MEG: Nightstalkers (41 page)

“I know what it is. What the hell is it doing here? Mom, above you—watch out!”

The bull had ascended, only to circle back and descend upon the fleeing sub.

Terry and Zach looked up at the charging beast and knew they had no chance. The Miocene whale had the angle and speed, and the Manta’s pilot could not maneuver the sub’s bow around fast enough to direct the lasers at the enormous square head bearing down upon their cockpit glass.

Soaring through the sea at thirty-six knots, David continuously pinged the whale as he homed in on the prehistoric mammal’s left eye.

The presence of another Manta confused the behemoth. Less than two body lengths from the first sub, it veered away from the sea floor to attack the second.

Pulling his craft into a one gee, 180-degree turn, David led the Miocene denizen to the west. He had no desire to net the huge sperm whale; his only thought was to draw it away from his mother’s sub. But the creature was surprisingly quick and clearly agitated, and the two cumbersome objects strapped to his mother’s sub’s wings rendered it vulnerable to an attack. Soaring beneath the
McFarland
’s keel with the whale closing to within fifty yards, he realized the leviathan was not the least bit intimidated by the hopper-dredge, nor would it cease its relentless pursuit until either he or it was dead.

Suit yourself, big fella.

Easing back on the joystick, David began a quick ascent, the
Tonga
’s massive bottom looming ahead.

*   *   *

The two Dubai ships’ captains had taken up parallel positions to one another the moment their vessels had entered the channel. Deck hands aboard the
Tonga
quickly lowered an immense trawl net into the water between the two ships. While the trawl remained attached to the tanker’s two largest winches, the
Dubai Land-I
’s crew had to stretch and maintain the opening of the trap in order to ensnare the Lio as it swam headfirst into the triangular net.

From his perch inside the bridge of the
Tonga,
Fiesal bin Rashidi stared at the tanker’s sonar monitor, his adrenaline pumping as he watched the small blip lead the much larger blip into the alley of water between his two ships.

*   *   *

Jonas Taylor had awoken in sickbay to learn his wife and Zachary were aboard the
Manta-Three
, attempting to help David. Ascending six flights of steps, he staggered into the
McFarland
’s bridge just as his son’s sub surfaced astern.

Night-vision binoculars revealed the trawl net stretched between the two Dubai ships. And then the creature chasing after the Manta surfaced, allowing Jonas to identify the species.

Son of a bitch, it’s that damn whale!

“Sonar, where’s
Manta-Three
?”

“Passing beneath our keel, heading west toward the tanker at six knots.”

“And the Lio?”

“Two miles to the east.”

“Captain, come about! Get us to the tanker. Sonar, if that Lio so much as farts, I want to know about it.”

*   *   *

Sweat poured down David Taylor’s face. Echolocating the tanker, the whale had nearly given up the chase, forcing the pilot to cut his speed in half and weave from side to side in order to keep the melvillei interested. Cruising at only eighteen knots, he knew the Manta could not generate enough lift to leap out of the sea in order to clear the trawl net. And yet he had to keep the creature close … knowing that if he failed to ensnare the bull sperm whale it would turn and pursue his mother’s submersible.

So he took a chance.

Throttling back, he dropped his speed to thirteen knots, allowing the Miocene beast close enough for its open mouth to taste his sub’s jet-pump propulsor bubbles.

Incensed, the whale increased its speed as it passed the
Tonga
’s bow—just as David crushed the right accelerator pedal to the floor and wrenched the joystick hard to port.

The Manta launched sideways out of the sea. It cleared the steel cables running from the trawler to the net—and smashed nose-first into the
Dubai
Land’
s bow with the force of a race car striking a brick wall.

One moment David was airborne, the next he was consumed by an explosion of darkness.

*   *   *

Unaware that its prey was gone, the Miocene sperm whale swam into the trawl net, stopping only after its massive head became stuck at the pointed cod end. It attempted to turn around, but the crew manning the
Tonga
’s starboard winch were already tightening the noose upon the beast’s flapping fluke.

A collective cheer went up from both ships as the creature was hauled tail-first out of the sea.

A moment later the
Tonga
’s searchlights revealed the catch.

Fiesal bin Rashidi’s hands quivered in rage as he stared at the sperm whale thrashing within the trawl net six stories below. “What is this? This is not my monster! Sonar, where is the Lio?”

“Four kilometers to the east, heading this way.”

*   *   *

Terry Taylor surfaced her sub between the
McFarland
and the two Dubai ships, praying the presence of the immense hopper-dredge and supertanker would be enough to keep the
Liopleurodon
away. She tried to reach her son by comm-link, but there was no reply. Accelerating to twenty knots, she raced for the tanker. “Zachary, start pinging. Find me David’s Manta.”

“Terry, look.”

The two pilots stared at the scene before them.

The Miocene whale was suspended upside-down from a trawl net, thrashing along the starboard side of the tanker as it was hauled up to the main deck. As this was happening, the crew of the trawler were tossing a smaller cargo net into the water, a team of divers jumping in after it.

As Terry watched, her son’s sub was hauled out of the sea, the Manta’s port wing smashed beyond recognition.

“David…”

*   *   *

The
Liopleurodon
had consumed most of the minke whale when it registered the familiar sonic pings coming from
Manta-Three
. Leaving its young to feed on the remains of the carcass, it followed the vibrations, intent on protecting its offspring.

*   *   *

“Jonas, the Lio’s on the move; it’s heading toward the tanker.”

“Get
Manta-Three
on the radio.”

*   *   *

“Terry, Jonas is on channel one.”

Terry switched her headphones to the
McFarland
’s frequency. “Jonas, David’s sub struck the trawler, it looks really bad. I’m going to dock—”

“No! Terry, the Lio’s on the way. You need to get out of there.”

“David’s sub is still suspended along the side of the trawler. I’m not going to allow that creature to grab it.”

Zach tracked the
Liopleurodon
on sonar. “Terry, it’s moving along the sea floor, it’ll ascend directly beneath us.”

Terry felt her Parkinson’s symptoms kick in, causing her right arm and quadriceps to shake uncontrollably.

Jonas’s soothing voice reached out to her. “Terry, listen carefully. In thirty seconds you’re going to kill the Lio.”

“How?”

“Use the
Valkyries
. Aim for its neck.”

Reaching for the makeshift power controls secured by duct tape by her left knee, Terry ignited the lasers, then accelerated toward the trawler, submerging beneath its keel.

“Zach, start pinging.”

*   *   *

The
Liopleurodon
detected the reverberations, homing in on the irritating sounds.

Terry descended the sub at a forty-degree angle, spiraling into the depths as she searched the olive-green sea for the monster.

And then she saw it.

Its jawline alone was thirty feet, its mouth filled with ten- to-twelve-inch dagger-like teeth, the largest of which jutted outside of its mouth. Its sheer mass was incredible—from its snout to the tip of its powerful stubby tail it was as long as a city block, propelled by forelimbs the size of a school bus—all wrapped around a lead-gray and white hide that partially morphed into the backdrop of the dark sea.

Most frightening—it seemed to be hyperactive, its movements on overdrive as its crocodilian jaws snapped at their approaching submersible.

“Terry, what are you doing?”

She ignored Zach, closing the distance, her strategy based on her own frightful experience with Angel’s mother, a predator that had lived its entire existence in darkness.

Not yet … not yet …

Now!

Flipping on her headlights, she blinded the charging pliosaur as she barrel-rolled away from its outstretched jaws and buried the Manta’s bow just above the
Liopleurodon
’s chest cavity, the twin lasers burning matching holes three feet deep into the creature’s hide.

Blood spurted across the sub’s cockpit glass as the insane beast whipped its upper torso to and fro until it finally tossed the Manta free.

Mortally wounded, the animal sank toward the sea floor, writhing in pain.

*   *   *

The captain of the
McFarland
reversed the hopper-dredge’s engines, preventing the ship from getting too close to the
Tonga
.

Using his night-vision binoculars, Jonas searched the trawler, locating the damaged Manta. Sealed from the inside, the cockpit was being manually opened using a hydraulic device.

Scanning the crew, he saw a familiar face.

“Captain, I need to reach Mac.”

The captain nodded to his first officer, who hustled over to the ship’s radio controls.

The
Manta-Three
surfaced and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Jonas, something’s approaching on sonar … I think it’s the Lio’s young.”

“Where is it? How deep?”

“Sixty feet. It’ll be passing beneath our starboard bow in sixty seconds.”

“Captain, is the hopper still drained?”

“Yes.”

“Open the hopper doors on my command.”

The first officer waved to Jonas. “I have Mr. Mackreides on the line.”

Jonas took the headset. “Mac, contact your nephew, Monty. I need to know if David is … if he’s okay.”

“Stand by.”

Jonas focused the night glasses on the Manta as the cockpit glass was pried open, allowing a medic and two crewmen inside the sub.

Jason Montgomery hovered nearby. Jonas watched as the war vet answered his iPhone to read the incoming text.

Monty turned toward the
McFarland.

A moment later he made the thumbs-up sign as David was helped out of the sub, his black compression suit covered in white powder.

Mac’s voice came over the headset. “David’s a bit shaken up, but Monty says he’s fine. The air bag apparently went off, knocking him out.”

Jonas bit his lower lip, wiping tears from his eyes. “Thank you, Mac. Stand by please. Sonar, where’s Junior?”

“Passing beneath the stern … now.”

“Captain, open the hopper doors.”

*   *   *

Situated within the keel, the hinged steel doors of the empty hopper unbolted, the force of the sea driving them inward. Within seconds the vacuous pressure differential sucked several hundred thousand gallons of salt water into the hold—the eight-foot baby
Liopleurodon
along with it.

31

Aboard the Hopper-Dredge
McFarland
Amundsen Sea, Antarctica

Dr. Goldman finished examining David Taylor. “A mild concussion, other than that no other physical trauma to report. How do you feel?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You look exhausted,” Terry said. “Are you still having those terrible nightmares?”

“No, I’m good,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

Terry glanced at Jonas, urging him on.

“Listen, David, I know you needed to get away from things for a while, but your mother and I … well, we’re here to help if you let us. The
Liopleurodon
is dead. That alone should start making things a little easier on you. The question is—where do you want to be? Sure, the Crown Prince has an incredible facility, but do you really want to live in Dubai?”

“Dubai’s beautiful. Plus they have one of Angel’s pups. She’s getting huge.”

“Is that what you want to do, David?” Terry asked. “Work with Megalodons?”

“I don’t know. Let me process things. What time is the pow-wow with bin Rashidi?”

“Eleven o’clock.” Jonas checked his watch. “I’ve got a few things to do before then. By the way, I met your friend.”

“Monty?”

“Jackie. She’s very knowledgeable. If we end up keeping the baby Lio, I may hire her to be its trainer.”

“Wait, Dad … I thought this morning’s meeting was about selling Lio Junior to the Crown Prince?”

Jonas kissed his son on the forehead as he stood to leave. “I’m still processing things.”

Aboard the
Tonga

Whomp!

Fiesal bin Rashidi stood on the metal catwalk next to Jacqueline Buchwald, gripping the rail as he gazed three stories below. The immense storage tank ran the length of the ship like a rectangular lake, its fifteen million gallons of sea water divided in half by a three-inch-thick rubber-coated steel gate. The Miocene whale occupied the forward holding area.

As they watched, a dark wake rolled from the bow toward the stern.…

Whomp!

The gate shook, the impact of the whale’s enormous head upon the steel divider reverberating through the guard rail.

Jackie smiled. “I guess he wants the whole tank.”

“Do you find this humorous, Miss Buchwald? Because let me assure you that I do not. I did not spend millions of dollars and six long months at sea to capture a whale.”

“This isn’t just a whale, sir.
Livyatan melvillei
was a prehistoric sperm whale. Megalodon and melvillei were the two dominant predators during the Miocene era. This creature’s teeth are actually bigger than a Meg’s, its jaws and bite just as powerful. It’s longer and heavier than Angel was, and I doubt there’s ever been a bigger Megalodon on the planet. The whale would be an incredible addition to the Crown Prince’s aquarium.”