Below (9 page)

M
idnight. She was alone, a hundred feet below the surface, surrounded by intense water pressure and near-absolute blackness. Hovering in the dark waters of the Sea of Cortez, far underneath her boat and totally alone, Valerie Martell was a bit frightened, but completely in control. She had been here before. Many times, in fact.

In her right hand she held an underwater camera. A tiny green LED flashed on the camera, indicating that it was recording. On the other wrist, the pull cord on Val’s scuba light tugged gently at her wrist as the light swung freely. For now, the light was off.

With her left hand she reached for a nylon tether that ran up toward the surface. She gave a few strong tugs on the tether to test it again, then ran her hand down it and checked the knot at her waist to make sure it hadn’t worked itself loose. The rope tether was secured to a cleat on the stern of her boat.

She hoped it was secured, anyway.

In the cast of the six bright halogen lights mounted to her vessel far above, Val was able to see into the dark water around her. She could make out the outline of her own body, down to her dark scuba fins fluttering below her, now that her eyes were accustomed to the dim surroundings. She could see the white tether running toward the surface, and a fine snow of suspended marine particles drifting by. But mostly, all Val saw was endless blackness in front of her. Behind her. To both sides of her. Below her.

And occasionally, she saw something else.

With increasing frequency, she watched large, pale shapes glide by her where the cone of light couldn’t quite reach. They were the animals that she was hoping to see.

Val’s regulator hissed as she drew in another long, slow breath. Otherwise, the underwater world was silent. She looked down at her dive computer, connected to her tank by a long rubber hose: ten more minutes, then she would have to surface.

Come on, guys, don’t be scared
.
It’s just little old me.

At the edge of her vision, Val saw another pale shape dart past her. Her heart jumped in her chest and she exhaled a burst of air into her regulator. Val felt a little jealous of the crowd of bubbles that escaped past her face on their scramble to the surface.
No,
she reminded herself,
you need to relax. Everything will be fine.

Several more forms appeared at the edge of her vision. Lighter than the dark water, the animals might be emitting some of their bioluminescence, or maybe they were simply reflecting the light from above. Their outlines were still formless at this distance.

Something brushed against Val’s scuba tank.

She had just enough time as she spun to watch the animal disappear into the blackness. Moments later, another shape began to emerge from the water, maybe thirty feet away. Years of experience had taught Val that it was hard to gauge distance underwater, especially at night.

This one was curious. It was moving much slower, approaching her. And it was a big one.

Val felt a combination of excitement and fear. She slowly raised the camera in her right arm, pointing it toward the approaching creature. Based on its huge size, almost certainly a female.
Perfect. Smile for the camera.

Val suddenly remembered why she loved this job.

The thick shape gliding toward her was nearly six feet long. As the animal neared, Val began to make out its torpedo shape, complete with wide, triangular fins; large, black eyes; and many arms and tentacles, drawn neatly together and coming to a near perfect point where their tips merged at the end of the streamlined body.

What a beautiful animal
, Val thought.

These organisms had fascinated Valerie Martell ever since she had first learned about them in an undergrad zoology course at the University of Florida. Her professor, who had once been a marine biologist and was still an avid fisherman, had conveyed his enthusiasm about the impressive animals when the class had been covering the phylum
Mollusca
. Not his usual dry self that day, he had told stories of the creatures’ power and aggression. How they had been reported to have devoured fishermen and sharks, how they could leap far out of the water, how they could change colors and fire jets of ink at their predators.

Val had been instantly hooked.

Thirteen years, three degrees, and two research assignments later, here she was. Over a hundred feet down in the Sea of Cortez, face-to-face with the animals she had sought to understand throughout her academic career. And certainly not for the first time—Val had dived with these creatures on countless occasions. Although she understood them better than perhaps anyone in the world, she knew that like all animals, they were unpredictable. And she was always extremely on guard in their environment, their world.

The large individual approaching Val began to spread its tentacles as it slowed to a stop several feet away. It appeared to be studying her. After a few moments, it began to glide again, moving silently past her, allowing itself a good look at Val with one of its oversized eyes as it swept within an arm’s length of her camera.

I must be more alien to her than she is to me,
Val thought.
At least I know what she is.

Seeing her this close, Val guessed this was a mature female. Probably almost a hundred pounds—nearly as big as Val herself. She swung the camera slowly by to record the large specimen, then let go of the tether with her left hand and reached for the modified light attached to her wrist. Time to get to work.

The big female reappeared again moments later, off to Val’s left. It
was
the same one, wasn’t it? Maybe not—Val figured there must be an entire shoal here. She’d be able to tell if it was the same individual when she reviewed the footage later. Val pointed the dive light in her left hand at her new subject, simultaneously lifting the camera in her right to record the animal, then turned on the light.

In an impossibly fast maneuver that made Val flinch, the big female spun and vanished into the blackness. Val turned the soft light off, then on again. In succession, Val rhythmically activated the beam. Through the thick green lens filter, very little illumination actually shone into the water. Rather than a bright beam, Val’s modified dive light emitted only a faint green glow. She completed another series of muted green flashes, directing the diffuse light toward where the female had vanished.

She reappeared.

Below Val, though still in front of her, her subject again rose. No, this one definitely wasn’t the same individual. It was much smaller. Maybe three and a half, four feet long. Probably a male in the same shoal. The smaller animal moved up toward her and did what she had been hoping it would do.

In a gentle burst of soft bioluminescent light, it flashed once at Val.

She smiled awkwardly around her thick rubber mouthpiece, and turned her light on again, then off almost immediately. The alien creature’s body glowed again in response.

They were communicating.

Okay
, Val thought,
let’s see if hundreds of hours studying tape will finally pay off.
With her modified flashlight, Val sent out several brief flashes in slow succession. She paused. Nothing. The small male simply hovered in front of her. Next, Val attempted longer flashes of light, in more rapid succession. Still nothing.

Over the next few minutes, Val continued a series of simple flashes of various intensities, durations, and frequencies. The attempts weren’t random patterns, but predetermined sequences she had rehearsed after studying her previous tapes of this species’ behavior—her own attempt at mollusk Morse code. After several minutes, the smallish male never responded again. He appeared to lose interest and slowly descended into the darkness below her.

Val cursed into her regulator.

She decided to ad-lib. Pointing her light down toward where the male had disappeared, she emitted an erratic series of flashes. Still nothing . . . no, wait. A distant glow. Then the water all around Val lit up as the shoal responded with bursts of light, revealing a multitude of the creatures nearby. Val’s heart leapt at the unexpected spectacle. She felt as though she were surrounded by a swarm of giant fireflies.

Then something rushed toward her.

Before Val could react, the creature closed on her. It shot out its two long tentacles like twin pistons and struck her violently in the chest, knocking the air out of her lungs. As she struggled to inhale, something wrapped around her calf. Then it began to pull downward.

She had somehow provoked an attack.

Val tried in vain to kick at the two or more animals now clinging to her legs. She felt one of her fins get jerked off her foot. Using her camera to fight off the predatory advances of the large individual in front of her, Val didn’t realize how quickly she was being pulled down until the tether at her waist grew very taut, cutting into her abdomen.

Valerie Martell was not a woman who panicked. On the contrary, she was more than accustomed to hair-raising situations. She prided herself on her ability to remain level-headed and slip out of each and every potentially dangerous situation unharmed by thinking clearly and objectively, putting her emotions aside. It was time for that sort of thinking.

Although the animals were pulling down on her with incredible force, she was tethered to the boat with a thick nylon rope. The tether should hold.
Just don’t panic
.

Suddenly the animals released her and she felt herself drawn upward as the strain left the rope. Val drew a deep breath from her regulator.
That was close.
She had witnessed random instances of aggression in the past, but this hadn’t been random. She had somehow triggered it with the light.
I need to watch the footage and figure out what I did.

A ring of powerful arms wrenched the camera from Val’s grasp. She watched helplessly as the latex tubing that attached the camera to her wrist tore free and followed the camera, which was now being assailed by several members of the shoal. It vanished in the darkness below Val as it and the animals clinging to it left the range of the bright surface lights, far above.

Val hovered in the darkness for a minute, straining to see if the camera would float back up. It was time to surface. She hadn’t seen it reappear, or any of its abductors. She looked above her to the lights of the boat and kicked toward it.

 

 

Finally, a breakthrough in her research, and the bastards steal her camera. Something Val had done tonight had worked. But what? If she’d only been able to recover the footage . . .

She left the bathroom of her hotel room and put on a dry bra and panties. She hadn’t even bothered to dry her shoulder-length, dark hair. It was warm in the room, so it didn’t matter. And she was feeling an incredible urge to sleep.

Her crew had searched for the camera for hours over the rest of the night, since it should theoretically float. She needed it to figure out what had provoked the shoal. Somehow she had effectively communicated with the animals, but not in the way she had planned. Finally, at dawn, her crew had insisted they give up and head in. Back at her hotel, having eaten and showered, Val was now feeling utterly drained.

She yawned. It was early in the morning in La Paz, Mexico, but she was accustomed to working at night. It was her bedtime now. Safely in her room, the familiar morning fatigue was grappling her willpower into submission.

She padded across the broad, rust-colored tiles on the floor, flopped down on the bed, and buried her head in the cool pillows. They smelled clean, like bleach. The room was dark, thanks to the thick curtains hiding the sliding glass door, and mercifully quiet. The bed felt good. Soft. She began to relax, feeling sleep setting in.

The phone rang, and Val’s heart jumped.
Dammit
.

She reached over and grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand, glancing at the display. It was PLARG. She pushed the green answer button.

“Hello, Mark.”

“Hola, Val. Buenos dee-az!” Mark’s Spanish was shit.

“Cut the crap, Mark. I’m tired. Why are you calling?”

“Tough Monday morning, huh? At least you’re in sunny Baja California. I get to spend the day in a cold, windowless lab in cheery Moss Landing. There’s even summertime fog outside, if I decide to go look out a window.”

“I’m sorry, Mark. I had a really rough night and I was trying to get some sleep. What’s going on?”

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you, but this is pretty big. Someone called about one of your tags.”

“That’s nice. Couldn’t you call me later? You know I’m usually asleep this late in the morning.”

“Val . . . this is big.”

There was a silence. “Okay, Mark. What’s so big about this?”

“Drumroll, please . . . it’s where he’s calling from. This guy isn’t in Mexico.”

“What?” She sat up on the edge of the bed. “What are you talking about?”

“Apparently, your squid took a trip to San Diego.”

“H
umboldt squid.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“That tag came off a Humboldt squid, Mr. Sturman.”

“So lady, you’re saying this here tag isn’t from a fish? It’s from a giant squid?”

Sturman heard the woman sigh into the phone. “Not a giant squid. The tag was on a
Dosidicus gigas
, or Humboldt squid. You may have heard of them before. They’re also called ‘jumbo squid’ or ‘flying squid.’ Down here, they’re called
los diablos rojos
—‘red devils. ’ ”

Sturman turned the orange and white tag over in his hands. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard of those before. I’ve seen a few articles in the paper over the last couple years, talking about them washing up dead around here.”

“Right. That’s them. We’re starting to think that periodic El Niño events bring them north from Mexico.”

“So this big tag fell off some little Mexican squid?”

The woman sighed again. “All anyone cares about are giant squid. Look, Mr. Sturman—can I call you Will?”

“Most people just call me ‘Sturman.’ It’s a Navy thing.”

“Right. Anyway,
Dosidicus
are nowhere near as big as giant squid, but they’re still quite large. There’ve been reports from South America of Humboldts growing to twelve feet or more, though I’m fairly certain those reports are exaggerations. I’ve personally seen mature adults two meters long that weigh as much as I do . . . as big as a very large dog.”

“Never heard a woman compare herself to a dog before.”

Sturman heard another loud sigh. He looked at Bud. His dog was sitting next to him at the sunny street-side patio of a burger joint, staring at him with sad eyes in an effort to elicit a French fry. Sturman scratched his ears. “Hear that, Bud? These things are bigger than you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Just talking to my business partner.”

“Right . . . so what I was getting at is that the only cephalopods people hear about are giant squid, or their cousins, colossal squid, simply because they’re so big. The popular media can generate a lot of interest about animals that are forty feet long and weigh a ton. But the thing is, nobody will ever occupy the same space as a giant squid unless they go thousands of feet underwater in a submersible. Giant squid are too few and too deep.

“The squid that I study are much faster, more graceful, and more aggressive than any giant squid. And probably more intelligent. Plus, they’re easier to study, since they actually go into shallower water where we can dive with them.”

“Doc, you sure know your squids. So you tagged one of these things, these Humboldt squid, off San Diego? They aren’t very common around here, are they?”

“No, they aren’t. Actually, that squid was tagged in the Gulf of California. The Sea of Cortez. That’s why I’m so glad you called. That’s the first
Dosidicus
from my study to move out of the study area.”

“Let’s get something out of the way here. I don’t mind helping you out, but it also says something here about a reward.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. The people at PLARG should be able to help you out with that.”

“They said to talk to you about the money.”

“I’m sure they can help you out. I think the going rate is a hundred dollars for a returned tag. Look, Mr. Sturman, this is really important research. That tag you found proves that these squid are moving north into California. We’ve had many reports over the last decade of Humboldts moving as far north as western Canada, but we’ve never been able to track any of the animals from Mexico or anywhere else. Many of us think they’re now expanding their range.”

“So I guess this is great news for you, then?” Sturman threw a French fry at a seagull.
Only a hundred dollars.

“It’s outstanding news. I’m coming back to California in a few days.... Maybe I can head first to San Diego and talk with you about the tag. I’d like to learn about where you found it, and maybe spend a few days in the area looking for the shoal. Do you have your own boat, by any chance?”

“I’m a divemaster. Got a live-aboard thirty-six-foot Wellcraft.”

“Really? Would you be interested in taking me out on the water for a few days this week? I’d pay you, of course. The grant covers unexpected research costs.”

Sturman sat up in his chair. “Actually, my calendar just opened up for this week. We could probably work something out, Dr. Martell.”

“That’s great.”

“You really willing to spend time out on a boat with a stranger?”

“I’ve done crazier things, and I don’t have time to try and research a better deal. Your boat sounds perfect, anyway. I’d just need to bring a little equipment on board. Oh, and we’d have to go out at night. Would that be a problem?”

“No, like I said, I’m sure we can work something out. So why did you say these squid ventured to my neck of the woods?”

“Squid are just like every other animal, even human beings. We all spread wherever we can, where conditions may be as favorable or more favorable than the place we were before, until we are limited by something. People have spread all over the planet because of our amazing ability to adapt using clothing, shelter, new food sources . . . you get the point. But with other animals, which are evolved for a specific set of conditions, movements into new habitats only can happen when the ecology or environmental conditions of an area change. Whatever limiting factors were present before, such as lack of food sources or temperatures out of an ideal range, must change to become more favorable.”

“Sounds like you know a lot about this.” Sturman thought of the missing father and daughter. “Dr. Martell, these squid ever attack people?”

“There’s some anecdotal evidence that they’ve attacked fishermen in Baja. I’ve also had them rough me up a bit, and so have some other divers who have spent a lot of time with them. A guy I know down here even wears a custom-made suit of plastic armor when he dives with Humboldts. But there’s never been a recorded case of Humboldt squid killing or seriously hurting anyone. Why?”

“Well, I told you where I found your transmitter.”

“Off La Jolla, right?”

“That’s right. But I haven’t told you what I was doing when I found it.”