Kronos (36 page)

Andrea flinched as the captain approached; carrying life vests and what looked like a thick yellow parcel.

“It’s okay,” Atticus said. “He’s with us.”

The captain slipped on a life vest and helped Andrea and Atticus put on theirs. “I deployed our emergency transponder and issued an SOS,” the captain said. “Help is on the way.”

A few of the crew jumped overboard, clinging to life vests or other floatation devices. Together, Atticus and the captain helped Andrea down the stairs from the bridge to the main deck. They half walked, half slid to the port rail as the
Titan
continued to list. When they stopped at the rail, Atticus took Andrea by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Are you with me?”

She blinked away her grogginess and nodded. “I can make it,” she said. “I have a promise to keep.”

Atticus kissed her gently. “When you hit the water, swim for the surface, but let the life vest do most of the work.”

She smiled. “I’m in the Coast Guard you know. I jump into the water for a living.”

Atticus couldn’t help but return her smile. “Right.”

As a group, all three jumped over the side rail and plunged into the cold Atlantic below, where frigid water and a dark shadow awaited.

55

Gulf of Maine

The cold water over Jeffrey’s Ledge sucked the air from Atticus’s lungs as he plunged into the deep. As soon as he slid under, he kicked for all he was worth, but the effort wasn’t needed. His life preserver had already begun pulling him toward the surface. He took a mouthful of air upon reaching the surface and found himself face-to-face with the tilting hull of the
Titan.
He gazed at its gleaming white form, leaning toward him, threatening to roll down and crush him.

A loud puff and hiss of air caught his attention. He turned and found the captain floating next to an inflating emergency raft. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the captain shove Andrea up into the raft and climb in himself.

Wasting no time, Atticus struck out for the raft. Being a Navy SEAL and oceanographer meant that Atticus was just as comfortable swimming through water as he was walking on land. But the number of injuries he’d sustained, the exhaustion taking hold, and the thick and clumsy life vest slowed him down. Still, he pushed on, kicking his legs and pumping his arms in a slow, steady rhythm.

Waves lapped over his face with each surge forward, blocking his ears and forcing his eyes closed. Every time he cleared the water he chanced a look to the raft, adjusted his aim, and continued forward. Twice he thought he heard Andrea and the captain yelling. He brought his head out of the water without slowing and looked to the raft, by then only ten feet away. The captain yelled and pointed. Andrea struggled to paddle the raft closer with her hands and screamed for Atticus to hurry.

Though unable to understand their words, Atticus interpreted the message. Something approached from behind. With a flash of morbid fear, Atticus recalled Remus’s brutal fate.

Laurel.

Atticus spun and found Laurel’s dorsal fin cutting through the water. The fin was twenty-five feet away, but that meant the twenty-eight-foot-long great white’s jaws where half that distance. Without waiting for Laurel to rear his ugly mug, Atticus reached down to his belt, freed the .357, and took aim.

Laurel’s head emerged from the water, jaws open wide. Atticus fired the gun. His shaking hand caused the first shot to go wide. Though it strained his muscles to pull the trigger, he held the Magnum with both hands and squeezed off a second shot. An explosion of red appeared on the shark’s side, but the beast did not slow.

Only feet from the open jaws, Atticus prepared to fire again. He knew that even if he managed a killing shot, the giant shark’s momentum would carry it forward, and the jaws would still close over his body. Still, he wouldn’t die without a fight. Atticus pulled the trigger, and the Magnum fired into the open mouth of the great white.

As though the shark were nothing more than an empty soda can, it launched up and away from the shot. Water poured down on Atticus from above as he watched Laurel wrenched into the air, clutched in of the mightiest jaws on the planet.

Kronos’s long body continued to rise out of the water, arching at an apex of fifty feet. At the top of the arc, Kronos snapped his jaws shut, cutting Laurel into three neat pieces. Laurel’s head and tail fell away, raining blood and guts with them. Kronos swallowed the rest and continued his arc back toward the ocean.

Atticus flinched as he was grabbed from behind, but relaxed when he saw Andrea and the captain leaning over the raft. Safe inside the raft, all three returned their attention to Kronos’s body, which was just completing its dive.

Kronos’s smooth head pierced the water without a splash, but rather than follow the head smoothly back into the drink, the fifty-foot-high loop of his body came crashing down. A huge wave rolled up as the beast’s body struck, and the raft rode up upon it, pushed out from under the shadow of the sinking
Titan.

As the sea calmed, Kronos did not return. As though lulled by the groans of the sinking
Titan,
Atticus, Andrea, and the captain slipped into unconsciousness, each giving way to countless injuries, exhaustion, and emotional overload—each totally unaware that even then, equally dangerous monsters of the deep closed in around them.

Atticus woke a few hours later on a firm, thinly cushioned cot. His mind spun, and nausea threatened to push him back to sleep. He closed his eyes and controlled his breathing, centering his thoughts. His vision cleared and he sat up, finding himself clothed in only a pair of boxers. His bare body revealed a patchwork pattern of green-and-blue bruises and bandages. The bullet wound in his shoulder had been sewn up, and the shards of glass in his arm had been extracted. He’d survive, but the intense pain he was suffering, despite a good dose of pain killers, made him long for death’s release. Then he remembered Andrea, and Giona, and fought against that pain.

The room was a small gray rectangle featuring a double bunk, a small desk, and a closet. Atticus knew a Navy ship when he saw one. Atticus stood and looked at the top bunk. Empty.

A nervous grip took hold of him, but he remembered it was protocol for the Navy to put injured civilians in different quarters. While he would have appreciated seeing Andrea on the top bunk, that hope wasn’t realistic.

Atticus stretched, ignoring his body’s protests, and caught a glimpse of himself in a full-size mirror mounted on the back wall of the room. He looked like crap. Bruises ran from his face to his feet. His left shoulder sported a bloody dressing, and his right—arm, side, and leg—possessed so many stitches that he looked like a shark has used him as a chew toy.

The thought brought back memories of Laurel…of Kronos…of Giona. She was still out there.

“Still think the world of your own body, Young?”

Atticus turned to the sound of the familiar voice and found a mountain of a man filling the doorway. He had deep brown eyes, dark skin, a crisp buzz cut, and a smile stretched across his face.

“Vilk?” Atticus hadn’t seen Greg Vilk since his wedding day, but the old Navy SEAL hadn’t changed much other than some crow’s-feet emerging around his eyes. They’d saved each other’s lives enough times that a bond had been formed between the two, and while years and different lives had kept them apart, the bond, forged in battle, remained strong.

“I’d slap your back,” Vilk said, “but I think it might kill you.”

Atticus smiled. “Thanks. How long have I been out?”

“Just a few hours.”

Atticus opened his mouth to talk, his body language all action as he prepared to continue the charge to save Giona.

Vilk held up his hand, speaking before Atticus could. “Slow down old man. Things have settled and you’re a mess.”

Atticus pursed his lips, stood back and did his best to calm his nerves.

“ Listen, I’m glad you’re awake,” Vilk said, holding up some smelling salts. “I was just about to wake your sleepy ass up.” Vilk stepped into the cabin and leaned against the wall. “You managed to get yourself in pretty deep here,” Vilk said.

“You have no idea.”

“Actually, we have a pretty good idea. Your boy on the inside sent us an e-mail explaining everything.”

“Huh?”

“Some guy named O’Shea. Sent an e-mail.”

Atticus’s memory flashed to the moment O’Shea and Trevor were launched in the ocean. “O’Shea’s dead.”

Vilk paused. “Oh, well his e-mail had a virus attached. Spread all the way to China by now I’d guess. Basically, everyone with an e-mail address got this thing. We were heading north past the Gulf when we received it. Thought the guy was a nut until I saw your name. We dropped everything and brought in the troops.”

“What do you mean ‘I?’ What troops?”

“‘I’ as in
Captain
Greg Vilk, and troops as in the Theodore Roosevelt Strike Group.”

Atticus’s eye grew wide. “I’m on the
Rough Rider
?”

Vilk brimmed with pride. “Best battle group in the fleet.”

Atticus’s face became skeptical as he looked Vilk up and down. He was dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. “Captain?”

Vilk smiled. “I was working out when we got the e-mail. Haven’t bothered to change yet; besides, haven’t you heard, the Navy is taking lessons from the corporate world now? It’s casual Friday.”

Atticus smiled. “You did all this for me?”

Vilk nodded seriously. “Never leave a man behind.”

“Thanks.” Atticus’s thoughts drifted back to Andrea. “Where are the other two who were with me?”

“There are some clothes in the closet,” Vilk said. “Put ’em on and follow me.”

Atticus dressed quickly, happy to find that the blue jeans, Navy T-shirt, and Navy-issue boots all fit him. He followed Vilk out the door as they accessed a maze of hallways that wound through the bowels of the NIMITZ-class aircraft carrier.

“The man, who we’ve identified as Carl Ridley, captain of the
Titan,
was treated for minor wounds and is resting comfortably in the brig. We picked up seven other crew members. All are in the brig, but none are talking. Petty Officer First Class Vincent left an hour ago, taken aboard a Coast Guard cutter. They’re taking care of her. She wanted to see you pretty badly, but the doctors insisted you sleep.”

A pang of sadness struck Atticus in the chest. He didn’t want to be separated from Andrea, but perhaps it was for the best. He still had work do to.

Vilk paused in front of a sealed metal door. “Look, I read the e-mail three times, and it still doesn’t make sense. I heard about what happened to you and your girl a few days back, but I didn’t buy the sea monster bit the media’s been pushing. But this e-mail said that you and Trevor Manfred, of all people, were trying to hunt it down and kill it, except that you discovered your daughter was still alive inside. Fast forward, Manfred is trying to kill you, O’Shea, Captain Vincent,
and
the creature. That about right?”

Atticus nodded. “Something like that. Yeah.”

“I’m guessing that since the
Titan
is now sitting on the floor of Jeffrey’s Ledge, Manfred failed?”

Atticus smiled. “Something like that.”

“And Manfred?”

“Died with O’Shea.”

Vilk sighed. “And the monster?”

“It’s real, Greg. And Giona is
still
alive inside it. I know it’s hard to buy, but—”

“I never said I didn’t believe you,” Vilk said, reaching into the collar of his T-shirt. His hand emerged holding a cross. “I believe in crazier things than big fish swallowing people whole and keeping them alive.” Vilk smiled wide. “I gave up killing a long time ago, not long after you did; gave up the gun for ninety-seven thousand tons of diplomacy.” Vilk laughed and slapped the metal wall.

Atticus was speechless as he watched Vilk open the door leading to the flight deck. A gray SH-60B Seahawk helicopter sat on the deck, its blades spinning madly, eager for takeoff. “What’s this?” Atticus asked.

“Look,” said Vilk, shouting over the helicopter’s chopping blades. “We were able to access Manfred’s sonar-buoy array. We’ve been tracking the creature. It’s making a beeline for Hampton Beach in New Hampshire. Here’s the deal; the Seahawk can hit 155 miles per hour and will get you there quick, but we’re under orders to take this thing down, and the Air Force has birds in the air. I can slow the cogs, but I can’t stop the machine. Get your girl and get out of there.”

Atticus shook Vilk’s hand. “Thanks, Greg.”

“That’s
Captain
Vilk
to you. I didn’t shine your boots at hell week for nothing!”

Atticus hobbled for the waiting chopper. “I’m a civvie,” he shouted back. “I can call you anything I want.” Atticus saluted his former subordinate and entered the chopper, taking the seat next to the pilot. As the door slammed shut and the engines whined faster, Atticus grew nervous. His only hope lay in O’Shea’s theory. While O’Shea and Vilk might buy into some kind of modern-day religious mythology, Atticus still resisted it. Kronos was more likely to be O’Shea’s genetically mutated one-of-a-kind freak of nature than a unique creation of God.

But, Atticus would believe anything if it meant getting his little girl back.

56

Gulf of Maine

“Holy…that’s big!” Jack shouted as he maneuvered his vintage 1968, thirteen-foot Boston Whaler toward a tall wave left in the wake of a passing fishing boat. The whaler’s uniquely shaped hull made it incredibly agile in the water and allowed it to handle well in inclement weather, but it also excelled at one other very important task…catching air.

Jack normally spent Friday afternoons in August picking up bikini-clad girls at Hampton Beach and giving them the ride of their lives with the hopes that they’d return the favor before being dropped back off on the sandy beach. But on this particular Friday he was stuck watching his ten-year-old brother, Jerry, and their two cousins, Stan and Aaron. They’d crashed his party, and he was determined to scare them to the point of never asking for another ride on his boat—or any boat for that matter.