“Shh!” Garm shushed.
The phantom of Amara Braddock reappeared center stage and continued talking, ignorant of any impoliteness from her audience. “We see this type of inter-uterine behavior in predatory sharks like makos, tigers, and great whites – evolution’s way of ensuring only the biggest and strongest survive.” She glanced down at her notes and licked her lips. “Out of an initial clutch size of ten or twenty, I estimate only four or five hatchlings end up going full term,” she said. “However, they would be considerably larger than oviparous newborns, with each measuring anywhere from one-fourth to one-third the mother’s length. In other words, as much as forty feet.”
The screen froze for a moment, followed by a quick jump-cut back to Amara. She was seated with her back to her desk now. Her expression was clinical and she had her hands crossed on her lap.
“I implore GDT’s Board of Directors to consider this caveat,” she said. “Should Tiamat be allowed to reproduce and her offspring escape and proliferate, she and her progeny could cause irreparable harm. Given the size of her offspring, there is every indication that parental care would be administered. Each hatchling would be a formidable predator to begin with, but with the protection of one or more parents, their survival rates would be astronomically high. Most likely exceeding the near-eighty percent rate Kronosaurus imperators enjoyed during the early days of their expansion.”
Amara’s chest rose and fell as she breathed. “In addition, it is distinctly possible these animals would function in family units, like modern day whales, or worse, like killer whales. Should that happen, the results could be catastrophic.”
The camera pulled back as she pointed her remote at the projector, bringing up a flattened image of the globe with its ocean currents highlighted.
“While ‘normal’ pliosaurs can, via increased activity, endure the freezing temperatures of the abyss temporarily, they prefer temperate waters. Tiamat and her descendents would have no such limitations. They could travel all the way to the Arctic or Antarctic, devastating surviving whale populations and upsetting whatever precarious balance we’ve managed to achieve. They could conceivably alter the ecology of the oceans to the point we may find ourselves facing another extinction-level event.”
Amara folded her slim arms across her chest. “If that’s not enough, or for those among you whose sole focus is on selling hardware to the military with no regard for keeping nature in balance, consider this: At well over four hundred tons displaced mass and a swimming speed of nearly fifty miles an hour, Tiamat has the strength and power to stave in the hull of a nuclear submarine, possibly even a destroyer.”
She paused and her opalescent eyes lowered. “Some people think we deserve this. They say our annihilating sharks for placebo ED treatments allowed pliosaur numbers to explode.” When she looked up her jaw was set. “I’m not here to address that. We can’t change the past, but we can prevent a worse future. No matter what, Tiamat cannot be allowed to breed. Nor can she be set free. And if she ever manages to escape, she must be hunted down and destroyed. This concludes my presentation Thank you very much for your time.”
Just like that, Amara’s image froze. Then the screen went black. There was an uncomfortable silence, until Dirk cleared his throat.
“Typhon has to be killed,” he stated, indicating the darkened viewer. “Dr. Grayson doesn’t see it and, even if he watched this, he wouldn’t accept it. But it has to be done.”
His brother nodded solemnly. “Is that why you sent Stacy away?”
Dirk nodded. “If there’s any fallout it should be on my head, alone.”
Garm grinned hugely. “Fuck it, you know I’m in. When do we leave?”
“Tonight.”
Dragunova’s jaw dipped. “Tonight? But Antrodemus ees not yet at 100%! Even eef we complete repairs while underway, she won’t be ready un--”
“You’re not going,” Dirk advised. “This is Garm’s fight.” He turned back to his brother. “I suggest you investigate the bizarre call from that foreign yacht, first. It’s iffy, but it’s our most recent lead.”
Dragunova’s expression turned confrontational. “Excuse me? There ees no way you are leaving me here while your--”
“You have a more important mission,” Dirk announced. He was enjoying the feeling of empowerment that came with reining in the powerfully built object of his affection. “One that will allow you to complete repairs to your submarine’s sail en route.”
Antrodemus’s tawny-haired commander rose angrily to her feet. “What ees thees bullsheet? What ‘mission’?”
Dirk looked up at her and sighed. “I’m sending you to Diablo Caldera.”
“Diablo Caldera?” both captains echoed.
Now Garm looked stunned. “Say what? Wait, what’s happened?”
As Dragunova cooled her jets and retook her seat, Dirk swiveled his tablet toward the two of them. On it was the email he’d been praying for.
“I’ve been secretly negotiating with the Cuban resistance,” he said, then gave an involuntary shrug. “Ostensibly, with Dr. Grayson’s approval.
Garm leaned forward, his wolfish eyes sweeping the page. “It claims their troops have seized a portion of the Cuban surface fleet . . . blockaded that section of their sovereign waters.”
Dirk nodded. “We’ve got just under forty-eight hours to make landfall and survey whatever we can.”
“Thees is remarkable,” Dragunova breathed as she finished reading. Her expression was guarded, but he could see she was intrigued. “How deed you manage thees?”
“Let’s just say I lubricated the wheels of progress.”
Garm chuckled. “And how much did that ‘lube’ cost you?”
Dirk grinned sheepishly. “Actually, us. And quite a bit.”
“W-what? Did you say us?”
“Of course. I knew you’d want to kick in.”
For the first time he could remember, Dirk saw his brother flabbergasted. It was all he could do to stop from guffawing.
Garm cleared his throat as he fought to recover his composure. “Well, of course. What’s the point of having all that stock if you can’t spend a few hundred thousand shares of it?”
“A few million shares, actually.”
“Even better!”
Dragunova took in Garm’s shell-shocked look and smiled. “Derek, why send Antrodemus? Why not just take a helicopter to the island?”
He shook his head. “The agreement specifies a clandestine operation. The military situation there is tenuous at best. We don’t want to end up getting shot down and create an international incident.”
“So, how do we get inside? As I recall, the caldera cleefs are impossible to climb.”
“Underwater.”
As Dragunova exchanged confused looks with Garm, Dirk spun his tablet back and pulled up the satellite geo-thermal diagrams he had prepped. “This is Diablo Caldera, pre-eruption,” he said, pointing. He touched a key, causing a second scan to overlay the first.
“This is post. The volcano’s initial fracturing opened its lake to the sea, which is how the Paradise Cove pliosaur – and Lord knows what else – got out.”
“Hell hath no fury,” Garm quipped. “Because it all escaped!”
“I doubt that,” Dirk stated. He pointed at a huge pile of rubble where the break in the volcanic wall occurred. “A few hours after the initial disturbance, debris from aftershocks sealed the collapsed section.” He turned to Dragunova. “There’s a lot of magnetic interference from the volcano, but what satellite scans we’ve managed show a large, crescent-shaped area of what appears to be rain forest, bordering the lake. We have no idea what’s in there, so be careful.”
She blinked in annoyance. “Be careful of what? You steel haven’t told me how the hell we are getting een!”
“I’m sorry,” Dirk said. He swept his diagrams, removing thick layers of strata with quick finger swipes. “There’s a network of lava tubes connecting the lake to the sea. That’s how the water
has maintained its salinity. They’re not completely stable, of course, and the water is superheated, but we don’t anticipate any geothermal activity.” He touched a section of the screen and enlarged it. “These two shafts are your best bet.”
Dragunova’s eyes compressed into storm-gray slits as she leaned in close. “Those tunnels wind all over the place and are at most seexty feet wide. Antrodemus can never feet in there.”
Dirk nodded. “But your Remora can. You’ll take a three-man crew, detach outside--”
“Da, da, da . . . I got eet,” she said, waving him off as she took the tablet and examined it in detail.
As she did, Garm leaned in close. “Let’s talk seriously. Is this worth splitting up the team? And what’s going to happen with your boss if we succeed?”
“This is the chance of a lifetime,” Dirk replied. “Mom would’ve killed for the chance to go to Diablo. It was her dream. Think of the potential wealth of data we can uncover. Not just discovering how pliosaurs and so many other marine creatures survived KT, but what else might be in there. There may be other animals, plants, trees, pharmaceutical opportunities . . . Hell, we might discover the cure for Cretaceous Cancer!”
“Or bring something worse back.”
Dirk’s lips pursed as he considered that possibility. “We’ll take all precautions. Captain Dragunova knows what to do.”
“Da,” she said, locking gazes with him. “But what about your brother? You may be sending heem to hees death, facing Typhon alone. Aren’t you concerned?”
“Whoa, I can take care of myself,” Garm protested. He caught Dirk’s concerned look and snickered. “Relax, little brother. You know I can throw down. Besides, I’ve got a score to settle with that overgrown lizard.”
Dirk ruminated a tick then exhaled heavily. “We’ve got two days at most,” he said. “Both from the ‘travel visa’ they gave us and Grayson’s return. Diablo is the primary target. If he comes back to discover we’ve unlocked the secrets of the island, he’ll be dancing on air.”
“And Typhon?” Dragunova pressed.
“It may take days or even weeks to find him,” Dirk said. “Antrodemus will commence repairs on the fly, while Gryphon begins her hunt. If you sight him--”
“I know,” Garm interjected. “Hit him with a locator.”
Dirk nodded. “Yes. Once Dragunova’s surveyed the island, you two can join forces and finish him off.”
Garm scoffed. “Playing tag? I’d rather shove a Naegling up his ass.”
Dirk laughed. “You’re starting to sound like Cunningham.”
His brother’s face brightened. “Yeah . . . say, where is that gabby son of a bitch? I haven’t seen him and he was due in this morning.”
“Ever the dutiful husband, right?”
Dragunova cocked her head to one side. “Speaking of dutiful, Derek. Dr. Grayson knows nothing about thees?”
He shook his head. “No, but you saw. I tried to tell him at the meeting.”
“You did,” Garm emphasized. “I was there.”
“And you theenk he won’t be mad?” Dragunova asked. Her curious eyes bored into Dirk’s.
“I think he will jump for joy when he discovers I got us on the ground inside Diablo,” he responded, flushing under her scrutiny.
“What about us keeling the beast he wants to ‘wed’ to Tiamat? He has, how you say, a ‘major chubby’ for breenging Typhon back alive?”
Garm saw the tension in Dirk’s face and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Relax. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to look like an accident.”
Dragunova watched their interaction with telltale amusement, but she wasn’t finished. “Tell me the truth, Derek,” she said. “You are knowingly betraying your mentor, da?”
“I’m respecting our mom’s final wish,” he said, indicating him and Garm. “And I’m doing what I think is right for all of us, for the world, in fact. And to answer your question . . . yes, I suppose I am.”
She looked at him with approving eyes. “Good. I like eet.”
Dirk felt his face get hot and he knew he was blushing.
“Alright, enough of this mushy shit,” Garm said, hoisting his 245 pounds to his feet. He winked at Dragunova. “You’ve got a ‘Lost World’ to explore and I’ve got a sea monster to kill. So, let’s do it!”
Dirk’s eyes and jaw muscles tightened. “Yes. Let’s do it, people.”
* * *
He was drowning.
When Judas Cambridge’s eyes snapped apart, it was in response to his body convulsing against the seawater invading his lungs. His arms flailed wildly at the enveloping gloom and his head thrust upward, breaking the surface as he desperately sucked in a lungful of oxygen.
A second later, he started puking his guts up.
Brine mixed with blood spewed from his mouth, along with the collective contents of his stomach. When the painful regurgitating finally ceased, his vomitus floated all around him, a vile and viscous broth.
Jude’s next inhalation was an agonized wheeze; both from the saltwater that scorched his lungs and a half-dozen cracked or broken ribs. Tossing his shattered reading glasses, he gazed through tearful eyes at Insolent Endeavor’s immersed bridge, before taking stock of the damage that surrounded him.
The 50-foot Monte Carlo MC5 was doomed. Ursula’s breaching strike had broken her at the keel and. despite the brand’s flotation capabilities, she was completely flooded. The sea had rushed in through her broken hull, inundating all below-deck compartments and filling the remainder of the dying vessel to her gunnels. Only the roof of her spacious cockpit still remained above water, and as he felt his way about the dimly-lit space, Jude could see there was only eighteen inches between him and the bridge’s reinforced ceiling.
Things were bad. His high-tech helm was a backwater bay with debris littering the surface of the water. All their instruments were dead. There was no way to call for help and, judging by the grayish light seeping in from a partially submerged porthole, it was already twilight outside.
It would be dark soon. And in these waters, darkness brought death.
As Jude reached up to grasp one of the few big-game rods that hadn’t been dislocated by the impact, a spear of agony shot through his lower back and side. The pain was so intense he shrieked. A wall of blackness smashed into him, threatening to render him unconscious, and the wounded scientist tried his best to stand up on the slippery deck.
A ping of panic pealed through Jude as his legs refused to respond. His fear intensified when he realized he couldn’t feel his feet. He tried kicking and stomping, but got nothing. Confused, he grabbed hold of an overhead rod and bore down with everything he had. It was to no avail.
As he reached underwater and felt along his hip and thighs, Jude froze. His face paled and he felt like vomiting again. His pelvis was twisted forward at an unnatural angle and his legs were completely numb to the touch. Terror brought along its companion, hyperventilation, and he tried doing some of Kat’s meditational breathing exercises to keep them both at bay.
Kat!
Realizing he wasn’t alone in this and that his partner could come to his aid, Jude envisioned a sudden glimmer of hope.
“Kat!” he called out.
There was no reply – not a sound in fact, except that of waves slapping against the salt-stained porthole and the omnipresent groaning of the ship’s ruptured hull.
“Kat!” he cried.
When she didn’t respond, Jude felt fear take the helm. Where the hell is she? Has she gotten out? Is she perched up on the roof, hopefully on the satellite phone and calling for help? Why would she just leave me like this? I could have drowned!
A sudden shifting of the boat disrupted Jude’s disjointed thoughts. Insolent Endeavor was beginning to wobble from side to side, her creaky movements causing the water inside the helm to shift back and forth, at times sloshing all the way to the ceiling and nearly drowning him once more.
Despite the direness of his situation, Jude fe
lt a warped sense of pride. He knew what was causing their hull to bounce up and down. Beneath the dying boat, Ursula was feeding on the giant pliosaur he sent her to destroy. He could tell from the water, as a frothy area over a hundred feet across appeared all around them. It was his Megalodon, tearing off giant mouthfuls of reptilian flesh as she gulped down the valuable protein she needed to recover from her wounds.
Unless . . . unless he was wrong.
What if it was the Kronosaurus? What if it was eating Ursula?
Where the hell is Kat? Annoyance inundated Jude as his useless legs buckled and he went under. He surfaced, sputtering and gasping. Shit, we need to figure out what happened and how we’re going to call for help! Where the hell is she?
Jude jumped and cried out in alarm as something rubbed against him. He spun around as best he could, his pruned fingers grasping at slippery rod butts and sharp-edged overhead racks as he tried to see what touched him.
“Oh, no . . .”
As Katerina Feaster’s dislodged form surfaced from the seesawing of the boat, Jude slapped a hand over his mouth. He reached out, grabbing her by her tank top and pulling her toward him. She was face up in the water, but unmoving.
“Kat! Jesus, Kat!”
When he saw her pale skin and stark, blue eyes, fixed and staring, he knew it was bad. But it wasn’t until he cupped one hand under her head and tried to revive her that he realized how bad.
Jude pulled away as if he’d touched a live scorpion and stared bug-eyed down at his hand. Even with the seawater diluting it, he could see the blood caked around his trembling fingers. He howled in dismay. There was no mistaking the mushiness of the occipital bone at the back of Kat’s skull. It felt like a rotting pumpkin, two months after Halloween.
As he espied the blood-spattered big game reel suspended directly overhead, a wave of nausea shot up from Jude’s stomach like a live moray eel, trying to escape through his mouth. There was nothing left to vomit, but that didn’t make the dry heaves that followed any less painful.
Kronos Rising: Kraken (vol.1): The battle for Earth's oceans has just begun. Page 57
