38.

Panthalassa Sea

Angel stops feeding, her back muscles and pectoral fins rigid as she assumes a defensive posture. Remaining close to the kill, her senses lock on to the larger challenger moving along the periphery.

The liopleurodon’s forelimbs turn downward, her back muscles taut as she sizes up the Megalodon. Apex predators rarely cross paths, but when they do it becomes a battle for supremacy; and there can be only one survivor.

Angel is first to act, feigning a direct strike, her sudden charge meant to put forth the challenge and evaluate her opponent’s response.

More maneuverable than the shark, the liopleurodon easily circles out of harm’s way—

—sending the Megalodon rushing back to safeguard her kill.

This dance is repeated three more times. The Meg, bull-rushing the liopleurodon, gauging her enemy’s speed; the liopleurodon circling away, only to drift closer to the mosasaur remains with each pass—

—until finally she snatches it!

Having drawn the liopleurodon into her kill zone, Angel attacks in earnest, her serrated teeth latching onto the pliosaur’s short, muscular tail. The bite is neither mortal nor crippling, but it causes the liopleurodon to whip its crocodilian head around, the big female’s jaws slamming down upon the Megalodon’s left pectoral fin.

For the next twenty seconds the two monsters swim in tights circles, remaining attached to one another, their mammoth heads shaking back and forth, each predator attempting to gain the torque necessary to allow their teeth to sink deeper into their opponent’s lacerated flesh.

Finally they release, signaling the end of round one.

The liopleurodon glides off to circle once more, her wounded tail trailing blood.

The Meg is bleeding, too, but the wound is superficial, no worse than her mate’s assault during her last conception. Like a vigilant yard dog, Angel remains by her kill, refusing to pursue her quicker challenger unless the pliosaur moves closer.

The liopleurodon weighs twice as much as the shark, but the Megalodon’s jaws, better suited for delivering a mortal bite, force the pliosaur to change its tactics.

The liopleurodon moves off into the darkness.

The big female will initiate her next assault from below.

The titanium lab rises through the Panthalassa current, the raging water causing the sphere to spin.

David and Kaylie huddle on the floor within their “air bag,” the radio transmitter close by. “Dad? Dad, are you there? Come in, please!”

“I’m here.”

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m attached to the rescue cable. Lost both wings when I had a little run in with Maren’s monster.”

“The liopleurodon?”

“Never seen anything like it. Don’t worry, Angel’s got its undivided attention.”

“Angel? Dad, what’s Angel doing down here?”

“Long story, and we need to conserve your air. But I had an idea. What are the interior walls made of? Are they padded, or is the titanium showing?”

“Titanium.”

“Good. And the interior temperature?”

“Right now? Sixty-five degrees. Dad, what are you thinking?”

“The higher we ascend, the colder the ocean temperature will get. I want you to turn the thermostat up as high as it can go. Let’s see if we can’t sweat those metal plates.”

“Condensation . . . that’s brilliant.”

“Once the moisture builds up, you’ll need to wipe it down with a cloth and squeeze the excess into the water tank. It’ll be tight, but it can work, provided you don’t expend too much energy.”

“Understood.” David pinches tears from his eyes. “Dad—”

“David, I know I can be rough on you at times, but I’m very proud of you. Don’t worry about a thing. We’re going to get through this little challenge together. Okay?”

“Okay.” The lab stops spinning, allowing David to reset the thermostat. He turns the temperature up to one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the blower fans on high.

“Mr. Taylor, this is Kaylie Szeifert. I just wanted to tell you that your son’s amazing. He’s already saved us about a dozen times. It’s my fault he even made this dive; he was just trying to protect me. I should have listened when you tried to warn us.”

“Well, Kaylie, I don’t know what it is with us Taylor men, but the women in our lives always seem to get us to do the craziest things. I’m guessing my son must really like you. I’m looking forward to meeting you in person in about thirty-three minutes.”

“Me, too.”

Aboard the Dubai Land I
Philippine Sea

Fiesal bin Rashidi stares, breathless, at the sonar monitor now tracking the abyssal lab. Moving beneath the steadily rising blip are two larger objects.

Brian Suits points to the blip hovering at 21,890 feet. “This one’s Angel. We’ve been tracking her using the Abyss Glider. This second object is much larger.”

“The liopleurodon?”

“Has to be.”

“How do we lure it up?”

“There seems to be a territorial battle going on between the two creatures. Angel’s been rigged to a neurotransmitter. The control device is aboard the hopper dredger. Tell Taylor’s people we want Angel to surface—”

“—and the liopleurodon will follow.”

“Hopefully.”

“How far out is the Mogamigawa?”

“The supertanker should arrive within the hour.”

“We can’t wait. Have the Tonga prepare their nets, then contact the hopper dredger and tell them what we want.”

“And if they refuse?”

Bin Rashidi stares again at the sonar screen. “If they refuse, tell them we’ll shut down the winch.”

Aboard the McFarland
Philippine Sea

“Son of a bitch!” Mac slams down the radio receiver. “I knew we couldn’t trust those bastards.” He turns to Brent Nichols. “Can we bluff them? Convince them the receiver’s still working?”

“The receiver is working. The steel cable must be acting like an underwater antenna.”

“Then do it. Lure Angel back up the hole.”

“And what if the liopleurodon doesn’t follow her up? Bin Rashidi’s already threatened to leave Taylor and his kid on the bottom of the sea floor.”

“You’re right. I need to handle this myself . . . get on board the Arab’s boat, stall them if I can.” Mac hovers over the marine biologist’s laptop. “Show me how this thing works.”

Panthalassa Sea

Ten thousand feet.

Pressed back in his pilot’s chair like an astronaut, Jonas stares straight up through the night glass as the Panthalassa’s geological ceiling appears out of the olive-green darkness. Moments later, the exit hole looms into view, bringing with it a sense of relief.

“David, we’re about to enter the chute. How are you two doing?”

David is in the lab’s upper level, Kaylie in the lower, both busy mopping beads of condensation from the titanium walls.

Kaylie grabs the transmitter. “The primary generator gave out a few minutes ago. We’re using the backup. David was afraid to put too much strain on it, so he shut down the thermostat. But the walls are still sweating, and so are we. Between the two of us, we must have added another three inches of water to the tank.”

“Good, that’s good. Soak up as much as you can, then lay down and rest. We’re almost home.” Jonas clicks off the radio, and that’s when he feels it—a distinct twang—the reverberation coming from the steel line above his head.

Jonas grips the edge of his seat, his pulse pounding as the Abyss Glider and lab enters the hole. The sub begins to quiver as a thin strand of steel line—one of four woven together to form the cable—gathers along the outside of the cockpit.

No, not now . . .

They pass the halfway point, the exit coming into view when a second snap sends the lab swaying.

“Dad?”

“The cable’s fraying. Hold on. We’re nearly out of the hole.”

The lab and its submersible escort continue rising, the steel cable groaning as it drags them out of the crater and into the Philippine Sea. They rise another eighty feet before one of the joints gives out.

Jonas registers a sickening rush of adrenaline in his stomach as the sub, weighed down by the 94,000-pound lab, plunges backwards through the depths—

—landing with a skull-rattling thud on the outer rim of the crater.

The sphere rolls toward the edge of the aperture, the AG III flipping around its hull, crashing sideways against the sea floor—

—creating a wedge that prevents the lab from rolling back down the hole.