend.” Paul hit CONTROL and S on his keypad, engaging the Sea Bat’s sonar array.

  The screen split, the video camera’s images now limited to the left half of the monitor, the drone’s sonar array to the right. Small objects appeared on screen, the fish finder identifying each species.

  “Rockfish and greenlings, looks like a few longfin sculpins and a bunch of lion’s mane jellyfish. Let’s see if we can’t lure something a tad larger up from the depths.”

  Paul engaged the drone’s autopilot, dialing up a figure-eight holding pattern.

  “Thirty-five years ago we dropped the Sea Bat into the Mariana Trench just above the hydrothermal plume. We were pinging the bottom, taking readings when a forty-eight-foot Meg showed up.”

  “The shark that attacked Jonas Taylor?”

  “I had no idea the navy was conducting secret dives into the trench; Taylor was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It took me a long time to realize it was the frequency of the Sea Bat’s sonar array, combined with the drone’s metal skin that rendered it a Megalodon lure.” Paul pointed to the screen. “And what do we have here?”

  A life form measuring 2.45 meters appeared on screen, circling the Sea Bat from below.

  “The fish finder identifies it as a great white, but you can bet the farm it’s one of the pups. Now watch what happens when I go after it.”

  Switching his controls from remote to manual, Paul dove the drone at the eight-foot object, chasing it off to the east.

  A moment later a blinking red object appeared on the monitor—a much larger object, listed at 14.32 meters—slightly smaller than an eighteen-wheeler.

  “And the first sister has arrived; let’s see who it is.” Paul zoomed in with the drone’s camera as the life form rose silently from the depths, a dark caudal fin appearing on screen.

  “Good evening, Bela. Want to go for a ride?” Pulling back on the right joystick, Paul sent the Sea Bat on a steep ascent straight up the rock face—as a second blinking red object appeared on the edge of the screen, moving in from the south on an intercept course.