Meg: Hell's Aquarium (32 page)

“I don’t know. I’m open to anything, except leeches.” He restarts the sub’s engines, moving ahead at five knots, in no rush to return to the ship. Though the night glass allows him to see fairly well in the shallows, he turns his exterior lights on—

—catching a burst of movement, a swirl of sand behind a patch of coral.

“Kaylie?”

“I heard it! Just a whisper. It’s not big—”

“—there!” He points as the heart-shaped shell rises from the bottom, swimming away from the piercing light.

Kaylie grabs the radio. “Two to base, how much time?”

“Forty seconds.”

David accelerates after the turtle—a female hawksbill, weighing just over 150 pounds. The creature is far more elusive than its larger cousin, but David puts the larger Manta Ray beneath it in seconds. “Starboard net ready? Shoot!”

Kaylie pulls the control for the second net—

—nothing happens. She tugs on the knob again and again. “Dammit! They didn’t reload.” She smacks both palms across the dashboard in anger.

“Hold on. I have an idea.”

Brian Suits finishes tallying his candidates scores—

—looking up from his Blackberry at the sound of the applauding crew. “I’ll be a sonuva . . .”

The Manta Ray circles the trawler doing ten knots, the 150-pound hawksbill turtle pinned to the forward edge of the cockpit’s acrylic bubble, surfing the swell as the submersible’s hood ornament.

20.

Community Hospital of the Monterey Peninsula
Monterey, California

Amazing really. He lost so much blood. Did you call his wife?

Yes. She’s flying in with his daughter. Will Carlos be okay?

They have him in a recompression chamber; he’s being treated for the bends and shock.

The pain of consciousness pushes Ed Hendricks above the dark surf. He attempts to spit out his regulator, but it’s wedged too tightly in his mouth and throat. Unable to yank the annoying object free, he grunts in frustration, shaking his head to and fro.

“He’s awake. Mac, call the nurse. Ed, it’s Jonas. Open your eyes. Ed?”

A slit of daylight breaks through an ocean of shadows as Ed Hendricks opens his eyes. Fran Rizzuto leans over him, smiling with relief. “Thank God.”

Groggy, he turns to his left and sees Jonas.

“You’re in a hospital. Don’t try to talk. You’re going to be fine.”

Fran shoots Jonas a look as the doctor enters the room. “Welcome back, Mr. Hendricks. My name is Daniel Pernini, I’m your attending physician. You’ve been in shock due to massive blood loss. We had to place a tube down your throat to keep your airway open. Open wide, this may make you gag.”

The doctor removes the tube. “How’s that?”

Hendricks flinches as he swallows.

Fran places a cup of water to his lips. “Slow sips.”

The master diver nods his thanks while Dr. Pernini checks his vitals. “How do you feel?”

“Pain.”

“In your throat?”

“Legs. Hurt bad. Sharp pain. Like needles puncturing my bones. Feet are throbbing.”

The physician glances at Jonas and Fran. “We’ll get you something for the pain.”

“Doc, there’s pressure . . . like a weight squeezing them . . . like I’m being crushed. Still, I owe you, guys for saving them.”

The doctor prepares a hypodermic needle of morphine. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Hendricks. By all rights you should be dead. Your friends refused to give up; they saved your life.” He injects the morphine into the I.V. bag. Adjusts the drip.

Ed Hendricks drifts back beneath the waves, the pain receding.

Jonas watches the big man’s eyes roll up, wondering how he’ll tell him that his legs are long gone—devoured by Angel just below the hip.

Dubai Land
Dubai, United Arab Emirates

For the twenty-three recruits vying for six positions and two alternates, “Decision Day” begins with a farewell buffet brunch in the hotel’s second floor Devonian galley.

Brian Suits waits until everyone is seated with their food before taking the dais.

“Congratulations. We’ve put you through hell, and you survived. And for that you are all to be commended. While scores weighed heavily on our final selections, the ability to keep a clear head during stressful situations was more of a determining factor. When you return to your suites from breakfast this morning, each of you will find a manila envelope on your kitchen table. For those candidates selected, there will be a mandatory meeting at seven o’clock tonight in the
Ancient Seas
restaurant on the top floor of the hotel. For those candidates not selected, you will find your airline tickets home, along with a cashier’s check in the amount of ten thousand dollars. Departures begin tomorrow morning, so you have the rest of today to enjoy Dubai. Mr. bin Rashidi has generously chartered a tour bus for those of you wishing to visit the local sites. If you choose to remain at the hotel, we ask that you do not leave the hotel grounds because of on-going construction. Okay then . . . enjoy your day.”

One by one, then in small groups, the recruits leave their dining area and head for the elevators.

David, Kaylie, and Monty are the only ones left at their table. A waitress comes by offering coffee. Kaylie and David wave her off, while Monty heads back to the buffet for thirds. David smiles. “Damn, that guy can eat.”

“He knows he’s going home. I envy his peace of mind.”

He sees the look of anxiety on her face. “Kaylie, go.”

“It’s okay. I can wait.”

“No you can’t. Go and see if you made it. I don’t mind.”

“Thanks.” As she stands to leave, her high cheekbones tighten in a sad smile. “No matter what the verdict, will you spend the day with me?”

“Definitely.”

He watches her exit the galley. A moment later she’s rising up the atrium in one of the glass elevators, offering a discreet finger-wave.

Life often comes down to a decision or moment that sets you on a new path, determining the rest of your life. I guess for Kaylie, this is one of them.

Monty rejoins him, his plate piled high with scrambled eggs, two steaks, and a generous helping of hash browns. “The guy who invented buffets . . . frickin’ genius.” He sees David is distracted. “Last day of camp, huh? Think she made it?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t have the score. Suits refused to count that last turtle. He said it was my piloting that nailed it, not her sonar abilities.”

“Fire escapes, laser printers, and bulletproof vests.”

“What?”

“All invented by women. Would you trust a bullet-proof vest if you knew a woman had designed it?”

“I don’t know. Why not? I wouldn’t trust anything unless it was tested.”

“Your woman was tested. We’ll see how prejudiced the jury is. Me? I’m just happy to collect a paycheck.”

“It’s only ten grand. What are you going to do now?”

“Finish my meal, rent a few movies—”

“I meant after tomorrow.”

Monty shovels a massive forkful of eggs and potatoes into his mouth, spraying bits into the air as he answers, “Tomorrow’s tomorrow, Junior. When you’re bi-polar, you’re lucky if you can focus on the moment. I’m here, and I’m functioning—at least for the moment—and that’s not too bad for a guy whose brains look like these eggs. Go find your woman. I plan on camping out here for a while.”

She’s waiting for him in the corridor by his suite, leaning against his door, a sad expression on her face. The manila envelope is in her hand, still sealed.

“You didn’t open it?”

“If I open it now and somehow I made it, then I’d be afraid of letting myself grow closer to you . . . afraid you’d interpret it as some kind of payback. But if I didn’t make it, the disappointment would ruin our day together. So I decided to wait.”

“You want me to open it?”

“No. I want you to make love to me.”

Hand in hand, they enter his suite, David dead-bolting the door behind them.

Thousand Oaks, California

Located twelve miles inland from the Pacific Ocean, set against the backdrop of the Santa Monica mountains, is the city of Thousand Oaks—a planned community that caters to its well-to-do residents.

Sara Toms maneuvers her Jeep Cherokee through the quiet residential neighborhood, guided by her on-board navigator. She pulls over to the curb, verifying the address on a mailbox. “This is it, Jess.”

Jessica Jean Thompson stares at the two-story home, shaking her head. “Tell me again about your big donor?”

“Joseph Michael Park. He owns ShockNetVideo.com. I showed him the raw footage taken in the Meg Pen and he loved it. He’s willing to make a seven-figure donation, but only if we give him the exclusive footage of the juvenile Megs’ release . . . and a celebrity spokesman.”

“But, Lana Wood? Who is she? I never even heard of Lana Wood.”

“She’s Natalie Wood’s younger sister. Lana was an actress, too. In fact, she was a Bond Girl. Remember Plenty O’Toole in
Diamonds Are Forever?
Lana’s probably the only Playboy centerfold who’s also a published author. Her book hit number three on the
New York Times
bestseller list.”

“Come on, Sara, how many decades ago was that? What about Pamela Anderson?”

“She wasn’t interested. Every PETA spokesperson I asked backed off once they heard we were rallying to release Belle and Lizzy. Lana was the highest ranked person on Mr. Park’s list who even agreed to consider it. And even then, only if we donate a percentage of our proceeds back to the American Cancer Society. Something about her daughter—”

“Fine. Let’s just meet this Bond chick and get back to San Francisco. You know how I hate anything Hollywood.” She grabs the portable DVD player and exits the Jeep.

Now in her sixties, Lana Wood spends most of her time caring for her daughter and three grandchildren while raising money for cancer organizations. The former sex symbol greets the two animal rights activists at her front door in jeans and a white turtleneck sweater that barely contains the signature breasts that made her famous back in the 1970s and 80s. A gold Russian cross hangs around her neck.

“You’re the group my agent told me about. Let’s talk out back.” She leads them through the house, the two women swarmed upon by seven dogs and ten cats. They exit to the backyard garden and pool where Lana’s daughter, Evan, is watching her four-year-old son swim.

Though struggling with her health, Evan is gorgeous, resembling a young Liz Taylor, her eyes bright green, her hair dark and wavy like her mother’s. She is not happy about the meeting.

“For the record, I told my mother not to get involved with you people. We may be animal lovers, but we both think PETA goes too far. And we don’t like zealots of any sort.”

“We’re not zealots,” Sara responds. “We believe that every animal has the right to be free. Including sharks. The Tanaka Institute is reaping millions of dollars in profits while these majestic beasts are being systematically tortured.”

“How are they being tortured?” Lana asks.

Jessica starts the DVD. The edited underwater sequences, taken inside the Meg Pen, show Belle and Lizzy being shocked by steel rods protruding from a spherical acrylic sub.

“Those rods pack five thousand volts of electricity. Can you imagine the pain?”