Meg: Origins (7 page)

To cross this boundary is to challenge the predatory pecking order.

· · ·

The male
Kronosaurus
needed to feed. The encounter with the
Megalodon
had caught the pliosaur by surprise, and the escape expended what little energy reserves that were left.

Swimming like a barracuda, parallel with the school of cuttlefish, the eighteen-ton
Kronosaurus
suddenly turned upon the swarm, succeeding in separating several dozen squid from the hastily reorganizing pack. A lone cuttlefish was targeted and the hunt began.

The cuttlefish was quick, but brain patterns long forged from a pack mentality created its undoing. Instead of distancing itself from the hunter, the squid sought only to rejoin its fleeing siblings, taking the most direct route.

Soaring in from behind a towering black smoker, the
Kronosaurus
cut off the creature’s retreat. In one treacherous bite, it snatched the squid’s head within its jaws, igniting a furious response of tentacles which lashed out, suckers tearing at the unseen enemy’s hide. But the cephalopod’s life force was bleeding out and it quickly went limp in the pliosaur’s mouth.

The
Kronosaurus
managed two bites before its senses were alerted to the presence of a larger predator.

By attacking the
Meg
’s intended prey, the
Kronosaurus
had clearly challenged the
Megalodon
. Forsaking the school of cuttlefish, the young queen changed course to intercept the pliosaur—the need to conserve energy holding no sway over thirty million years of instinct. Circling three hundred feet above the sea floor, the
Meg
waited patiently for her enemy to flee.

Still clenching the dead cuttlefish in its crocodilian jaws, the
Kronosaurus
swam off, serpentining through undulating fields of giant tube worms in an attempt to lose the huntress.

Owning the higher ground, the
Megalodon
accelerated in a steep descent, the angle of attack compensating as she closed the gap, making escape impossible. The bullrush ended in a violent cloudburst of silt as the forty-eight foot prehistoric Great White crushed the
Kronosaurus
against the sea floor, the resounding
thud
popping loose two of the female’s upper teeth which disappeared beneath a fog of sand, severed tube worms and blood.

The blood originated from the
Kronosaurus
. The creature’s internal organs had burst upon impact, the splattered remains ejected out of the dead animal’s esophagus behind the vertebrae-splintering force generated by twenty-seven tons of shark moving at eighteen knots.

Stunned by the concussion-inducing blow, the juvenile queen could not locate the crushed remains of its prey. Shaking her gargantuan head, the female slowly circled away from the cloud of silt, attempting to reboot her stunned senses.

Slowly recovering, the first disturbance the
Meg
detected was a familiar high decibel sound that exacerbated the injury and inflamed her sensory array. Attempting to lose the annoying sensation, the female swam in a figure-eight holding pattern, while bloodied remains danced along the sea floor. The irritating
blip… blip… blip
continued to taunt her, driving the
Meg
into a frenzy.

Abandoning the kill,
Carcharodon megalodon
rose to intercept.

7

Aboard the
Tallman

THE PILOTHOUSE HAD BECOME
an orchestra of organized chaos.

Paul Agricola was the conductor, the mission’s maestro calling out direction in response to a rapidly changing concerto playing out six miles beneath his feet.

The “percussion” driving the barely controlled mayhem was the steady cadence of pings from
Sea Bat-II
’s sonar station, deployed at 28,400 feet.

Paul’s “string section” was provided by the incessant squealing of
Sea Bat-I
’s winch, operated by a quartet of crewman on the main deck.

In the “pit,” Captain Heitman shifted the brass thrusters, veering the
Tallman
from port to starboard, shortening the length of
Sea Bat-I
’s cable whenever the monster drew too close to the ROV.

Paul’s objective was to use
Sea Bat-I
to lure the
Megalodon
above the hydrothermal plume to a shallower depth where the
Sea Bat-II
and the transmitter dart awaited. The first of several problems with this deepwater game of cat and mouse was that
Sea Bat-I
’s sonar could only engage the
Meg
when the ROV dropped below the hydrothermal plume at 32,075 feet. Until then, Paul was running blind. The real challenge would arise once the towed device entered the deep and went active—the audible pings would immediately send the
Megalodon
into attack mode. The only way to avoid losing the mouse would be for the deck crew to engage the winch and rapidly haul
Sea Bat-I
back up through the plume into the frigid waters which began around 31,930 feet. Once the
Meg
chased
Sea Bat-I
above the plume, the hope was that it would home in on the pinging
Sea Bat-II
, the second ROV loaded with the transmitter dart.

The major hurdle here was that
Sea Bat-II
only had enough cable to reach a maximum depth of 28,400 feet—a good half mile above the hydrothermal plume. So far, the
Meg
refused to ascend that far from its tropical habitat. Further complicating the situation was that the predator was adapting with every bull rush. No longer reacting solely to
Sea Bat-I
’s sonar pings, the creature was now homing in on the ROV’s electrical signature, making it increasingly difficult for Paul to evade the monster when it entered the cold zone, a task he likened to reeling in a sailfish that was being chased by an Orca.

“Paul, the deck crew says it’s ready to try again.
Sea Bat-I
is holding steady at 30,320 feet. Sonar is off.”

“Let’s try something different this time. Release the line, make
Sea Bat-I
’s depth 32,700 feet.”

Doug Dvorak, the ship’s engineer, lowered his walkie-talkie. “That’s seven hundred feet deeper than the plume. I don’t advise that.”

“I wasn’t asking. Captain Heitman, the moment
Sea Bat-I
enters the
Challenger Deep
, I want you to increase our speed just enough to maintain a safe distance. Keep the ROV out of the
Meg
’s reach without forcing us to engage the winch.”

“You want to get it used to chasing the lure before you lead it out of the warm layer.”

“Exactly.”

“It could backfire, Paul. A longer chase expends energy. It could lose interest.”

“Or it could eat the damn ROV,” Doug spat, under his breath.

“It’s already tiring. If we don’t hit it with the dart soon, it’ll stop leaving the warm layer altogether.”

“Sir,
Sea Bat-I
has entered the plume. Sixty feet to
Challenger Deep
… thirty feet.”

“Standing by to activate SB-I sonar.”

Paul wiped sweat from his forehead. “Maybe you should wait on the sonar… let the ROV reach its new depth first.”

“No, it’s too risky. The creature’s already homing in on the
Sea Bat
’s vibrations, I can’t chance running blind.”

“SB-I has entered the warm layer.”

“Activate sonar on SB-I.”

“SB-I sonar is active. Target acquired. Range 520 feet. Speed… seven knots… ten knots.”

“Helm, increase speed to fifteen knots.”

“Range is four hundred feet… four-twenty… five hundred. Target speed holding at twelve knots.”

“Helm, decrease speed to ten knots.”

“Skipper, I’m picking up a surface ship on radar. Two miles to the south; we’re heading right for her.”

The captain glanced at his radar. “Probably a fishing trawler.”

“They’re hailing us, Skipper. It’s a Naval ship. The
USS Maxine D
.”

Paul swore under his breath. “Sonar, where’s the
Meg
?”

“Two hundred and thirty feet from the ROV and closing.”

“Skipper, the Navy says we’re entering a restricted area. We’ve been ordered to change course.”

“Paul, target has closed to seventy-five feet, speed—thirteen knots.”

“Helm, match speed. Doug, restart the winch.”

Dvorak yelled into his walkie-talkie. “Restart the winch. Bring her up!”

“Range to Naval vessel one-point-three nautical miles.”

“Paul?”

“I’m thinking, Luis!”

“Nothing to think about. We need to change course.”

“
Sea Bat-I
has entered the plume.”

“Quickly, shutdown SB-I sonar. Go active on SB-II.”

“Switching to
Sea Bat-II
sonar.
Sea Bat-I
has entered the cold zone.”

“Paul, I’m changing course. Heading west on course two-seven-zero.”

“Sir, target has entered cold zone—range to SB-I… thirty feet.”

“Helm, increase speed to—”

“I got it!” The captain throttled-up the
Tallman
’s engines, the rumble of the revving propellers overmatched by the fury of the Pacific Ocean. The
Tallman
swayed within the onslaught of forty-foot swells.

“Doug—”

“Winch is retrieving SB-I. Approaching 29,000 feet.”

“Paul, target is homing in on
Sea Bat-II
. Range—2,200 feet and closing.”

“Captain, reduce your speed, I think we’ve got her! SB-II team, prepare to tag target.”

Agitated by the incessant pings, her muscles flushed hot with blood, the
Megalodon
rose again through the hydrothermal layer, ignoring her body’s own survival instincts, determined to catch her prey. She closed her mouth to restrict the flow of sulfurous debris from entering her gills and within seconds passed through the plume, once more entering a cold alien world.

At first, the sudden exposure to the near-freezing temperatures invigorated her and she continued to rise, ascending a thousand feet in less than a minute. But the cold was unrelenting, sapping the heat from her overworked muscles, causing the
Meg
’s blood vessels to constrict.

Her caudal fin slowed. Her breathing became erratic.

Thirty feet from her prey, a half a mile above the churning hydrothermal layer, the twenty-seven ton predator’s swim muscles seized.

Slowly, majestically, one of the planet’s last remaining apex predators sank head-first into the darkness, the annoying reverberations in the
Megalodon
’s brain fading to a dull, distant echo.

· · ·

Aboard the
Sea Cliff

The Valium had kicked in quickly, soothing Michael Shaffer’s rattled nerves like a warm blanket. Sleepy-eyed, he watched Richard Prestis maneuver the ROV to the sea floor, guided by its built-in sonar and the laptop’s night-vision monitor.

“Michael, I’m two hundred feet from the bottom. How do I access the coordinates from the last dive?”

“Hit F-7.”

A red blip appeared on the laptop’s navigation screen. “Got it.”

“Right click on it with your mouse and the auto-pilot will engage—”

“—guiding the
Squirrel
right to our sack of nuts.” Prestis right clicked the mouse.

Nothing happened.

“Something’s wrong. The coordinates are up but the autopilot won’t engage.”

Shaffer closed his eyes to think. “Check your sonar, make sure it’s running active.”

“Jonas, are you listening? Switch from passive to active. Jonas?”

The
Sea Cliff
drifted to starboard—then continued rolling, pitching Prestis into Shaffer’s lap.

“Taylor, wake up!”

Strapped in at his control station, Jonas awoke as if shocked. As his eyes snapped open, his legs pumped the foot pedals to trim the ballast tanks.

The teetering submersible rolled to port, finding equilibrium.

“Sorry. I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Then take another dose of caffeine pills before you flip us.”

“I can’t, my heart’s doing somersaults already.”

“At least switch the ROV’s sonar to active.”

“Sorry Richard, we’re not going active. Not with a large predator in the area.”

“What you saw could have been anything. A ghost.”

“You don’t need to ping for black smokers, the guidance system has a temperature setting that will steer the unit clear of any vents exceeding 225 degrees. Just use the joystick and fly the
Squirrel
to the collection site.”

“I need the sonar active in order to use the auto-pilot to map the bottom. Now turn it on.”

Mike Shaffer looked at him, eyes bloodshot. “Please.”

Jonas hesitated but finally flipped the toggle switch on the control board to
active
.

A low decibel
PING
could be heard in the distance, the audible reverberations registering in his overwrought nerves.

· · ·

Challenger Deep

Unable to propel herself forward to drive water into her mouth and gills to breathe, the
Megalodon
sank head-first through the abyss, her muscles drained and unresponsive from overexposure to the frigid temperatures. For three thousand feet she spiralled downward, her mouth agape, the sudden influx of seawater still not enough to revive her.