Meg: Hell's Aquarium (34 page)

“Name a few!”

“Name a few? Okay.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a Blackberry. “I wanted to eat an endangered species. I had a green sea turtle caesar salad in the Caymans once. The way I figure, a lot of these endangered species won’t be around much longer, so I owe it to my future grandchildren to tell them what they tasted like.”

Kaylie covers her half-drunk giggle.

“Another goal was to lick something Donald Trump recently touched.”

Laughter.

“My freshman year at Duke, I saw the Donald at the Duke-UNC basketball game. When he got up to get a snack at halftime, I ran over and licked his chair.”

More laughter.

“Thank you, Mr. Shiff. Remind me to keep you away from any specimens we capture. I wouldn’t want you licking one. Mr. Magers.”

The senior-most member of the group stands, a tattoo of a dancing pig in a sailor suit on his upper right arm. Kaylie is not sure if he is in his sixties or seventies. “Rick Magers. Ex-lobsterman, ex-smuggler, ex-husband, ex-smoker, ex-druggy. Current submersible pilot, bullshitter, dog whisperer, and great grandfather. Wait . . . let me show you something.”

The gray-haired man drops his trousers, showing his bare buttocks and two long scars on his left cheek.

“Got this first scar in 1952 when a drunken bridge leaped in front of my drunker 1940 deluxe coup doing eighty-two miles an hour. Got the second one when I was attacked by a masked Canadian wielding a scalpel in one hand and a titanium hip in the other. Bastard screamed, ‘hey, Magers, I’m gonna shove this up your ass!’ By God he did. But damned if I haven’t learned to walk with it.”

Brian Suits waits for the laughter to die down. “Kaylie? Would you like to show the group your ass as well?”

She blushes as the men egg her on. “Kaylie Szeifert. Guess I’m the youngest in the group. Nothing new there. I was born a preemie—weighed only two pounds—and I’ve been fighting mountains ever since. I’m a quick study, so whatever I lack in experience, I’ll make up with hard work.”

“Thank you, Kaylie. And our other sister, Ms. Umel?”

A short, stout woman in her mid-thirties stands. “Debbie Umel, and it’s actually Missus. I’m happily married with two children, Noah and Mandie. I joined the Navy at nineteen, and I’m a damn good pilot. Give me Kaylie at sonar and watch out. Us ladies will kick your male butts.”

“Ewww!” The guys whoop it up.

“Mr. Geier?”

A cherub-faced man in his thirties, seated in a wheelchair, acknowledges the group. “Forgive me for not standing. I’m Peter Geier. I met most of you during training. I graduated with a degree in marine biology from the University of West Florida. Muscular Dystrophy may have stricken my body, but God gave me hearing that would put a bat to shame. I graded out tops in my class as a sonar tech with the Navy and served aboard a Trident Class submarine until my legs became too weak to get around the ship. If one of these ‘cats’ gets near our subs, I’ll find ‘im before he finds us.”

“Thank you, Mr. Geier. Mr. Geier graded out highest in sonar in our class as well. Last, but not least, Dr. Gotto. Tell us about yourself.”

The short, stocky Italian gentleman stands. “Antonio Gotto, Jr. Besides being a cardiologist, I was a professor of medicine at Cornell University and began the first American medical school in Qatar. It was there that I met several members of the Dubai Royal Family, including Mr. bin Rashidi. You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here; I know my family is. Call it a mid-life crisis. Anyway, I’m here and honored to be part of the team.”

Brian Suits waits for the applause to end. “I’m leaving you for now—I have some final details to go over with our host—but the staff will treat you well. The monorail leaves for the airport at five a.m., so don’t stay out late. By this time tomorrow night, you’ll be on board a Dubai tanker where you’ll meet our support team. Oh, one last thing—”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removes eight envelopes, passing them around the table. “Fill these out and bring them with you tomorrow morning. That’s it for now. Have a good night.”

Kaylie watches him leave as she opens the envelope.

It’s a release form . . . to be sent to her next of kin.

21.

Dubai Aquarium
Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Crimson droplets, as light as rain, disperse as they hit the surface, each molecule of blood sounding an alarm, each red blood cell as brilliant as a star set against a tapestry of midnight sky.

The Megalodon, Zahra, circles, her back arching, her pectoral fins lowering.

“Odd behavior,” Barbara Becker remarks. Her face reflects blue in the aquarium’s thick acrylic glass as she makes a note on her clipboard.

“It’s territorial,” David says, his eyes locked on the albino shark, its girth the size of a school bus. “She’s spent her entire life competing with four siblings. She’s not used to having the tank to herself.”

A silent splash, three stories above their heads, as the dolphin enters the water. High pitch clicks and squeals fill their ears, the panicked mammal echolocating its new environment—

—its slit fluke trailing a dark cloud of blood as it swims.

“We use the Indo-Pacific humpbacks; they tend to be a little slower.” Dr. Becker starts her stop-watch.

“I’m sure severing the muscles in its fluke doesn’t hurt either.”

“You disapprove?”

“It’s not necessary.”

“Zahra’s still feeling the effects of being medicated. Chasing prey, even wounded prey, helps to increase her metabolism, allowing her to recover faster. It’s like feeding a pet Boa constrictor. You have to cripple the mouse before tossing it in the snake’s tank otherwise the Boa would never catch it.”

The five-ton hunter breaks away from the bottom and rises, nearly disappearing from view in a mammoth upswell of bubbles and blood as it bursts clear through the surface—

—splashing down sideways seconds later, the remains of the half-eaten dolphin spinning wildly in the killer’s wake, spewing an oily copper ooze.

Dr. Becker ceases the stopwatch’s sweeping second hand. “She’s doing better.”

“Yeah, but you’re conditioning her to hunt live food. Come to the Dubai Aquarium. See Zahra eat Flipper. Two Shows Daily.”

“She’ll be back to her regular diet in no time, with your help.”

“Speaking of help, I wanted to talk to you about adding someone to your staff.”

“Another marine biologist?”

“More of a laborer. His name’s Monty. He was one of the pilot candidates that was cut.”

Dr. Becker checks the time on her stopwatch again and records it in her notes. “You’re a good trainer, David. You have a real feel for these predators. You want an assistant, you train him. But he lives in the staff quarters, not the hotel.”

“Cool.”

She looks up as Fiesal bin Rashidi enters the gallery. “Sir, I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“Things are going well?”

“Zahra’s eating. She’s nearly recovered from the trip.”

“Excellent. Give me a moment, please. I’d like to speak with Mr. Taylor alone.”

“Of course.” She heads for the employee exit.

Bin Rashidi’s predator-black eyes watch the Megalodon as it consumes the dolphin’s remains, his thick dark goatee twitching in a half-smile. “Captain Suits tells me you performed well since we had our little talk, that he could not have completed the candidate training without you.”

“It was a good experience.”

“Perhaps I can offer you another. The pilots leave for their mission tomorrow morning. Continue on with them and we’ll pay you a handsome bonus.”

“Appreciate the offer, but I can’t.”

“You’d return to the States in time for school.”

“It’s not that. I promised my father that I’d remain in Dubai.”

Bin Rashidi’s uni-brow knits. “Why would he ask you to make this promise? What does he fear?”

“I dunno. But it was his one condition, and he was real serious about it.”

“With all due respect, my father—he had seven sons—he would never ask any of us to sacrifice our business futures for a condition so foolish.”

“Welcome to America. Anyway, why do you need me? You’ve already got eight pilots.”

“The selected candidates are good, David, but piloting the Manta Ray has become second nature to you. There is a specific task we require on-site, one that will allow our crews to complete their mission more efficiently.”

“What kind of task?”

“I cannot elaborate, but it would pay you quite well . . . say, a quarter of a million dollars upon completion.”

“Shit. Who do I have to kill?”

“Kill? No, it’s one dive. Nothing more.”

“Why can’t Suits do it?”

“You’re a better pilot. So then, do we have an arrangement?”

“Let me call my father; I’m sure I can persuade him.”

“And if you cannot?”

“If I can’t, I can’t go.”

“Dad, you’re being unreasonable!”

“I’m being unreasonable? David, you have no idea what these Arabs want you to do? You think bin Rashidi’s offering that kind of money for a pleasure trip?”

“I can handle it.”

“David, it’s too dangerous.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

“How?”

“Because they asked me first.” Jonas remains silent for a long moment, weighing what to tell his son. “I turned them down, David, because it’s a suicide mission.”

David sits down on the king-size bed, feeling numb. “A suicide mission? What does that mean exactly?”

“I can’t elaborate. Mac and I signed non-disclosure agreements.”

“The Mariana Trench?”

“Worse.”

“Worse? What’s worse?”

“David, listen to me. Finish your job at the aquarium, but don’t trust these people.”

David swallows the lump in his throat. “Dad, I have a friend. She was selected to go.”

“She? You mean a
girl
friend. Christ . . .”

“What do I do?”

“Talk her out of it.”

“That won’t be easy.” David removes the receiver from his ear—

—someone knocking at his suite door. “Dad, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

“David—” The connection is severed.

David hurries to the front door and opens it.

Kaylie steps into his arms. Her lips press against his, her tongue tasting like beer. “Miss me?”

“Yeah.” He kicks the door closed behind her, leading her to the couch. “What happened tonight? Did they tell you where you were heading?”

“No, but they told us about the money. Lots of money, honey.” She pulls off his tee-shirt then sets to work on his pants.

“Wait, I need to talk to you about something. I met with bin Rashidi. He’s trying to convince me to go with you.”

“Really?” Her eyes widen. “Wow, David, that would be amazing—”

“I turned him down. I just got off the phone with my father. He told me this is a suicide mission, that bin Rashidi tried to recruit him for it, and he turned him down.”

“Why? What’s the mission?”

“He couldn’t tell me. Some kind of legal agreement. Kaylie, you can’t go.”

“Can’t? David, I am going. And it’s not just about the money, which is very good, by the way. I really want to go.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? My father’s dived the Mariana Trench, and he calls it suicide.”

“No offense, sweetie, but your father’s like a hundred. At his age, going to the bathroom in the middle of the night’s a suicide mission.”

“Nice. Real nice.”

“You know I’m just kidding. Listen, every one of us knew there was an element of danger when we signed on, but hasn’t that always been part of the deal as a field scientist?”

“I suppose.”

“Think about it, David. Whatever bin Rashidi has lined up for us . . . it’s got to be an incredible opportunity, maybe even a scientific break-through. I mean, look at this facility. The money they’ve spent. They must have discovered some new exotic species to invest so much into this aquarium. Don’t you want to be a part of it?”

“
Kronosaurus
.”

“What?”

“
Kronosaurus
. An ancient marine reptile.”

“I know what they are. What about them?”

“Twenty years ago, a powerful businessman, Benedict Singer, began exploring the Mariana Trench in search of a rare manganese nodule he believed would lead to a breakthrough in cold fusion. What he discovered instead was a sub-species of
Kronosaurus
, no doubt part of the Megalodon’s food chain. My parents were involved; they nearly died down there. My father didn’t say, but I’m guessing that’s the species bin Rashidi’s after.”

“Kronosaurs . . . wow.” She lies back on the leather sofa, trying to recall what the forty-foot pliosaurs looked like.

“Kaylie, you can’t tell anyone about this. No one knows—”

“No, of course not.”

“Then you’ll tell Captain Suits you’re resigning, right?”

“No.”

“Kaylie—”

“David, what if you had been selected as one of the scientists to be aboard the
Alvin
back in 1977, when they discovered hydrothermal vents? Would you have turned them down because it was dangerous?”

“This is different.”

“Not to me. I never wanted to be one of those eggheads who spend twenty hours a day working in a lab. My goal was always to work in the field. You can’t have the rewards without the risks. You know that.”