The MEG

by Steve Alten

  Abandoning the mangled remains of the Kronosaur, the Megalodon ascended toward the swirling hydrothermal plume to intercept the Sea Bat.

  7

  Aboard the Tallman

  THE PILOTHOUSE HAD BECOME an orchestra of organized chaos.

  Paul Agricola was its conductor, the mission’s maestro calling out instructions in response to a rapidly changing concerto playing out six miles beneath his feet.

  Two Sea Bat drones were now being towed by steel cable: SB-I just over the hydrothermal plume, SB-II a half mile above it, the second drone’s range limited by the length of the steel cable available on its winch.

  That missing two thousand feet of line was proving to be a difference maker. While the Megalodon had chased Sea Bat-I above the hydrothermal plume, it had never exposed itself to the frigid waters above the warm layer for more than thirty seconds. Paul was hoping this was due more to the fact that they had been forced to stop Sea Bat-I from pinging above the plume to keep the drone from being eaten rather than the Meg’s avoidance of the frigid water.

  The new plan was to engage Sea Bat-II’s active sonar the moment the shark emerged from the mineral layer, hoping the Meg would immediately go after the second drone, which was armed with a transmitter dart rigged to a motion sensor, its maximum range—sixty feet.

  Doug Dvorak, the ship’s engineer, lowered his walkie-talkie. “Paul, the deck crew is standing by at the winches. Sea Bat-II’s depth is steady at 28,435 feet, Sea Bat-I hovering just above the plume. Both sonars are off, as ordered.”

  “Make Sea Bat-I’s depth 32,700 feet.”

  “Paul, that’s more than seven hundred feet deeper than the plume. I don’t advise that.”

  “I wasn’t asking for your opinion, Douglas. Captain Heitman, the moment Sea Bat-I drops through the plume and reenters the Challenger Deep, prepare to increase our speed just enough to maintain a safe distance.”

  “You want to get your shark used to chasing the lure before you lead it out of the warm layer?”

  “Exactly.”

  “It could backfire, Paul. A longer chase expends energy. The Meg could lose interest.”

  “The Meg’s tiring, Luis. If we don’t hit it with the tracking dart soon, it may stop leaving the warm layer altogether.”

  “Paul, Sea Bat-I is inside the plume. Sixty feet to Challenger Deep …thirty feet. Standing by to activate SB-I sonar.”

  Paul wiped sweat from his forehead. “Maybe you should wait on the sonar …let the ROV reach its new depth first.”

  The captain shook his head. “It’s too risky. The creature’s already homing in on the Sea Bat’s vibrations. I can’t chance running blind; I need to know exactly where that creature is the moment the Sea Bat emerges from the plume.”

  “Skipper, SB-I has entered the warm layer.”

  “Activate sonar on SB-I.”

  “SB-I sonar is active. Target acquired. Range 520 feet. Speed …seven knots. Ten knots.”

  “Helm, increase speed to twelve knots.”

  “Range is four hundred feet …four-twenty …five hundred. Target speed holding at twelve knots.”

  “Helm, decrease speed to ten knots.”

  “Skipper, I’m picking up a surface ship on radar. Two miles to the south; we’re heading right for her.”

  Paul glanced at the radar operator. “It’s probably just a fishing trawler. Ignore it, captain.”

  “They’re hailing us, Skipper. It’s a naval ship. The USS Maxine D.”

  Paul swore under his breath. “Sonar, where’s the Meg?”

  “Two hundred and thirty feet from the ROV and closing.”

  “Skipper, the navy says we’re entering a restricted area. We’ve been ordered to change course.”

  “Paul, target has closed to seventy-five feet, speed—sixteen knots.”

  “Helm, match speed. Doug, restart the winch.”

  Dvorak yelled into his walkie-talkie. “Restart the winch. Bring her up!”

  “Sir, target has followed SB-I into the plume.”

  *

  Agitated by the incessant reverberations generated by the Sea Bat’s pinging sonar, the Megalodon rose through the hydrothermal layer, intent on devouring the creature. She closed her mouth to restrict the flow of sulfurous debris from entering her gills and within seconds had passed through the plume, once more entering a cold alien world.

  *

  “Range to Naval vessel one-point-three nautical miles.”

  “Paul?”

  “I’m thinking!”

  “Sir, Sea Bat-I has exited the plume.”

  “There’s nothing to think about, Paul. We need to change course.”

  “Quiet! Doug, shut down SB-I sonar. Go active on SB-II.”

  “Paul, I’m changing course. Heading west on course two-seven-zero.”

  “Sir, target has exited the hydrothermal plume.”

  *

  The Megalodon emerged from the hydrothermal plume into near-freezing temperatures, the cold momentarily invigorating its overheated muscles. Homing in on the annoying pings coming from the second drone, the female continued to rise, ascending a thousand feet in less than a minute.

  *

  “Target is now homing in on Sea Bat-II. Range—275 feet and closing. Congratulations, Paul, looks like your plan worked.”

  “It’s too early to be doing the victory dance, Doug. Captain, reduce your speed, we need to keep it interested enough in Sea Bat-II to come within sixty feet of the tagging device.”

  *

  The sea was ice-cold, penetrating the Megalodon’s energy-depleted muscles, causing the creature’s blood vessels to constrict.

  The female’s caudal fin slowed. Her breathing became erratic.

  Seventy-two feet from her prey, a half-mile above the churning hydrothermal layer and just twelve feet from triggering Sea Bat-II’s tracking dart, the twenty-seven ton predator’s swim muscles suddenly seized.

  Slowly, majestically, the Megalodon sank head-first into the abyss, the annoying reverberations in the female’s brain fading to a dull, distant echo.

  *

  Aboard the Sea Cliff

  The Valium had kicked in quickly, soothing Michael Shaffer’s rattled nerves like a warm blanket. Sleepy-eyed, he watched Richard Prestis maneuver the Flying Squirrel to the sea floor, guided by the ROV’s built-in sonar and the laptop’s night-vision monitor.

  “Michael, I’m two hundred feet from the bottom. How do I access the coordinates from the last dive?”

  “Hit F-7.”

  A red blip appeared on the laptop’s navigation screen. “Got it.”

  “Right click on it with your mouse and the auto-pilot will engage—”

  “—guiding the Squirrel to our sack of nuts.” Prestis laughed as he right-clicked the mouse.

  Nothing happened.

  “Something’s wrong. The coordinates are up but the autopilot won’t engage.”

  Shaffer closed his eyes to think. “Check your sonar, make sure it’s running active.”

  “Jonas, are you listening? Switch from passive to active. Jonas?”

  The Sea Cliff drifted to starboard—then continued rolling, pitching Prestis into Shaffer’s lap.

  “Taylor, wake up!”

  Strapped in at his control station, Jonas Taylor’s eyes snapped open, his legs desperately pumping the foot pedals to trim the ballast tanks.

  The teetering submersible rolled to port, finding equilibrium.

  “Sorry boys. I just can’t seem to be able to keep my eyes open.”

  “Then take another dose of caffeine pills before you flip us.”

  “I can’t, my heart’s doing somersaults already.”

  “At least switch the ROV’s sonar to active.”

  “Sorry Richard, we’re not going active. Not with a large predator in the area.”

  “What you saw could have been anything.”

  “Richard, you don’t need to ping for black smokers, the ROV’s guidance system has a temperat
ure setting that will steer the unit clear of any vents exceeding 225 degrees. Just use the joystick and fly the Squirrel to the collection site.”

  “I still need the sonar active in order to use the auto-pilot to map the bottom. Now turn it on.”

  Mike Shaffer looked at Jonas through bloodshot eyes. “Please.”

  Jonas hesitated before flipping the toggle switch on the control board to ACTIVE.

  A low decibel PING could be heard in the distance, the audible reverberations registering in his overwrought nerves.

  *

  Challenger Deep

  Unable to propel herself forward in order to drive water into her mouth, the Megalodon sank head-first through the abyss, suffocating in the frigid sea. For three thousand feet she plunged, her mouth agape, the sudden influx of seawater still not enough to engage her gills.

  Reaching the plume the Meg dropped into the swirling river of soot, swallowing sulfur and minerals. The combination of toxins unleashed a spasmodic regurgitation reflex that shocked her system, forcing her stomach to regurgitate the toxins by popping out of her mouth like a pink balloon.

  Reentering the warmth of the Challenger Deep, the female re-swallowed her stomach. Once more, water passed through her gullet—only this time her gills worked, processing oxygen. The warmth of the vented depths reheated her blood, stimulating her half-frozen muscles to move.

  Regaining her ability to function, the Megalodon entered the flow of an easterly current, allowing the river to carry her through the canyon.

  *

  Aboard the Maxine D

  Dick Danielson entered the radio room, his complexion pale, his head pounding from the unrelenting seas. He took a headset from the radio operator and positioned it over his ears, his empty stomach curled in knots.

  “Danielson. This better be important, Mr. Leiffer.”

  “Sir, we had … an incident. I’m not sure quite how to explain it.”

  “Damn it, Leiffer, just tell me what happened!”

  “It involves Rear Admiral Quercio and Commander Mackreides.”

  Danielson closed his eyes. “Go on.”

  “Mac … he took the admiral and his party down to Marizo aboard one of the Sea Kings.”

  “In the middle of a typhoon?”

  “The admiral was insistent. Anyway, a service was being rendered aboard the chopper at five hundred feet between the admiral and two local girls. Apparently there was a disagreement over monies owed for services rendered. The admiral refused to rectify the matter, so the women tossed the admiral’s clothing out the cargo door.”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

  “It gets worse. Mac landed the chopper at Andersen Air Force Base … in the middle of a ceremony honoring the governor. The admiral … well, he was buck naked at the time, sir.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “There’s more. One of the local television crews reporting weather conditions at the airfield got a few choice shots before MPs cleared the area. It’s a shit-storm, sir. Admiral Gordon is flying in personally to oversee the investigation as soon as the weather clears.”

  “Where’s Mackreides?”

  “He’s being held at Andersen for questioning. Fortunately, the bad weather has kept the media away.”

  “Listen carefully, Leiffer. I want you to go through Mackreides’s personal belongings. Remove anything that might implicate any officer and stow it in my office.”

  “Sir, isn’t that considered tampering with evidence?”

  “That’s why I’m having you confiscate everything, so no one tampers with it! Danielson out.”

  *

  Aboard the Sea Cliff

  His eyelids were heavy, his brain zapping in and out of consciousness. The voices of the two scientists became dull rhythmic chants, the swaying submersible a hammock.

  Jonas laid his head back, slipping into yet another two-to-three minute catnap—each torturous tease of rest rendering him edgier, his body demanding REM sleep.

  Without warning, a swell kicked up from the hydrothermal plume and broadsided the Sea Cliff, levitating it fifty feet as it rolled the submersible onto its port side.

  Jonas snapped awake, his limbs pumping furiously at the controls even as the two scientists collided in a heap atop the sonar monitor. Sparks greeted the sudden darkness, until the back-up batteries powered on and the sub again found its equilibrium.

  “Damn it, Jonas, stay awake!”

  “Tell it to my brain, Richard.”

  Dr. Shaffer examined the damaged sonar monitor. “Looks like the Flying Squirrel’s flying blind. Now what?”

  Dr. Prestis checked his controls, zooming in on the sea floor using the ROV’s forward camera. “We’ve loaded seventy-two pounds of manganese nodules. I say we finish with this patch and call it a day.”

  His colleague looked worried. “Washington wants samples from at least three patches.”

  “What am I supposed to do, Michael? Without sonar, we could smash the ROV head-first into a black smoker. No, I’m vacuuming up everything I can see, then we’re retrieving the Squirrel … assuming our pilot can stay awake.”

  “Jonas!” Shaffer shook him.

  Jonas opened his eyes, the geologist’s face blurry. “Where’s Maggie?”

  “Who?”

  “My wife. I left her on the beach with Bud, just before the wave hit.”

  Shaffer glanced at Prestis, shaking his head. “He’s cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Maybe we ought to bring the Squirrel back now.”

  Strapped into his seat, Jonas leaned forward so that his face was inches from the bottom viewport. The Sea Cliff’s exterior lights were focused on the hydrothermal plume, casting its glow upon the swirling layer of soot like a full moon obscured behind clouds. Every so often a break in the murky water appeared, allowing the beacon to illuminate the inky depths of the Devil’s Purgatory.

  Jonas followed the ray of light through the parting plume cloud, his eyes detecting movement. There was something circling in the warm layer a hundred feet below the Sea Cliff—something ghostly-white and as big as a public transit bus.

  *

  Challenger Deep

  As the current carried the energy-starved Megalodon through the trench, its senses had locked on to the telltale vibrations coming from another creature.

  Homing in on the reverberations, the female left the current and ascended warily.

  Like the school of cuttlefish, the light that flickered down from the hydrothermal plume glowed brightly, the Meg’s unseen prey hovering just above the ceiling of hot minerals.

  The big shark hesitated. While she needed to feed, the last foray into the cold had nearly killed her.

  The cloud of soot thickened, cloaking the light.

  Instinct took over—the creature was escaping.

  Locking onto the Sea Cliff’s churning propeller, the female once more ventured through the hydrothermal plume to attack.

  8

  Aboard the Sea Cliff

  JONAS RUBBED HIS EYES, watching in fascination as the glow rose higher. His heart pounded as the white haze appeared to morph into a triangular head, the creature’s widening jaws as big as the door of his garage.

  It was a Great White, ghostly pale and twice the size of the Sea Cliff!

  Teeth, tongue and pink gill slits suddenly filled the viewport between his feet, the sub’s beacon illuminating the monstrous shark’s gullet.

  Adrenaline surged through Jonas’s body like a jolt of electric caffeine, igniting every neuron in a flight or fight response dating back to prehistoric man. Lunging for the red EMERGENCY handle, he nearly tore the device from its socket as an immense set of jaws snapped down upon the ROV’s launch platform, sheering the metal hutch from the sub’s chassis.

  Then they were rising, soaring away from the nightmarish head as the 58,000 pound submersible jettisoned twelve percent of its mass. A dozen five-hundred-pound steel plates rained down upon the Megalodon’s snout, glancing off the stunned shark’s pectoral fins before disappe
aring through the hot mineral clouds below.

  Jonas tumbled sideways out of his harness amid voices cursing and alarms beeping and body parts colliding. A veil of purple haze clouded his vision.

  His eardrums popped, muting all sound.

  Must have bit through the back-up battery … took out the pressurization system … that wobble in your ears is the titanium sphere … we’re losing internal pressure … drain every air tank … overcompensate by filling the chamber with pressurized air before we implode!

  Fumbling in the darkness, Jonas stood, his hands groping along the curved ceiling, orienting himself. A whimpering body tumbled across his feet as he located the valve, his thoughts scattered.

  Is this another nightmare or is it real? Doesn’t feel real…

  He wrenched open the valve as cold air tinged with water blasted into the cabin.

  Jonas screamed at death, but the implosion never arrived.

  Just condensation … not seawater.

  The darkness groaned, splattering him with warm droplets of slime. One of the scientists was hemorrhaging; the other was calling out his name, cursing his existence.

  *

  Aboard the Tallman

  Paul Agricola cursed as the blip fell away from the sonar screen. “What the hell just happened? We were so close, then it retreated.”

  “Sir, I’ve got another object on sonar, rising fast.”

  “It’s back! Doug, go active on Sea Bat-I. Luis—”

  “Sir, it’s not the Meg.”

  Heads turned.

  “What do you mean it’s not the Meg? Is it another creature? How big is it?”

  “Half the size, only it’s not a biologic, it’s a submersible. I can hear the engines. It’s at 28,550 feet and rising very fast.”

  Paul Agricola glanced at his friend, Lucas Heitman. The Tallman’s skipper appeared shaken. “That’s why the Navy’s here. They’re diving the Challenger Deep.”