by John J. Rust
Gunderson handed Piet back the iPad. He checked the files. The expedition consisted of three scientists, a tech specialist, a ship’s crew of three, a photographer and a security specialist. Only three had prior military experience. Two were former U.S. Navy, one a boatswain’s mate, the other an engineer. Neither had probably fired a weapon since basic training. The third, Jack Rastun, could prove a problem. The man had been a U.S. Army Ranger with tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.
His attention turned to the two women in the expedition. One looked to be in her forties, but still fairly attractive. The other . . .
Piet grinned as he studied the woman’s smooth, round face framed by shoulder-length brown hair. Very beautiful. He ran a thumb over her picture, imagining all the things he could do to her.
He took a deep breath, trying to push aside his fantasy and focus on business.
“I’m going to need at least three more men.”
“That’s not a problem.”
“We’ll need weapons that are compact and easily concealable. SIG Sauer pistols and MP5 submachine guns will do nicely. I also want suppressors for them, along with body armor, tactical radios, burn phones, fake IDs and credit cards and one hundred-fifty thousand dollars cash for expenses.”
“Done.”
Piet suppressed a smile. This was what he liked about working for wealthy clients. They all had some peculiar hobby or interest and didn’t mind committing vast amounts of money and resources to satisfy them.
“You said the price is four million. What’s our bonus upon delivery?”
“It depends,” said Gunderson. “Should you deliver the creature alive, you will receive another four million dollars.”
“And if it’s not alive?” asked Piet.
“Then the bonus drops to five hundred thousand. A dead specimen is still valuable, but nowhere near as much compared to a live one.”
“What if the FUBI doesn’t find this beastie?”
“You’ll obviously receive no bonus, but you can keep the original four million for your troubles.”
Piet tapped a finger against the side of the iPad, considering the offer. A few seconds passed before he stretched out his hand. “You have yourself a deal, Mister Gunderson.”
They shook on it, then spent the next hour working out the details of the job. Piet felt good as he left the office. Even if the FUBI didn’t catch this sea monster and he lost out on the bonus, he’d still walk away with a shitload of money. How could he turn down a job like that?
Piet thought of the brown-haired beauty on the expedition. Whether the FUBI caught the monster or not, he would still get his bonus.
FOUR
Rastun gazed around the Point Pleasant Marina, taking in the rows of boats and jet skis and the blue ocean beyond them. He inhaled the cool salt air, memories resurfacing of trips with family and friends to the Jersey Shore. Relaxing on the beach, diving into the water, going on whale-watching tours, enjoying all the boardwalk had to offer.
You’re here on business, not pleasure.
Putting thoughts of warm sand and cheesesteak stands out of his head, Rastun closed his car door, picked up his duffle bag and made his way through the parking lot. The docks and shops were more crowded than he expected. Two boats left their slips and headed out to sea. More prepared to cast off. The deaths of Glenn Flynn and Sara Monaghan hadn’t hurt the tourist trade. It may have even caused an increase, with people hoping to catch a glimpse of the Point Pleasant Monster.
He passed a bait and tackle shop and noticed a pink flyer with a drawing of a fierce-looking plesiosaur. It read, “$500 cash and $500 worth of fishing supplies to anyone who photographs the Point Pleasant Monster. Image must be clear.”
Yeah, encourage people to go looking for this thing, why don’t you?
Rastun recalled the photos the Coast Guard took of the young couple’s boat after they found it. He hoped none of those curiosity seekers laid eyes on this monster. It could be the last thing they ever see.
He continued on, glancing at his reflection in the window. He was grateful to be out of the drab rent-a-cop outfit he'd worn at the zoo. Colonel Lipeli didn't mention anything about a standard uniform for field security specialists, so Rastun improvised. He wore Woodland BDU pants, a navy blue t-shirt with the FUBI logo and Corcoran paratrooper boots. Topping off his unofficial uniform were a pair of BTB-230 sunglasses and a ball cap with the emblem of the 75th Ranger Regiment.
It almost made him feel like a soldier again.
He walked past another store when a paunchy young man with curly black hair stepped out the door and into his path. Rastun skidded to a halt before they collided.
“Whoa!” blurted the young man. “Sorry, dude.”
Rastun nodded and waved for him to continue.
“Thanks.” The young man carried a cooler chest out the door, helped by a thin man with a scruffy beard. He nodded to Rastun, then focused on his t-shirt.
“Hey, you’re with the FUBI?”
“Yeah.”
“Dude, cool. Yo, Darrell, hold up. This guy’s with the FUBI.”
“No way.” Darrell set down the cooler and extended his hand. “Awesome to meet you, man. I’m Darrell Wasser and that’s my bud, Jerry Edler.”
“Jack Rastun.” He shook Wasser’s hand first, then Edler’s. He guessed them to be early-to-mid twenties.
“So what do you do?” asked Wasser.
“I’m a field security specialist.”
“Uh-huh.” Wasser looked at Rastun’s ball cap. “So, like, were you a soldier?”
“Army Ranger.”
“Did you fight in Iraq and Afghanistan?”
“Yeah.”
Wasser’s face lit up. “Cool.”
“No, it wasn’t cool. Trust me.”
“Oh. Uh . . .” Wasser looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Um, me and Darrell wanna work for the FUBI,” Edler chimed in. “We’re gonna get some video of the Point Pleasant Monster and put it up on YouTube. You think the FUBI’ll hire us if we do that?”
“That’s not a good idea, guys. That thing’s dangerous. It’s already killed two people. Best leave it to the professionals.”
“Aw, we’ll be careful,” said Edler. “No way can it outrun our boat.”
Rastun stared at the younger man in irritation. He couldn’t do anything to stop them from going out there. All he could do was give them sound advice, which apparently, they chose to ignore.
“It was cool meeting you, Mister Rastun.” Wasser gave him a small wave. “Maybe we’ll be working with you one day.”
I seriously doubt that.
The two amateur monster hunters grabbed the cooler and walked away.
“You guys be careful,” Rastun told them.
“Yeah, we will,” Edler answered in a tone that indicated the warning went in one ear and out the other.
Rastun continued along the docks and spotted an 80-foot Hatteras yacht with a curved bridge. The pennant fluttering in the breeze bore the logo of the FUBI. The name on the hull read Bold Fortune.
He strode up the gangplank, noticing three people standing near the bow. One was a bearded middle-aged man with sandals and a blindingly bright Hawaiian shirt. An overweight man with uncombed gray hair and a lean, dour woman with short auburn hair stood on either side of him.
“Excuse me.” Rastun walked over to them.
“Well.” The bearded man stepped forward. “Camouflage pants, stiff posture, no nonsense expression. You must be our photographer.”
Rastun couldn’t help but crack a smile. “No. I carry a gun, not a camera.” He set down his duffle bag and extended his hand. “Jack Rastun, field security specialist.”
“Randy Ehrenberg.” He gave Rastun a hearty handshake. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure's mine, sir. I've seen you on some Bigfoot documentaries.”
“Was that before or after Bigfoot was discovered?”
“Both.”
Ehrenb
erg beamed. “Ah! So you were one of the few who took me seriously before someone finally found it.”
Rastun chuckled. Ehrenberg certainly appeared the type who didn’t take himself too seriously.
He hoped that trait didn’t affect his ability to lead this expedition.
“Let me introduce you to the rest of our intrepid band.” Ehrenberg slapped him on the shoulder. Rastun already knew everyone on the expedition from the files provided to him by Colonel Lipeli. Still he let Ehrenberg do the introductions.
“This is Doctor Raleigh Pilka, our marine biologist.”
“Mister Rastun.” Pilka gave him a perfunctory shake of the hand.
“Doctor.” Rastun took note of Pilka’s ruddy complexion and veins on his nose, signs of years of hard drinking.
Is he still doing it or has he sobered up?
From the file Colonel Lipeli provided him, Pilka had been a big deal at a marine institute in Palm Beach until ten years ago. After that, he taught at a couple of community colleges in Virginia before coming to the FUBI. It sounded to Rastun like Pilka had lost his dream job and his life just fell apart.
Perhaps this expedition was Pilka’s second chance to get his career back on track.
When it appeared Pilka wouldn’t say another word, Ehrenberg steered him toward the woman. “And here we have my good friend Doctor Lauren Malakov, our animal behaviorist.”
“Ma’am.” Rastun stuck out his hand.
Malakov did not shake it. Instead she glared at him. “Don’t call me ma’am. My title is doctor.”
Rastun stifled a groan. “Fine. Doctor.” Again he stuck out his hand.
Again Malakov did not shake it.
“Oh, Lauren, come on,” Ehrenberg urged her. “We’re all on the same team here.”
“I don’t want him on this team, period.” Malakov turned back to Rastun, a harsh look on her face. “This is a scientific expedition. We are here to capture and study the Point Pleasant Monster, not kill it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am …I mean, doctor.”
Malakov’s face twisted in anger. “You better.”
“But just so you understand, as field security specialist, it’s my duty to ensure the safety of every member of this expedition. If that creature endangers anyone’s life, I will kill it.”
Malakov sucked in a sharp, angry breath. “Did you not hear what I said? You are not to kill this creature.”
“I understand our priority is to capture it alive, but it will not be done at the cost of someone’s life.”
“Get this through your thick, Neanderthal head!”
“Lauren, come on.”
She ignored Ehrenberg, thrusting a finger at Rastun’s face. “The Point Pleasant Monster is one of the most unique animals on the planet. If you kill it, if you so much as bruise it, I swear I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell.”
“How? By sending me back to Afghanistan?”
Malakov glowered at Rastun and stalked off.
“By the way, doctor?”
“What?” she yelled.
“About your Neanderthal comment.”
“Yes?”
“Just so you know, I graduated cum laude from Marshall University, and no, I didn’t cheat on my tests.” Rastun grinned. “Not bad for a Neanderthal, huh?”
Malakov bared her teeth, then stomped across the deck.
“I guess we’re not going to be best friends,” Rastun muttered.
“Sorry about that, Jack,” said Ehrenberg. “Lauren’s never been a fan of the military. But she really is a good person. I’m sure eventually she’ll warm up to you.”
“With all due respect, sir, I’m not going to hold my breath.”
“Well, we’ll see. C’mon, I’ll show you to your cabin.”
“Thank you, sir.” Rastun picked up his duffle bag.
Ehrenberg barked out a laugh. “Jack, I’ll tell you right now, I like being called ‘sir’ about as much as Lauren likes being called ‘ma’am.’”
“Sorry. Doctor, then?”
“How about Randy? That’s the name my parents gave me. Be a shame to see it go to waste.”
The request caused Rastun to slow his pace. Ever since his ROTC days, it had been drilled into him to call his superiors “sir.” As expedition head, Dr. Ehrenberg was, in effect, his superior officer. Calling him ‘Randy’ went against nearly ten years of indoctrination.
But if that’s what he wants . . .
“Okay. Randy it is.”
“Ah. There’s hope for you yet.”
Rastun grinned as Ehrenberg led him below deck. He scanned the bright white and gold ceiling, the teak cabinets, the leather sofas and the plush carpeting.
“Pretty luxurious for a research ship.”
“The FUBI actually got this at a government auction,” Ehrenberg explained. “It used to belong to some drug dealer until he got busted. The FUBI converted it into a research ship and left some of the amenities in. The galley and the master bathroom are the same as the day they got her. They did reduce the size of the master salon and the fly bridge social area to put in more equipment, storage space and sleeping quarters. Oh, and speaking of sleeping quarters, I hope you weren’t expecting a king-sized bed and a mini-bar. What we have here makes a college dorm room look like a studio apartment.”
“You know how many times I’ve slept in a tent or under a tree or against a rock? If I have a bed and a roof over it, I’m not going to complain.”
Ehrenberg led him to the aft compartment. He grabbed a door handle and slid it open. “Here you go.”
Rastun looked inside. “You weren’t kidding about the size, or lack thereof.”
The cabin had a bed and a trunk. That was it. Just past the bed was the door to a shared head with the cabin next door.
“I’ll let you get unpacked. As soon as everyone’s onboard and squared away, we’ll get together in the main salon and talk about our little cryptid hunt.”
With a parting smile, Ehrenberg turned and left.
Definitely the most unique boss I’ve ever had.
Rastun carried his duffle bag into the cabin. He’d put half of his clothing in the trunk when he heard a thump from the corridor. He stuck his head out the door.
A woman stood outside the cabin across from his, burdened by two travel bags and a wheeled travel case. She wore a t-shirt and shorts that showed off a slender frame and well-toned legs. Her face was smooth and round. Rastun guessed she was around his age. A black-green-brown tiger stripe boonie hat covered her light brown hair.
“Need any help, ma’am?” He straightened up and stepped into the corridor.
The woman swung around and gasped in surprise.
“Sorry.” Rastun raised both hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That’s okay. I didn’t realize anyone else was down here.” The woman adjusted the strap on her bag, a camera bag.
“You must be our photographer. Karen Thatcher, right?”
“That’s right.” She gave him a quick scan. “I take it from that outfit you’re our bodyguard.”
“Field security specialist. Jack Rastun.”
Karen adjusted the strap on her bag and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” She smiled, a very beautiful smile, Rastun noted.
“You need any help with your stuff?”
“Um …yeah, sure. Thank you.”
Rastun took the travel case and one of Karen’s bags and followed her into the cabin.
“I think you may have to leave some of your stuff outside,” he said. “It’s not like they gave us a lot of room here.”
“Yeah, it is kind of a tight fit.”
The point was emphasized when their shoulders lightly brushed together. It made Rastun tense for just a moment.
He put Karen’s luggage in the far corner of the room. She then handed him her camera bag.
“Careful with that.”
“What, you think I’m going to swing this around like Thor’s
hammer?”
Karen frowned. “Sorry. It’s just that my livelihood’s in that bag. I’m almost as protective of my camera equipment as I am of my daughter.”
Daughter? Rastun wondered if she was married. He found himself hoping that wasn’t the case. “How old is she?”
“Ten. She’s staying with my aunt and uncle in Tampa while I’m on this monster hunt.”
Rastun nodded. Aunt and uncle, not her father. Is he out of the picture?
He gently set the camera bag next to the travel case, then pointed his hand at it. “Careful enough for you?” He tacked on a grin.
Karen quietly chuckled. “Yes, it was. Thank you, General.”
“I actually retired as a captain. I did my work in the field, not from behind a desk.”
“Oh. Gotcha. Well, Captain, I assume your job is to keep that monster from eating all of us.”
“That’s what they’re paying me for.”
“In that case, can I make just one teensy request?”
“Sure.”
Karen slid a couple of inches closer to him, which put them nearly face-to-face. Rastun caught the sweet scent of suntan lotion coming from her. He felt a hitch in his breath.
“Before you blow this monster up, please let me snap a few pictures of it. I mean good ones, not those out-of-focus pieces of crap where all you see is some dark hump. When I shoot it, everyone’s gonna know it’s a sea monster and not a piece of driftwood.”
“Noted. If you want, I can get it in a headlock, then you can get some real good close-ups.”
Karen chuckled again. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Well, it was nice meeting you, ma’am.”
“Karen, please.”
“Karen. I’ll let you get stowed away.”
“Thanks. It was nice meeting you, too… General.” She gave him a wry grin.
Rastun responded with a short laugh. He took a quick, admiring glance at Karen’s legs before exiting her cabin.
This definitely beats being a security guard at a zoo.
FIVE
Whatever lavish furnishings the main salon of Bold Fortune once featured had been replaced by an oak conference table and a dozen black swivel chairs, all bolted to the deck. A plasma screen TV hung from the overhead. Rastun noticed someone had the foresight to set out water bottles in front of each seat.
