22

North Pacific Ocean

34 Nautical Miles Northeast of Palau

268 Nautical Miles Southwest of The Mariana Trench

Jonas cuts back on the throttle, slowing the Zodiac as he moves to within one hundred yards of the back of the sleek 860-ton Abeking & Rasmusen luxury super yacht.  Looks like no one's out on deck.  Still, better to be safe than sorry.  Shutting off the engine, he grabs an oar and paddles the rest of the way in.

The rising sun glints off the yacht's tinted bay windows and navy blue steel hull.  An imposing eleven feet of draft separates the ocean from the rail of the main deck.  Jonas looks from stem to stern for an access point, then paddles for the portside bow and the three-foot rectangular opening that houses the anchor.

Jonas stands, balancing carefully in the raft as he ties off his bowline to a palm-size link in the anchor's heavy iron chain.  Supporting himself against the side of the boat, he reaches inside the anchor housing and pulls himself up, using the opening to gain a foothold.  Reaching higher, he feels for one of the drainage slits, shoves his hand inside, then, after a bit of a struggle, manages to drag himself up and over the bow rail.

Jonas steps quietly onto the white fiberglass decking, his sneakers squeaking against the nonskid surface.  Slipping off his shoes, he makes his way aft, staying low as he approaches the yacht's infrastructure.

Rising on his toes, Jonas peeks inside the corner bay window of the wheelhouse.  Through the tinted glass he sees a heavily tattooed Micronesian man snoozing in the captain's chair.

Jonas continues past the wheelhouse, pausing at a circular steel staircase.  Creeping up the steps, he finds himself standing on a balcony and the open double doors of a sky lounge.

A wave of chilled air rushes past him as he enters a beige-carpeted stateroom.  At the far end of the chamber is a wall-mounted projection screen surrounded by three large crushed-velvet charcoal-gray couches.  A circular coffee table is set between the sofas, a recessed oval ceiling complementing the table.  Dark drapes match the furniture, venetian blinds covering the large vertical windows.  A polished mahogany bar is set off against the wall opposite the movie screen.

Standing behind the bar is a heavyset man with a bulldog face, dressed in a monogrammed white bathrobe.  Dark brown hair peppered with gray is pulled back into a tight ponytail.  A beer belly hangs over a pair of blue and purple Bermuda shorts.

The man looks up nonchalantly.  "Good morning.  Orange juice?"

Jonas scrutinizes the man's features.  "I know you, don't I?"

"Could be.  Think real hard."

A petite brunette wearing a matching robe enters from an interior corridor.  "Sorry to interrupt.  The chef wants to know how your guest wants his eggs."

"Taylor?"

Jonas stares at the double "M" monogram.  "Michael Maren?"

"See, Allison, I told you he'd figure it out."

"Jesus, Maren, what happened to you?  You look like you swallowed a manatee."

Maren's eyes flash menacingly in the overhead lights.  "Allison, inform the chef that our guest will be skipping breakfast."

The overweight marine biologist hobbles out from behind the bar, exposing his toeless bare feet.  "I see the years have taken their toll on you as well."

"Maren, what are you . . . Jesus, what happened to your feet?"

"An unscheduled trip to the Alaskan wilderness eighteen years ago, courtesy of your friend, Mackreides.  My only wish was that he was here to share this moment as well."

"Don't tell me you planned this whole thing for revenge?  That's pretty pathetic, Maren, even for you."

"Don't flatter yourself.  You're just a minor distraction."

"From what?  Eating?"

Maren grins.  "Go on, keep pushing my buttons.  It'll make things more enjoyable later when you're begging me to spare your life."  He calls out through the connecting corridor.  "Satoshi, join us, please."

The floorboards groan beneath Jonas's bare feet as the largest human being he has ever seen waddles into the lounge.

"Satoshi, this is the man I told you about.  Show him to a chair."

Jonas backs away, but the former sumo wrestler is too quick.  In one motion he lifts Jonas off the ground as if he were a small child and tosses him onto a couch.

Jonas bounces off the cushions and onto the marble floor, his lower back twisting in agony.  "Not too bright, are you, Satoshi?  He said show, not throw."

Satoshi grins.

Maren sips his drink.  "Let's play catch-up, shall we?  Since our last encounter, you've become a pathetic old man, scraping the bottom of the barrel for money while seeking to relive those lost fifteen minutes of fame.  On the other had, I, being a real scientist, have continued the work you tripped over twenty-two years ago."

Jonas crawls onto the sofa, remaining under the watchful eyes of Satoshi.  "I take it you've been exploring the Mariana Trench."

"The Mariana Trench is nothing.  The real ancient marine sanctuary is located along the Philippine Sea Plate.  The area is a paleobiologist's gold mine.  At least four major submarine canyons feed nutrients into this valley, creating a habitat that has sustained primitive life since the very fist marine reptiles returned to the sea over a hundred million years ago.  I've discovered species long believed extinct, and evidence of creatures we never knew existed, all endowed by Nature to adapt to the pressures of the deep.  Prehistoric sponges with immune systems that could potentially cure cancer.  Jawless fishes with bony armor plating.  Undiscovered ray-finned life forms.  Ichthyosaurs and Pliosaurs possessing gills, giant sea turtles with teeth that could tear open a small truck.  This labyrinth of the deep is a lost world just waiting to be explored, and the ruler of these primal waters is carcharodon Megalodon."

"Congratulations, you've made an incredible discovery.  But why lure a Meg to the surface?"

"Megalodon have been surfacing long before you or I happened upon them."  Maren drains the rest of his drink, then pours himself another.  "Back in 1918, for instance, one of the creatures migrated across the Western Pacific into Canadian waters.  Local fishermen reported seeing it after it had become entangled in their craypots.  Another sighting was documented in the late 1950s when one of the creatures attacked the Rachel Cohen, an Australian fishing boat.  The crew on board never knew what hit them—until the cracked hull was repaired in Port Lincoln and a five-and-a-half-inch white tooth was discovered, embedded in the ship's keel."

"And this male?"

"I came across him about five years ago.  He was in pretty bad shape, in fact he was close to death, having recently lost a territorial dispute with another Megalodon.  We weighted down seal lion carcasses loaded with medicines and fed him in 19,000 feet of water.  Took us seven months of gradually raising the lures to get Scarface to finally surface."

"Scarface?"

"My assistant named him.  It seems to fit.  Over the years we've managed to tag him with several homing devices.  As you can see, he's doing quite well now.  I estimate he's gained at least ten tons since our first encounter."

So have you.  "How did you do it, Maren?  How did you manage to explore the extreme depths?  Benedict Singer tried and failed."

"Singer was a businessman, not a scientist.  Manned trips into the abyss are far too expensive and dangerous, as you already know.  Come with me, I want to show you something."

Jonas follows him through a wide connecting interior corridor and down a plush companionway.  Satoshi remains close behind them.

The winding stairwell descends two flights to the crew's level.  The three men move aft past staff quarters, then through a tight corridor lined with pipes and bulkheads.  Passing through the engine room, they arrive at a pair of sealed metal doors.

Maren keys an entry pad and the doors click open.

Satoshi shoves Jonas ahead with one thick paw, propelling him over the threshold.

It is a mechanical room, converted into a workshop.  At the center of the chamber, situated within the steel-plated decking, is a rise holding a recessed hatch, six feet across, three feet in depth.

Jonas hears the sea lapping against the other side of the door.

Next to the elevated hatch, strapped to a padded worktable, is a five-foot-long sausage-shaped underwater drone, its contours mimicking that of a large barracuda.

Maren pats the device proudly.  "My abyssal hound dog.  Micro-subs like this drone do my exploring for me.  The Navy's been developing the technology for years, using them for long-term mine reconnaissance.  My drone's a bit more complex, its multiple shell design enabling me to go far deeper.  The Barracuda contains a sophisticated fish-finder, thermal imager, sonar, and an infrared beacon attached to a video camera.  I've programmed the drone to emit a variety of bioelectronic signals, similar to the acoustics you trained Angel to respond to.  When I want Scarface to surface, I simply locate him, circle a few times while emitting the feed stimulus, and up he comes, like a 30-ton Pavlov dog."

"Then it was your Meg that attacked us during the storm?"

"Yes, but Scarface surfaced on his own.  It seems carcharodon Megalodon is attracted by the surface vibrations of Spanish galleons."

"Which is why you insisted on Hollander leasing the Neptune."

Maren smiles.  "He thought it was an inspired idea, though he still his no concept why."

"And me?  Why am I here?"

"Because I despise you."  Maren circles the Barracuda, staring at him.  "You're not a scientist, Taylor, you never were.  Yet for years, you pretended to be one, giving ridiculous lectures about these magnificent predators, how they avoided extinction, how they might be alive in the Mariana Trench.  Tell me, Professor Taylor, when you became an overnight sensation, did your newfound celebrity serve anyone but that ego of yours?  And those sold-out shows at the Tanaka Lagoon, did any percentage go the gate ever find its way back to the science you so flaunted all those years?  It takes money to explore the abyss, and the abyss needs exploring, for there are life forms down there that might harbor cures for disease . . . discoveries just waiting to happen.  You had the means, you had the world's attention, you could have spearheaded the movement, instead you destroyed it.  Angel's escape and eventual return to the abyss chased away dozens of potential investors . . . major universities, pharmaceutical companies, scientists like myself, who could have opened the realm to real exploration."

Maren shakes his head sadly.  "Times have changed, the window of opportunity has closed.  Education and science have taken a backseat to war.  Federal grants under this current political regime have become almost nonexistent, unless one's researching a new vaccine for anthrax, or involved in the space weapons program.  Since I can't afford to hire lobbyists like the fossil-fuel industry or the NRA, I've had to resort to another means of gaining the public's attention."

"The Daredevils show."

"Exactly.  Scarface's appearance on the last show will be watched by more than sixty million people, with the final episode leading to my own series on the exploration of the Philippine Sea.  Within six months, I should have the funding necessary to spearhead a full investigation of the abyss."

"So you dared the devil up from his purgatory just to raise money?"

"Scarface is far from the devil; in fact, it turns out that Megalodon isn't even the meanest fish on the block.  Many years ago, my first drone crossed paths with a real monster of the deep, a creature one hundred and twenty feet long, weighing in excess of one hundred tons.  The beast had jaws that could snatch a fully grown Megalodon.  It destroyed my drone, and has been eluding me for eight years.  But it's down there, perhaps the last of its kind, and with the proper funding and equipment, I'll find it."

"Maybe some things are best left alone."

"Spoken like the phony paleobiologist I know and love.  It really is going to be fun watching you die."  Maren nods at Satoshi.

The hulking bodyguard grabs Jonas by the crook of his arm and forcibly drags him across the room to a set of wrist and ankle chains bolted to the base of the bulkhead.

Jonas struggles.

The wrestler punches him hard in the gut, driving the air from his lungs.

Jonas wheezes and folds, gasping for a breath as Satoshi shackles his wrists and ankles.

Maren stands over him.  "You wanted to know why I arranged to bring you here, I'll tell you.  It's because of Celeste.  I know what you did to her in the trench."

Jonas struggles to speak.  "She used me . . . she tried to kill Terry."

"And so you murdered her, you led Angel to the Prometheus.  You watched as the Meg attacked her sub."

"She wanted me dead.  Would have killed us—"

"And so you anointed yourself judge and jury, and now, eighteen years later, so do I.  Jonas Taylor, this court finds you responsible for Celeste Singer's death, as well as the deaths of the crewmen aboard the Prometheus.  Found guilty, you are hereby sentenced to die.  But don't worry, I'm not going to kill you just yet.  First I'm going to tenderize the meat."

The sumo wrestler pulls on Jonas's shackles, pinning his arms painfully behind the bulkhead.

Maren slips out of his designer bathrobe, balling his fists . . .

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Coast Guard Cutter Cape Calvert

Northwest Coastline of Washington

36 Miles North of Grays Harbor

Terry lies back against the sheets, her eyes half-closed, the fingers of her right hand entwined in Joshua's brown hair as she guides his face to her aching groin.  She grinds her hips against his mouth, panting as she forces him deeper.

She writhes beneath his touch, and then he is on top of her.  She wraps her legs around his waist and guides him in, digging her nails into his flesh as she thrusts her hips faster.

"Excuse me, Mother.  What exactly are you doing?"

Terry turns her head, shocked to see her daughter seated in a folding chair, watching.

"Dani?"

"How can you do this to Dad?  I mean, look at this guy, he's not even that cute."

Joshua pauses.  "Who're you talking to?"

"My daughter."

"Oh.  Mind if I keep at it, I'm nearly finished."

"You see, Mother?  He couldn't care less about you.  Is he even that good?"

"No, but it's never that good the first time you do it with someone new."

"Does that mean you're planning on seeing him again?"

"I don't know."

"You haven't really thought this through, have you?"

"No.  It was just sort of . . . spontaneous."

"Spontaneous?"

"A part of me needed it, Dani.  It was like having an itch that only someone else can scratch."

"I guess if we try hard enough, we can justify anything, is that it?"

"That's not fair."

"So, are you planning on divorcing Dad?"

"Of course not.  I love your father."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"Dani . . . Look, I don’t expect you to understand.  Maybe when you get older."

"Oh, please."

"Sometimes things just happen.  You never intended it that way, but they just do.  It's like . . . it's like sticking your hand in a pot of cold water and turning on the burner.  If the heat's gradual, you can boil your flesh away without ever noticing."

"Then I guess the lesson here is not to put your hand in the pot in the first place."

*        *        *        *        *

"Huh?!"

Terry opens her eyes and sits up in bed.

She is alone.  Dani and Joshua are gone.

Just a dream . . .

"Josh?"

"Sorry I took so long.  Can you open the door please?"

"Josh . . . I, uh, I can't.  I have a bad headache."

"Let me in and I'll massage you shoulders.  Takes all the tension away."

"No.  I mean, it's menstrual cramps.  I . . . I need to sleep."

"Are you serious?"

"Let me rest, Josh.  I'll see you later, okay?"

A long pause.  "Fine."

She hears him stomp away.

What am I doing, I must be out of my mind.  She recalls her dream, replaying Dani's words—her words—spoken to her daughter three years ago.  I'm stewing in boiling water and I don’t even know it.  Get away from this guy before you ruin everything.

She dresses quickly.  Presses her ear against the cabin door.  Hearing nothing, she opens the door, verifies the corridor is empty, then climbs over the rail and into the Zodiac.

"Hey!"  Joshua climbs down from the pilothouse.  "Where do you think you're going?"

"To buy tampons.  See you in Grays Harbor."  She waves as the Zodiac slips away, drifting behind the Cape Calvert.

Starting the engine, she presses down on the throttle and heads for shore.

Twenty yards away, the big male stirs.

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Neptune

34 Nautical Miles Northeast of Palau

268 Nautical Miles Southwest of The Mariana Trench

Susan Ferraris ushers the Daredevils into the captain's gallery.

Erik Hollander pulls Danielle Taylor aside.  "Where's your father?"

"He went to see someone aboard that yacht."

The producers eyes widen.  "Who gave him permission to do that?"

"My father doesn't need permission."  She pushes his arm away and joins the others inside.

Susan looks around the room.  "So, we have some amazing news.  The network went bonkers over last night's footage with that Megala-shark.  Everything airs tonight.  We've spoken to our local, uh, experts, and they feel confident the Meg will surface again tonight to finish off that whale.  The network's so excited they've decided to offer a bonus.  Are you ready?  Any Daredevil who participates in a stunt involving the creature will receive a half-million-dollar bonus."

The Daredevils look at one another.

"Amazing, isn't it?  Dee, I know you're in."

"A half million dollars to be eaten?  You've got to be kidding?"

"Count me out, too," Evan says.

"Whoa, hey, slow down guys," Erik says,. "maybe Susan didn't explain this right.  We're talking about a half million dollars guaranteed, just for doing one stunt.  Mia, that's five hundred thousand dollars to experience the ultimate adrenaline rush."

"I know what half a million dollars is, Erik, and I'm passing, too.  I'm not afraid to die, but I am afraid of that monster."

Erik turns to Jennie Arnos.

"No way.  I was up all night just thinking about that nightmare."

"Same here," Fergie says.  "I was nearly eaten last night.  Once is enough for me."

"Don't even bother asking me," Dani says.

Erik looks on the verge of tears.  "Michael . . . Michael, you'll do it, won't you?  One quick stunt and you're set for life."

"On half a million dollars?  Who are you kidding?"

"Okay, good, at least we're negotiating.  Tell you what, let me call the network and see if we can't adjust that figure up a bit."

"You still don't get it, do you?" Fergie says.  "It's never been about money or fame, we do what we do for the rush."

"Exactly.  And what could be a greater rush than surviving a Megalodon attack?"

"This is different.  Maybe jumping out of planes and swimming among a school of normal sharks seems haphazard to you, but everything we do falls under ‘planned mayhem.’  Each stunt has degrees of safety built in.  With this monster, there's no degree of safety, no predictability.  It eats, it's huge, and we're messing in its backyard, at night no less.  That makes any stunt Russian roulette with five bullets, and we don't play those odds, not even for half a million bucks."

Erik slams his clipboard against his desk.  "For two seasons, all I've heard out of your mouths is how you people live for the ultimate challenge.  Now I've put my butt on the line and get you everything you ever wanted, and you're chickening out?"

"It's not chickening out," Mia says.  "Everyone has to know their limits."

"If you're so damn brave, let's see you go out there," Jennie retorts.

Erik turns to Susan, exasperated.  "Do you believe this?  Tonight could be the most watched broadcast in the history of television and the stars of the show are walking out on me.  After all I've done for them.  Nothing but a bunch of talkers."

"Maybe we ought to replay them that segment taken a few weeks ago, the one where they had their noses so far up Jonas Taylor's ass they couldn’t breathe."

"That's it, I'm out of here."  Dee stands, the others following suit.

Susan pulls Erik aside.  Whispers something quickly into his ear.

Erik nods.  "Whoa, hey guys, hold up!  Please."

They pause at his door.

"Look, I'm sorry, I was completely out of line.  It's been an amazing show up until now, let's not ruin it.  Go eat something, enjoy the day, we'll figure things out.  Michael, Fergie, if we can just speak with the two of you? Everyone else can go."

Dani looks at Fergie, who shrugs.  "Go on, I'll catch up with you later."

The remaining Daredevils file out, leaving behind their two leaders.

Erik closes the door.

Susan makes her pitch.

"You're right.  Half a million is just our first offer.  But let's forget about the money for just a second.  Do the two of you know why you were selected as team captains?  It's not because you're the best Daredevils, which, of course, you are, it's because the two of you are leaders.  You accept responsibility for your teammates, you lead by example.  The two of you are the heart and soul of this show."

"Now the show needs you," Erik chimes in. "Before you object, at least hear us out.  We need five shows to complete the season.  Figure three, since the last two episodes are combined into a reunion, slash final vote, slash season in review, which takes place back at the studio.  Even if we cancel the team competition now, we still have to determine a winner."

Susan nods.  "What if the final competition was changed from a team event to a personal duel between the two of you?  Instead of going live, we'll shoot as much stock footage as we can, filming everything in one night.  All we need is a simple stunt, something that places you in the same frame as the Meg but never really endangers you.  We'll get our shots, then let the editors enhance the risk back at the studio."

"No danger, huh?"  Fergie snorts a laugh.  "Tell you what.  Have the Meg swim by the Neptune and we'll wave."

"Yes, well, I'm sure we can do better than that."

"Okay," Coffey says, "you want a little mano a mano bullshit, you've go it, but you'll pay the winner four million, the runner-up two.  And we'll want everything in writing, signed, sealed and sent to our attorneys before we set foot off this boat."

Fergie stares at Coffey, dumbfounded.  "Hey, I said it's not about the money."

"Sure it is, especially when it's Erik's high-paid ass in a sling."

Erik shakes his head.  "Six million for one episode?  Make it two and you have yourself a deal."

"Come on, Fergie, we're out of here."  Coffey drags the younger man out by his elbow.

"Hey, hold on now," Erik says.  "We're negotiating."

"Sorry, Hollander, this is non-negotiable.  So if I were you, I'd get on the radio real fast and start pimping your network pals before the sun sets on this whole bloody affair."

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Oceanographic Institute

Monterey Bay, California

The Pacific Ocean has receded, the early afternoon's low tide revealing the upper three feet of the canal's reinforced concrete walls.

Mac guides the 29-foot Fountain Sportfish slowly toward the canal entrance, his pulse racing, his hands quivering noticeably.  It has been twenty-two days since his last drink, and if ever James Mackreides needed one, it was now.  Is it just the D.T.s, or are you scared?

Rather than weighing anchor, he ties the bowline to the steel barge still anchored between the canal walls.  Three mountains of sand are piled high across the middle of the steel expanse.  The massive suction hose remains in the water, but the generator and pump have been shut down for the weekend.

Okay, if things go bad, where do you retreat?  The barge or the boat?

Thinking fast getaway, he decides on the boat.

Mac pulls on his wetsuit and weight belt, searches the horizon nervously, then takes out the two-way radio.  "David, you there?"

"Yes."

"I'm in position.  Start the thumper."

"Uncle Mac, you sure about this?  How do we even know the doors'll close this time?"

"Stechman assured me we have minimal clearance.  If we wait until the next high tide, we could lose it."

"And the dive?

"Don't see how we have any choice.  Only way to close the doors now is directly at the junction box.  With the bait in place, I should have an extra five minutes or so."

"Uncle Mac—"

"Start the thumper, kid.  I'll call you the moment she enters."

*        *        *        *        *

David enters the Mechanical Room.  He locates the thumper mechanism, then flips the switch, activating the underwater sound system.

The heavy thrumming sound resonates through the wall, giving him goose bumps.

Hurrying topside, he waits by the rusted steel A-frame, now bending beneath the weight of a 320-pound side of raw beef.  Blood drips from the  freshly killed bovine into the southern end of the man-made lagoon.

*        *        *        *        *

Mac paces nervously.  The boat or the barge?  Boat'll get you to shore, but the barge is tougher to sink.  Recalling his adventure aboard the Angel-II, he grabs his equipment and climbs onto the barge.

Screw the boat, it's just a rental.

Mac sits back against a small dune of silt and sand, his eyes focused on the canal entrance.

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Neptune

34 Nautical Miles Northeast of Palau

268 Miles Southwest of The Mariana Trench

Danielle Taylor finds Fergie in the Daredevils' lounge making plans with Michael Coffey.

"Dani, I can't talk right now."

"Is it true?  Are you really going through with it?"

"Two million is a lot of money," Coffey says.

"Hope you make it last," Fergie shoots right back, "since I'm taking the four."

Dani is on the verge of tears.  "Fergie, we need to talk, in private."

"Go on," Coffey says, "I could use a beer."

"Grab me a coupla' cold ones, too, would you mate."  Fergie nuzzles Dani's neck.  "So what's on your mind, love?"

"Stop it."  She pushes him away.  "I want to talk about this stunt.  You promised me you wouldn’t participate."

"Whoa, I never promised anything.  At first I decided against it—"

"And then Hollander bribed you."

"Actually, it was Coffey's idea, but he's right.  This'll be the ultimate rush for the ultimate payday, and this time, Coffey's the one going down, not me."

"Listen to you, all of a sudden it's about competition and money.  Everything you told me . . . it was all bullshit, wasn't it?"

"Wasn't bullshit, but I still need to make a living.  Parachute jumps and surfing at exotic beaches and the rest of the lot, it all costs money.  This is how I earn my keep."

"Is it really worth risking your life?  That monster will kill you."

"It might, then again, maybe it won't."

"Ugh!"  She turns to leave.

"Dani, wait—"

"You know, I thought we had something special.  I thought I meant something to you."

"You do."

"Then why throw it all away?  Why risk your life just for one stupid testosterone-filled moment?"

"I thought you understood.  It's who I am."

"Well, you know what?  It's not who I am."  She storms out of the lounge, tears streaming down her cheeks.