MEG: Nightstalkers (18 page)

The challenge was enormous, the requirement a bit baffling since the Mariana Trench, the deepest location on the planet, possessed a mere 16,000 pounds of pressure. Still, the job paid well and allowed him to remain in England. Over the next three years Fiesal tested a half dozen miniature models before coming up with a design stable enough to flood and drain a docking station nine miles beneath the surface.

Two titanium habitats were constructed while Maren’s research vessel was fitted with an A-frame, winch, and steel cable strong enough to lower and raise the enormous weight. After five years of planning and construction Maren was ready to set sail to “an unexplored realm.” Fiesal was offered a position on the maiden voyage, but the thought of spending upwards of a year at sea with the volatile scientist and his lover, Allison Petrucci, held no appeal. Accepting an offer from his father’s firm, the engineer returned to Dubai to work on the emirate’s new airport.

Eighteen months later, Fiesal was contacted by Allison Petrucci. Maren was dead, killed by one of the creatures he had dedicated his life to studying. After coercing the engineer into signing a non-disclosure agreement, the woman presented him evidence of an unexplored sea that dated back hundreds of millions of years, possessing ancient marine life that could be captured and placed on exhibit. For a seven figure sum she would provide Fiesal with maps which showed the access points into the realm her fiancé referred to as the Panthalassa Sea.

The Middle East was a battleground. America’s military interventions and a failed Arab Spring had only added more fuel to that fire. Democracy was subverted in Egypt, autocratic rule festered in Syria and Iran, and military uprisings were tearing apart an already toxic situation in Iraq.

Fiesal bin Rashidi convinced the Crown Prince to fund the prehistoric aquarium theme park, believing that the venture would make Dubai the vacation Mecca of the world, presenting westerners with a more positive opinion of the Arab world while inoculating the UAE against the threat of radical Islam.

A high-speed rail would connect the new airport to Dubai Land and its dozen five-star hotels. The completed aquariums were an engineering marvel—all that was left was the underwater safari required to stock the habitats.

Jonas Taylor was the unanimous choice to lead the mission, only the former navy submersible pilot and marine biologist flatly refused. He and Maren had crossed paths before; the last time culminating in Michael’s death. The Tanaka Institute agreed to sell Angel’s two surviving Megalodon runts to the Crown Prince, along with four Manta subs.

But there was another Taylor who captured Fiesal’s eye—Jonas’s son, David. The cocky twenty-one-year-old was not only the most qualified and skilled Manta pilot but seemed fearless around the Megalodons. A lucrative summer job offer in Dubai to stabilize the runts in their new aquariums brought David to the UAE; love would send him into the depths of the Panthalassa Sea.

Locating and netting the Panthalassa life forms proved more than a bit challenging. After several months only four different species were captured, two perishing within their tanker pens. And then Fiesal bin Rashidi laid eyes on the
Liopleurodon
.

The monster was an aberration of evolution; a specimen that Fiesal knew would easily become the identity of the aquarium. While the rest of his crew aboard the
Tonga
remained mesmerized by the surfacing creature, Fiesal fired a transmitter dart into the animal’s back, ensuring that they wouldn’t lose track of their prize.

That was nearly three months ago.

Half a year at sea changes a man; half a year of failure poisons ambition. The Lio refused to surface, and the
Tonga
’s submersible pilots were too afraid to venture close enough to engage the goliath and lure it into the tanker’s nets. Compounding the problem was the failure of bin Rashidi’s second unit aboard the
Mogamigawa
to capture the three shonisaurs that had escaped the Panthalassa Sea. With only three of the twelve exhibits occupied, the Crown Prince’s initial excitement about the aquarium had waned, turning Fiesal’s optimism into doubt, his joy festering into resentment, frustration, and bitterness.

As the weeks became months, a sense of gloom seemed to hang over the
Tonga
. Desperate, lacking a game plan and clearly out of his element, Fiesal bin Rashidi lost the respect of his crew. The driving force behind the aquarium spent his days alone in his stateroom, a prisoner to his own ambition. Women no longer interested him, gold no longer shimmered. Stuck on a seemingly endless voyage of damnation, Fiesal bin Rashidi—once the favored cousin of the Crown Prince—had become his albatross.

And then David Taylor arrived on board the
Mogamigawa
and lady luck returned. Three animals captured within thirty-six hours, including a mosasaur!

It was as if the sun had shone for the first time in six months.

The Crown Prince arranged for a helicopter to transport David, his friend Monty, and the female marine biologist to the
Tonga
. Fiesal ordered three of his officers to give up their quarters to the VIPs. A buzz of excitement spread through the crew—the son of Jonas Taylor would take charge of the mission and capture the Lio. The
Tonga
would return home with its prize, families reunited, bonus checks cashed.

Fiesal stood on the bridge, his eyes focused on the transport helicopter approaching from the north, his entire future dependent on the whims of a twenty-one-year-old who either intended to help capture the largest predator on the planet—or kill it.

13

Friday Harbor, San Juan Island

“So here’s my advice, J.T.: Kill those bloody Megalodons. And when I say kill, I don’t mean you and Mac. Let the United States Coast Guard do the dirty work. Then go find yer son, sell the institute, and live out yer days happy, fat, and stupid.”

Jonas opened his eyes, his heart pounding heavy in his chest. The hotel suite was dark, an outline of gray conforming to the top of the bedroom drapes. Turning to his right, he saw the face of the digital alarm clock—7:22 a.m.

He did not need to turn to his left to know Terry was gone.

For a long moment he thought about the dream. He and Zachary Wallace were both marine biologists, but that’s where the similarities ended. Jonas was a man of action who was forced to become an academic in order to give his theories credence. Zach was a scientist—a gifted thinker forced to take action in order to prove his theories regarding a legendary life form living in Loch Ness.

Jonas had funded Zachary’s energy venture years earlier and the two had become close friends. Still, there was something disturbing about the Highland-born American—at times it seemed he possessed a sixth sense about things that made Jonas feel more than a bit uneasy.

Like his insistence that every Manta submersible cockpit be refitted with pilot airbags. Zachary claimed that for weeks he had experienced a recurring nightmare about an accident involving David and knew the matter needed to be resolved.

That he was now being insistent over killing Bela and Lizzy was no less disturbing.

Jonas sat up in bed, gazing at the empty suite. He felt empty without his wife and he knew she was right. But the sisters were still his responsibility and he was not the kind of person who passed the buck.

The council members had held their vote last night after Terry had abruptly left the meeting. Eighteen votes to kill the sisters, three votes to capture. Nick Van Sicklen was tasked with locating the Megalodon nursery, Commander Royston with taking out Bela and Lizzy.

It seemed everyone
but
Jonas wanted the creatures destroyed.

Fuck it.

Rolling out of bed, he started a pot of coffee and then hustled into the bathroom, his bladder ready to burst. It was yet another “parting gift” of getting older. Shrinking prostate, bad knees, an arthritic back … His broken arm itched beneath the cast, agitating his already dour mood.

His morning inventory of ailments was interrupted by a knuckle rapping lightly but insistently on the door.

“Terry?” Flushing the toilet, he hurried to the door and opened it—disappointed to find Paul Agricola standing in the hallway.

“What do
you
want?”

The silver-haired marine biologist-turned-fishing boat captain looked uneasy. “I have a proposal. If I could just have two minutes of your—”

Jonas slammed the door.

Paul knocked again. “Come on, Jonas—two minutes. I brought breakfast sandwiches. Scrambled eggs, ham, and avocado on a fresh bagel.” He held the take-out bag up to the peephole.

The door reopened, Jonas snatching the bag. “Two minutes.”

Paul followed him inside. “Nice room. Sorry about the blow-up with the missus. I hear she caught the last ferry to Puget Sound. Probably en route to San Francisco as we speak.”

Jonas sat at the kitchen table, unwrapping the second breakfast sandwich, having already devoured the first. “Ninety seconds.”

“That wasn’t thirty seconds. And that other sandwich was supposed to be mine … never mind. Listen, I know you don’t want to kill Bela and Lizzy. I have a plan that can save them both and get you back in good with the missus.”

Jonas chased the second breakfast sandwich down with a swig of orange juice.

“Don’t they feed you?”

“I didn’t eat dinner. So what’s the brilliant plan?”

“You help me recapture the sisters, then sell me the Tanaka Institute for a hundred mill. Ten million dollars due on signing, the balance to be paid in ten-million-dollar installments over the next five years with a forty-million-dollar balloon payment in year six.”

“What kind of deal is that? Each of Angel’s last four years netted twice that much.”

“And you’re selling me a facility in desperate need of repair. The canal doors need to be permanently sealed, the Meg Pen Lexan glass has to be replaced. It would be cheaper for me to convert the Wild Coast exhibit over at the Vancouver aquarium—the animal rights groups are demanding the release of their Pacific white-sided dolphins—but I like California. Plus there are three new hotels under construction in Monterey that are desperate to get the institute up and running again—I’m sure I can get them to assist with my up-front costs.”

“A hundred and fifty million with twenty million down, and you handle all liabilities, lawsuits, and settlements arising from the sisters’ escape.”

“Make it fifteen million down and eight year terms on the balance and I’ll have my lawyers draw up the papers.” Paul smiled. “You think I’m crazy.”

“Certifiable.”

“Maybe I am. Money … it means nothing to me; I inherited more than I can spend. Sure, the venture needs to be profitable, and it will be, but I’ve been wanting this since the day my research vessel accidentally led that Megalodon into your path.”

Jonas gave him a hard stare. “What are you talking about?”

“Seven years before you led Tanaka’s kid into the Mariana Trench. You were piloting those dives for the U.S. Navy into the Mariana Trench. My father’s research vessel, the
Tallman
, was in the Philippine Sea at the time; my team was collecting water samples from a twelve-story-high underwater volcano using a deepsea drone called a Sea Bat. We were just completing a three-month gig when our drone’s sonar detected a fifty-foot biologic circling beneath the hydrothermal ceiling.”

“It could have been a whale shark.”

“Whale sharks are docile; this thing was a predator. It went after the Sea Bat.”

Paul poured himself a cup of coffee. “I knew it had to be a Meg. We tried to bait it with the drone—lead it out of the trench where we could net it. Instead, we ended up crossing paths with some rusty scow-bucket … the
Maxine D.”

Jonas felt the blood draining from his face. “The
Maxine D
was our surface ship; its A-frame was used to launch our three-man bathyscaph, the
Sea Cliff
. Everything was covert; only the scientists on board knew why we were there. I was piloting the sub; it was my third dive in eight days. My job was to keep the sub above the hyrdrothermal plume while they used a remote drone to vacuum manganese nodules off the trench floor. At one point our sonar detected a school of fish, followed by this massive predator—a fifty-footer. We shut down everything until it passed by. Only it returned—you assholes led it right to us!”

“Jonas, we didn’t know—”

“The scientists died—did you know that? The navy blamed me; it cost me my career … a dishonorable discharge.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I read your story. It should have been my story …
my
career. I was the one who discovered Megalodons living in the Mariana Trench, I still have the sonar records to prove it, only my father forbade me to come forward after we learned the
Maxine
D
was a black ops vessel. Seven years later you returned with Masao Tanaka and his kids and I had to suffer through your fame and fortune.”

“And death. D.J. died in that hell hole. Several dozen people have lost their lives because of these monsters.”

“Oh, please. Dozens are killed every day in auto accidents but you don’t see people giving up driving. Bees take far more human lives every year than sharks. Face it Jonas, you’ve lost the stomach for dealing with these creatures. Let me take over the reins while you drive off into the sunset in a Lamborghini.”

“And how do you expect to capture Bela and Lizzy? Rod and reel?”

“When you moved Angel last summer, you used a hopper-dredge, yes? Agricola Industries owns two hopper-dredges even bigger than the
McFarland
; we lease them to the city of Vancouver. My crew will convert one of our hoppers into a transportation pen just like you did, only we’ll keep the bin drained. When one of the sisters passes beneath the keel, we open up the doors and—”

“And the suction will vacuum the sea and the Megalodon right up into the hopper—that’s actually quite brilliant.”