MEG: Nightstalkers

by Steve Alten

  “Good evening, Lizzy. Catch me if you can.” Paul accelerated, forcing the albino Megalodon to alter its angle of pursuit.

  “Fifty meters to the surface … Michael, get the captain on your walkie-talkie, tell him to stand by to open the hopper doors.”

  Swooping in behind the drone, Lizzy’s snow-white face bloomed on the laptop’s screen, forcing Paul to increase the drone’s speed.

  “Damn, she’s fast. Twenty meters—get ready, Michael. Not yet … not yet … now!”

  “Captain, open the doors.”

  The ship shuddered as a geyser of seawater erupted behind the two men, propelling the Sea Bat up through the flooding hopper and sixty feet into the air, the stunned Megalodon with it.

  “Close doors!”

  The forty-six-foot-long shark fell back into the overflowing hopper, sending a ten-foot swell rolling over the sides of the tub in all directions.

  Seeing the wave, Michael Tvrdik grabbed his boss and held on to the deck-mounted bench as the swell swept over them, blotting out the sky. A long muted moment passed before the wave retreated over the sides of the ship, leaving both men soaked and shivering.

  Paul staggered to the hopper’s rail and looked down. “Holy shit, it actually worked.”

  The albino shark was swimming in tight circles in forty feet of water, searching for an exit.

  Whomp.

  The ship shuddered as Bela struck the Marieke’s keel.

  Whomp.

  Lizzy pounded the hopper’s sealed doors.

  “Michael quickly, help me with the phenobarbital.”

  The two men stumbled and slid across the wet deck to where four fifty gallon drums of phenobarbital—a central nerve suppressant—was lined up next to a generator and pump. Tvrdik powered up the machinery while Paul dragged a seventy-foot hose over to the hopper and began spraying the liquid elixir into the Olympic-size tub.

  Spotting the human, Lizzy circled the tank, then leaped at Paul, who dropped the hose into the hopper and ran.

  Over the next chaotic minutes the captured Meg slapped its half-moon-shaped caudal fin against the sides of the hopper in protest. Paul waited her tantrum out, starting a second fifty-gallon barrel. He drained three-quarters of the container before the shark settled down.

  Shivering in the cold dusk, Paul and his engineer crept over to the hopper and looked down.

  Lizzy was underwater, barely moving. Her remaining functional eye was rolled back in her head, revealing a bloodshot membrane.

  “She’s out. Have the captain start the dredgers.”

  The two massive suction pipes trailing along either side of the ship jumped to life, pumping a river of water into the front of the hopper, providing a steady current for the Meg to breathe.

  After a moment Lizzy’s gills began to flutter as seawater passed down her gullet.

  Paul slapped his engineer across his back. “What’d I tell you? Am I good or am I good?”

  Whomp.

  “What about the other sister?”

  “That’s the best part. Bela will follow us all the way down the coast to Monterey.”

  Grabbing Tvrdik’s walkie-talkie, Paul contacted the bridge. “Captain, take us out of the Salish Sea, next stop—the Tanaka Intstitute.”

  PART FOUR

  TANAKA INSTITUTE

  33

  Tanaka Oceanographic Institute

  Monterey, California

  They had begun arriving at noon when the box offices had opened, general admission arena tickets selling for one hundred dollars a seat, the Meg Pen galley for twice that much. Although the schedule was subject to change, the McFarland was expected at seven-thirty p.m., the Tonga an hour later—all of which left plenty of time for tailgating.

  The new owners arrived by four p.m., the Crown Prince on his private jet, Fiesal bin Rashidi by helicopter, the latter accompanied by his marine biologist, Jacqueline Buchwald, who was tasked with making sure the Meg Pen’s water temperatures and salinity were suitable for the juvenile Liopleurodon.

  David Taylor, a minority shareholder, remained on board the McFarland with his parents to prepare to move the Lio pup.

  * * *

  Zachary Wallace found David eating in the McFarland’s galley with his friend, Jason Montgomery. Grabbing a turkey sandwich and a bottled water from the buffet table, he approached the two young men.

  “Mind if I join ye?”

  David motioned to an empty chair, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. “Anything for the guy who saved my life.”

  “And how did I do that?”

  “My father told me it was you who insisted the Mantas be equipped with air bags. Something about seeing me die in a recurring dream.”

  “Something like that. What’s with the sunglasses? Are ye making a fashion statement for yer fans on the reality show?”

  “Just a little tired.”

  “I had lots of recurring dreams after my head was nearly blown off in the war,” said Monty, spraying particles of his bologna sandwich. “I kept waking up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder—just like this one did last night.”

  “David, ye’re still having night terrors?”

  “Not really. Maybe one or two since we left Antarctica.”

  Monty held up seven fingers.

  “Seven night terrors?”

  “I’m sure it’ll pass, now that the Lio’s dead.”

  Zach looked worried.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Ye’re right, I’m sure it’ll pass. Just out of curiosity, were these all the same dream?”

  “It was confusing, but they all took place at the institute. The Lio was there, but so was Bela—it didn’t make much sense.”

  “And where were you?”

  “In the Manta, trying to save my shark.”

  “Ye say that as if that monster was yer pet.”

  David removed his sunglasses, revealing dark circles under his eyes. “For the record, I took care of the sisters from the day they were born. I fed them every day after school and on weekends. I even trained them to respond to hand signals. They’re not monsters.”

  “Yeah, they are,” Monty said with a belch, “only they’re your monsters. You’re like the owner of a pair of pit bulls that keep escaping the yard to attack the neighbors. You’ll keep defending them right up until the day they eat a member of the fam.”

  “Every year twenty-five million people die from contaminated water. How many people get eaten every year?”

  Monty shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. “In your neighborhood, it’s an epidemic.”

  * * *

  With two captured sea creatures en route, James Mackreides was expecting trouble. Security had been doubled, with Secret Service agents staked out on the floors housing the luxury suites occupied by the Crown Prince and his guests. The media were cordoned off from the main deck by barriers, the police armed with tasers and pepper spray.

  On paper, the plan was relatively simple. Upon its arrival, the McFarland would sail through the open gates of the canal into the lagoon. A crane was positioned on the expanse of deck separating the lagoon from the Meg Pen’s tank and would be used to transport the baby Lio from the hopper to its new home. The McFarland would exit, the gates sealed in anticipation of the arrival of the Tonga.

  The Miocene whale would be sedated an hour before it would be moved. Netting the beast inside its holding pen presented a few challenges; once completed, the tanker’s crane would swing the whale over the sealed gate into the canal. Before being released, an organic stimulant would be administered into its gullet using a water cannon, insuring the mammal was sufficiently awake to swim on its own.

  Late afternoon quickly turned into evening, accompanied by a gusting winter’s wind which whistled through the canal, forcing those attendees who were not sufficiently inebriated to bundle up.

  By six thirty, Mac and his assistant, Bradley Watson, found themselves standing by the crane’s cab watching the arena�
�s two new Fan-Visions. Located above the western bleachers on either side of the canal the two giant screens had been purchased by the Crown Prince and rushed into delivery.

  As they watched the last episode of the Dubai Aquarium’s reality show playing on screen, the broadcast was interrupted by a live shot of the McFarland, the hopper-dredge passing the Tanaka Pier half a mile to the south.

  A collective cheer rose from the crowd.

  A moment later, Mac’s iPhone reverberated in his pocket. “Jonas, you’re early.”

  “The canal’s a tight squeeze, figured it’d be easier with the sun still up. You all set?”

  Bradley Watson nodded to Mac, climbing into the crane’s cab.

  “We’re good to go here. Bring the little gal in.”

  * * *

  Jonas and Terry stood in the McFarland’s bridge, the arena filling the starboard bay windows. Three Coast Guard vessels had joined them in San Diego, escorting them up the California coast. The captain and his executive officer, Leslie Manuel, had lookouts posted in the bow, not so much to guide them in—the ship’s GPS could handle that—but to make sure there were no telltale air bubbles from divers looking to sabotage the voyage.

  Terry squeezed her husband’s hand. “Thank you. I know giving all this up wasn’t easy.”

  “After what the sisters and that whale put me through over these last few months, it was actually quite easy.”

  The captain checked the alignment of the McFarland’s bow with the center of the canal a fourth time. “Jonas, we’re set.”

  “Take us in, skipper. Ms. Manuel, what’s the Tonga’s ETA?”

  “Eighty-two minutes. Their captain will begin braking procedures at seven twenty.”

  “Very good. Terry, I’m heading down to the hopper to help David, want to join us?”

  “It’s too cold and windy; you know Northern California winters never agreed with me.”

  “Maybe we can find a nice condo in San Diego?”

  “Actually, I prefer Boca Raton.”

  * * *

  The crowd stood on its feet and cheered as the McFarland moved through the canal. Entering the lagoon, it turned right, following the man-made waterway in a long counterclockwise loop so that its starboard flank would align with the Meg Pen and the crane.

  The presence of the cargo net at the edge of the McFarland’s hopper agitated the Liopleurodon pup. Swimming in tight circles, it kept to the far end of the tub—exactly as David had anticipated.

  He waved to his father, then spoke into his radio. “Start the winch.”

  Anchored at the far end of the hopper, the portable winch began gathering up the cargo net, sweeping up the baby Lio in its grasp. Two members of the crew quickly fastened loops situated along the open end of the net to a hook attached by steel cable to the institute’s crane.

  David spoke into his radio. “She’s all yours, Mac.”

  “Roger that, Mr. Taylor. We’ll try not to drop her.”

  The image of the baby Liopleurodon within the net appeared on both big screens. The creature was hoisted above the deck of the McFarland and gently lowered into the pristine waters of the Meg Pen.

  The applauding crowd watched the big screens as the image changed to an underwater view taken from inside the gallery.

  Ten minutes later Jonas, Terry, and David exited the McFarland to their own standing ovation. Zachary and Monty were the last ones to disembark.

  Retracting its gangway, the rusty ship made its way out of the canal into the Pacific. Heading south, it anchored at the Tanaka Pier half a mile away.

  Mac joined his best friend by the Meg Pen rail, where they watched the Lio circle its new home. “The monies were wired last night from Dubai; we’re officially unemployed.”

  “Thank God.” Jonas pointed to the taser hanging from Mac’s belt. “Since when do you carry a weapon?”

  “Some tree-hugging, slug-loving jackass shot holes in my tires this morning using a nail gun. A note was left on my windshield about cruelty to animals. If I catch the sonuva bitch—”

  “Dad!”

  Jonas turned, shocked to find another hopper-dredge entering the facility through the canal. “What the hell is this?”

  Believing the Miocene whale had arrived, the crowd rose to its feet.

  “Mac, I know that ship; it belongs to Paul Agricola.”

  “Jesus, you don’t think…”

  “Dad, what’s going on?”

  The Marieke entered the lagoon, its bow stopping ten feet from where they were standing. Paul Agricola emerged on deck, holding a bullhorn. “Good evening, Jonas. As promised, I’ve fulfilled my end of our arrangement. All I need is your wiring instructions for the down payment and I’ll officially take ownership of the institute.”

  “Dad, what’s he talking about?”

  Jonas was about to respond when a huge roar filled the arena. With the Marieke blocking their view, he had to cross the deck to see the nearest video screen.

  The FanVision showed an immense shark with a telltale snowy-white head and six-foot-tall black dorsal fin moving slowly through the canal. The moment it entered the lagoon the crowd began chanting, “Bel-la … Bel-la … Bel-la!”

  The Meg’s white head surfaced to spy-hop, Bela’s hazy-blue left eye staring at David.

  “Good God, look at her, Jonas,” Mac said. “She must have gained three tons over the last two months.”

  Terry shook her head. “Just remember some of those calories came from people.”

  Paul called down to them from the hopper’s port rail four stories overhead. “I’ve got another Meg inside the hopper who’s anxious to be reunited with her sister. Come aboard and we’ll sign the papers.”

  Mac pulled Jonas aside. “We got a real problem here. Even if we refuse to sign, by accepting delivery of the Megs we may legally be forced into completing Agricola’s deal.”

  “We’re not accepting anything.”

  Mac’s iPhone buzzed, the caller ID recognizing his wife’s number. “Trish, I’m really busy—”

  “Mac, wait! I’m seated in the west bleachers with my sister. Something massive just entered the canal.”

  “We know, hon. It was Bela.”

  “I can see Bela! Mac, I think it was the Lio.”

  * * *

  The Liopleurodon moved warily along the bottom of the canal. As it entered the lagoon its olfactory senses detected the lingering scent of the Megalodon that had nearly ended its life in the Philippine Sea, along with the familiar smells and vibrations of its young filtering out into the lagoon.

  As it homed in on the Meg Pen, the creature sensed the presence of another Megalodon.

  Bela’s back arched as she sized up the threat. At just over forty-six feet and close to twenty-five tons the Meg was still only a third the Lio’s size and a quarter its weight—no match for the massive pliosaur.

  Sensing the Megalodon was just a young adult, the Liopleurodon ignored Bela to address the real threat to its offspring—the hopper-dredge. Picking up speed, the creature charged the ship—her presence chasing Bela out from beneath the keel and into the middle of the lagoon.

  The pliosaur’s tail struck the Marieke along its starboard flank. It was a glancing blow, a test to evaluate the unknown animal poised between itself and its newborn.

  Bela interpreted the Lio’s actions as an attack on her captive sibling. Like a hungry tigress enticed by a competitor’s kill, she swam back and forth with quick, rigid strokes of her caudal fin, growing more agitated as the Lio circled the northern end of the lagoon.

  With a sudden burst the Megalodon attacked, her outstretched jaws barely wide enough to latch onto the pliosaur’s thick muscular tail.

  The confrontation was more of an annoyance than a threat. The Lio shook the dark-backed Megalodon loose, then spun around and punctured the shark’s left pectoral fin with her fang-filled mouth, drawing blood.

  Bela twisted in pain, snapping at its enemy’s nearest body part—the pliosaur’s left g
ill slits.

  Forced to release Bela’s pectoral fin, the Liopleurodon chased the Meg clear across the lagoon before turning back to relocate her young.

  The energized crowd loved it. Dozens of inebriated patrons rushed to the lagoon’s rail to snap a selfie with their iPhones of the historical death match, only to be chased back by the police.

  Jonas, Terry, Mac, and Zachary Wallace huddled by the Meg Pen’s rail, joined by Bradley Watson, the crane operator out of breath. “Hendricks sealed the canal doors, but I don’t think they’ll stop a monster that size. We might be able to brace the gate from the outside using the McFarland.”

  “Good idea,” Jonas said. “Mac, contact the captain—”

  “Maybe we ought to ask the new owners—here comes one of them now.”

  Fiesal bin Rashidi and a small entourage of armed bodyguards exited to the main deck from an interior stairwell.

  “Jonas Taylor, this is incredible—how did you manage it?”

  “I had nothing to do with it. As far as I knew the Lio was dead.”

  Terry looked for her son. She found David standing by the lagoon’s rail, staring at the dark dorsal fin which was now fleeing across the lagoon, chased by a seven-foot wake. “Bela won’t last long.”

  “We do not care about Bela,” bin Rashidi stated. “The only thing that concerns us is the Liopleurodon.”

  “I care about Bela,” David said, approaching the group. “Fiesal, we need to open the gate and let her out.”

  “Unfortunately, that is far too risky. We could lose the Lio.”

  “As long as we have the baby, the Lio’s not going anywhere,” Jonas said. “Bradley, have Hendricks open the gate.”

  “No! Mr. Watson, the Taylor family no longer owns this facility—I do. Do not open that gate or you’ll find yourself looking for employment.”

  Another roar went up from the crowd, this one more of a collective gasp as the Liopleurodon breached—Bela caught within its jaws! The Meg thrashed wildly, and then both monsters fell sideways back into the water, their splash creating a two-story-high wake that rippled outward before rolling over the lagoon wall to soak the patrons sitting in the first four rows.