Steve Alten - Vostok

“Wha’s with the long faces? I can handle it.”

“Forget it,” Jonas said. “I have no interest in sponsoring a suicide mission. If this is really about saving your family, then let’s go to the authorities. I campaigned heavily for the President, and the Institute was a major donor to his election campaign. One phone call and you’ll be speaking with the national security advisor himself. ”

“I appreciate the offer, Jonas, but these guys operate outside White House jurisdiction.”

“Tell Jonas everything, lad. Him not knowing isn’t going to matter tae these people. The moment they see the Manta, they’ll realize he arranged yer escape.”

I knew my father was right. “There’s an extraterrestrial vessel in Vostok. It’s unlike anything we’ve seen. Seven years ago I was allowed access.”

“Allowed? By what?”

“An entity… a higher life-form. It shared the secret of zero-point energy with me. I need to destroy it before MJ-12 finds it. Once that threat is removed, I’ll initiate a dead-man’s trigger — a threat to expose Colonel Vacendak’s entire operation if he doesn’t release William and Brandy within twenty-four hours.”

Jonas was about to respond when a man dressed from head to toe in ECW gear entered through an exterior door, blasting us with a gust of frigid air. As he stripped away his hood and mask, I could see it was James Mackreides, Jonas’s partner at the Tanaka Institute — his most trusted friend.

Mac acknowledged me with a nod, then handed Jonas his binoculars. “The Tonga just came into view; she’s headed toward Prydz Bay.”

Jonas moved quickly to the starboard windows and focused on the dark horizon, using the night-vision glasses. “That’s her, all right. Where’s the Dubai-Land ?”

“Out in front. I caught sight of her bow wake.”

“If the trawler’s out front, then David may already be in the water.”

“I don’t think so,” Mac said. “They’re using the two boats to drive the creature to the ice shelf. David won’t launch until the Tonga drops her nets into the water.”

I looked at Jonas, confused. “David? As in your son?”

Jonas let Mac answer for him. “Remember that arse marine biologist, Michael Maren? Before he croaked, he discovered the remains of an ancient sea called the Panthalassa, buried beneath the Philippine Sea Plate. After he died, his fiancée sold maps of the subterranean sea to a guy named Fiesal bin Rashidi. Bin Rashidi happens to be a first cousin to the crown prince of Dubai.”

“The guy you sold two of the Meg pups to?”

Jonas nodded. “The crown prince is constructing a new theme park called Dubai-Land. The jewel of Dubai-Land will be an aquatic exhibit featuring a dozen of the largest viewing aquariums ever conceived.”

“And what goes inside the other tanks? Creatures from this Panthalassa Sea?”

“That was the plan. David impressed the crown prince and his cousin with his ability to pilot the Manta subs. Against my wishes, he joined other trained pilots who were recruited to entice these prehistoric sea creatures out of the Panthalassa and into their nets. David and another young submersible pilot — a young woman — were trapped in a bathyscape. I used Angel to escort me down to them, where she squared off with another alpha female, a 120-foot Liopleurodon .”

“My God.”

“I managed to free the bathyscape from its anchors and float it out of the Panthalassa. Angel and the Liopleurodon followed us up. The Meg had the creature’s neck in its jaws like a bulldog. Then the crown prince’s tanker passed by, sweeping everything off the sea floor and into its wake, including the bathyscape. The two kids escaped. Unfortunately, David’s companion didn’t make it.

Mac shook his head. “David’s first love. Bin Rashidi managed to tag the creature with a homing device before it swam off.”

“David’s twenty-one,” Jonas continued. “He went through a lot. Losing someone you love in any manner is hard. The kid left California seven months ago. We found out that he and a friend rejoined bin Rashidi’s team assigned to capture the Liopleurodon .”

“That’s why you’re in Antarctica…it prefers the cold water.”

Jonas nodded, handing me the binoculars. I focused them on a set of lights growing larger on the eastern horizon, an oil tanker appearing out of the darkness.

“The tanker’s called the Tonga . She’s a Malaccamax VLCC, a very large crude oil carrier designed with a draft shallow enough to navigate the Antarctic coast. She’s as big as they come, over a thousand feet long and two hundred feet wide. The crown prince had her scrubbed and refitted to haul his sea monsters. Inside the cargo hold are saltwater pens three times the size of our hopper. David told me they had already captured a Dunkleosteus , a sixty-five-foot Ichthyosaurus , and a Helicoprion shark.”

“That’s incredible. And these species all survived the trip to Dubai?”

“The Dunk was in its aquarium when David saw it; the rest I don’t know about. Bin Rashidi’s kept everything quiet, since he ordered his team to follow the Liopleurodon ferox . Moving out ahead of the Tonga is the Dubai-Land , a 280-ton fishing trawler. That’s the hunter’s boat. David’s on board with one of the Mantas.”

Jonas turned to Mac. “What’s the status on our subs?”

“Number One is being recharged. Number Two is in the dry dock ready to launch.”

“Inform Mr. Reed I want to be in the water in fifteen minutes. Zach, you’re with me; it’s time for your first piloting lesson.”

I followed him out the door and down the steel stairwell, my heart racing.

I followed Jonas into the bowels of the ship. Reaching the lowest deck, we made our way aft through a tight corridor, past the engine room to a watertight door.

WARNING: PRESSURIZED DIVE CHAMBER

Do NOT enter when red light is ON.

The light was off, the door open.

Jonas led me inside.

Perched on rubber blocks above a pair of sealed horizontal doors in the ship’s keel was the Manta submersible. Aptly named, the hydrodynamic vessel was dark brown on top with a white belly, its body nine feet long with an eighteen-foot wingspan.

“She really does look like a giant manta ray. What’s the hull made of?”

“Layered acrylic,” answered a mechanic, his navy-blue jumpsuit and leather jacket stained with grease.

“Zachary Wallace, Cyel Reed, our chief engineer.”

Reed snorted sarcastically. “One chief, no Indians. And still no damn heater down here. I had to pour boiling water over the starboard wing just to tighten the support struts on your damn laser.”

Jonas examined the Valkyrie. “It came loose when I pulled out of a barrel roll. Think it’ll hold?”

“Will it hold? Yeah. If you quit trying to fly it like an F-15. Weight distribution’s off. You don’t put a luggage rack on a Ferrari and expect it to perform. Barrel rolls or the ability to melt ice — pick your poison, J.T.”

Jonas turned to me. “We can pull the Valkyries. It’s your call.”

“Melting ice is more important to me, especially where I’m going. Maybe the additional weight will help stabilize the sub in the currents.”

“And maybe if I eat coal for breakfast I’ll shit diamonds later,” the mechanic scoffed. “Only I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Anyway, she’s ready to launch.”