21

Aboard the Neptune

34 Nautical Miles Northeast of Palau

268 Nautical Miles Southwest of The Mariana Trench

" . . .the Megalodon's skin is covered with these razor-sharp, teeth-like scales called denticles.  As you can see, it raked me pretty good.  Thank God I was wearing a wetsuit, or there'd probably be nothing left of my skin."

Andrew Fox raises his left arm, exposing his chest wounds to the cameraman, his bleeding skin appearing as if it had been scraped by a cheese grater.

Jonas enters sick bay.  Seeing the film crew, he ushers them out.  "Damn vultures.  Andrew, you okay?"

"Two broken ribs and some scratches that should make the wife jealous.  Other than that, I'd say I'm lucky to be alive.  Is Dani okay?"

"Yes, but we lost Shinto."

"Damn."  Andrew shakes his head, still in shock.  "Jonas, how do you suppose Angel—"

"It wasn't Angel.  The Meg's a male."

"A male?"  Andrew grimaces as the physician swabs his wounds with antibacterial ointment.

"Judging by its girth and teeth, I'd say it was a young adult.  Right now, it's feeding on the bull Sperm whale, but he'll go deep in about an hour, as soon as the sun starts to rise."

Andrew lies back as the physician finishes.  "Pretty amazing coincidence, huh, this Meg just showing up like this while we're filming.  I mean, I know we're close to the Mariana Trench, but—"

"I don't believe in coincidences."

"I didn't think you did."

Jonas waits for the physician to leave, then pulls up a chair.  "This whole thing reeks of one big setup.  My recruitment on this voyage, the selection of the Neptune, the course our ship's been following—"

"Whoa, you lost me.  What about the Neptune ?"

"Remember that story Robertson was telling us our first night out, about the history of these Spanish galleons and how so many of them sank off the waters of the Mariana Islands?"

"You think they were attacked by Megalodons?"

"I do.  Back when Angel first escaped the lagoon, we had her trapped along the Washington coast, in Gray's Harbor.  There was a tourist attraction there, a reproduction of an eighteenth-century tall ship—the Lady Washington.  Same basic design, same wooden hull and keel.  Angel went berserk, she attacked that vessel like she hadn't fed in a month.  Took me a while to figure it out.  Seems that these big wooden ships strain and creak as they move along the surface.  To an adult Megalodon, the reverberations must sound similar to those a dying whale would make."

"You think the Neptune lured this male up from the deep?"

"Actually, I think it's been following us.  I'm sure it fed on that Humpback carcass, and I'm pretty sure it took Barry Struhl."

That means it's been with us since we entered the Philippine Sea.  I thought these Megs of yours preferred to stay deep?"

"They do.  Where's that footage you filmed tonight?"

"Susan's team's already editing it.  I hear the network's doing cartwheels.  They're preempting all prime-time programming tomorrow to run the episode."

"I want to take a closer look at your footage.  When we were in the Zodiac, I thought I saw something metallic shadowing us."

Andrew sits up.  "Like a barracuda?  I saw it too.  It followed the Sperm whale up from the depths.  You think it's some kind of lure?"

"It's possible.  These Megs have large brains, bigger in relation to their body weight than most whales.  Back in the lagoon, we were able to train Angel to respond to certain electronic stimuli.  She learned how to press a target that sounded like a bell, signaling her to swim to another section of the tank for food.  She could even distinguish colors.  Using shock therapy, I taught her to avoid the color yellow.  I had all my trainers in yellow wetsuits, just in case they actually fell in."

"You think Hollander's behind all this?"

"He definitely knows something, but I think the brain behind this affair is hiding out on that yacht.  Hollander got a pretty nasty reception the other day when he boarded her.  If you remember, the yacht's crew were also the ones who supplied the show with that first whale carcass."

"What are you going to do?"

Jonas stands.  "I think it's time I paid a little visit to the Coelacanth."

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Lagoon

Monterey Bay, California

Mac watches from the eastern bleachers of the arena as the tugboat winch recoils, dragging the remains of his boat off the bottom of the lagoon.

Gregory Stechman, co-owner of Stechman Salvage, flops down in the seat next to him.  "Okay, Mac, let me get this straight.  You were coming home late last night in some tough weather when your keel struck the edge of the canal wall."

"Yep.  Barely managed to make it back into the main tank before she sank."

"Uh-huh.  And that's what you expect me to write on the insurance claim?"

"That's what happened."

Water pours from the Angel-II as the vessel is hauled transom-first onto the tugboat's barge.

Stechman stares hard at his boyhood friend.  "Nothing else you want to tell me?  Like how a concrete wall managed to chew through half your pilothouse?"

"Must've happened when she went down.  Speaking of going down, remember the time you picked up that biker chick in that bar?  Geez, was she horny.  But hey, how were you to know her old man was in the bathroom?  I still remember the look on your face when he caught you in your Buick with her, doing the nasty."

"Okay, okay, we'll call it even for the tow, but there better not be any of those rocks attacking my barge, if you catch my drift."

Mac gazes out to the canal entrance, now blocked by a rusted steel barge supporting a loud-clanking generator.  Water and silt are being pumped up from the bottom, the latter piling into small sand dunes.  "I notice you're not using the jet-flow dredger."

The back-hoover'll do you just fine.  Lucky for you, we don't need a cutterhead to stir up the sediment.  Then again, for what you're paying me, you're lucky I don't give you a straw and tell you to suck it up yourself."

"How long until the entrance is clear?"

"I don't know, another day or two . . . and no, my guys aren't working overtime."

*        *        *        *        *

David Taylor is in the control room, on the phone with a slaughterhouse.  "Yes, sire, we'll need two sides of beef a day, but they have to be freshly killed.  We'll take the first delivery tomorrow afternoon, along with as much blood and innards as you can possibly spare.  Yes, sir, cash on delivery."

He hangs up as Patricia enters in a huff.  "Was that your mother?"

"No, and I've been trying her all morning.  Her cell phone's dead."

"There are two reporters downstairs, wanting to interview her."

"What for?"

"They want her reaction about this."  She turns on the television.

The scroll along the bottom of the screen reads:

MEGALODON SHARK ATTACKS DAREDEVIL TEAM.  WHO WILL LIVE AND WHO WILL DIE?  DON'T MISS TONIGHT'S MUST-SEE DAREDEVILS II  SPECIAL, 9 P.M. EST.

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Coast Guard Cutter Cape Calvert

Half-Mile North of Destruction Island

Northwest Coastline of Washington

Destruction Island is a remote stretch of rock, 300 feet wide and a half a mile long, located off the Washington coastline about a mile south of Ruby Beach.  Once used as an anchorage for Spanish ships back in 1775, the tiny land mass eventually became the home of the Destruction Island Lighthouse, the beacon of which can be seen up and down the coast for twenty miles.  Now a U.S. Fish and Wildlife sanctuary, the island is the protected habitat of seabirds, bald eagles, and rabbits, the latter descendants of the lighthouse keeper's pets.

The island has also become an enclave to seals and sea lions, which laze about the rocky beach by the thousands.

*        *        *        *        *

The Canadian Coast Guard cutter slows to a drift, its captain weighing anchor a hundred yards off the western coast of the island.

Below decks, Joshua Bunkosfke slips into the cabin, the late afternoon sun's reflection on the water causing the far wall to dance.  Terry is lying on the cot, sleeping on her stomach, one shapely leg remaining free of the blanket.

The scientist sits gently on the edge of the bed, whispering into her ear.  "Terry, it's almost time."

She stirs.  "I could sleep all day."

"You practically have."  He massages her shoulders.

"Mmm, that feels good."

"Your traps are really tight."  He kneads her neck and shoulder muscles, working his way slowly down her spine to her lower back and that tantalizing leg.  "Hey, I'm sorry if I came on a little too strong the other day.  It's just, well, I find you very attractive and I'd really like to get to know you better."

She rolls over.  "Joshua, you do understand I'm married?"

"Happily married, or just married?  I know, it's none of my business, but—"

"Josh—"

"Okay, okay."  He stands.  "Get dressed and meet me in the pilothouse, there's something you need to see."

*        *        *        *        *

Terry enters the pilothouse, surprised they have weighed anchor.  "What's wrong?  Why have we stopped?"

Brian Olmstead looks up from the fish-finder.  "It's your fish.  It left the canyon about two hours ago and headed inland."

"It's hungry," Joshua says, pointing out the window to Destruction Island.  "It can taste the sea lions."

"Sea lions?"  Terry heads out on deck."

The Destruction Island Lighthouse looms over the tiny anchorage like a concrete sentry.  Seals are everywhere, frolicking in the water and along the rocky shoals, while six-hundred-and-fifty-pounds male sea lions belch and bay at one another on the beachhead.

Joshua joins her.  "She's out there somewhere, waiting until the sun goes down.  She can sense the sea lions.  I'll bet my right arm it'll happen tonight in these waters."

Captain Marino exits the pilothouse, spitting a hunk of chewing tobacco into the sea.  "Nothing gonna happen tonight with that crappy bait we're dragging.  All soggy and washed out, even the sharks don’t want it.  I told that cop of yours to find us some fresh meat."

Terry looks aft, sees the Zodiac is gone.  "The sea lions?  You can't kill them, they're protected under Federal Law."

"Easy, Terry," Joshua says.  "No one's killing a sea lion, isn't that right, Captain?"

Marino reads the scientist's expression.  "Yeah, sure.  You always find a few dead ones among the living."

"Exactly.  We'll haul the freshest two or three carcasses on board and bait them with the drug pouches.  Then we'll circle the island and catch our fish, simple as that."

"Nothing's as simple as that."

"Be positive," Joshua says, "Gray's Harbor's less than fifty miles south.  With any luck, we'll have Angel secured within Sea World's transportation vehicle by tomorrow evening."

The thought of Angel back in her pen causes Terry to smile.

Then she remembers.  "The lagoon . . . David was supposed to repair the canal doors.  My phone's dead, I need to call my son."

Joshua hands her his cell phone.  "Don't say anything to him about the Meg.  The last thing we need is the press catching wind of this before Angel's captured."

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Lagoon

Monterey Bay, California

David Taylor listens to his mother's voice on the other end of the phone, wondering if he should say anything about his father and sister.

"I'm sorry, David.  Business took longer than expected.  I'm in Washington now, traveling down the coast.  I should be home in a few days.  I'll have a big surprise for you."

"Ma, you didn't sell the facility, did you?  You can't do that you know, not without my signature."

"No, I didn't sell.  I'll explain everything when I see you.  David, were you able to fix the canal doors?"

David glances out the bay windows of the control room, focusing on the barge and its growing dunes of sand.  "Not yet, but it should be ready by the time you get back."

"Good.  I'm counting on you, don't let me down.  I love you."

"Yeah, okay.  Bye."  David hangs up.

Patricia shakes her head.  "Why didn't you tell her about Angel or your father?"

"Are you kidding?  She'd freak.  Besides, that network lady called and told Uncle Mac that Dad and Dani are fine.  We'll watch the show tonight, bet the whole thing's just a big hoax."

"Those reporters were sure taking it serious."

"Ah, that stupid network probably sent 'em over just to get publicity.  Just wait 'til we fix those doors and call Angel.  Man, it'll be sweet.  We'll have every TV station in the world lining up to see her."

*        *        *        *        *

The sleek thirty-eight-foot F-2 Top Gun Racing Series Cigarette boat skims across the five foot seas like a flying fish, soaring past Monterey doing 72 miles an hour.  Devin Dietsch is at the helm, his hands gripping the padded Latham steering wheel, his older brother, Drew, in the middle bolster, working the throttles.  They continue south until they spot the familiar outcropping of rocks and the orange warning buoys.

Drew slows the boat, allowing its long bow to settle back into the water.  The twin Mercury 500-horsepower engines rumble at their backs, spewing blue exhaust.

Devin points to the barge, now occupying the entryway of the Tanaka Lagoon's access canal.  "There it is, just like I told you."

"You're right, they are dredging.  The question is why."

"No, bro, the question is who's paying for it.  Tanaka's daughter's as broke as her old man.  Somebody's spotting her money."

"Rodney claims Terry's been out of town all week."

You think she cut another deal?"

"Don't know, but I'm gonna find out.  Let's get back to the office."  Drew pushes down on the throttles as Devin executes a sharp turn, guiding the craft back up the coast.

*        *        *        *        *

Angel moves through the inky depths of the Monterey Submarine Canyon, her thick caudal fin snaking back and forth like a slowly waving scythe-shaped fan.  Ampullae of Lorenzini, attuned to the canyon's distinct magnetic field, guides the Meg through the twisting abyssal chasm.  Grayish-blue irises are rolled back, revealing the bloodshot white sclera of her eyeballs.  The female's pulse has slowed, her great conical-shaped head, as large and wide as a school bus, swinging from side to side in long, easy movements.

The albino predator glides through the gorge on autopilot, as close to being asleep as Nature allows.  And yet, even in this semiconscious state, Angel hears every sound, registers every movement, tastes every trail, and sees every sight, for carcharodon Megalodon does not just move through the sea, the sea moves through the Megalodon.

Water passes in and out of her nostril passages, feeding information to her brain.  It flows through her mouth, causing her gill slits to flutter as she breathes.  It moves along the underside of her snout, plugging her in to the faint chemical fields generated by the swimming muscles and beating hearts of her quarry.  It runs along her lateral line and stimulates her neuromast cells, allowing her to "feel" ocean currents and the presence of solid objects within her environment.

Thu-whomp.  Thu-whomp . . . whomp . . . Thu-thu-whomp . . .

The surface disturbance reverberates through the Submarine Canyon, the anomaly disrupting the sea's bioelectrical field.

Thu-whomp.  Thu-whomp . . . whomp . . .

Fluctuating currents are processed by the sensory cells embedded along the creature's flank.  Pressure-wave detectors alert Angel's ampullar system to the turbulence, exciting the Meg's respiratory functions.

Thu-whomp.  Thu-whomp . . . Thu-whomp.

Vibrations of sound reach the creature's inner ears, sounding an internal alarm.

The Megalodon's mouth opens wider, the increased flow of water causing her gills to flutter faster, her pulse to jump.  The creature's muscular keel, as wide as a sewage pipe, pumps Angel's powerful vertical tail briskly through the water.

Cataract-gray eyes roll forward.

Angel awakens.

Fourteen hundred feet above her head, the racing boat whizzes by, its fiberglass hull blistering the waves.

The Queen of the deep rises away from the bottom, accepting the challenge.

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Neptune

34 Nautical Miles Northeast of Palau

268 Nautical Miles Southwest of The Mariana Trench

Jonas is up with the sun.  Dressing quickly, he heads out on deck, greeted by a glorious warm breeze and the possibilities of a new day.

The sight and stench of the dead bull Sperm whale slams him back into reality.

He scans the horizon until he finds the Coelacanth, the super yacht drifting a mile to the south.

Jonas makes his way aft, stepping over passed out crewmen and their dozing, half-naked Candy Girls until he reaches the cargo net, mounted along the starboard side.  The Zodiac is below, rigged for launch.

"You're up early."

Jonas turns, startled.

Mia smiles at him and stretches, her well-defined physique pressing against the insides of a see-through black kimono.  "Where you going?"

"Business trip.  Thought I'd pay my respects to the captain of that yacht."

"Sounds like fun.  Mind if I tag along?"

"Not this time."

She moves closer, brushing back a comma of his graying brown hair, allowing her right nee to press between his legs.  "You missed a great party.  I was waiting for you all night."

Ten feet away, hidden behind the mizzen mast, Danielle Taylor stirs in Fergie's arms.

"Mia—"

"I like you, Jonas.  I want to share myself with you."

Jonas backs away, feeling himself getting aroused.  "Mia, I'm married."

"Jonas, it's just sex.  Two lonely people, attracted to one another, sharing an innocent moment.  We're only in this physical world a short time, let's enjoy it."

Dani's eyes flash open.  Slipping out from under Fergie's arm, she crawls on all fours until she's close enough to eavesdrop.

"Mia—"

"Aren't you attracted to me?"

"That's not the point."

"Actually, that's the entire point.  I'm not looking for a commitment, I only want to enjoy the moment."  She moves closer.  "Let yourself go, it's completely harmless."

"Mia, you're a wonderful girl, and believe me, I'm flattered.  But at the end of the day, I need something more.  See, it's never just harmless sex, it carries a price, and that price, at least for me, is my own sense of morality, something both our generations have been a little too quick to shortchange of late."

"Funny, I never pegged you for a conservative Republican."

"Last I checked, morality had no political affiliation."

"There's nothing immoral about being happy."

"There is if it means forsaking your family."

"Jonas, no one has to know."

"I'll know, and that's enough.  See, I've come to realize a few things of late.  Like it or not, I'm getting older.   Physically, I'm half the man I used to be.  My body's falling apart, my mind wanders at times . . . and God knows I'm not the poster child for success.  The years and the poverty and the public humiliation have all taken their toll on my dignity, but at the end of the day, whether I'm lying in some coffin or dying in some hospital bed, or serving as fodder for some overgrown Great White shark, the only thing that matters, the only thing I might have to show for my years in this world, is my morality and the example I set for my children.  And maybe, in the end, that's the only thing that counts."

Mia smiles.  "You don't know what you're missing."

"Believe me, I do.  But you know what else I miss?  I miss cuddling with my wife.  I miss her waking me in the middle of the night, complaining about my snoring.  I miss tossing a baseball with my son.  And I miss my little girl's love.  I miss her trust.  I want all those things back, which means I can't be with you, because I refuse to compromise myself for a fleeting moment of senseless passion."

"Okay, I respect that.  So who's waiting for you in the yacht?"

"I don't know, but whoever it is has succeeded in pushing me into this frying pan.  I need to confront them before we all get shoved into the fire."

Jonas climbs over the side and down the cargo net to the Zodiac.  He verifies half a tank of gasoline, then unties the bow rope and starts the engine.

Dani lies back, wiping tears from her eyes as the whine of the single motor echoes across the sea.

*        *        *        *        *

Destruction Island

Northwest Coastline of Washington

The night is dying now, reeling beneath a vaporous pre-dawn fog that ignites into a silvery-gray beacon with each pass of the lighthouse's beam.  An ominous ocean, enveloped in darkness, rises and falls against the faces of rock.

The cutter continues to circle Destruction Island, dragging the thumper, its buoy, and the three dead sea lion bulls in its wake.

Terry is wrapped in a wool blanket, dozing in the Zodiac.  Joshua is stretched out next to her, watching the sea between whiffs of fog.  The heavy baritone pulse of the thumper reverberates across the surface, mixing with the rumble of the Cape Calvert 's twin engines.

Joshua drains his mug of coffee, then casually snuggles closer to Terry, entwining one of his legs between hers.

She stirs.  "What are you doing?"

"Just trying to stay warm."

"Here, take my blanket."  Terry pushes him aside and stands, stomping her boots, forcing circulation back into her cold feet.  "What time is it?"

"Just after four."

"In the morning?  Ugh, this is ridiculous."  She heads forward, climbing an aluminum ladder to the pilothouse.

Ron Marino is snoring in a folding chair, his head lying in the crook of his arm atop a chart table.  Brian Olmstead has taken his place at the controls.

Terry enters, visibly upset.  "Why's he sleeping?  Who's watching the damn fish-finder?"

"It's handled."  Brian motions to the console.  "Your Meg's been playing cat and mouse with us all night.  Every time we circle by, she disappears off the screen, returning to deeper water."

"Then stop the boat."

"Can't.  If we drop below three knots, the bait'll sink."

"I don't care.  If the cutter's engines are scaring her off—"

"Weren't you the one that told us Angel wasn't scared of boats?"

"Don't tell me what I said, just do what I say.  Shut off the engines."

Brian shrugs.  "You're the boss."  Pulling back on the throttles, he reduces speed, powering down.

The Cape Calvert slows to a drift, its trailing wake rolling the vessel.

The sea grows silent, save for the heavy thumpa . . . thumpa . . . thumpa . . . coming from the buoy.

*        *        *        *        *

The hungry male is frustrated.

For the last nine hours, the agitated hunter has been moving back and forth along a two-hundred-foot cliff face located at the edge of the Cascadia basin.  It can taste the sea lions, it can feel them as they swim along the surface, but every time the Meg ascends to feed, its senses become overloaded by a wave of sonic vibrations that reverberate within its skull like a tuning fork.

Hunger drives the predator once more.  Ascending beyond the continental rise, the big male begins another assault, its overwrought senses guiding it through the shallows toward its meal.

*        *        *        *        *

"Here she comes again," Brian announces.  "Watch, she'll race over the plateau, then retreat about three hundred yards to the west."

Terry focuses on the luminescent-green fish-finder display and the approaching red dot.  Her heart rate increases, her palms sweaty as the object closes in on their location.

The blip slows, wavers, then abruptly reverses.

"Why's she doing that?  The engines are off and she's still spooked."

Brian motions the captain.  "Maybe Marino's snorting chases her away?"

Or maybe it's really not Angel?  Terry heads back out on deck.

Joshua has gone below.

For a long moment she stares at the sea and the insulated electrical cable which runs from the thumper buoy back to the cutter's storage trunk.

Reaching inside the box, Terry disconnects the cable from the truck battery powering the sonic device.

*        *        *        *        *

The big male slows.  Shakes his head.

The annoying electrical disturbance has ceased.

The Meg turns east again, zigzagging warily toward its prey.

*        *        *        *        *

Terry returns to the pilothouse in time to see the red blip moving across the screen, closing on the Cape Calvert.

"That did it, here she comes," Brian says.  "Hey, Marino, wake up and take the helm, we've got company."

The captain stirs, scratching his Elvis-like sideburns as he staggers toward the controls.  "Okay, where is she?"

"Two clicks east, staying deep.  What do we do, boss?  Troll or drift?"

Terry's thoughts are more focused on fear than strategy.  It's not Angel, at least I don't think it is, I mean, who knows?  Whatever it is, it's still a Meg, which means we're in real danger.  Do we risk our lives trying to capture it?  Will the public pay to see it?  Of course they will, but—

"Terry?"

"Yes, yes, start the boat.  Keep us moving, keep us close to that island."

Marino shoves a wad of chewing tobacco into his mouth and restarts the engines, driving the cutter forward.

"Marino, mind those rocks," Brian warns.

"Just watch your damn screen."

Brian shakes his head at Terry, adding to her worries.  "She's still circling along the bottom . . . wait . . . yes, she's coming up to take a peek.  Two-fifty . . . two hundred . . . still coming . . . one-seventy—"

Terry feels her insides tighten on her bladder.

"One-twenty . . . hold on, she's leveled off at seventy feet . . . she's circling the bait.  She's not sure.  Marino, slow the boat down a bit."

Marino spits defiantly into a paper cup, but pulls back on the throttles.

"Still circling . . . she's still not sure . . . okay, she's rising again.  Sixty feet . . . forty—"

Terry hurries out on deck, her body trembling from fear and excitement.

Joshua is leaning out over the transom, gesturing at the sea.

A lime-green radiance of movement, as large as a bus, is circling the buoy and its sea lion bait.  "Can you see her?  Angel's homing in on the bait, just like I said she would."

A triangular ivory fin breaks the surface, rising six feet out of the water.

"My God, look at her," whispers Josh.  "She's amazing."

The fin circles back behind the trailing sea lion rigging and disappears.

"She come up from below," Terry whispers.  "She'll—"

The sea explodes in a geyser of foam as the Megalodon leaps halfway out of the ocean, the sea lion snatched firmly within the beast's clenching jaws.

"Wow!"

The Meg plunges back into the sea and disappears as the eight-foot spool of cable jumps to life, whirling into the night as if feeds out line.

"We did it, we hooked her," Josh yells.  "Hold on, she's going deep."

Terry watches, terrified, yet giddy, as Joshua dashes up to the pilothouse.  "Full reverse!  Give her plenty of line, we need to allow the drugs to take effect."

*        *        *        *        *

The big male races into the depths, its mouth radiating in pain from the five-foot titanium hook embedded in its lower jaw.  The Meg shakes its head, writhing in agony, its pulse and blood pressure soaring from the massive dose of pentobarbital now being absorbed by its digestive system.

Then, as the monster soars past three hundred and twenty feet, it registers a sharp tug of resistance the tortures its bleeding jaw.

The Meg writhes and twists on the steel cable but cannot pull free.  Its nostrils flare as it spasms against the throbbing ache.  Excited by the drugs, its primal brain is unable to fathom cause and effect.

Whipping its caudal fin against the sea, the brute forcefully drags the thirty-three-ton cutter after it.

*        *        *        *        *

The Cape Calvert is towed backward through the Pacific, its stern sending six-foot waves crashing over its dipping transom.

Terry grabs Joshua, shouting over the sea and wind.  "How much pentobarbital was in each pouch?"

"Don't know.  Maybe fifteen pounds a pouch.  Who knows how much she swallowed?"

"What if it wasn’t enough?"

"Give it a chance."

The boat dips beneath them, the sea momentarily rushing over the transom.

"Release the cable before it drags us under!"

"A couple'a more minutes."

"Hey, fish boy!" Marino calls out from the pilothouse. "Hope you're a better swimmer than you are a fisherman."

The Cape Calvert rolls to starboard and keeps going, the now empty hydraulic spool groaning as it strains to maintain a grip on the length of steel cable dragging them sideways.

Terry falls against the starboard rail and holds on, her eyes wide in fright as the cutter continues bending towards the sea.  I told you not to come.  I told you it was too risky.  Get to the Zodiac, get to land while there's still a chance . . .

The steel cable suddenly goes slack, the boat rolling back to port, righting itself.

Joshua grins from ear to ear.  "See?  The drugs took effect, just like I knew they would.  Who's the man now?"  He thumps his chest, doing his best Denzel Washington impression.  "King Kong ain't got nuthin' on me!"

Terry laughs, pinching tears of relief from her eyes.  "Okay, hotshot, what do we do now?"

"Hey—" Brian calls out from the pilothouse.  "I think you'd better get up here."

Terry's heart pounds as she hurries up the ladder, Joshua right behind her.

The red blip is still moving, only now it is rising.

Brian looks at them, his perspiring face ghostly-green in the luminescent light.  "She's coming up fast.  I'd say she's pissed.  What do you think an angry Megalodon'll do?"

"We're not waitin' around to find out."  Marino slams both throttles down.  The cutter's twin diesel engines jump to life, the two fixed-pitch, four-blade propellers churning the sea, driving the boat forward.

Terry stares a the fish-finder, her mind too exhausted to grasp what is happening.  "You can't outrun it, Captain.  Our only chance is to beach us.  Did you hear me?  You have to beach the cutter on Destruction Island, that's an order."

"No," Joshua interjects.  "The rocks'll tear the hull apart."

"So will the Meg."

"Head for the mainland, Captain.  Give the drugs a chance to kick in."

"Again with the drugs?  Forget the drugs and forget the mainland, it's too far," Terry protests.  "We'll be lucky just to make it back to the island."

Brian's eyes widen.  "Hold on!"

Wha-boom!

The sudden impact rocks the vessel like a sports car striking a speed bump doing ninety miles an hour, sending Terry crashing sideways against the chart table.

Marino picks himself up off the deck.  "When the lady's right, she's right.  Destruction Island it is."

*        *        *        *        *

Blood gushes from the big male's wounded left nostril, its head aching from its collision with the cutter.  The Meg's senses are jumbled and on fire, its nervous system sizzling in convulsions from the heavy dose of drugs.  In blind rage, the Megalodon rises again to bull rush its challenger—

—as a strange lead-like numbness creeps into its tail.

*        *        *        *        *

The lighthouse beacon cuts across the Cape Calvert 's windshield as Ron Marino closes on the western shoals of Destruction Island.  Searching for a soft place to beach the cutter, he targets a stretch of flat coastline, oblivious to the jagged outcropping of rocks that lie in wait just below the wave tops.

"Captain, don't!"  Spotting the rocks, Joshua pushes Marino aside and yanks hard on the wheel, veering the boat away from the island.

Terry tumbles to the deck, only this time she remains there, her limbs paralyzed in fear.  She grips a leg of the chart table as terrifying images from her past play across her mind's eye.

The blade of Sergei's hunting knife pressed against her neck.

The isolation of the abyss as her submersible is attacked by unseen creatures.

"Terry?"

The taste of vodka on the Russian assassin's breath.

The maniacal gaze of Benedict Singer's emerald-green contact lenses as he pronounces her death sentence.

"Hey, Terry!"

She opens her eyes, gazing up at Joshua.

The cutter has slowed.  Marino, Brian, and the former cop, Villaire, are crowding around the fish-finder.

Joshua offers her his hand.  "You okay?  You blacked out there for a few minutes."

She allows Josh to help her up.  "I'm . . . okay.  What about the Meg?"

"Drugs finally knocked her out.  Come on."  Joshua heads beck outside and down the aluminum ladder, Terry right behind him.  "We need to pull her in fast, keep water flowing through her mouth or she'll drown."

Terry delights in the graying eastern horizon, the new day vanquishing the terrors of a long, exhausting night.  She watches as Joshua reverses the steel spool of cable, rewinding the taut line.

Fifteen long minutes pass before they finally see the glow of the unconscious Meg, its upper torso trailing fifty yards behind the thumper buoy.

Joshua calls up to the pilothouse.  "Marino, follow the coastline south, our destination is Grays Harbor.  Keep her steady at three knots.  I'm going out in the Zodiac to make sure she's breathing."  He turns to Terry.  "Join me."

Like a dutiful zombie, she follows him to the Zodiac, fatigue and relief quelling her resistance.  They climb over the port side rail and into the inflatable.

Josh releases the bowline, then loops it around the steel cable, allowing the free-floating Zodiac to drift backward along the line.  He maneuvers them beyond the thumper buoy until they reach the glowing ivory monstrosity that is being towed four feet beneath the waves.

"My God, will you look at her.  She's bigger than a tractor trailer."

Josh fixes the line so the raft is directly over the Megalodon's head.

The sixty-one-foot ancestor of the Great White has rolled belly-up, its lower jaw open and raw, the razor-sharp hook embedded deep within its mouth.  "Look, she's breathing, I can see her gill slits fluttering."  He turns to Terry.  "You see the old footage taken twenty years ago, but it just doesn't do her justice.  I can't believe how big she is."

"It's not Angel."

"Of course it is."

"Loosen the line.  Drift us back toward the tail."

Joshua obeys.  The current takes the Zodiac back another fifty feet toward the Meg's inert caudal fin.

Terry points.

Just visible between the creature's two pelvic fins are a pair of five-foot-long male claspers.

"Well, I'll be a sonuvabitch, it's a . . . a son of a bitch.  Or maybe it's Angel's mate?  Or her sibling?  Or even her pup?"

Terry's teeth chatter against the cold.  "I don't even want to think about where this male came from."

"Right.  Anyway, it doesn't matter.  Just think about where she . . . I mean he's going."

Joshua unties the line, allowing them to free float beyond the tail, then he starts the Zodiac's engine, accelerating back to the cutter.

Michael Villaire ties off the boat and helps them on board.

"I need to radio Sea World," Josh announces.  "It'll take us most of the day to get to Gray's Harbor.  Terry, you should get some sleep.  Come on, I'll walk you to your cabin."

She nods, following him down the companionway as if in a dream.

They pause just outside her cabin door.

Josh brushes away the strands of black silky hair away from her cheekbone.  "See," he whispers, "now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I suppose not."

"What have I been telling you?  You just have to give in and take a few risks.  It's what makes life worth living."

"I guess so," she whispers, staring into his chestnut brown irises as he leans closer.

And then she closes her eyes, inviting him in, her heart racing, her face flushing as their lips meet, his tongue pressing into her mouth.

The sudden release of emotions overwhelms her, and suddenly she is panting in his arms, their hands groping beneath one another's clothing, her insides electric to his touch.

"Wait!"  She holds his hand to her breast, forcing him to pause.  "Go.  Go call Sea World.  Business first."

"Okay . . . business first, but I'll be back."  Grinning, he hurries up the companionway like a kid on Christmas Day.

Terry leans against the cabin door, her groin tingling, her limbs shaking.