by Alten-Steve
"Turn it off already, Frank," said Danielson. They were aboard the Magnate, assembling a homemade depth charge in the yacht's exercise room. Danielson was hard at work, busy installing the fuse to the four-by-two-foot steel barrel.
"You've been watching the same story all night."
"You asked me to find out how deep the Meg is," answered Heller in his defense. "Did you expect me to swim out with a tape measure?"
"Yeah, so tell me." Danielson looked up from his work. "How deep is that bitch?"
"From the camera angle, I'd guess about one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet down. What kind of range will your depth charge have?"
"Plenty. The fuse should have no problem lasting to that depth. As for the charge itself, I've added a generous amount of amatol, which is rather primitive but highly explosive. Believe me, Frank, there's enough power here to fry that fish. The difficult part will be getting close enough to accurately drop the charge onto the monster. We'll have to rely on Harris for that. Where is he anyway?"
"Up on deck," answered Heller. "Have you noticed that the guy doesn't sleep at night?"
"Yeah, I noticed. I'll tell you something, Frank," admitted Danielson. "I haven't been sleeping much at night myself."
* * * * *
Bud Harris was at the starboard rail, staring at the reflection of the moon, perfectly still on the black sea. The Magnate was anchored three hundred yards south of the Tanaka Lagoon. Bud could just make out the white concrete wall of the huge canal entrance.
"Maggie," Bud whispered aloud between sips of gin. He watched the small waves lap at the hull. "Maggs, look what you've got me into. Hanging out with a bunch of Navy bozos, playing war against some fucking monster. Can you believe this shit?"
Bud took another sip of gin, draining the glass. "Ahh, Maggs." Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. "Why couldn't you have just dropped the fucking camera?" He flicked the empty glass into the ocean, the ripples dissolving the image of the moon.
"Fuck it. I'm gonna kill that monster tomorrow and cut out its eyes." He turned, staggering down the circular stairs to the guest bedroom. Bud could no longer sleep in the yacht's master suite. Maggie's perfume still lingered, her presence too vivid. He collapsed onto the queen-sized bed, passing out.
Thirty seconds after Bud left the rail, a three-foot fluorescent white dorsal fin slice the surface, circling the discarded glass as it sank into the black waters of the sanctuary.
* * * * *
Jonas opened his eyes, his internal alarm clock going off moments before his watch. He was still in the lounge chair with Terry snuggled against his chest under the wool blanket, keeping him warm. Gently, he stroked her soft hair with his callused fingertips.
She stirred. "Go back to sleep, Jonas," she mumbled, eyes closed.
"I can't. It's time."
She opened her eyes, twisted around to face him. She stretched, her arm reaching around his neck, hugging him. "I'm too cozy to move, Jonas. Let's just sleep another five minutes."
"Terry, I wish I could stay here all night, but we both know I can't."
"I'm jealous. You'd rather spend time with that other female, huh?"
"Come on. Stand up, girl." He pulled her up. "I have to get into my wet suit. DeMarco's probably already wondering where I am." Jonas checked his watch. Four thirty-three.
"Fine. I'm heading to the galley to grab a bite. You'd better eat something, too."
"No, I think I'll pass. My stomach's a little jumpy. Just tell DeMarco to meet me by the sub."
* * * * *
DeMarco checked his watch again. Where the hell was the man? The cardiac monitor's digital readout remained at eighty-five. The sky was beginning to turn gray, the media helicopters still buzzing overhead.
"Damn press," he muttered.
Terry walked in smiling. "Morning, Al."
"Where the hell is Jonas?"
"Already in the AG I. He's waiting for you to lower him into the water."
"He's waiting? Christ, I've been sitting here for the last nine hours waiting." DeMarco left the CIC, passing through the pilothouse, then walked out on deck to the sub.
Jonas was already inside, lying prone. DeMarco knocked twice on the Lexan cone, the pilot giving the thumbs-up. DeMarco climbed into the crane and sat down.
"Ouch! What the hell?" He picked up the object and examined it.
"A tooth?" It was black with age, but still extremely sharp, at least seven inches long. DeMarco walked back to the submersible. He released the rear latch. "Hey, Jonas, you lose something?"
"What? Oh, shit, the Meg tooth! Sorry, Al, can I have it please."
DeMarco passed it forward. "Why the hell do you carry that, of all things?"
Jonas shrugged. "I started doing it about ten years ago. It was a good-luck charm for whenever I piloted a sub. I guess I'm a bit superstitious."
"Yeah, well, I'm a bit annoyed. I just sat on the damn thing," barked DeMarco. "Do me a favor from now on. Keep the blade outta my crane. I'm not the fucking tooth fairy."
"Sorry."
DeMarco slammed the hatch closed, returned to the crane, and lowered the AG I into the Pacific.
* * * * *
Jonas flicked on the exterior light, descending below the Kiku 's hull. It looked worse, the ship now listing hard to one side. He accelerated ahead, then dropped to three hundred feet, approaching the dormant creature from the left.
The Megalodon's glow illuminated the black sea for fifty yards in all directions. Schools of fish darted back and forth along her hide. Jellyfish were caught within the netting. Jonas turned his exterior light off. Banking in a tight circle, he maneuvered the AG I next to the creature's head, the cranium measuring nearly three times the length of the sub.
The mouth was opened slightly, allowing water to pass through. Jonas hovered close to the Meg's right eye, the pupil involuntarily rolled backward in the monster's head. Jonas knew this to be a natural response, the Meg's brain automatically positioning the now-useless organ for protection.
"Jonas!"
Jonas jumped forward, his harness pulling hard against his shoulders. "Damnit, Terry, you scared the shit out of me."
Jonas could hear her laughing through the radio. "Sorry." She grew serious. "We're still steady at eighty-five beats per minute. How's the Meg look?"
"Looks okay." Jonas slowed the sub, hovering next to the Meg's five gill slits. "Terry, how close are we now to the lagoon?"
"Less than four miles. Barre says another two hours, tops. Hey, you're about to miss a gorgeous sunrise."
Jonas smiled. "Sounds like the beginning of a great day."
DAWN
The had been waiting all night, anchored close to shore, a congregation of followers gathered as if summoned by the creature itself. Some were scientists, most were tourists and thrill seekers, apprehensive yet prepared to face the risks in order to be a part of history. Their transports varied in size, from wave runners to yachts, from small outboards to larger fishing trawlers. Every whale-watching company within a fifty-mile radius was represented, their rates sufficiently inflated for the event. Over three hundred camcorders, batteries charged and cassettes loaded, stood ready.
André Dupont leaned against the rail of the forty-eight-foot fishing trawler, watching through binoculars as the gray haze of the winter sky grew lighter across the horizon. He could just make out the bow of the Kiku, still a good quarter mile northwest of the canal entrance. He walked back toward the cabin.
"Etienne, she's close now," Dupont whispered to his assistant. "How close will our captain bring us?"
Etienne shook his head. "Sorry, André. He refuses to leave the shallows with the monster so close. He won't risk the boat. Family business, n'est pas?"
"Oui. I do not blame the man." Dupont looked around in all directions, the morning light revealing several hundred boats. Dupont shook his head. "I fear that our other friends will probably not be as cautious."
* * * * *
Frank Heller watched th
e Kiku crawl at its agonizingly slow pace toward the lagoon. He shared none of André Dupont's exhilaration. Rage was building within the man, stomach tense. Limbs beginning to tremble. He felt the side of his neck tighten, throbbing with the rising anger.
"It's time, Mr. Harris," he said, not looking away from the horizon.
Bud engaged the throttle. The Magnate 's twin engines jumped to life as the yacht moved quickly to intercept.
* * * * *
The dawn's first light filtered down through the sea. Jonas watched as the creature's entire torso became visible, a lethal dirigible being led toward its new hangar. Jonas brought the AG I's Lexan nose cone within five feet of the female's right eye. The blue-gray pupil was still rolled back into the head, the light exposing only a bloodshot white membrane.
"Jonas." Terry's voice crackled over the radio. "I think something's happening with the Meg."
The shot of adrenaline woke Jonas up. "Talk to me, Terry."
"The female's pulse is climbing very slowly. It's at eighty-seven, now ninety—"
"Jonas, DeMarco here. I've reloaded the harpoon gun as per Masao's new orders. If your monster wakes up before we enter the lagoon, I'm firing, whether it kills the fish or not. Consider yourself warned."
Jonas thought about arguing, but changed his mind. DeMarco was right. If the Meg regained consciousness before the Kiku could get her safely in the lagoon, the ship and its entire crew would be in danger. He stared at the creature's open jaws. Coursing through its AND was seventy-million-plus years of instinct. The predator could not think or choose; she could only react, each cell attuned to her environment, every response preconditioned. Nature itself had decided that the species would dominate the oceans, commanding it to perpetually hunt in order to survive. Jonas whispered, "We should have left you alone—"
"Jonas!" Terry's voice pierced his thought. "Didn't you hear me?"
"Sorry, I—"
"The Magnate 's bearing down on us." Terry's voice rose. "Five hundred yards and closing fast!"
"The Magnate? "
"Bud, what the hell are you doing now?" wondered Jonas, his mind racing.
DeMarco focused his binoculars upon the yacht, his line of sight finally drifting back toward the activity along the stern. Two men, both supporting a steel drum, balanced their cargo on the transom.
"What the hell?" said the engineer.
Three hundred yards. Two hundred, and then DeMarco caught a face... Heller! He refocused on the steel drum and realized.
"Jonas, Jonas!" DeMarco snatched the mike out from Terry's hand. "Depth charge coming right at you! Get deep!"
Jonas leaned hard on the joystick, circling right, then rolled the sub beneath the Meg's upper torso.
* * * * *
Mac pulled back on the joystick, the copter leaping off the frigate's deck. Circling the airship hard to his left, he raced toward the oncoming Magnate as if leading an air assault on a North Vietnamese patrol boat.
Bud looked up, the helicopter appearing out of nowhere, bearing down on his yacht on a head-on collision course. The millionaire screamed, yanking the wheel hard to his left seconds before the platform supporting the chopper's thermal imager smashed into the Magnate 's radar antenna, ripping it off its aluminum base.
Debris exploded across the deck, the air raining shrapnel. Reacting as if a grenade had just gone off above their heads, Danielson and Heller dove sideways, abandoning the depth charge. They landed hard on the deck, covering their heads in an attempt to avoid the incoming debris. The maneuver left the five-hundred-pound depth charge balancing precariously on the transom. As the yacht veered hard to the left, the steel drum rolled over the transom, plunging into the ocean. Seawater rushed into the canister's six holes, filling the pistol chamber and sinking the bomb.
Shards of aluminum from the decimated radar tower struck Danielson's and Heller's backs painfully as the yacht pulled away from the Kiku. Heller sat up, looking back to see the helicopter bank sharply, nosedive toward the ocean, then level out. This time, it would make its run from the stern.
"That motherfucker's crazy," yelled Heller.
"Get your head down!" screamed Danielson.
* * * * *
Mac pushed down on the joystick, yelling in the wind. "Mac attack!" a smile fixed upon his face.
BOOM!
The explosion caught the pilot off-guard. He yanked desperately on the joystick as the tail of his copter swung out from behind. With a crunch, the landing gear smashed into the upper deck of the Magnate, tearing the roof off the luxurious stateroom, ripping the bottom off his helicopter. The airship spun out of control, the blades unable to regain draft. Before Mac could react, the copter slammed sideways into the ocean.
* * * * *
At three hundred and twelve feet, the depth charge's spring had released, thrusting the percussion detonator against the primer. The crude weapon had imploded, then exploded with a flash and subsonic boom. Although the lethal radius of the bomb measured only twenty-five feet, the resulting shock wave was devastating.
The invisible force of current caught the AG I broadside, rolling the winged craft over and over again. Jonas pitched hard against the Lexan cone, cracking his head against the hard surface, nearly knocking himself out.
* * * * *
On board the Kiku, lightbulbs shattered and bodies flew as the ship's fittings loosened with the blast. Captain Barre cried to his crew to seal the engine room, but the roar of the media helicopters drowned his voice.
Terry Tanaka knelt on the deck, her first thoughts for Jonas. She found the radio transmitter. "Jonas, Jonas, come in, please." Static. "Al, I'm not getting a signal—"
"Terry... " Masao pulled himself up the stairwell, collapsing on the top step. Terry ran to him.
"Call the doctor!" she screamed, her hands covered with her father's blood.
DeMarco grabbed the microphone to the Kiku 's speakers, calling for the ship's physician to report. He failed to notice the Meg's cardiac monitor, the digital display now racing past one hundred.
* * * * *
The chilly Pacific snapped Mac to attention. He opened his eyes, startled to find himself submerged underwater at a forty-five-degree angle. Desperately, he struggled to release the seat belt as the mangled helicopter slipped sideways beneath the waves.
* * * * *
Jonas waited until the aftereffects of the shock wave subsided, then attempted to roll the submersible right-side up. The power was dead. He swore to himself, then began rolling hard against the interior, gradually gaining momentum as the sub twisted counterclockwise. As he completed the maneuver, he could feel the natural buoyancy of the sub taking over as it gradually began to rise, tail-first.
"Terry, come in." The radio, like everything else on the sub, was dead.
A glow loomed on Taylor's right, lighting up the interior. Jonas turned to find himself hovering within three feet of the female's basketball-sized pupil.
The blue-gray eye was open. Blind, it stared directly at Jonas.
CHAOS
Bud Harris dragged himself off the polished wooden floor, unsure of what had just taken place. The Magnate was drifting, her twin engines off. He glanced sideways in time to see the helicopter's blades slipping beneath the waves.
"Fuck you," he muttered, then pressed the "on" switch, attempting to restart the engines. Nothing.
"Shit. Danielson, Heller! Where the fuck are you guys?" Bud headed out on deck, locating the men standing by the transom.
"Well? Is the monster dead?"
Danielson and Heller looked at each other. "Gotta be," said Danielson, not sounding very sure of himself.
"You don't seem real confident," questioned Bud.
"Unfortunately," said Danielson, "we had to let the charge go a little early when that lunatic attacked."
"We need to get out of here," said Heller.
"Yes, well, boys, that's gonna be a bit of a problem," said Bud. "The engines are dead. Your damn explosive apparently loosen
ed a connection, and I'm not exactly Mr. Goodwrench."
"Christ, you're telling us we're stuck out her with that Meg?" Heller shook his head, his jaws locked tight.
"Frank, the monster's dead. Trust me," said Danielson. "We'll be watching it float belly-up any second now."
Heller looked at his former CO. "Dick, it's a fucking shark. It's not going to float; if she's really dead she'll sink to the bottom."
At that moment they heard a splashing sound to their left. The yacht seemed to drop, and then a hand appeared at the ladder, Mac dragging himself on board the Magnate.
"Beautiful morning, isn't it, assholes?" he said, collapsing on deck.
* * * * *
Jonas lay on his stomach, head down, his claustrophobia causing shortness of breath. The lifeless Abyss Glider's left midwing had caught on the cargo net, keeping the sub at eye level with the Megalodon. Jonas watched in fascination and horror as the female's blue-gray eye continued focusing involuntarily on the tiny submersible.
She's blind, thought Jonas, but she knows I'm here, she senses a presence.
Now the caudal fin began to swish in heavy, side-to-side movements, propelling the predator slowly forward. The gill slits towered into view, passing quickly. And then the prominent snout suddenly whipped back and forth, freeing the AG I's wing from the net as the most frightening animal on the planet snapped awake.
The submersible contined to rise tail-first. Jonas looked down, watching the Megalodon lurch forward, but the cargo net immediately ensnarled her pectoral fins. Enraged, she rolled once, then twice, twisting and tangling herself tighter in the trap.
The AG I tossed backward in the Meg's wake. With no means of control, Jonas lost sight of the creature. Then, as the sub's cone drifted downward, he caught a glimpse of the furious Megalodon, completely entined from her gills slits to her pelvic fin in the cargo net.
