by Steve Alten
Johnny signaled to one of the men seated at the far end of the table. A moment later the deep blue ocean faded to black, the smart windows converting to a projection screen. A time code, depth in meters and feet, and ocean temperature displayed along the top, and a GPS and sonar screen appeared to the left.
“The footage you are about to see was recorded eleven days ago in the Panthalassa Sea aboard Dragon Pod-2.”
The water took on an olive-green tinge as the night vision activated, revealing a blizzard of snow-like particles coming straight at them. The glowing aft lights of a Sting Ray submersible were visible in the distance. A cluster of red blips appeared on sonar, moving steadily on a northwesterly course, a lone red blip zigzagging away from the group. Two blue dots denoted the two vessels closing on the target.
A crewman spoke in Chinese, his words translated into English: “Target has separated from the school; anesthetic has taken effect. Heart rate: a hundred thirty-three BPM. Range to target: twenty-seven meters. Sting Ray-2 requesting permission to attach neurological implant.”
“No activity on sonar. Fire at will.”
The particles slowed as the pod reduced its forward speed.
The Sting Ray appeared up ahead, the submersible dwarfed by the Leeds’ fish. The ninety-six-foot prehistoric giant was tethered to a steel cable connecting the vessel to a harpoon hanging below the creature’s gills.
“Target’s neurological system has been neutralized. We’re not in deep, DP-2 … better get the Sunfish in the water.”
“Stand by.”
The camera angle changed, revealing a section of the sphere’s outer shell as it yawned open, releasing a flat, oval-shaped drone, its design inspired by Mola mola, the giant Sunfish. Twenty-two feet in diameter, the drone was slightly larger than its namesake and resembled a swimming head that abruptly ended in a tall, rigid dorsal fin and a matching anal fin.
“Sunfish is in the water. She’s all yours, Toshi.”
“Engaging signal … control established. Stand by.”
The drone suddenly accelerated away from the sphere toward the Leeds’ fish, which was gasping huge mouthfuls of sea but had otherwise ceased moving. Hovering directly below the stunned giant’s belly, the Sunfish positioned the tip of its rigid dorsal so that it pierced the Leeds’ fish’s anus, the drone inching its way higher and deeper until half the fin had entered the orifice.
“We’re in. Heating up the blade.”
The visible section of the dorsal fin glowed brightly, the surrounding water sizzling.
“Activating internal camera.”
The smart window split into two views, the left side continuing to show the Sting Ray submersible hovering in close proximity to the Leeds’ fish’s tail, the Sunfish attached to its belly—
—the right side revealing a circular lens’ view of the species’ internal anatomy, lit by the drone’s glowing surgical fin.
A woman spoke. “Toshi, this is Dr. Jernigan. You’re in too deep. Retract the blade two meters or you’ll sever the heart and small intestines.”
“Stand by.”
The internal camera angle widened as the blade retreated.
“Much better. Proceed with the incision.”
“Acknowledged.”
The Sunfish’s propulsion system activated, pushing the drone dorsal fin-first in the direction of the creature’s head—
—its heated surgical blade slicing through the Leeds’ fish, eviscerating its belly. A long, dark, snakelike organ slowly unraveled out of the gaping wound.
“Toshi, that’s the small intestine. Be ready—the liver should follow.”
The small intestine continued uncoiling, followed by a large, flat, meaty, rowboat-size organ.
“Toshi—”
“I see it. Retracting blade … activating drone’s suction pumps.”
Freed from the Leeds’ fish’s belly, the drone chased after the creature’s excised organ. The Sunfish’s pucker-shaped mouth opened as its suction pumps engaged, inhaling the liver into the drone’s expanding internal cache. With a burst of blood, the orifice snapped shut upon the distal end of the small intestine, severing its connection with the captured prize.
A collective cheer rose from both vessels—
—then gave way to an internal alarm as multiple green targets suddenly appeared on sonar.
“Warning: Unidentified predatory species has entered the kill zone.”
Jonas’s pulse raced as several dozen thirty-to-forty-foot sharks attacked the Leeds’ fish like a school of ravenous piranha. Not content to simply feed off the paralyzed behemoth, they forced their way into its vented belly, consuming and tearing apart the convulsing creature from the inside out, the gruesome visual disappearing quickly behind a lake of blood. In a span of thirty heart-pounding seconds, the predators had shredded the prehistoric cow into unrecognizable chunks, some of which floated free of the feeding frenzy, only to be snatched up by members of the circling quarry.
Two of the carnivores were engaged in a gruesome tug-of-war with the drone, each writhing twist of their dark triangular heads intended to intimidate their rival. As the Sunfish’s cache was torn open and the Leeds’ fish’s liver released, a far larger shark bulldozed its way into the conflict, the fifty-foot female snatching the drone in her jaws before circling away with her prize.
The Sting Ray fled to open water, only to be chased by five or six of the predators, which bashed and pounded the submersible’s depth-resistant hull until it imploded in a brilliant white burst of crushed matter.
So bright was the flash that it left purple spots in Jonas’s vision, momentarily blinding him so that he never saw the object that impacted Mini-Dragon-2’s viewing window. But he felt the bone-rattling contact, which caused him to jump as the video went dark.
A moment later, the soothing deep blue of the shallows returned, the late afternoon sun splaying curtains of light along the sphere’s outer shell.
“Geezus, Johnny—what the hell were those things?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
“Can you slow the video down? There was so much blood and they were moving so fast, I couldn’t tell what species of shark I was looking at.”
“Computer, replay the last thirty seconds of the DP-2 attack at half speed.”
The smart window darkened, returning to the sequence just prior to the submersible’s implosion.
Jonas stared at the swirling dervish of bodies, struggling to discern any characteristics that might identify the species. “They’re definitely sharks … not as big as a Meg, but using the Sting Ray to determine their size, I’d guess thirty to forty feet and twenty tons.”
Terry looked away as the submersible imploded. “Dr. Hon, what happened to the Mini-Dragon? Was it destroyed?”
“Thankfully, no. The last recorded impact vented the outer shell, but the interior shell remained intact. Our sensors confirm that DP-2’s life-support systems are functioning, but the propulsion drive was damaged and the biosphere became caught in a current that has carried it forty-seven kilometers to the northwest. We’ve been waiting for the new Sting Rays and their weapon systems to arrive; now that they are here we can launch a rescue mission.”
“How many people were aboard?” Terry asked.
“Six, including Dr. Jernigan. We lost two men aboard the Sting Ray.”
Jonas looked up as the light from the implosion faded. As he watched, one of the sharks emerged from the periphery, on a collision course with the Mini-Dragon’s control room. It was the big female, the remains of the Sunfish drone still wedged in its mouth.
“Computer—freeze image!”
The playback stopped.
“Rewind to 00:41 and pause.”
The scene reversed three seconds.
Jonas stared at the creature’s mouth. “Johnny, look at the lower jaw—can you see what it’s using to grip the drone?”
Dr. Hon squinted. “Computer, enlarge image by thirty percent.”
&nb
sp; The still shot expanded, revealing a buzz saw–shaped protrusion of razor-sharp teeth originating from the center of the lower jaw.
“Jonas?”
“It’s a tooth whorl. It belongs to a nightmare of creation called a Helicoprion—an ancient species of shark that dominated the Panthalassa Ocean about two hundred ninety million years ago. “If there are schools of these monsters down there, you may have to look elsewhere for the cure for cancer.”
Point Bennett, San Miguel Island
The Channel Islands
The number of elephant seals lazing about the beachhead tallied in the thousands. Plump brown bodies were spread out in clusters in the warm afternoon sun, the pinnipeds tossing sand across their backs to keep from burning. Snores rented the salty air, joined by the incessant calls of the seagulls and the heavier grunts of copulation as the male seals spread their seed among the cows in their harem. Every so often a pair of males faced off, the rivals chortling deep throttles as they rose menacingly from their hindquarters to impress their cows.
* * *
The four Sikorsky S-64Sky Crane helicopters approached the small island from the west in a diamond formation. Secured to each of the airships’ landing gears by a thick steel chain was a corner rung belonging to a two-hundred-sixty-square-foot cargo net.
Jackie Buchwald was strapped in the copilot’s seat aboard the lead chopper, surveying the scene up ahead with the aid of a pair of high-powered binoculars. Adjusting her headphones, she spoke into the radio mic. “Remain in formation and wait for my signal before setting down.”
* * *
The thunderous reverberations had the pinnipeds sitting up and baying at the unknown disturbance. Moments later, the four helicopters were hovering over the beach, the 40-knot winds generated by their six-blade rotors sending the mammals scattering across land and sea.
The airships set down, their engines powering off as each of the six-man teams assembled around the cargo net, which had landed in a heap in the now-deserted clearing. Jackie watched as the entanglement of knotted rope was gradually stretched out to form a tight square.
Shovels were dispersed among the Mogamigawa’s crew, the men using them to cover the thick cords of rope with sand while the chopper pilots wrapped camouflage netting over their helicopters’ chassis. Finally, fresh fish were tossed over the buried cargo net to entice the frightened elephant seals to return.
Using her binoculars, Jackie scanned the western horizon. The tanker remained out of range, but it was early, dusk still a few hours away. The Lio was out there somewhere; the marine biologist estimated its present course and speed would bring it to the northern Channel Islands between 8 p.m. and midnight. San Miguel would be the first island in its path, the Port Bennett beach the nearest rookery … assuming the spooked elephant seals would return in time to serve themselves up as dinner.
She glanced at the men as they filed back inside the helicopter to get out of the sun. They were a scurvy lot, that was for sure—a mixed bag of Indonesians, Filipinos, Arabs, and Indians who had come to the United Arab Emirates through a visa sponsorship known as kafala. They had sought jobs in construction and had been part of the manpower that had built the hotels and monorails and massive aquariums in Dubai-Land. Only those who had experience at sea were recruited for positions aboard the two converted supertankers.
The men who had served on the Tonga had looked at her the way a hungry wolf eyes a lamb; she knew her fragile alliance with the crew of the Mogamigawa was based solely on the promise of bonuses the prince would fund if and when the Liopleurodon was captured and delivered.
But over the past few months she had come to see the crew in a different light, as first the women and then the men had shared their personal stories of abuse.
“My first job was as a domestic worker. I would wake up early to prepare breakfast, then clean, wash clothes, and then cook again. I had to work eighteen-hour days with no rest. The man I worked for abused me sexually. His wife must have known … she started hitting me … she would strike me in the chest and face and sometimes pulled out tufts of my hair. I complained to the agency that arranged the job, only to find out I was not allowed to switch employers. They held my passport, so I couldn’t go home. I had left my family in India just to be a slave.”
The conditions the men labored under were often worse.
“They kept hundreds of us in a single barracks with no electricity and only two working sinks, showers, and toilets. We labored in sixteen-hour shifts, barely being fed. Those who tried to leave were beaten; those who couldn’t handle the conditions died on the job; their bodies were often buried on the construction site. When I heard they were recruiting sailors, I lied and told them I had served aboard an oil tanker, just to get out of the UAE.”
These tales of horror weighed heavily on Jackie. Having already dealt with the crown prince and his warped sense of morality, she knew there was a good chance he would renege on the money due to the crew—not to mention her own million-dollar fee—the moment the Lio was secure in its aquarium.
And so she began formulating a new option, one that would force the crown prince into keeping his word. The first step was to create an alliance with the leaders among the crew—all of whom she had recruited for the San Miguel ambush.
“Karim, gather your team; I want to survey the rookery at Cardwell Point before the sun sets.”
“Yes, boss.”
Aboard the Yellow Dragon
The twelfth-story view looked out over a moonlit ocean, the ambiance wasted on the suite’s two occupants.
Terry laid her head on her husband’s silver-haired chest. “You knew this trip would lead to another encounter with the abyss.”
“I suspected it, but only after receiving Mac’s email.”
“Jonas, we’re not being held prisoner. Dr. Hon asked for your advice, not your presence aboard the rescue mission. Advise him, and in the morning we’ll take the chopper back to Guam.”
“And what about Dulce? Our son’s fiancée is being asked to pilot one of the Mini-Dragon’s Sting Ray escorts. If we leave and something happens to her…”
She said nothing, her silence affirming their shared fear.
“Jonas, those creatures … the Helicoprion—”
“How would I defend myself if I had to face them? I’ve been thinking about that all afternoon. My first line of defense would be to illuminate every rescue vessel in bright light. Of course, that only works if the Helicoprion aren’t already blind. Even if the light bothers them, they’ve got far more important senses that will lead them right to those spheres.
“My second line of defense would be to generate an electrical field that would scramble their ampullae of Lorenzini … something similar to what David wears when he interacts with Luna, only far more powerful. I’m guessing Helen Emmett outfitted the three Sting Rays with this kind of weapon, but the Mini-Dragons will need similar devices.”
“What about conventional weapons … torpedoes?”
“If it was only one creature … maybe. Against a swarm like we saw in that video—no way. Even if you managed to hit one of the sharks, the blood in the water would drive the rest of them into another feeding frenzy.”
“Is that it?”
“That’s all I could come up with so far. Of course, the last time I entered the Panthalassa on a rescue mission, I had my own personal escort.”
“Angel.” Terry thought for a moment and then sat up in bed. “Jonas, if you had an adult Meg as your escort this time around, would that be enough to scare these Helicoprion away?”
“I don’t know. There’s definitely an intimidation factor that comes into play. It’s sort of like a full-grown male lion making a kill, surrounded by a pack of hyenas. The hyenas won’t attack, even though they easily outnumber the lion and would probably win the fight if they all charged at once. Animals don’t think in terms of winning a battle; it’s all about self-preservation. So yeah, if a full-grown female Megalodon was swimming shotgun,
I think those Helicoprion would hightail it out of Dodge. Anyway, the point is moot—Luna’s far from an adult.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Luna.”
“What other mature adult female … oh!” Jonas’s eyes widened as he realized what his wife had in mind.
“It’ll take time to bring her in … at least a few days by transport. Will they wait that long?”
“If they want me to tag along, they’ll have to.”
“You mean us. I’m going with you.”
Jonas was about to argue, but the look in Terry’s eyes set him straight. “I’d better speak with Dr. Hon so he can coordinate everything with Mac.”
“Jonas, whatever they do, they cannot breathe a word of this to David. If he finds out Dulce is involved—”
“Understood.”
U.S. District Court
Seattle, Washington
The attorney and his client followed the clerk down a private hall to a closed door labeled MEDIATION 6A. “They’re waiting for you inside.”
“Thank you.” Thomas Cubit held the door open, and David entered the small conference room.
Three people in business suits occupied high-backed leather chairs at the far end of a rectangular table. One of the men and the woman were in their forties, the silver-haired gentleman in his late sixties. A fourth person—a stocky blond woman dressed casually in khakis—was seated off to the side, reading from her iPhone, a holstered weapon strapped around her waist.
The younger man offered a false smile, his New York accent identifying him as an American. “Thank you for coming. My name is Joseph Williams and I am the director of the Washington State Department of Ecology. The esteemed gentleman on my left is Deputy Minister Kenneth C. Webb, executive director of the British Columbia Environmental Assessment Office.”
The silver-haired scientist offered a brief wave without bothering to look up from the open file lying on the table beneath his nose.
“Finally, this is Sabrina Agricola, CEO at Agricola Industries. I believe you knew her brother.”
