by John J. Rust
Malakov sat at the far end of the table, taking a sip of water. The moment she saw him, she glared at him.
Rastun ignored her and looked at the others already seated. Three were men he hadn’t met yet, two middle-aged with beards and paunches, the third young and thin. Bold Fortune’s crew.
He also saw Karen, the chairs on either side of her unoccupied. He took the one on her right.
“Hey.” Karen flashed him a grin.
“Hi.” Rastun nodded. Before he could say anything else, someone called out, “Hey, Army!”
He looked down the table at the bigger of the bearded men. “The name’s Rastun, actually. Sam Keller, right?”
“Captain Sam Keller. So what’s the FUBI doing bringing a grunt to sea?”
“I’m here to make sure the Point Pleasant Monster doesn’t get you. With all that meat on you, you’d make one hell of a meal for it.”
Keller barked out a laugh. So did the other bearded man, who sported tattoos up and down his arms. Rastun recognized Nick Tamburro, the boat’s engineer, from the photo in his personnel file.
“I’m touched by your concern.” Keller put a hand over his heart. “Let me return the favor. There’s a whole bunch of sea sickness pills in the medical locker. Why don’t I grab you a bottle? I know you grunts aren’t used to being on boats.”
“I’ve been bounced around on C-130s that are older than me. If I didn’t lose my lunch there, I’ll be fine here.”
Keller reached into his pants pocket and got his wallet. He pulled out a bill. “Twenty bucks says first sign of rough seas, you’re upchucking over the railing.”
Rastun tapped a finger on the table, thinking it over. “Well, I do need a new Phillies ball cap. You’re on.”
“Easy money, Sam.” Tamburro smiled and nudged Keller.
“Macho bullshit,” Malakov grumbled.
Rastun smiled at her. Malakov’s face turned crimson.
“What’s up with them calling you grunt?” Karen asked, keeping her voice low so Keller and Tamburro couldn’t hear. “That sounds kinda nasty.”
“It’s just slang for a foot soldier. Trust me, I’ve been called worse.”
“Oh.” Karen paused for a few moments. “So how long were you in the Army?”
“Six years. One with the Eighty-Second Airborne, five with the Rangers.”
“So you were over there?” She nodded to the east.
“Yup.”
“Uh-huh. Um, it looks like you made it out of there okay.”
“Yeah, I did.” He stopped himself from saying, “A lot of people I knew didn’t.”
“So, how long have you been with the FUBI?” Rastun tried to change the subject.
“I just started. I’ve pretty much done freelance work the past few years. National Geographic, Smithsonian, National Wildlife. I made a decent living, but I figured it was time for something more stable. And let’s face it. What photographer would turn down the chance to shoot the sort of creatures the FUBI looks for?”
Rastun had to admit, the prospect of finding previously undocumented creatures was exciting. Animals like lions, gorillas and tigers had been studied in great detail. What could they learn if they discovered sea monsters, dinosaurs and more sci-fi type creatures such as the Chupacabra or the Beast of Bray Road?
“Okay, people!”
Rastun turned around to see Ehrenberg entering the salon, followed by Pilka and a chubby, bespectacled man. Charlie Montebello, their underwater systems tech.
“Let’s get through the gabfest and go find ourselves a cryptid.”
Rastun was a bit surprised by Ehrenberg’s cavalier manner. He’d never been part of a briefing that started off in such a way. Again it made him wonder about the cryptozoologist’s leadership abilities.
Montebello sat in the chair to Rastun’s right. Pilka stood at the far right corner of the table, staring intently at something. Rastun followed the man’s gaze . . .
To Karen. Her expression hardened. She took a deep breath, regaining her composure.
Pilka briefly scowled and settled into a chair.
I wonder what that’s about.
Before Rastun could dwell on it, Ehrenberg clasped his hands together. “Well, since we’re all going to be working very closely for a while, I think we should start off by introducing ourselves.”
The group went around the table, stating their names and their assignments.
“Okay, now we’ll see how long it takes to forget everyone’s names.”
A few people chuckled at Ehrenberg’s joke. Rastun, himself, grinned.
“All right, first we’re going to give some theories on what this cryptid might be, then go over our strategy for finding it. If anyone has any questions, suggestions or anything else to offer, don’t be shy. And if you have to go to the bathroom, well, we’re all adults here. Just get up and go.”
Another smattering of laughs.
“I think most of you have seen this video already.” Ehrenberg tapped on his laptop. “But in case you haven’t, this is the reason we’re all here.”
The plasma TV switched on. It showed the video from Sara Monaghan’s phone, which caught a glimpse of the cryptid before falling to the deck and blacking out. Rastun gritted his teeth, imagining what followed. He prayed it had been quick.
He glanced around the table to see how the others reacted. Pilka, Malakov, Keller and Tamburro looked impassive. Karen and Ehrenberg closed their eyes, sympathy on their faces. Montebello and Bold Fortune’s first mate, Manny Hernandez, grimaced and turned away from the screen.
“This is how we start out this expedition,” Ehrenberg said in the most serious tone Rastun had heard from him. “With two dead kids. This isn’t going to be like looking for more Sasquatch or some lake monster, trying to find it for the sake of finding it. We need to locate this creature before it kills again.”
He turned to Pilka. “Raleigh, your thoughts.”
“The creature was only visible for a few frames, but judging by the head and the snout, it has to be reptilian in nature, maybe closely related to the Crocodilia order. The only thing is, animals like that prefer warmer waters. So why would it be this far north?”
“Its original habitat could have been overfished, limiting its food supply,” suggested Malakov. “Or it could have been driven out by pollution. It might even be on a migration pattern. In this part of the Atlantic, the average water temperature during the summer is between sixty-five and seventy-five degrees. It could stay here for a few months, then head south when the water cools. But all this is guesswork. It’s hard to figure out the behavior of an animal no one’s ever seen.”
“We can’t say no one has ever seen it with absolute certainty, Lauren. There have been sea serpent sightings up and down the East Coast for centuries.”
“But how many of them are really monsters?” asked Karen. “And how many are eels or seals or other animals that have been misidentified?”
Ehrenberg nodded. “That’s always one of the problems in cryptozoology. Some people see a dark shape under the water or a hump on the surface and immediately think sea monster when it could be something as common as a seal. But there’s always that small percentage of sightings that can’t be explained away so easily. We should look into past sea monster sightings along the East Coast and see if there are any descriptions that match the Point Pleasant Monster.”
“Sounds like Google is gonna get a workout,” said Karen.
“And then comes the hard part,” Rastun chimed in. “Separating legitimate reports from the BS, and more BS comes out of the internet than out of Washington.”
Several people around the table chuckled. Malakov was not one of them.
“Can’t argue with you on that, Jack.” Ehrenberg grinned. “Thankfully, I have a pretty good database on sea monster sightings, and I know a few other cryptozoologists who deal exclusively with aquatic cryptids. Between all that, we should be able to find something, hopefully.”
“What about c
hecking with the Coast Guard on missing boaters?” Rastun recommended. “This may not be the monster’s first attack. This thing might have associated boats with food long before it came to The Shore.”
“Good idea,” said Ehrenberg. “Give ‘em a ring when we’re done and see what they have.”
“Yes, sir… I mean, Doc… Randy.”
“Don’t worry. Sooner or later you’ll learn what to call me.”
Rastun grinned. Malakov scowled and folded her arms.
“Speaking of the Coast Guard,” Karen spoke up, “are they searching for the Point Pleasant Monster, too?”
“They are,” Ehrenberg answered. “They have cutters and helicopters patrolling up and down the coast. They’re also urging people in small boats to stay as close to shore as possible.”
A look of disbelief formed on Karen’s face. “You’d think after two people got killed by a sea monster they’d want to keep people from going out into the ocean.”
“The attack occurred roughly seven miles from shore. The Coast Guard is sensitive to the fact this is the height of tourist season. Closing beaches and restricting watercraft would hurt the local economy. They felt urging boaters to stay within a mile of the shoreline was a reasonable precaution.”
“Until a tourist gets attacked by this thing,” said Pilka. “During the Jersey Shore shark attacks of 1916, one man was killed swimming just 130 yards from the beach. Later, another man and a young boy were killed in Matawan Creek, sixteen miles inland. Staying close to shore may not be as safe as the Coast Guard thinks.”
Rastun stared at Pilka, mulling over what the man had said. “You know, what Doctor Pilka just said gave me another theory.”
Ehrenberg spread out his arms. “Well, share with the rest of the class.”
“This thing does have some crocodilian features. What if it also behaves like a crocodile or alligator? What if it can live on land just as well as in the water? It could have a nest somewhere along the shore.”
“You honestly think you can come up with a valid theory from looking at a few frames of a previously undiscovered creature?” There was no mistaking the condescending tone in Malakov’s voice.
“Isn’t that what we’re all doing?”
“Do you have advanced degrees in biology or zoology?”
“No, ma’am. My degree is in Communication Studies.”
Malakov snorted. “So, somehow, learning how to have a conversation with another person makes you an expert on animal behavior?”
“Obviously not. But having a father who’s director of the oldest zoo in the country, and having a mother who’s the head vet at that same zoo, and having worked plenty of summers there myself . . .” Rastun shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I learned a few things about animals.”
“And I have been studying animals for nearly thirty years. So perhaps you should leave the theories to actual experts and concentrate on the only thing you know how to do. Shooting your damn guns.”
“Lauren, come on,” said Ehrenberg. “Everyone’s opinion is welcome here.”
“Even from Neanderthals who enjoy killing—”
“Lauren, enough.”
Rastun was surprised by the sharpness of Ehrenberg’s tone. It seemed out of place from a guy who looked like a beach bum in Key West.
“I think Mister Rastun’s theory is plausible,” said Pilka. “Alligators can survive in water as cold as forty-five degrees Fahrenheit. The same could be true for the Point Pleasant Monster, which would explain how it came to be this far north.”
Ehrenberg looked to Pilka, then Rastun, then nodded. “Good points, guys. We may want to consider doing some searches on land as well.”
Captain Keller ran down the equipment Bold Fortune had to track and capture the monster, which included one of the most advanced sonar systems available for civilian use. Once they located the creature, a lift net would be used to capture it.
“The FUBI and the Coast Guard have also set up hotlines for people to call, text or e-mail if they see the Point Pleasant Monster,” Ehrenberg told them.
“No offense, Randy,” said Malakov, “but that’s going to be a waste of time. Most of the calls and messages we get will come from cranks.”
“I know. We just have to do our best to separate the fakes from the legit ones.”
Ehrenberg looked around the table. “So, I think that covers everything. Any questions?”
There were none.
“All righty. Captain, are you ready to shove off?”
“Just say the word, Doc,” answered Keller. “Ship and crew are good to go.”
“Then let’s go.”
Everyone rose from their chairs. Rastun headed out of the main salon when Karen appeared next to him. “Hey. What’s the deal with you and Doctor Malakov?”
“She hates the military and I’m ex-military. It’s a match made in Heaven.”
Karen glanced at Malakov, then back to him. “I can tell you two are going to have fun together.”
“I worked with plenty of unpleasant people in the Army. You learn to deal with it.”
“Yeah.” Karen looked over at Pilka. Her lips pressed together in a tight line.
Pilka stiffened as he met her gaze.
Rastun’s eyes flickered between the two before settling on Karen. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Karen strode out of the main salon, keeping her eyes straight ahead, as though determined not to look at Pilka.
Well that’s bullshit.
SIX
Two days passed without a sign of the Point Pleasant Monster. The few large sonar hits Bold Fortune got turned out to be schools of fish, seals or dolphins. Much as it pained Rastun to admit, Malakov had been right. Most of the calls and messages to the FUBI and Coast Guard hotlines turned out to be bogus. The wildest one had to be the person who e-mailed that he witnessed UFOs seeding the Atlantic with sea monsters as a prelude to an alien invasion.
Rastun’s inquiry to the Coast Guard regarding dead and missing boaters produced three incidents where empty vessels had been found adrift with significant amounts of blood. One had been off the coast of North Carolina, the other two a few miles outside Delaware Bay, just over a hundred miles south.
Maybe it is working its way north.
Right now, however, they had no proof the Point Pleasant Monster had anything to do with those incidents.
Rastun walked around the port side of Bold Fortune, pausing to sweep the ocean with his binoculars. Just like every other time, he spotted nothing unusual.
At least if the monster did show itself, he’d be ready. In addition to his Steyr AUG and Glock pistol, Rastun carried a Model 389 rifle for firing tranquilizer darts, a Night Stalker combat knife and his trusty tactical knife. He also had a few other items commonly carried by members of elite units. A Swiss Army knife, a cigarette lighter and a roll of duct tape. Some people might wonder what he’d need the last item for in the middle of the ocean, but if he got into a close quarters situation with the Point Pleasant Monster, he could wrap a couple lengths around its snout. If it was like an alligator, the muscles it used to open its jaws would be very weak and unable to break the tape.
Rastun hoped he wouldn’t have to put that theory to the test.
“Hey.”
He turned around to find Karen coming through the aft sliding doors.
“Hi.” He gave her a little wave. A smile spread across his face. He noticed himself doing that a lot whenever Karen was around.
“So, have you seen anything yet?” she asked.
Rastun stared out at the ocean, then back to her. “Water. Lots of it.”
Karen gave him a cross look. “Ha-ha. I didn’t know they let comedians be soldiers.”
Rastun chuckled. He had to give it to Karen. She had a quick wit.
“So what have you been up to with no sea monster to shoot?” he asked.
“Watching YouTube.”
“I don’t think the FUBI brass
will appreciate you watching videos of the latest dance craze.”
“If you must know, Randy wanted me to check out some videos posted of the Point Pleasant Monster, or supposedly of the Point Pleasant Monster.”
“I take it all of them were fake?” asked Rastun.
“Some were just dark shapes in the water that could be anything from a shadow to a whale. The others . . .” Karen rolled her eyes. “My God, they were so bad. A first year photography student could tell they were fake.”
“And by tomorrow there’ll be twice as many on YouTube.”
“And I’m looking forward to watching every single one of them …not.”
Karen walked over to the railing. The wind played with loose strands of brown hair that spilled out from under her boonie hat. Rastun gave her a subtle, admiring glance. Not only was she blessed with gorgeous looks and a great sense of humor, she was passionate about her work and very friendly.
Except when she happened to be around Dr. Pilka.
Rastun thought back to the files he’d reviewed on both Karen and Pilka. Nothing in them indicated that they had ever crossed paths. Then again, personnel files never told the whole story.
Still, it was obvious something happened between the two in the past. Exactly what, he had no clue. Whatever it was, they had been professional enough to not let it interfere with their duties. As long as they confined their hostility to glaring at one another, Rastun could live with it.
“So I take it, being in the Army, they didn’t have you do much on the water,” Karen said.
“Part of my Ranger training did include riverine insertion, not that there was much need for it in Iraq or Afghanistan. What about you? Have you ever done a shoot in the water?”
“Quite a few, actually. I dove on the Oriskany reef in Florida, the one they made from the old aircraft carrier, to document the marine life around it. But the best was doing a shoot at the Great Barrier Reef.”
“That must have been awesome,” said Rastun. “That’s a place I’d love to go one day.”
“You should. It’s beyond beautiful.”
