29

Farallon Islands, Pacific Ocean

It is a landmass known to native Americans as the "Islands of the Dead," a craggy landmass first visited by Francis Drake who sought its abundance of sea lion meat for his long voyages.

The Farallon Islands are a series of windswept rocks situated twenty-six miles west of San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge.  Of the four islands that make up the archipelago, three are mountain peaks that jut just above the Pacific, the fourth, Southeast Farallon, being the largest, and only one that is habitable.  Marine mammals like the Northern Elephant Seal dominate the jagged landscape, their presence enticing another species to visit the remote island chain.

Carcharodon carcharius:  the Great White shark.

*        *        *        *        *

The shadow of the Tanaka Oceanographic Institute's helicopter passes over Middle Farallon, an inaccessible slice of rocky terrain covered by bird droppings.  Mac hovers the chopper sixty feet above the dark blue Pacific, then signals Terry to lower the portable thumper, now rigged to the chopper's winch by steel cable.

The acoustic device touches down in the heavy surf and sinks, drawing a crowd of curious seals.

Mac turns to Terry, her reflection distorting in his mirrored sunglasses.  "Last time I flew over this spot was twenty-two years ago, back when Angel's mama was on the loose.  Crazy, huh?"

She nods, adjusting the microphone attached to her headset.  "Where do all the years go?"

"I don't know, but I've come to the conclusion that I've wasted most of mine.  Tell me something, Terry, is marriage all it's cracked up to be?"

The seriousness of his tone throws her.  "James Mackreides, don't tell me you're actually thinking about settling down?  Has Hell frozen over already?  Are pigs flying?"

"Guess you think I'm too old, huh?"

"Too old?  Actually, I think it's the first mature thing that's come out of your mouth in years.  You and Trish make a great couple.  Uh, we are talking about Patricia Pedrazzoli, right?"

"No, I was thinking of proposing to Bimbo Betty down at Shakey's Bar and Grill.  Start your damn fish-finder."

Terry smiles, activating the sonar device, now rigged to the thumper.  A swarm of small blips representing the inquisitive seals appears on her laptop monitor.

Mac sends the helicopter to the south, the airship dragging the thumper into deeper waters.  "Getting back to the marriage thing, I, uh . . ."

"You're worried about the whole monogamy thing."

"Sort of, yeah.  With you and Jonas, is the spark still there after twenty years?"

Terry stares at the horizon.  "It's there.  It just gets overshadowed sometime by the familiarity.  Then you spend time away from each other and realize it never left."

"Miss him, huh?"

She nods.  "He and Dani are coming in on the red-eye from Hawaii.  I'd love to have Angel back in her pen before he arrives."

"I'd love to see the look on his face."  Mac glances at her.  "So what's the story with this Joshua character?"

Terry's expression changes.  "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Terry, I see the way he looks at you.  If ever a guy wanted to jump your bones—"

"Josh knows I'm married."

"So?  Marriage never stopped guys like my old man.  Maybe I need to say something to this Joshua guy before Jonas gets back."

"Let it be, I can handle it."

"You're the boss."

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Dredging Barge

Canal Entrance, Tanaka Lagoon

The dark blue hills surge toward shore in sets of six, cresting seven feet as they race through the access canal before crashing against the lagoon's interior eastern seawall.

Joshua Bunkofske closes his eyes as another swell lifts the dredging platform.  The wave tugs at the anchors, then rolls beneath the orange buoys and through the line of barbed wire strung across the canal entrance.

The marine biologist zips his wetsuit against the cold wind as the two-way radio buzzes to life.

"Base to rig, come in."

Joshua reaches for the communications device.  "Yeah, go ahead, Donald."

David's voice squawks over the receiver.  "David, not Donald!"

The biologist smiles.  "What is it you want, kid?"

"The bait's been set.  I'm starting the lagoon's underwater acoustics."

"Let her rip."

"You'll call me the moment she enters the canal, right?"

"Yes, Douglas."  Joshua sets the radio aside and turns on  his CD player.

*        *        *        *        *

David shakes his head at Patricia.  "Who does this guy think he is?"

"Don't let him get to you."  The blond-haired realtor shields her eyes against the sun, gazing up at the 350-pound carcass of beef swaying thirty feet over the southern end of the lagoon.  "You sure that A-frame will hold?  Looks pretty old and rusted to me."

"I don’t know.  I'm not even sure we set the bait right.  I wish my father were here.  He'd know just what to do."

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard Northwestern Flight 6002

The Boeing 767 jumbo jet cruises 40,000 feet over the Pacific Ocean, continuing its seven-hour trek east.

Jonas Taylor stirs from his catnap as a stewardess sideswipes his shoulder with her drink cart.  "Excuse me, miss, when do we land in San Francisco?"

"About an hour."

Jonas turns to the window seat.  Verifying Dani is asleep, he removes the Honolulu Advertiser from his jacket pocket, turning to the second part of the front page article.

Monster shark attacks Giant Fans:

Susan Tunis, editor of Discover Diving Magazine, witnessed the attack from her dive boat, Genie's Folly.  "This wasn't the first time I've seen that monster.  About twenty years ago, my sister and I attended an evening performance at the Tanaka Lagoon.  The moment I saw the glow in McCovey Cove, I knew it was Angel.  But seeing her up close . . . I can't begin to describe how frightening she was.  When she surfaced, it was like watching the tip of an iceberg jut out of the water.  When her mouth opened and all those people were eaten . . . it must have felt like falling into a mine shaft."

Terry Tanaka-Taylor, wife of Professor Jonas Taylor, issued a statement following the attacks.  "There's really no way to tell how long Angel's been back in California waters because we know she prefers the depths.  Her appearance in San Francisco Bay was most likely a fluke, a result of the tremendous surface disturbances going on during the [baseball] game.  As horrible as this event was, I can assure you that humans are not a staple of Angel's, or any other shark's, diet, and while it will be difficult and dangerous, the Tanaka Oceanographic Institute will not rest until we've recaptured the Megalodon.  Meanwhile, our prayers go out to all the victims and their families.

Jonas stares at the quote.  Don't do it, Terry.  Please don't try to prove anything to me.

He tucks the article away as his daughter stirs.  "I'm hungry."

"Want some peanuts?"

"I hate peanuts.  When do we land?"

"Soon."

"Why'd we have to take an earlier flight anyway?  The rest of the cast and crew got to stay in Hawaii the whole week, all expenses paid."

"I miss your mother."

"So?  Erik offered to fly her out.  We could have had a free week in Honolulu and you blew it."

"I'll make it up to you.  Go back to sleep."

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Dredging Barge

Canal Entrance, Tanaka Lagoon

The baritone acoustics reverberate across the water and through the steel barge, pounding Joshua's brain like a bad sinus headache.  He reaches to turn up the volume on his CD player when the radio buzzes with a burst of static.

"Base to rig, come in."

Josh snatches the annoying device.  "Hey, Donald, how about turning down those drums, my head feels like it's in a freakin' vise."

David ignores him.  "Listen, I was thinking, while we're waiting for my mother and Mac to locate Angel, maybe we should restart that dredger, you know, just to make sure the canal entrance is still clear."

"By ‘we,’ I take it you mean me?"

"All you have to do is crank up the generator."

"Mackreides said it was clear, that's good enough for me."

"It was clear three days ago.  Now it might need to be dredged."

"You can't just turn on the generator.  Somebody has to be down there, guiding the suction hose, and damn if I'm going anywhere until I know for certain where Angel's lurking.  Call me back when your mother spots her; meanwhile, turn down those damn underwater speakers."

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Tanaka Oceanographic Institute's Helicopter

The lead-gray shadows appear just beneath the surface, six sinister silhouettes moving in unison, following the thumper as it is dragged through the sea.

Terry watches the scene below through binoculars as three more sharks join the pack.  "Definitely Great Whites.  Never saw so many in one place."

"I have," Mac says.  "Eighteen years ago, when Angel was in heat.  Must've been a dozen of ‘em, all males, circling the canal door like a bunch of horny marines on shore leave."

"Angel was giving off a powerful scent at the time.  Why would these sharks be following the thumper now?"

"Maybe they're not.  Hang on."  Mac pulls back on the joystick, driving the chopper higher.

The thumper lifts out of the water, dancing on the end of its sixty-foot steel towline.

Seconds later, the Great White sharks break formation as Angel's upper torso rises out of the Pacific, its jaws snapping at the dangling acoustic device.

"Sonuvabitch!"  Mac climbs higher as the angry monster falls sideways back into the sea.

Terry grabs the radio.  "Chopper to base, chopper to base—"

"Base to chopper.  Go ahead, Ma."

"We've located Angel, we're on our way."

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Lagoon

David grabs the two-way radio, his heart beating in time with the baritone drums echoing across the empty arena.  "Base to rig!  Pick up, Josh, it's Donald, I mean David!"

"Go ahead."

"They found Angel.  She's twenty-three nautical miles north, heading our way.  Even pulling twenty knots, that should still five you at least forty-five minutes to dredge."

"Tell you what, kid.  Instead of dredging, how about I just try the doors and see if they'll close?"

David shrugs.  "Yeah, okay.  Makes sense."

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Dredging Barge

Canal Entrance, Tanaka Lagoon

Joshua snaps the buckles of his buoyancy control vest and air tank in place, checks his regulator, then spits into his face mask.  Check this, do that . . . who does this Taylor kid think he is?

Securing his face mask, Joshua steps off the rig, plunging feetfirst into the sea.

The Pacific envelopes him in its deep blue aura, the water crystal clear, dive conditions excellent.  Adjusting the pressure in his vest, he slows his descent, then kicks toward the towering gray steel facing that is the open northern canal door.

Joshua inspects the barnacle-encrusted surface, poking three fingers into one of the doors thousand pores.  Then, remembering the monster, he continues his dive, his heart beating more rapidly in his chest.

Touching down on the silty bottom, he looks around, then locates the junction box.  Peering inside, he finds the key pad David had described.

The generator light glows red.

Joshua presses the sequence 10-7-6-4-6 and waits.

Nothing happens.

He tries it again, then a third time.

Still nothing.

Cursing into his regulator, the marine biologist kicks away from the bottom, expelling air as he surfaces.

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Lagoon

"Rig to David, pick up!"

David pulls the radio free from his belt.  "What's wrong?"

"The damn generator's getting no juice, that's what's wrong.  I though you said you tested this thing?"

David looks at Patricia, dumbfounded.  "I, uh . . . shit."

"Yeah, shit.  Now get your ass in gear and find us an alternative power source before Angel gets here."

*        *        *        *        *

San Francisco International Airport

Jonas and Dani exit the boarding ramp, entering the terminal to a sea of blinding flashbulbs.

"Professor Taylor, is it true you returned early to recapture Angel?"

"What makes you so sure your facility will hold her this time?"

"Jonas, how many people actually died on Daredevils ?"

"Did you know the final two-hour episode airs tonight?"

"Professor, is it fair to keep a wild animal like Angel locked up?"

"Enough!"  Jonas grabs his daughter by the crook of her arm and bulls his way through the mob of reporters.

James Gelet and a security guard intercept them as they hurry down the escalator.  "Jonas, hey, James Gelet, Erik's partner.  I have a limo waiting of you and your daughter outside."

"Good, get us the hell out of here."

"Give the guard your baggage claim tickets, he'll take care of your luggage."

Jonas digs in his pocket.  Hands the guard the stubs as Gelet leads them outside into daylight.

The limo driver opens the rear door.  Dani climbs in first, followed by her father.

Gelet peeks inside.  "Be back in two shakes, just want to make a quick statement, then we're off."

The door slams shut as a crowd surrounds the limo.

"Dad, what's going on?  They were talking about recapturing Angel."

Jonas reaches into his pocket.  Hands her the article.

Dani stares at the AP photo on the front page.  "Oh, no . . . oh my God."

"Shh . . . it's all right—"

*        *        *        *        *

Outside the limo, the shrill shriek of a woman screaming forces James Gelet to pause from his speech.

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Lagoon

David emerges from the subterranean stairwell, dressed in his wetsuit and diving gear, carrying his fins, mask, and a coiled length of underwater cable.

Patricia chases after him as he hurries through the arena.  "David, wait—what're you doing?  David—"

"We need power.  I can rig this cable to the generator on board the barge.  That should give us plenty of juice to close the canal doors."

"No way, I'm not letting you go down there.  David, did you hear me?"

Ignoring her, he hurries to the top of the arena's northern bleachers.  Pushes open the hidden gate in the perimeter fencing.  Keys open the padlock.

"Hey!"  Patricia grabs his arm.  "Don't do this."

"I'll be okay, we still have plenty of time."  He walks out onto the twelve-inch-wide ledge that is the northern canal wall, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Patricia watches him as he follows the concrete barrier beyond the beachhead and out into the Pacific.

Then she notices the cigarette boat.

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Cigarette Boat

Devin Dietsch powers down the speedboat a hundred yards south of the southern canal wall.  "You want me to get us closer?"

Older brother Drew glances up.  "Nah, this is good enough.  Any closer and we'll draw attention.  Get your gear on, I'll be through in a minute."

Balanced on the real estate magnate's lap is a small underwater platter mine.

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Dredging Barge

Canal Entrance, Tanaka Lagoon

Joshua sits on the edge of the swaying rig, watching with amusement as David Taylor stumbles along the edge of the submerged seawall.  "Come on, kid.  Just swim over already."

David holds his breath and ducks, gripping the concrete wall between his knees as another swell rolls over his head.

"Come on, Dagmar, we don't have all day!"

Shoving his regulator into his mouth, David waits for the next swell to pass, then jumps into the canal, stroking with one arm, holding the roll of underwater cable with the other.  Surface diving beneath the four-foot-high roll of barbed wire, he surfaces on the other side, kicking toward the platform.

Joshua reaches down and drags the teenager onto the rig.  "Took you long enough.  Now what are we supposed to do with this?"

David kicks off his swim fins, then starts unraveling the 600-foot cord.  "You wanted power, I'll give you power.  We'll hook one end to the rig's generator, the other end to the junction box."

Joshua checks his watch.  Twenty-eight minutes, give or take.  He takes out the two-way radio.  "Hey, Tracy, you there?"

Patricia answers.  "Funny."

"Contact the helicopter.  I want to know exactly how far out they are before we get back in the water."

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Tanaka Oceanographic Institute Helicopter

Terry scans the surface with her binoculars.  Spots the ivory dorsal fin.  "Here she comes again."

Mac yanks back on the joystick, causing the thumper to spring from the sea.

Angel disappears, going deep.

"Guess she's tired of all that leaping," Terry yells over the headset.

"Base to chopper, come in."

Terry flips the radio's toggle switch.  "Go ahead, Trish."

"What's your ETA?"

Mac checks his instruments.  "We're only averaging ten knots, and we're still a good fourteen miles out.  Say an hour at the least, jut to play it safe."

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Dredging Barge

Canal Entrance, Tanaka Lagoon

"Mac says you've got another hour if she holds her present course and speed.  But we've got another problem.  There's a cigarette boat just south of the canal.  I'm guessing it belongs to the Dietsch Brothers."

Joshua climbs one of the sand dunes and looks to the south.  "Who the hell are the Dietsch Brothers?"

David stares at the distant boat.  "Coupla' guys who want to turn the lagoon into a housing development and mall."

"Yeah, well we don't have time to worry about them now.  Rig that end of the cable to the generator and I'll escort you below."

David swallows hard.  "Can't you handle it yourself?"

"Listen, boy genius, I'm a marine biologist, not an electrician.  Go, get moving."

David grabs the free end of the cable and drags it with him over a sand dune.  A trail of hoses leads him to the oil-stained, fire-engine-red 7,700-kilowatt diesel generator.

David locates the connection box, attaches the electrical cable, then double-times it back to Joshua.  "Okay, we're set here."

"Let's make this fast."  Joshua fixes his mask, then jumps back into the ocean, disappearing in a haze of bubbles.

David tries spitting into his mask, but finds he has no saliva.  Bending down, he leans over to wash off his mask, as another swell rolls under the platform, flipping him head over heels into the Pacific.

The panicked teenager thrashes to the surface, quickly dragging himself back onto the rig.  Panting nervously, he looks around at empty ocean.  Okay, you gotta do this . . . stop being such a pussy.

Tightening his mask over his eyes, he bites down on his regulator and jumps.

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Lagoon

Patricia leans against the steel fencing at the top of the western bleachers, her binoculars trained on the two men seated in the cigarette boat.

"Okay, boys, exactly what are you up to?"

She watches as Devin climbs overboard in full scuba gear.  Drew leans out and hands him a heavy-looking, disk-shaped object.

Devin submerges.

Patricia's blood runs cold.  A mine?  They mean to blow up the canal doors!

Taking out her cell phone, she dials the number for information.  "Monterey Bay.  I need the number for the Coast Guard."

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Canal

David kicks toward bottom, following Joshua's trail of air bubbles.  The haunting echo of voodoo drums meshes with his pounding pulse, the thumper reverberating in his bones.  He thinks of his grandfather.  You'll be okay, Angel's still miles away.

Slowly, the silty seafloor comes into focus, nestled beneath a forest of mustard-tan coral.

Joshua waits impatiently by the trash can-size junction box, the end of the underwater cable in his hand.

David hovers above the seafloor, then turns, looking over his shoulder at the underwater canyon and its ominous dark drop-off.

The sight of the abyss causes him to shudder.

Joshua taps impatiently on the junction box.

Swimming over, David searches the outside of the steel container until he locates a barnacle-encrusted seam.  Removing his dive knife, he chips away at the crustaceans with the steel blade.

Josh moves to help.

*        *        *        *        *

The stark, ivory-white creature moves through the valley of perpetual darkness, its lower jaw quivering in spasms, its breathing erratic.

For days, the big male has been moving south along the Pacific coast, its senses detecting traces of the ovulating female.  Crossing the currents of San Francisco Bay, the Meg's olfactory cells had been inundated with the female's pungent scent, the odor becoming more powerful as the predator moved deeper through the Monterey Submarine Canyon.  The female had been there, but her scent lingered everywhere, making it impossible for the Meg to pinpoint her presence.

The male zigzags through shadows of gray, eight hundred feet below the surface.  Though it prefers to hunt at night, its last two feedings have occurred during the waning hours of day.  While the indirect light still stings its nocturnal eyes, the female's hormonal perfume is more concentrated in the mid-to-shallow waters.

The male's close proximity to the ovulating female has caused its brain to secrete increased levels of testosterone, fueling the Meg's overly aggressive nature.  Gliding through a kelp forest, it lashes out at anything that moves, its sensory system on overload.

Caught off-guard, a half-dozen seals become a quick snack, their skulls popping like walnuts within the male's crushing orifice.

The hunter continues its trek south, then suddenly detects something else . . . something familiar.  At first it is just a distant reverberation, then it graduates to sound—a baritone echo that fills the underwater gorge for tens of miles.

Pinpointing the disturbance, the Megalodon accelerates east, racing through the submarine canyon like a mad bull.

*        *        *        *        *

Aboard The Tanaka Oceanographic Institute's Helicopter

Terry scans the surface of the Pacific through her binoculars.  The Great White sharks have disappeared.

Mac taps her on the shoulder.  "Well?"

She checks her fish-finder again.  Shakes her head.  "She's gone."

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Canal

David and Joshua pry off the outside panel of the junction box, exposing the bucket-size power-pac.

Removing the corroded mini-generator from its harness, David feels around, then locates a suitable female receptacle.

Plugs in the cable.

Reaching inside the top of the junction box, he dial in his access code.

Nothing.

David knee kicks the cursed machine, then stops.  Thinks.  Grins at Joshua through his regulator.  He signals to the surface, indicating as best he can that the generator must be powered up before the junction box will work.

Joshua signals okay, then kicks away from the bottom—

—as the ghostly white demon's snout rises over the ledge of the submarine canyon.

The big male's head is as large as the front end of a C-5 cargo plane, its quivering lower jaw purple around the titanium hook still embedded in its flesh.  A dark steel cable trails below the festering wound like some bizarre antenna.

Joshua's eyes widen, his heartbeat jumping.  Thirty feet from the surface, he forces himself to remain motionless in the water.

His pulsating internal organs announce his presence.

The agitated male turns its cold gaze upon its overmatched prey.

Man and beast make eye contact.

And then, in one gut-wrenching spasm, it is upon him.

Abominable jaws open, the widening gullet expanding until it is beyond Joshua's field of vision, and then he realizes, in his delirium, that he is being inhaled.

Sudden darkness . . . followed by an explosive eruption of pain and blood and splintering bones as dozens of seven-inch blades skewer his shattering existence before—

Chomp.

Gone.

Twenty feet away, David vomits into his regulator, his entire being shaking uncontrollably as the monster's jowls smack open and shut, spewing shards of flesh and blood and shredded wetsuit everywhere.

The Meg shakes its head and expels the mangled, inhuman remains of Joshua Bunkofske's crushed air tank from its mouth, then turns its heart-stopping gaze toward David.

*        *        *        *        *

Tanaka Lagoon

Jonas climbs out of the limousine and stretches.  Two vehicles are parked on the sidewalk adjacent to the main entrance of the arena.  He recognizes Mac's truck, and then he registers a familiar tingling in his bones.

James Gelet emerges from the backseat.  "So here's what I was thinking . . . we bring a film crew over about an hour before tonight's episode airs, then we do a live satellite feed with—"

"Quiet!"  Jonas listens.  Kneels by the pavement.  Touches it with his palms.

Gelet waits.  "What?  Is it an earthquake?;"

Dani exits the limo.  "Dad, what is it?"

"Thumper!"

Jonas races through the tunnel leading into the arena.  Hears a woman scream.

Patricia bounds down the concrete aisle of the western bleachers two steps at a time, her binoculars bouncing against her chest.

"Trish!" Jonas waves.

The blonde looks up, startled.  "Jonas!  Jonas, quick, there's another shark in the canal!  Another Meg!"

"What?"

She hurries over, beads of sweat running down her flushed cheeks.  "Jonas, David's in the canal."

*        *        *        *        *

The monstrous fish lurches forward.

David kicks his flippers.  Tumbles backward over the junction box.  Regains his balance and swims as fast as he can, scurrying around the backside of the canal door toward the shadowed crevice that harbors the door's hydraulic hinges.

Don't look, don't stop, don't look, don't stop—

The big male lunges forward, ramming its head through the gap between the open door and the northern canal wall.

David disappears into the shadows, hugging one of the hinges as the Megalodon attempts to wriggle its way deeper into the tight space, the side of the open door pinching tightly against its right flank.

David hyperventilates into his regulator, unable to take his eyes off the gruesome white head.  The gray-blue eye is rolled back, revealing a bloodshot white sclera.

For a long moment, he remains paralyzed in fear, and then the gut-wrenching strain of metal echoes in his ears and he realizes, to his horror, that the canal door is giving way.

*        *        *        *        *

Jonas activates the A-frame's winch, sending the eviscerated 350-pound bovine carcass plunging into the southern end of the tank.

Reversing the line, he drags the dripping side of beef in the water, then hands the controls to Patricia.  "See?  Up and down, like a giant tea bag."

"Got it.  Wait—what're you going to do?"

Jonas sprints toward the end of the arena.  "I'm going to save my son!"

*        *        *        *        *

David feels the buoyancy control valve.  Presses it, inflating his vest.

Rising along the V-shaped crevice, the teen shoots toward the surface, then reaches out and slows his ascent, remembering the last time he panicked in these same waters.

Pausing at thirty feet, he forces himself to relax and breathe.

The testosterone-laced Meg, stares as its prey ascends beyond its reach.  Wriggling free of the gap, the hunter searches for another way to access David, when its senses detect something else.

Surface disturbances.

Blood.

Prey.

The hungry fish moves into the canal, its sickle-shaped tail slicing up the surface.

Jonas balances precariously on top of the concrete wall, the sea to his left, a fifteen-foot drop to the beach below on his right.

Looking up, he spots the approaching ivory dorsal fin.

Dropping slowly into a squat position, he straddles the twelve-inch-wide wall with his knees and waits.

Another male, even bigger than Scarface.  What would bring Angel and this male so far from the Pacific trenches?  Think, Taylor.  Something significant's happening here . . .

Grinding his teeth, he waits for the Megalodon to pass, noticing its trailing length of steel cable.

Sweet Jesus . . . the Monterey Canyon!  Angel's using the gorge as a nursery site, just as her mother did, twenty-two years ago.

Jonas leaps to his feet, continuing his dash along the top of the narrow canal wall.

Moving beyond the beach, he continues another hundred yards, the canal now blending into the Pacific, the waves cresting along both sides of the concrete wall to greet him.

High tide has submerged the last third of the seawall, making the going even more treacherous.  He sloshes through ankle-deep water, then holds on tenuously as an immense swell rolls over his knees and chest.

The power of the wave causes him to lose his balance, casting him into the canal.

Jonas surfaces and kicks toward the wall.  Regaining his footing, he stands, the sea pulling at his calves.

His heart leaps as he sees his son's head surface at the end of the canal.

*        *        *        *        *

A massive wave crashes against the far end of the main tank, and then Patricia sees the approaching male, its ivory-white head plowing the olive-green waters like Moby Dick.

"Oh my God—"  Dropping the controls, she backs up the steps of the bleachers.

In one motion, the male raises its upper torso out of the water and snags the dripping cow carcass from its hook.  Shaking its head from side to side, it tears loose its meal, sending ten-foot waves ricocheting around the horseshoe-shaped end of the tank.

Patricia covers her ears against the screech of folding steel as the rusted A-frame is torn from its concrete base, the entire structure collapsing into the lagoon.

*        *        *        *        *

David treads water along the top of the submerged northern wall.  He sees ripples flowing from the far end of the tank and hears the A-frame as is collapses.

He eyes the dredging platform.  Fifty yards, maybe sixty.  Gotta risk it.

Ducking his head, he swims an awkward crawl stroke toward the rig, his scuba gear restricting his movements.

Halfway there, keep going.

"David!"

David turns, startled.  "Dad?"

Jonas ducks beneath another incoming swell, then  waves at his son.  'Go, get to the platform!  Watch the barbed wire!"

David strokes and kicks.  Ducks beneath the surface barrier of barbed wire.  Moves beyond the orange marker buoys.  Grabs onto the edge of the floating steel platform and hoists himself up and out of the water.

Pulls off his fins.  Dumps his vest and tank.  Sprints over the dunes of sand to the generator.

Presses the red POWER switch.

A double choke, and the machine jumps to life.

The flaccid four-foot-wide rubber suction hose coughs, inflates, then releases a steady stream of ocean and sand onto the platform.

The doors of the canal begin to close.

*        *        *        *        *

Devin Dietsch is exhausted and angry.  Moving in forty feet of water, the underwater mine clutched to his chest, the amateur diver has been zigzagging against a strong current for twenty minutes and has already had to surface twice to regain his bearings.

I'm gonna strangle Drew, making me do all this crazy Navy SEAL bullshit . . .

Looking up, he sees the line of orange buoys dotting the surface.  Dammit,  Must've overshot the southern door.

Turning, he angles back, using the buoys to guide him.  Thirty more feet and he smiles, relieved to finally see the half-open steel door as it materializes from the shadows.

Devin examines the underwater mine.  There are two controls located on the explosive, the first designed to magnetize the outer steel shell, the second to activate the timer, which his brother has set to detonate in one hour.

Devin magnetizes the platter, then presses it against the inside face of the barnacle-encrusted door.

The mine adheres momentarily, then falls free, tumbling past his swim fins.

Crap!  Devin ducks and swims after the sinking explosive, catching it at fifty-seven feet.

Swimming back to the door, he removes his dive knife and begins hacking away at the barnacles, attempting to clear a path to the steel.

*        *        *        *        *

Jonas treads water, massaging a cramp over his stomach muscles.  The top of the northern concrete wall is somewhere beneath his kicking feet.  Ahead—the line of barbed wire marking the canal entrance.

And suddenly he is moving, caught in a swirling eddy created by the movement of the submerged canal doors.

*        *        *        *        *

The moving door catches Devin off-guard, the steel wall nearly breaking his nose as it collides with his face mask.  Blood flows from his left nostril into his mask as his body is swept backward by the rapidly sealing southern door.

Glancing to his left, he sees the approaching northern door, groaning on its hinges as it moves to meet its twin.

*        *        *        *        *

The big male lashes at the blood-stained waters in the southern end of the tank, but there is no more prey to be had.

The reverberations of the sealing canal doors draw its attention.

Leaving the lagoon, the agitated Meg finds its way back through the canal, heading for open ocean.

*        *        *        *        *

Jonas paddles and kicks as hard as he can, but the swift current continues dragging him backward toward the middle of the canal entrance, straight for the coils of barbed wire.

Lunging for the nearest orange warning buoy, he hangs on.

"Dad, the Meg!"

Jonas looks over his shoulder and down the canal's long stretch of waterway.  Oh, hell . . . not again.

The ivory wake plows the surface, the big male heading straight for him.

Jonas feels the northern canal door grind to a halt eight feet beneath him.  Ducking his head, he searches for the top of the northern door.

Sees it has stopped ten feet from closing, its companion falling seven feet short.

The gap between the two doors is wide enough to drive a car through.

Not good . . .

The current has ceased.

The dorsal fin has not.

*        *        *        *        *

Devin Dietsch hovers fifty feet beneath Jonas's buoy, the real estate mogul's eyes staring in disbelief at the nightmarish albino creature bearing down upon him.  Dropping the mine, he swims backward through the twelve-foot gap, unable to take his eyes off the monster.

Devin screams into his regulator as the big male drives its conical snout halfway through the gap before the unyielding steel doors pinch its gill slits, forcing the enraged Meg back inside the canal.

Devin stops screaming, tears flooding his mask as he realizes he's still alive.  His heart patters in his chest, his muscles quivering with adrenaline as he watches the eerie white Megalodon stalk the semi-open canal entrance like a hungry, caged tiger.

Oh, God . . . those bastards did it, they actually recaptured her.  Forget Esplanade by the Sea, this is even bigger.

The Megalodon attacks the gap again, causing the steel doors to groan.

Devin flees—

—only to be confronted by an even bigger nightmare.

Angel appears from out of the dense blue periphery like a ghostly white dirigible, her jaws parted slightly, her steel gray-blue eyes taking in everything.

Adrenaline courses through Devin Dietsch's being like electricity.  He flutter kicks backward, as the big male attacks the gap.

Devin bounces off the male's snout, then rips off his weight belt and kicks like a madman for the surface.

Angel ignores him, her senses focused more on the presence of another Megalodon in her pen.  With a flurry of tail movement, the forty-ton female bull-rushes the gate, her open jaws colliding with those of the male.

Blood, bubbles, barnacles and silt swirl amid the two jarring behemoths, the steel doors groaning with each colossal impact.

Freed of his weight belt, his vest filling with air, Devin Dietsch ascends like a beach ball, his skull smashing against the bottom of one of the orange buoys, the sudden impact knocking him senseless.

*        *        *        *        *

Dangling from the buoy, half out of the water, Jonas can only hold on as the surface around him becomes a maelstrom, the two Megalodons bashing and snapping and biting one another through the gap in the canal doors forty-five feet beneath him.

Whomp!

Jonas lets out a yell as something collides with his buoy.  For a long second, he squeezes his eyes shut, waiting to be ravaged, then realizes the impact was caused by something else.

Opening his eyes, he sees the inert scuba diver floating facedown in the water.  Jonas pulls him closer to the buoy.  Verifies he is breathing.

David waves frantically from the platform.  "Dad, what should I do?"

"Open the gate!"

Open the gate?  How can I do that?  Wait a sec . . . David stumbles over the piles of silt to the generator.  Powers off the generator.  Counts to thirty, then restarts the engine.

The big suction hose resumes pumping.

The canal doors reverberate within their frames, then, with a heavy groan of metal, the two barriers of steel begin reversing themselves, the gap widening.