Return to The Deep (From The Deep Book 2) (3 page)

CHAPTER THREE

The harsh lights of TV studios had gone from something to be nervous and tense about, to a home away from home for Clara Thompson. Certainly, of everyone who was involved with the initial hunt for the giant creature, which had changed all of their lives, she had changed the most. The once quiet marine biologist had become something of a celebrity, and slowly but surely, had grown accustomed to the unrealistic lifestyle enjoyed by the rich and famous. She remembered her first television interview, the way she had stared bug eyed at the camera in clothes, which she felt, didn’t reflect the person she really was. Now, those same clothes fit well, and the glare of the lights was tolerated because she knew it would make her look good on screen. She had cut her hair short, and even though she was wearing too much makeup, still looked stunning as the camera pulled her into focus.

"Welcome back to Breakfast with America. I’m Dawn Hinchcliffe, and with me today, I have a very special guest. She's the author of the bestselling novel, ‘Terror Beneath the Waves’, and everyone’s favourite celebrity face, Clara Thompson. Clara, welcome to the show."

"Thank you," Clara said with a smile. Remembering to be polite, and remembering that the camera was her friend.

"Now, let me get right to the point. Many people who have read the book have said that it’s so realistic in its execution, they have wondered if it is actually based on fact rather than fiction. Can you tell us now, definitively, what your inspiration was for this book and how you managed to make it so visceral and believable?"

She smiled, a well-practiced expression for the benefit of the media. "Dawn, I've heard these insane theories about the story being based on fact. I can categorically assure you this is entirely a fictional story. I mean, have you read it? I’m sure if it was based on truth, the world would know there was a giant sea monster out there."

"Still, many people, me included, have seen alleged leaked documents stating that you were involved in a secret government project five years ago, which is said to be the basis of this book."

The Media virgin, Clara, would have been thrown off by such a question, maybe even stuttered her way through a half-baked answer. This Clara, though, was a veteran, and went on without missing a beat.

"I think the key word there is alleged, Dawn. Everyone knows the internet is a cesspool of misinformation. I have to admit that reading some of the insane theories about my book was a whole lot of fun."

"Those alleged documents which claim this is a factual situation also state that you were subject to a gagging order of some kind preventing you from telling the story of what happened, and that this novel is a thinly veiled way to get around that and tell the story of what really happened."

Clara smiled again, making a conscious effort to remain calm. "To what end? If these allegations were true, why would I risk telling such a story knowing what the consequences would be? It makes no sense."

Like a shark smelling blood, the veteran presenter moved in for the kill. "Actually, some say it makes perfect sense. The book talks of locations and procedures which are known not only to be actual locations for the alleged sea monster sightings off the California coast, but also details military procedures, which some say only a person with inside knowledge would know. What is your response to that?"

"It's called research, Dawn, and it’s my job as an author to make the plot as believable as possible. Nothing more."

"I would like to read an excerpt to our readers, a section of the book from around two thirds of the way through," Dawn said, opening the book to the marked page. "They followed it, deep into Antarctic waters. For every degree the temperature dropped, their fear increased, all of them except Cassidy, the rookie fisherman who had undertaken this trip with a thirst for vengeance against the beast, which had slain his family. For the rest of the crew, it was a journey into the unknown. For Cassidy, it was a chance to come face to face with the beast and finally avenge the death of those he held close."

She closed the book and set it aside. "I want to ask you about the character of Cassidy."

"Go on," Clara said, sensing things were starting to turn for the worse.

"His actions and description within the book closely resemble the life of Henry Rainwater, a local fisherman who was also linked, along with you, in those very same documents which were leaked online.”

"I don’t hear a question there," Clara snapped.

"Well, my question, Miss Thompson, is can you confirm to our viewers that the character of Cassidy is based on the real life Henry Rainwater? The man who you were known to be involved with on a romantic level in the months following the alleged secret military operation is said to be the basis for your novel."

"I came here to talk about the book. Not my personal life."

"This
is
about the book. Cassidy is a character you claim to have created, a character who shares coincidental similarities with a man who you were involved with, and also linked to the supposed secret project. I think it's a fair question and one which our viewers would be interested in hearing the answer to."

"It’s true. I dated Rainwater for a while, although it had nothing whatsoever to do with anything related to my work. Whatever he did or didn’t do relating to these documents you keep talking about, I don’t know. You'll have to ask him. All I know about Henry Rainwater is that he's a worthless drunk and my time with him was a mistake I would prefer to forget."

"Even so, can you tell us if Cassidy is based on him?"

"If it is, it's unintentional, perhaps some subconscious act during the creation of the manuscript. My book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to people in the real world is entirely coincidental. It says so right there on the copyright page." She managed a smile, barely as the assault continued.

"But our viewers would like to know-"

"No. If you want to talk about the book, that’s fine. It’s why I agreed to do the show. If you continue to discuss things irrelevant to it, then I'll gladly terminate the interview and leave right now."

She glanced to her agent, a wiry bird like woman with skin like rhino hide, who was squirming off camera at the way the interview was panning out.

"Okay, back on track then," Dawn said, completely unmoved by Clara’s outburst. "The book was finished almost two and a half years ago and is only now being released. Why the delay?"

"Well, Dawn, there are marketing strategies, editing decision’s to be made, cover artwork to be decided on. It's a long process."

"What do you say to the allegations that the reason for the delay was due to several government court orders trying to stop the book from being released?"

"That’s absolute rubbish, and frankly, it reeks of lazy journalism."

Dawn reached to the table beside her and handed over several documents. "Those are copies of the court orders in question."

"Where did you get these?" Clara said, leafing through the photocopies.

"My question to you, is why would the government try to stop the release of this book if there wasn’t some truth to the claims surrounding it?"

"Okay, look, I warned you," Clara said, standing and unclipping the microphone from the front of her blouse. "This interview was supposed to be to promote my book, not for you to attack me."

Without a pause, the presenter went on. "This is your opportunity to answer these allegations. This isn’t a-"

Clara was already walking away, striding off the set and past the cameras towards the exit.

"What the hell was that, Mary?" She said as she strode past her agent, who hurried to keep up.

"I’m sorry, I had no idea."

"It was a damn witch hunt. They hung me out to dry."

"Look, don’t worry about it," the agent said as they walked towards the exit, "I'll deal with this."

"I don’t want this to air. It will damage my reputation."

"Remember, all publicity is good publicity."

"They made me look like a fool!" Clara hissed.

"No, what they did was make people curious. Curious enough to buy the book."

"At what cost?"

"Look, Clara, you have nothing to worry about. Sales are still strong. We're number two in the best sellers list. Another couple of weeks of promo, and we could hit the top spot."

She would normally be ecstatic at such news, and yet, she was so angry following the grilling she had just received, she couldn’t let it sink in.

"Also," Mary said as they exited the studio into the car park, "I have news for you that might make you happy."

"Go on."

"I managed to get the publishers to agree to buy a sequel. The first book was so good, they want more."

"I’m not so sure I’m ready for that," she said.

"Are you kidding me?" Mary replied, coming to a halt at Clara’s cherry red Porsche. "The first book was one of the most creatively strong pieces I've ever read in twenty plus years in the business. You have a gift. The way I see it, if you want to prove people wrong and silence them about this based on reality crap, then a strong sequel is the way to do it."

"I’m not sure."

"Come on, I know you can do it. My job is to do what's best for you. This is one of those times when you should listen to me."

As horrified and unprepared as she felt, she knew refusing to do it would only raise more questions about the origin of the first story.

"Alright, I'll do it."

"Good girl," Mary said. "This will go towards silencing some of these people causing trouble."

"Thanks, Mary."

"Anytime. Hey, between you and me, is any of it true? Not that it matters to me, I'm just curious."

"Of course not," Clara snapped, "it's all bull."

"That’s good enough for me. I'll see what I can do about censoring this interview. In the meantime, you start thinking about a follow up story. You can do this, I know it."

The two women hugged, and Clara got into her car, watching her agent leave. With nobody looking at her, she could finally drop the act, and slumped into her seat and started to cry.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tomlinson's office was located in the innermost ring of the Pentagon. Andrews sat on the opposite side of the polished oak desk and waited for the grilling to stop. Tomlinson slammed his fist on the tabletop.

"I don’t want to hear
soon
, I need results now," the white haired commander raged.

"Sir, please. I’ve spoken to the team and relayed just how urgent this is. They have doubled their efforts."

"Do you know how much Project Blue has cost since we gave you the reins?"

"No sir, I'm not privy to the exact amount."

"Six hundred and eighty million dollars, that’s how much."

"All I can do is apologise and assure you we're working as hard as we can, sir," Andrews said.

"When you took over from Russo, you assured me you would have results within a year," Tomlinson snapped.

"With all due respect, sir, you know the kind of complications we encountered. This is a brand new species. The cloning-"

"I don’t want to hear excuses," Tomlinson said, raising a hand, "I want results."

"We all want results,” Andrews countered. “You know well enough what I've had to sacrifice in life for this. I lost my wife, my family, and all for this damn monster."

"It's your job. You get paid well for it."

"What happened back in Antarctica was more than any man should have to endure. Job or no job, you weren’t there. It’s impossible for you to understand,
sir
."

Tomlinson leaned back in his plush leather chair, letting the silence linger for a few seconds. "Look, Martin, don’t think I don't appreciate what you did, or what you had to endure. That business with Russo was an unfortunate case of misjudgement-"

"Misjudgement? You put a damn psychopath in charge of the mission. He was reckless and dangerous. I thought the government would have appreciated the project having a little stability under my command."

"It's not the stability, it’s the cost. Like it or not, money talks and I'm the one who has to justify why we're spending so much without anything to show for it."

"The cloning is progressing well, if you check the most recent reports-"

"Oh, I checked," Tomlinson said, opening his desk drawer and removing a brown envelope, which he opened, removing the papers from inside. "I see here after a year of still births, the only two living specimens you were able to produce were deformed beyond any recognition. Hardly a suitable return for our investment," he said, tossing the papers back on the desk.

"Sir, you have to understand. This is a unique species, a one of a kind. It will take time to-"

"No martin, you need to understand. Project Blue was meant to be the next step in marine biological warfare. Since the Korean War and the tensions with Russia, the country is on edge. Hell, the
world
is on edge."

"All due respect, sir, the Korean war was four years ago. Even if everything with Project Blue had gone to plan, we wouldn’t have been placed to interfere."

"Oh, I know that. The north was always going to attack the south. It was just a question of when. What caught us with our pants down was the fact they had nuclear capabilities and we didn’t know. The president is keen to make sure we bulk up our defences, especially as far as the Russians go."

"I don’t know what you want me to say, sir."

"I don’t want words. I want results. Now, tell me about this break in at the facility."

"It was nothing really, just kids screwing around. I'm dealing with it."

"I don’t like the fact that kids managed to so easily enter a government facility seemingly at will."

"It was an oversight. Security is being increased. It won’t happen again."

Tomlinson didn’t offer a response. Instead, he observed Andrews, who could only sit there and endure the stare of his superior. "As it happens," he said eventually, "we have procedures in place for just such a breach of security."

"It wasn’t a breach as such, sir -”

"Let me finish," Tomlinson snapped.

Andrews did as instructed, and listened as Tomlinson continued.

"As I was saying, we have procedures in place for such a breach as this. Because of the public nature of the facility, it was only ever intended as a short term holding location. What I want you to do is prep the creature for relocation."

"Sir," Andrews said just a little too quickly, "moving this creature would be incredibly dangerous."

"As is the chance of the public discovering its existence. It only takes one lapse, Andrews, a lapse that has already happened. As I was saying, I want the creature ready to move within the week."

"To where, sir? The Florida location has everything we need to manage the project. Moving the creature will set us back even further."

"I want the creature transported to Tampa. There it will be loaded onto a transport ship which will deliver it to the Titus."

"Sir, the Titus was only intended to hold the creature for short periods. It needs more space to be able to swim-"

"Dammit, Andrews! This isn’t a family pet we're talking about. This is a military owned product. One that we have decided needs to be transported to a new location. You and your team will continue your work on board the Titus. The laboratories are more than adequate for your needs."

"Sir, please. This creature is unique. The risks involved in trying to transport it are huge. What will we say to the public when they see this thing on the back of a flatbed truck being driven in plain sight of everyone?"

"You don’t think we have a contingency plan for just this kind of a situation?"

"Sir, I won’t saying that. I'm simply pointing out that the risk as far as I can see outweigh the rewards."

"You need to look past your personal involvement in this project," Tomlinson said. "We have designed a special transportation vehicle to move it. Twenty eight wheels and a rear bed plenty big enough to transport the creature. It will be covered with tarps and temperature controlled moisture blankets for the duration of the journey, in addition to which, it will be heavily tranquilised. It will be quite safe."

Andrews could barely hide his anger and frustration. It was only the respect he had for Tomlinson, which allowed him to hold his tongue. Even so, every instinct within him said this was a bad idea, and as much as he would like to be able to change Tomlinson’s mind, he knew exactly how stubborn a man he was.

"Yes sir," he said with a sigh of resignation, "I'll make the arrangements."

"Good. The transport will arrive at the Florida facility within the week. Be ready."

"Yes sir. I'll handle it."

"Good," Tomlinson said, for the first time seeming satisfied. "This is your last chance, Andrews. If we don’t see results, then we're prepared to cut our losses on this. If you and your people want to keep your jobs, this is the time to give us something concrete."

"Yes sir," Andrews said, now only wanting out of Tomlinson’s office as soon as possible.

"This isn’t personal, Andrews," Tomlinson said, folding his hands on the desk. "This is just chain of command. My superiors give me shit, so I pass it on to you. It’s how this works. If it were up to me, we should have left this creature to die in the ice with its mother."

Andrews said nothing, hoping his silence would lead to him being allowed to leave.

"Well, that’s all I need from you right now," Tomlinson said.

Andrews stood and walked to the door. There was so much he wanted to say, so many reasons he wanted to present to Tomlinson as to why the plan to move the creature was a bad one, and yet, knew that his words would go unheard. Instead, he exited the office without looking back.

II

Clayton, Jim, and Marie sat on the beach, basking in another picture postcard Florida summer day. Cloudless blue skies, white sand beaches, and gentle rolling seas were the lure for many of the tourists who had come out to top up tans or socialise with friends. For the group of three friends however, their reasons were different. Even though none of them would say it, they took turns in glancing towards the dome of the Ocean World facility, its glass and steel facade glittering in the sunlight.

"Here he comes," Clayton said, blowing cigarette smoke out of his nostrils and pushing his bare feet deeper into the soft sand.

The others turned to watch as Fernando walked towards them, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, camera hanging by the strap around his neck and swinging against his body as he navigated the crowds. He sat with his friends, a light sweat on his brow.

"Here, you look like you could use this," Jim said, handing over a bottle of water from the ice box.

"Thanks," Fernando replied, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink.

"So, what's the story?" Clayton asked.

"Definitely something going on up there. There were two deliveries, one at the standard loading entrance. It looked to be food for the fish in the public area of the facility." He powered on the digital camera and navigated through the photographs he had taken, showing the group.

"After that, another delivery arrived at the back door where we snuck in. This one was a lot bigger."

He scrolled through the pictures of staff unloading huge packages from the truck with a forklift truck.

"Is that-" Marie said.

"Yeah, it's meat," Fernando cut in. "Frozen slabs of meat."

"Why the hell would they deliver meat to an aquarium?" Clayton said, leaning in to get a closer look at the photos.

"Exactly," Fernando said, "and look at the quantity. That ruck is full of the stuff."

"That aquarium tank was big," Marie said. "It shouldn't be a surprise to see them getting enough food to keep whatever is in there healthy."

"I don’t know of any whales that eat raw frozen meat like that," Clayton replied with a grin. "Sharks maybe, but not whales."

“You ever hear of the Megalodon?” Jim said.

“No, what’s that?” Clayton asked.

“It was a cousin of the great white shark. My dad has a book about them. They were huge, over eighty feet long. Supposedly, they went extinct along with the dinosaurs, but people still say they could exist.”

"Well, whatever they have in there, they’re keeping it under lock and key," Fernando said. "There's a ton more security in place now, too."

"So what do we do?" Marie asked.

"There isn’t much we can do," Clayton said, seeming to lose interest a little. "There's no way we'll get back in there now."

"Not necessarily," Fernando said.

They looked at him and waited for him to elaborate. "The key card I used to get us in there the other day belongs to my brother. He works security."

"I can’t see him risking his job to help us though," Jim said.

"No, I wasn’t strictly thinking about him. His girl works there too. Gift shop. She's into all this animal rights stuff. If we show her these pictures, maybe she'll help us."

"It's risky," Clayton said, "what if she blabs to your brother?"

"It's not like we'll be any worse off for it. At least this way, we might have a chance to find out what's going on in there."

"You think she'll go for it?" Jim asked.

"I think there's a chance. I can ask her anyways. Won’t do us any harm."

"Let’s say she snoops around and finds something," Clayton said, as he lit up yet another cigarette, "then what?"

"It all depends what she finds. It's obvious enough that something’s going on in there. I just want to know what it is," Fernando replied, looking at the group in turn.

"Alright, count me in again," Clayton said.

"Me too," Marie added.

"Yeah, why not? We've already come this far," Jim said, looking less certain than his friends.

"Alright," Clayton said with a grin, "that’s settled then. How soon can you talk to your brother’s girl?"

"Tonight," Fernando said, shutting off his camera. "I’ll show her the photos; see if she’ll snoop around for us. Chances are, she’s heard some of the rumblings of what’s going on in there. With any luck, she’ll be willing to help."