MEG: Nightstalkers (14 page)

Freed from beneath the Megalodon’s right pectoral fin, Jonas fought his way to the surface. He wheezed several precious breaths of air, then kicked and paddled until he found himself straddling a dark island of flesh that felt like sandpaper and sliced through his jeans like barbed wire.

Gripping Bela’s dorsal fin like a windsurfer, Jonas stood upon the deranged creature’s back as the Meg plowed the
Tallman-II
sideways into the next dock over. He leaped off as the shark finally muscled its way free, swimming out to join its albino sibling.

Jonas grabbed on to a floating plank and held on. After a moment’s rest he looked up, a strange sensation coming over him.

Lizzy was spy-hopping in the middle of the bay …
staring
at him.

Oh God … no.

Slipping beneath the surface, the ghostly shark disappeared—

Jonas’s heart pounded wildly in his chest as the albino monster’s massive head rose before him, her gray-blue left eye gazing at him less than a body length away.

Sheer terror subsided to a sense of awe as the creature seemed to size him up.

You recognize me, don’t you? You should know me; I’m the one who cared for you since the day you were born.

The weight of the moment intensified as the survivors ceased splashing and the sound of three hundred emboldened onlookers edged their way onto the decimated wharf in muted curiosity like Roman spectators, divided over whether to root for the Christian or the lion.

“You were always the clever one, Lizzy. You know I’m not fattening enough to qualify as a snack, let alone food. What are you thinking? Am I a threat to your young? Is that what your instincts tell you?”

Another twenty seconds passed between man and beast before the Megalodon’s mammoth head slid back into the sea.

Jonas squeezed his eyes shut and waited to die.

The force of the blow shocked the survivors in the water out of their lethargy; the onlookers to let out a collective yell as Lizzy struck the
Tallman-II
’s starboard bow with the force of freight train hitting an eighteen wheeler. The yacht rolled hard to port and kept rolling, its flying bridge crushing the small dock separating it from the next berth over before coming to a ninety-degree resting place, its starboard rail high out of the water.

Paul Agricola fell feetfirst through the collapsing dock into the bay, the former marine biologist managing to swim between pilings to reach the next berth over. He surfaced in time to watch the
Tallman-II
sink another twenty feet before she rolled belly-up, the net holding the dead Meg pup surfacing beside her.

9

Taiji, Japan

Hiking up Takababe Hill beneath a predawn sky, activists and foreign news crews trained their cameras on the secret dolphin killing cove where a beached submersible remained entwined in a fishing net. The protestors had organized within hours after links featuring the Manta’s live video feed had gone viral on Youtube.

Kenney Sills knew the Manta and its pilots would be held captive indefinitely by Taiji authorities, so he convinced the Crown Prince to release the footage as a way to prevent their detention, under the guise of promoting the upcoming Dubai Aquarium reality show. Though the story had broken in 2009 via the Oscar-nominated documentary
The Cove,
very few people were aware of the film or the annual Taiji slaughter responsible for brutally killing 20,000 dolphins each year.

Taken from a dolphin’s perspective, the Manta’s footage shocked the world, forcing Japan’s Chief Cabinet Secretary Yoshihide Suga to issue a hastily prepared statement via Twitter.

“Taiji fishermen are conducting a legal activity. Dolphin meat is part of Japan’s diet and economy.”

Activists responded immediately, stating that the justification of butchering these intelligent mammals as food was as dangerous to the Japanese public as it was cruel to the creatures themselves. Dolphin meat, often falsely packaged as whale meat, was neither an Asian delicacy nor was it nutritious; furthermore it contained toxic levels of mercury—a result of the species’ diet. Consuming mercury damages the human brain and nervous system, affects eyesight, hearing, and motor skills. Mercury also harms fetuses, leading to birth defects.

The cabinet secretary was instructed to stop tweeting and address the public at a ten a.m. news conference, attempting damage control in what was becoming a public relations disaster.

Meanwhile, the confrontation between local police and the Manta’s two pilots remained at a standstill. Each time authorities attempted to hook a tow line to the sub’s exterior, David Taylor countered with an electrical discharge through the outer hull, effectively tasering any unlucky fisherman or policeman within two feet of the sub.

By nine-thirty a deal was struck; the reality show producers agreed not to air footage of the dolphin slaughter during the season, in return for the release of their submersible and its crew.

David Taylor was furious when informed about the arrangement by text. He and Nick Porter watched and waited while the netting was cut and the sub pushed backwards into the water by six angry fishermen and a police officer, all of whom were cursing at him and spitting on his cockpit glass.

David gave them a farewell
zap
that had them screaming in agony. Executing a tight 180-degree turn, the pilot raced the Manta out of the bloodstained waters of the cove to cheers from activists poised on the hillsides.

Any good feelings were quickly quashed by the radio transmission.

“Mr. Taylor, I am sending you the
DB-II
’s coordinates. You will plot a course, engage the autopilot, and return to the trawler immediately.”

“Kenney—”

“Those are your orders, Mr. Taylor. Commander Sills out.”

Damn, he’s pissed.
David turned to his co-pilot, who was listening intently on sonar. “What is it?”

“Banger boats. They’re driving another dolphin pod inland.”

“Sonuva bitch! Give me the bastards’ heading.”

“No way.”

“Nick, all I’m going to do is chase the dolphins back out to sea using our active sonar. A couple dozen pings should do the trick.”

“David, we’re already in enough trouble.”

“We’re not in trouble; we’re history. What are they gonna do? Fire us twice? Now give me the damn heading.”

“One-three-seven, just about six miles out.”

Diving the sub, David adjusted his course, accelerating to thirty knots. He was feverishly exhausted, desperate for sleep, but there’d be plenty of time for that on the ride home.
Cargo plane, no doubt. Or they could just drop us off in Tokyo and force us to pay for our own return tickets. I think Mom has an aunt living in Kyoto … maybe Monty and I can—

“David, didn’t you hear me? You’re heading straight into the dolphins’ path! Two hundred yards and closing fast.”

David switched the sonar from PASSIVE to ACTIVE, instructing Nick to continuously hit the switch. A series of piercing
pings
reverberated from the Manta, creating a wall of sound.

They heard the squeals first and then out of the deep blue appeared dozens of frightened dolphins, the mammals zigging and zagging, their internal compasses gone haywire. Chased from one echolocation-maddening sound into the next, the pod broke away from the sub, scattering in multiple directions.

Sixty feet overhead, the fleet of approaching fishing boats slowed, their captains unsure of what had just happened.

David cheered, pumping his fists.

Nick Porter signaled for quiet. “There’s something else coming at us … something really big. You need to get us out of here—change course!”

David veered hard to starboard as the adult male shonisaur suddenly appeared off their port wing, the seventy-five-foot ichthyosaur’s dolphin-like mouth snapping at the sub’s tail.

His heart pumping with adrenaline, David shot to the surface, the sub launching out of the water between two banger boats.

The ichthyosaur attempted to follow, its immense girth—wider than that of a sperm whale—striking one of the boat’s keels as the creature leapt from the sea like an oversized humpback whale.

The Manta’s wings caught a thirty knot headwind and the craft went airborne, gliding over the water like a flying fish before skidding upon its belly.

David executed a quick surface dive, keeping his head on a swivel as he attempted to relocate the big male ichthyosaur—nearly running head-on into its mate and her young.

“
DB-II
to
Manta-Two
: Mr. Taylor, you were ordered to rendezvous with the trawler.”

“Kenney, we’re being chased by the shonisaurs!”

“Okay kid, we’re on the way. Can you lead them toward us?”

The two pilots gasped as the big male’s open mouth suddenly bloomed in front of them, forcing David to pull into a one gee reverse loop and dive—the female’s jaws snapping at him from above.

Swooping up and away from the sea floor, he raced the Manta past the fishing boats into open water.

Nick continued pinging the active sonar with his prosthetic left hand. “They’re following us, only you’re going the wrong way! The tanker’s to the east; course zero-eight-zero … six kilometers!”

“Stop using the metric system!” Stealing a peek at the sonar monitor, David executed a long, sweeping turn, fearful he was offering one of the adults an angle to eat him.

Sure enough, the male shonisaur made a bull rush at the portside wing. For twelve frightful seconds it was a dead heat, the twenty-one-year-old pilot pushing the Manta beyond its limitations as it veered away from the beast in a wide counterclockwise turn, the ichthyosaur keeping pace, its open jaws so close that David could see mangled bits of dolphin flesh caught between its eight-inch conical teeth.

“One-four-zero…” Nick yelled out, wedging his prosthetic arms beneath his seat, bracing himself against the torque of the wide 180-degree maneuver. “One-two-zero … one-zero-zero. Almost there … Zero-eight-zero—go!”

David pulled out of the turn, the sub jumping out in front of the ichthyosaur—as the rumble of the trawler’s engines grew louder overhead.

“
DB-II
to
Manta-Two
: Trawl net float depths are set at two hundred and two hundred fifty feet. Ascend to one hundred seventy feet; maintain course and speed. Two hundred yards … one-fifty … Passing over you now.”

The trawler’s twin blades spewed two lines of whitewater beneath the surface as the keel roared past them.

“Eighty yards … fifty—brace for impact!”

The Manta sub soared three feet over a horizontal line of floats which marked the top of the mouth-like opening of the trawl net.

The male shonisaur went straight into the steel mesh trap until its snout struck the cod end marking the tip of the triangular enclosure. The net quickly tightened around the creature, pinching its four limbs to the side of its body.

The enraged ichthyosaur twisted and shook—to no avail; the bridle having been pulled closed, sealing the opening.

The trawler captain veered hard to starboard, the deeper trawl snagging the ichthyosaur’s mate. The female attempted to spin around within the net, only the steel cables had been pulled tight.

The two trapped shonisaurs thrashed and fought until near exhaustion, their thirteen-foot offspring darting between them, refusing to abandon its parents.

Two hundred feet overhead, the
Dubai Land-II
circled in five-foot seas, its elated crew celebrating the culmination of their six month hunt. The
Mogamigawa
approached in the distance, its deckhands preparing the supertanker’s crane that would hoist the captured sea creatures out of the water and into the ship’s hold.

Jacqueline Buchwald paced excitedly by the starboard rail, debating whether to keep both ichthyosaurs in the same pen.

*   *   *

David circled the two nets, giving the captured creatures and their anxious young a wide berth. Coming down from his adrenaline high, he edited his mental “to-do” list.
Can’t dock the Manta until the trawl nets are secured … that’ll be another hour. Figure twenty minutes to net the little guy. Dock the sub, board the supertanker … grab some food and a hot shower, then eight hours’ sleep. By that time Jackie should have the creatures secured in their pens and we can be together.

“David—”

Better yet, maybe I can pull her away for a quickie and then get some sleep.

“Active sonar was left on. There’s something out there, circling along the periphery.”

“Another shonisaur?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Probably an orca waiting for its opportunity to grab junior. How big is it?”

“Fifty-two feet.”

The blood rushed from David’s face. “Where is it?”

Nick pointed.

David reduced his speed to three knots. In the distance he could see something ominous circling back and forth, its features becoming more distinguished as they approached.

It was a sleek creature, as quick as it was massive, weighing in excess of fifteen tons. Crocodilian jaws were lined with five-inch teeth; four short fins steered a hydrodynamic body powered by a thick, long tail.

David’s pulse raced as he hovered the sub seventy yards from the creature, which was clearly growing more agitated as he neared. Now he understood why the family of shonisaurs had fled the Panthalassa Sea—the species sizing him up had been responsible for the ichthyosaurs’ demise ninety-eight million years ago during the late Cretaceous. For the next thirty million years their kind had ruled the seas—until an asteroid had impacted the planet, leading to the extinction of the dinosaurs.

“
Dubai Land
, this is Taylor. How soon can you have another net in the water?”

“David, it’s Kenney. What’s wrong, pal?”

“Oh, nothing much. I’m just staring at the business end of a fifty-foot mosasaur and she looks seriously hungry.”

10

Captain Steven Beltzer stood in the
Mogamigawa
’s bridge, his binoculars focused on the horizon. He was emotionally spent, having been up all night worrying about whether the Taiji fishermen would harm his son, Nick. In truth, he was angrier at David Taylor and his refusal to obey orders than he was at the Japanese.