Meg: Hell's Aquarium (55 page)

—as a giant mosasaur bears down on him from above, chasing him into a swarm of forty-foot
Xiphactinus,
the giant, piranha-like fish, lightning quick, converging on his submersible as if it were an injured porpoise.

Desperate, Jonas grabs the joystick controlling his hydrogen engine. Pressing the top button, he ignites his tank, the combusting liquid scorching the mosasaur snout, the
AG III
rocketing away—

—ripping the cable from his robotic claw’s tenuous grip.

“Damn!”

Within seconds he is approaching the bottom. Shutting down the hydrogen burn, he levels out, his sonar searching for Maren’s lab as he approaches the living reef that was once the
USS Indianapolis
.

For several moments he stares at the ghost ship, transfixed.
So that’s how Maren discovered this hell hole.
He grabs the radio, praying his proximity to the lab’s fiber optic cables will allow him to communicate with his son. “David, it’s Dad! David, can you hear me?”

Each breath is a panicked rasp, the lab now a steamy vacuum of space, the pony bottle strapped around his nose and mouth long expired of its compressed air.

In his delirium, David hears a voice.
Dad?

His scorched lungs ache as he heaves himself over Kaylie, who is curled in a ball, hyperventilating. His eyes bulge, the room spinning loop-de-loops as he claws his way up the ladder and locates the discarded radio transmitter.

“Hhhadd!”

“David? Thank God—”

“Air . . . no air!”

Jonas’s mind races as he tries to recall the schematics of Maren’s lab.
Radio’s on, so he’s got power. The life support system converts water to oxygen . . . he’s probably out of water!
“David, listen to me! The life support system needs water—”

“Gone!”

Gone?
“David, use anything . . . the toilet water, the water heater overflow. Piss in the damn tank if you have to!”

Water heater overflow?
Barely conscious, David stumbles down the ladder, crawling his way to the water heater. He can barely control his limbs as he unhinges the side panel—

—revealing a two-gallon, calcium-encrusted drip pan overflowing with water.

Careful! Don’t spill it!
He eases the container out of the heating unit, wheezing as he staggers toward the open water tank. Gently, he pours the life-giving fluid into the cache.

Seconds pass. Nothing happens.

No longer able to feel his feet, he drops to his knees and crawls back to Kaylie. Grabbing her wrist, he pulls her convulsing body on top of his, then drags them both to the closest air duct—

—as the life support system kicks in, pumping out a wave of cool, stale air.

Pressing their faces to the grating, they gasp each breath like feeding baby birds.

“David? David, answer me when you can. Kiddo, don’t give up!”

A few more lungfuls and his head clears. He climbs halfway up the ladder and reaches for the radio. “The water heater . . . it worked. But there’s . . . not enough . . . to last.”

“Look out your porthole.”

David hauls his trembling form onto the upper level and gazes out the dense, cylindrical window.

The
AG III
’s cockpit hovers three feet away.

The sight of his father causes David to weep. “Dad, I’m sorry—”

“I love you, kid. Now listen to me. Shut down all the vents except one. Find a way to encapsulate a smaller breathing space so that you’re not ventilating the entire lab. A little air can go a long way. I lost the tow cable, but I’ll be back real soon. You keep it together. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Fighting to maintain his composure, Jonas banks the sub away from the lab and the remains of an unrecognizable carcass caught beneath the titanium sphere. Pulling back on the joysticks, he aims the Abyss Glider’s long nose on a ninety-degree vertical plane then reignites the hydrogen tank, launching himself toward the volcanic rock ceiling like a Tomahawk cruise missile.

The
AG III
shudders as it climbs one hundred feet per second.

Dark shadows appear ahead, the stunned creatures snapping wildly as they whip past his cockpit. He veers past the swarm and up through the swirling hydrothermal plume, his mind focusing on the problem at hand.

He debates whether to attempt to locate and retrieve the lost cable.

Realizes it’s an impossible task.

Accepts the reality that he must return to the surface to begin anew.

Keep the cable slack, that’ll allow you to increase your rate of descent. But how the hell do I keep these monsters off of me long enough to attach the cable? Can’t kill them, can’t out-maneuver them in the Glider, and the lights only attract them. What can I use to scare these creatures away?

“Oh, hell.” He grabs the radio. “Mac, can you read me? Mac!”

“. . . read you.”

“Bring the
McFarland
to me as fast as you can. Monty will give you the coordinates. Then have Nichols wake up sleeping beauty.

“I need our girl to escort me through hell.”

34.

Tanaka Oceanographic Institute
Monterey, California

Virgil Carmen remains at his computer, waiting for the last person to leave the lab.

By 10:15 P.M., he is alone.

Heart racing, he shuts off the lights and heads down the deserted basement corridor to the control room. He keys in using his access card. Looking around, he locates the instrument panel labeled MEG PEN CORRIDOR.

Fishing in his pocket, he locates Dr. Stelzer’s keys, finds the panel key, and pushes it into the keyhole, turning the switch clockwise.

The instrument panel’s small monitor blooms to life, the touch-screen offering a user menu. He presses OPEN CORRIDOR, enters Stelzer’s access code, and waits.

Several moments pass.

ACCESS ACCEPTED. A time code appears, indicating the Meg Pen doors are opening.

A starry night greets Virgil as he steps out onto the deserted Meg Pen deck. Along the western horizon he can see the lights and silhouette of the yacht, anchored just outside the canal entrance.

Virgil takes out his cell phone and speed dials a number. “So? How’d it go? Did you get the footage?”

Sara Toms’s voice snaps him back to reality. “The cameras are all in place. Where the hell are our guests of honor?”

“What? They didn’t leave? Wait, stand by.”

He crosses the arena to the Meg Pen, the water dark. Moving to a fuse box, he flips on a bank of underwater lights, illuminating the tank.

Virgil leans out over the rail, spotting Lizzy and Belle. The two juvenile Megs circle slowly, moving in their usual formation.
Damn. Didn’t the channel open?

He crosses the bridge and hurries to Angel’s lagoon. Climbing over the northern sea wall, he looks down.

The lights from the Meg Pen appear below, the channel clearly open.

“Sara, the pen’s open. They just haven’t left yet.”

“Then coax them out. We don’t have all night.”

“Okay, okay. Just be ready.” He hangs up the cell phone, his mind racing.
Why the hell aren’t they leaving? Angel . . . they can still smell her presence in the lagoon. How do I lure them out?

Bobby Baitman!

Virgil sprints across the deserted deck to the equipment room to locate the robotic mannequin—

—never noticing Danielle Taylor, seated alone in the eastern bleachers, listening to music on her iPod.

Aboard the Tonga
Philippine Sea

Word of Angel’s impending arrival and release has sent ripples of anxiety running through the ships’ crews. Working in eight thousand feet of water, Spiderman and his two-man team aboard the Shinkai 6500 submersible had quickly decided that being underwater with an adult Megalodon on the prowl was not a good idea. Abandoning the array of nets, the twenty-five-ton vessel executed an emergency ascent, the crew refusing to return to their posts despite Fiesal bin Rashidi’s financial incentives.

Roger Gober has his own resistance to being so close to the monster he had seen twice in captivity back in Monterey. The captain of the
Dubai Land I
has lashed the trawler to the side of the supertanker with all non-essential personnel ordered aboard the
Tonga
. Only Gober and Ibrahim Al Hashemi remain behind, while Jonas Taylor prepares his Abyss Glider prototype for its second launch in as many hours.

Jason Montgomery stands by the starboard rail of the
Tonga,
watching the sea. The hopper dredger,
McFarland
, is clearly visible on the eastern horizon, the big ship approaching fast.
Using a monster to scare off other monsters . . . and I’m the one who’s supposed to be bi-polar.

Aboard the McFarland
Philippine Sea

Brent Nichols paces the
McFarland’s
bridge, the marine biologist quickly losing patience. “The neuroimplant’s not designed for this, Mackriedes. The only way Angel will follow Jonas into that hell hole is if she’s convinced the Glider is food.”

“Then do it. Scramble her senses.”

“No! This was intended to be my experiment—tag and release research designed to monitor Angel’s behavior. Not a dog and pony show where the variables can’t be controlled. I’m sorry, but I’m a scientist, not a cowboy. I won’t do it.”

“You’ll do it, or I’ll toss your fat scientist ass into that hopper!”

“You just don’t get it, do you? Once I trick the Meg’s brain into perceiving the sub as bait, I can’t undo it. As soon as Angel follows Taylor into that subterranean sea we’ll lose the signal, and I can’t call Angel off. For Taylor, it’s suicide.”

“
You
don’t get it. He doesn’t care. His kid’s dying down there. Now start typing keys on that laptop and wake Angel up!”

Aboard the Tonga
Philippine Sea

John LeBlanc stands by the starboard winch as mile after mile of dripping steel cable winds itself around a spool the size of a school bus. One of his men watching from the rail signals as the end of the line and its titanium hook rise out of the sea. The engineer stops the winch, allowing Jonas Taylor enough slack to haul the free end of the tow cable aboard the trawler.