Meg: Hell's Aquarium, page 39
“Max!” Lana is bordering on hysterics. “Help me, somebody help! I can’t see him!” She drags Blair Bates to his feet, the biker’s shaved head trickling blood. “My grandson fell overboard. I can’t find him!”
Bates scans the surface—
—as Lizzy breaches sideways out of the surf, a gushing object clenched within the albino’s chomping jaws.
“Max!” Lana collapses to her knees, her blood-curdling wail eliciting screams from the other passengers.
Bates grabs her by the arm. “No, lady. That was the dolphin! Look, there’s your kid!” He points to where the boy has surfaced thirty feet off the port-side bow.
Max treads water, wide-eyed and terrified, barely able to muster the strength to keep his head above the five-foot swells, let alone call out in the darkness for help.
Spotting her grandson, Lana kicks off her high heels and leaps into the Pacific.
One deck below in the V.I.P. stateroom, Scott Jenkins retrieves a monitor from a pile of equipment, an underwater image appearing sideways on the screen, a pair of woman’s legs suddenly plunging into the frame. “Jesus, there’s someone in the water.” He adjusts his headset. “Shannon, did you lose the camera overboard? Shannon?” He switches channels. “Shauna, where’s your sister?”
“I don’t know? Wait . . . I see her camera and reach pole floating overboard. Dad, that actress is in the water!”
“Find your sister!” Scott’s eyes are locked onto the monitor as a lead-gray dorsal fin moves vertically down the frame, gliding just beneath Lana Wood’s churning feet. “Dear God.”
Swimming with the current, Lana closes on her grandson—
—oblivious of Bela, who glides ten feet beneath her, homing in on Max’s fluttering heartbeat. Interpreting Lana’s presence as a rival competing for her meal, the agitated predator banks away from the boy and rises to the surface—
—engulfing its prey whole!
Disoriented, suddenly cloaked in darkness, yet still very much alive, Lana fights to swim back to what she believes is the surface against a steady flow of water streaming in from Bela’s partially open jaws. She flails, prone in the suffocating pitch, slicing her hands against a sharp object, her bare feet pressing against something that feels like rubbery sandpaper. Convinced she has stepped on one of the Megalodon’s backs, she kicks wildly, her lungs on fire—
—only to be driven chest-first against the Meg’s tongue by the roof of Bela’s mouth. Pinned down, the Megalodon’s tongue heaves Lana Wood sideways in the muted blackness—
—unseen daggers puncturing her flesh! Her cries are stifled by an ungodly embrace that crushes her existence into pulp and releases her soul to a heavenly light, even as Bela’s tongue guides her physical remains into hell.
Unable to see over the dark swells, Max never witnesses his grandmother’s demise. Caught within Bela’s undertow, the boy is dragged back toward the yacht snatched from the sea by Blair Bates. The Hell’s Angel releases the child to the deck, fighting to catch his own breath.
“You okay, kid?”
Max nods, still in shock. “Where’s Nana?”
“Help! Somebody help me!”
Bates and several crewmen hurry forward to the yacht’s bow. Shannon Jenkins is treading water by the anchor windlass, the boat’s freeboard far too high for her to reach up and grab onto the rail. “What is wrong with you people? Didn’t anyone hear me screaming?”
The camerawoman is helped on board as a Coast Guard cutter appears from the south, its lights flashing. Danielle Taylor is in the bridge, wrapped in a wool blanket, her mother, Terry, by her side.
A three-hour search for Lana Wood will yield nothing. By daylight, the news is everywhere, the incident shockingly reminiscent of the tragic drowning of her beloved sister, Natalie, decades earlier.
By noon Pacific Time, the developing story will continue with the arrests of Sara Toms and Jessica Thompson. Within hours, manslaughter will be added to the R.A.W. founders’ growing list of charges as the remains of Virgil Carmen are pulled from the Tanaka Lagoon’s main drain.
A small craft advisory is issued. Surfing beaches are closed, all diving ceased until further notice. Boat captains and fishermen are asked to report any shark sightings immediately to the Coast Guard, with he licop ters added to patrol the shoreline.
None of these precautions will prove necessary. Freed from the confines of their birthplace, the two Megalodon siblings have gone deep, following the abyssal terrain of the Monterey Bay Canyon to open water, far away from the lingering scent of their dominant mother.
38.
Panthalassa Sea
Angel stops feeding, her back muscles and pectoral fins rigid as she assumes a defensive posture. Remaining close to the kill, her senses lock on to the larger challenger moving along the periphery.
The liopleurodon’s forelimbs turn downward, her back muscles taut as she sizes up the Megalodon. Apex predators rarely cross paths, but when they do it becomes a battle for supremacy; and there can be only one survivor.
Angel is first to act, feigning a direct strike, her sudden charge meant to put forth the challenge and evaluate her opponent’s response.
More maneuverable than the shark, the liopleurodon easily circles out of harm’s way—
—sending the Megalodon rushing back to safeguard her kill.
This dance is repeated three more times. The Meg, bull-rushing the liopleurodon, gauging her enemy’s speed; the liopleurodon circling away, only to drift closer to the mosasaur remains with each pass—
—until finally she snatches it!
Having drawn the liopleurodon into her kill zone, Angel attacks in earnest, her serrated teeth latching onto the pliosaur’s short, muscular tail. The bite is neither mortal nor crippling, but it causes the liopleurodon to whip its crocodilian head around, the big female’s jaws slamming down upon the Megalodon’s left pectoral fin.
For the next twenty seconds the two monsters swim in tights circles, remaining attached to one another, their mammoth heads shaking back and forth, each predator attempting to gain the torque necessary to allow their teeth to sink deeper into their opponent’s lacerated flesh.
Finally they release, signaling the end of round one.
The liopleurodon glides off to circle once more, her wounded tail trailing blood.
The Meg is bleeding, too, but the wound is superficial, no worse than her mate’s assault during her last conception. Like a vigilant yard dog, Angel remains by her kill, refusing to pursue her quicker challenger unless the pliosaur moves closer.
The liopleurodon weighs twice as much as the shark, but the Megalodon’s jaws, better suited for delivering a mortal bite, force the pliosaur to change its tactics.
The liopleurodon moves off into the darkness.
The big female will initiate her next assault from below.
The titanium lab rises through the Panthalassa current, the raging water causing the sphere to spin.
David and Kaylie huddle on the floor within their “air bag,” the radio transmitter close by. “Dad? Dad, are you there? Come in, please!”
“I’m here.”
“What happened? Are you alright?”
“I’m attached to the rescue cable. Lost both wings when I had a little run in with Maren’s monster.”
“The liopleurodon?”
“Never seen anything like it. Don’t worry, Angel’s got its undivided attention.”
“Angel? Dad, what’s Angel doing down here?”
“Long story, and we need to conserve your air. But I had an idea. What are the interior walls made of? Are they padded, or is the titanium showing?”
“Titanium.”
“Good. And the interior temperature?”
“Right now? Sixty-five degrees. Dad, what are you thinking?”
“The higher we ascend, the colder the ocean temperature will get. I want you to turn the thermostat up as high as it can go. Let’s see if we can’t sweat those metal plates.”
“Condensation . . . that’s brilliant.”
“Once the moisture builds up, you’ll need to wipe it down with a cloth and squeeze the excess into the water tank. It’ll be tight, but it can work, provided you don’t expend too much energy.”
“Understood.” David pinches tears from his eyes. “Dad—”
“David, I know I can be rough on you at times, but I’m very proud of you. Don’t worry about a thing. We’re going to get through this little challenge together. Okay?”
“Okay.” The lab stops spinning, allowing David to reset the thermostat. He turns the temperature up to one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the blower fans on high.
“Mr. Taylor, this is Kaylie Szeifert. I just wanted to tell you that your son’s amazing. He’s already saved us about a dozen times. It’s my fault he even made this dive; he was just trying to protect me. I should have listened when you tried to warn us.”
“Well, Kaylie, I don’t know what it is with us Taylor men, but the women in our lives always seem to get us to do the craziest things. I’m guessing my son must really like you. I’m looking forward to meeting you in person in about thirty-three minutes.”
“Me, too.”
Aboard the Dubai Land I
Philippine Sea
Fiesal bin Rashidi stares, breathless, at the sonar monitor now tracking the abyssal lab. Moving beneath the steadily rising blip are two larger objects.
Brian Suits points to the blip hovering at 21,890 feet. “This one’s Angel. We’ve been tracking her using the Abyss Glider. This second object is much larger.”
“The liopleurodon?”
“Has to be.”
“How do we lure it up?”
“There seems to be a territorial battle going on between the two creatures. Angel’s been rigged to a neurotransmitter. The control device is aboard the hopper dredger. Tell Taylor’s people we want Angel to surface—”
“—and the liopleurodon will follow.”
“Hopefully.”
“How far out is the Mogamigawa?”
“The supertanker should arrive within the hour.”
“We can’t wait. Have the Tonga prepare their nets, then contact the hopper dredger and tell them what we want.”
“And if they refuse?”
Bin Rashidi stares again at the sonar screen. “If they refuse, tell them we’ll shut down the winch.”
Aboard the McFarland
Philippine Sea
“Son of a bitch!” Mac slams down the radio receiver. “I knew we couldn’t trust those bastards.” He turns to Brent Nichols. “Can we bluff them? Convince them the receiver’s still working?”
“The receiver is working. The steel cable must be acting like an underwater antenna.”
“Then do it. Lure Angel back up the hole.”
“And what if the liopleurodon doesn’t follow her up? Bin Rashidi’s already threatened to leave Taylor and his kid on the bottom of the sea floor.”
“You’re right. I need to handle this myself . . . get on board the Arab’s boat, stall them if I can.” Mac hovers over the marine biologist’s laptop. “Show me how this thing works.”
Panthalassa Sea
Ten thousand feet.
Pressed back in his pilot’s chair like an astronaut, Jonas stares straight up through the night glass as the Panthalassa’s geological ceiling appears out of the olive-green darkness. Moments later, the exit hole looms into view, bringing with it a sense of relief.
“David, we’re about to enter the chute. How are you two doing?”
David is in the lab’s upper level, Kaylie in the lower, both busy mopping beads of condensation from the titanium walls.
Kaylie grabs the transmitter. “The primary generator gave out a few minutes ago. We’re using the backup. David was afraid to put too much strain on it, so he shut down the thermostat. But the walls are still sweating, and so are we. Between the two of us, we must have added another three inches of water to the tank.”
“Good, that’s good. Soak up as much as you can, then lay down and rest. We’re almost home.” Jonas clicks off the radio, and that’s when he feels it—a distinct twang—the reverberation coming from the steel line above his head.
Jonas grips the edge of his seat, his pulse pounding as the Abyss Glider and lab enters the hole. The sub begins to quiver as a thin strand of steel line—one of four woven together to form the cable—gathers along the outside of the cockpit.
No, not now . . .
They pass the halfway point, the exit coming into view when a second snap sends the lab swaying.
“Dad?”
“The cable’s fraying. Hold on. We’re nearly out of the hole.”
The lab and its submersible escort continue rising, the steel cable groaning as it drags them out of the crater and into the Philippine Sea. They rise another eighty feet before one of the joints gives out.
Jonas registers a sickening rush of adrenaline in his stomach as the sub, weighed down by the 94,000-pound lab, plunges backwards through the depths—
—landing with a skull-rattling thud on the outer rim of the crater.
The sphere rolls toward the edge of the aperture, the AG III flipping around its hull, crashing sideways against the sea floor—
—creating a wedge that prevents the lab from rolling back down the hole.
39.
Aboard the Dubai Land I
Philippine Sea
“What do you mean, the cable snapped?”
“It was an accident, Mr. Mackredies, just as Captain Suits reported.” Fiesal bin Rashidi’s cold, ebony eyes return Mac’s accusing glare. “The lab and Glider made it out of the Panthalassa Sea but remain marooned along the Philippine Sea floor in 7,800 feet of water. We will not send a rescue sub down with another line until we get what we want.”
“David’s running out of air as we speak!”
“Then I advise you to stop speaking and begin instructing your monster. Once the liopleurodon surfaces, we will make the Shinkai available to you to so that you can attach another tow line . . . provided you supply your own crew. Those are my terms, Mr. Mackreides. And I won’t be adding a luxury box at Pac Bell Field or a peace treaty between the Israelis and Hamas.”
Bin Rashidi smiles smugly.
It takes all of Mac’s reserves to keep from bashing the man across his uni-brow with the laptop. He storms out of the wheel house, pushing past Ibrahim Al Hashemi.
Bin Rashidi turns to the marine biologist. “The harpoon gun loaded with the tagging device . . . it is operational?”
“Yes. Mounted in the trawler’s bow.”
“Be ready, my friend. We may need it.”
Panthalassa Sea
The liopleurodon rises from the depths, its 200,000-pound frame slicing through the sea, leaving barely a ripple. It cannot see the Megalodon but it can smell its blood, just as it can taste the mosasaur’s remains. The monster homes in on both, ascending in a steady, spiraling pattern so as not to reveal her presence.
Equipped with the best sensory array afforded by nature, Angel tracks its challenger as it rises, its ampullae of Lorenzini locked in on the electrical impulses emanating from the pliosaur’s beating heart. The liopleurodon’s speed and angle of ascent, similar to that of a great white attacking a seal, places the Megalodon in grave danger.
The Meg continues to circle the dead mosasaur in short, muscular bursts, its predatory instinct preventing it from abandoning its kill.
And then another signal reaches its brain, stimulating its olfactory senses, beckoning it to the surface. The Meg becomes agitated, the danger growing, its challenger streaking toward it from below.
Snatching the mosasaur remains in its jaws, Angel launches her girth topside, her caudal fin pumping hard.
Shifting from stealth to speed, the liopleurodon executes a series of quick downward strokes, closing the gap to fifty feet. Opening its jaws, it lunges forward to bite Angel’s caudal fin—
—when it’s bashed sideways by a roaring river!
The Panthalassa current whips the pliosaur sideways, forcing it to streamline its limbs. By the time it has resumed its ascent, the Megalodon is gone.
Emerging from the current, the giant female once more picks up the Meg’s scent. Swimming side to side like a crocodile, it races toward the subterranean ceiling in pursuit.
The lab is teetering on its side, the interior a shambles. Equipment lies in heaps, computer monitors smashed, books buried beneath collapsed shelves. Darkness beckons, the lights flickering behind the nearly drained backup generator.
David claws his way up the slanted lower deck floor to the life support system. The unit is bolted to the floor, but the tank is angled sideways, preventing the hard-earned pint of remaining water from draining into the liquid-gas conversion unit, stifling the flow of air.
“David, your father!”
He slides down the floor to the ladder and enters the upper level, now on an equal plane to the lower. Kaylie has cleared a path to the portal and is staring out the thick acrylic window, the sea bathed in the lab’s eerie red exterior lights.
The sphere lies on the crater’s precipice, the hole looming beneath them. Just visible below the viewport is the bow of the AG III, the lab pinning the sub’s cockpit.
“Dad!” David scrambles through the pile of smashed equipment, locating the radio. “Dad? Dad, can you hear me?”
“I’m . . . here.” Suspended sideways at a painful angle in his seat, Jonas releases his harness, allowing his body to tumble to the top of the inverted escape pod, now wedged under the lab.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’ve been better. What’s your status?”
“Life support’s off line. I need to find a way to drain the water into the system.”
“Find a way. The good news is that we’re out of the Panthalassa. They can send a vessel down with another tow line.”
