Jeremy Robinson - Kronos

“Andrea,” he added, interrupting her thoughts, “welcome back to the family.”

With those few words, Andrea’s thoughts cleared. For eight years she’d spent every waking moment with Atticus, and many of them with his family as well. They’d eaten, played, laughed, and adventured together. Inseparable. Kindred. Family. Those memories formed the bond that motivated her now, regardless of their broken past or feelings about what might have been. They were family. And that was enough.

Gulf of Maine-Aboard the Titan

Serrated teeth tore through flesh, rending sinew and vessel, crushing bones and doing a precise job at what they were designed to do-kill.

Atticus watched in amazement as white membranes slid over the obsidian eyes of the great white shark tearing into a tuna. He’d seen great whites feeding, as well as many other sharks, but never… never in the Gulf of Maine, nor a shark so enormous.

“It’s at least thirty feet long!” Atticus stood at what he now knew was a pane of glass looking out at the undersea world below the waterline.

“Twenty-eight, actually,” replied Trevor, who was now standing beside Atticus, watching the shark.

“You’re feeding it?” Atticus had seen the live tuna fall into the water, dazed and tired. It hadn’t stood a chance against the ocean’s greatest predator. Second greatest predator, Atticus reminded himself.

“Indeed. The little beastie is something of a pet, really.” Trevor placed his hand against the glass as the great white tore the fish in half and gulped it down. “Good girl, Laurel.”

“Laurel?”

Trevor smiled. “Named after a flower actually. Sheep laurel, a nasty little flower also known as Lambkill. It’s extremely poisonous and kills scores of sheep to be sure, and should a human ingest the flower, or worse, honey made from the flower, it is quite deadly. We’re lambs to the slaughter when it comes to Laurel,” he finished with a snicker.

Atticus watched as the massive shark polished off the tuna. He nodded. “A fitting name. But how is this possible…and why?”

“We spotted Laurel five years ago, in deep Pacific waters. She was quite big, even then, and for our amusement, we fed her. Her appetite was, as you’ve seen, voracious, and she followed us. We’ve been feeding her ever since.”

“But why would you want…”

“Protection, good doctor. This boat contains a wealth greater than that of many nations, and there are many who would love nothing more than to pilfer what is mine. Laurel does a nice job of stopping anyone who might attempt an underwater insertion.”

“I would imagine so,” Atticus said, picturing how he would feel encountering this giant underwater. “Does it work?”

Trevor smiled wide. “There have been a few times when she refused her breakfast. I can only assume she had her fill the night before. I cannot say whether she ate some poor fellow or not, but she has grown accustomed to her slow-moving meals. She never gives chase to healthy fish. If it moves fast, she won’t bother.”

Atticus made a mental note to not fall overboard, then turned his attention to Trevor. “What interest does the fifth richest man in the world have with a marine biologist?”

“I thought that would be very clear, Dr. Young.”

“Atticus will do.”

“Very well,” Trevor motioned to the chairs. “Please, sit.” They sat in the chairs, which were very comfortable. Atticus felt his body sink in, and, for the first time in days, his muscles relaxed. There was something about the room, being underwater yet not, that filled him with wonder while allowing him to lower his defenses.

On the coffee table, Atticus smiled upon finding two Sam Adams resting in a silver wine cooler, packed in ice. Based on Trevor’s invitation to tea, his thick British accent, and his almost feminine hand gestures, he expected to see a set of bone china with Earl Grey and crumpets.

Trevor read his expression. “I may be a Brit, but American cuisine tickles my fancy. Please, help yourself.”

Atticus pulled a bottle from the ice and popped the top with his teeth.

“Oh ho!” Trevor clapped. “A real man’s man!” He then produced a bottle opener from his pocket. “A much more civilized approach, don’t you think?” Trevor took the second beer, popped the top with a grunt, and drank greedily from the bottle.

Atticus wondered how such a diminutive man could drink like a college frat boy. Trevor was a living monochrome, black and white, day and night. Further study of the man would have to wait. There were more important issues at hand. “You were about to tell me why I’m here?”

Trevor placed the now-empty beer on the coffee table and sighed. “Ah yes.” He crossed his legs and placed his hands delicately on his knee. “Well, quite frankly, I’m bored.”

Atticus raised an eyebrow.

“Not right now, mind you. I meant to say I was bored, until I heard about your predicament…In no way do I mean to overlook your tragic loss, but this creature has stirred feelings in me I have not felt since I first laid eyes on the ocean as a child. I want to find the creature, Dr. Young. I want to find it and kill it.”

“Why kill it?”

“Well, you obviously have your reasons…but mine, I’m afraid, are much more selfish. Please, come with me.” Trevor stood with a grin. “To fully appreciate my goals, it would be best for you to see the collection.”

Atticus polished off the beer, retrieved his duffel bag, and followed Trevor to the door. He was led past the Easter Island sculpture and down a long hallway. The hallway, which wound in a wide arc, had doors along the right side, but the left was blank. Trevor led the way, humming joyfully to himself. Then the hall widened and opened into a grand foyer. Double staircases led down from the deck above and ended at three sculptures of hauntingly beautiful women. In every way the women were perfect, clothed only in formfitting robes. Their upper torsos displayed firm-looking breasts. Their slightly agape mouths showed full lips and supported high cheekbones. But their hair…snakes, coiled and twisting. And below the waist, where there should have been long, sumptuous legs, tightly coiled serpentine bodies reached the floor. “Medusa,” Atticus whispered.

“Only one of them,” Trevor said as he unlocked a pair of double doors with a skeleton key. Another oddity, Atticus noted. Most of the security on the ship thus far had been top-of-the-line stuff-voice-, retina-, and fingerprint-activated. Yet here, in the man’s most prized room, the contents were protected by a simple skeleton key. “The other two are named Stheno and Euryale; quite attractive really. They guard the collection.”

With fervor, Trevor pushed the two doors open, revealing a massive room beyond. It stretched for one hundred feet in either direction and stood four stories tall. But it wasn’t the size of the room that was most impressive. It was the absolute beauty of what it contained.

Atticus entered with wide eyes, taking in every morsel. Hanging on the walls were paintings he recognized from Monet, van Gogh, Rembrandt, da Vinci, and Picasso-famous paintings-the sort that hung in the Louvre, yet there they were, displayed as though they were the real thing. Again, Trevor seemed to read his thoughts, though Atticus imagined that everyone who saw the collection thought the same thing.

“They’re all real, I assure you,” Trevor said.

Atticus stood in front of Da Vinci’s The Last Supper, beautiful in every way, even more impressive than the version the world adored. Atticus felt dwarfed by the fifteen-by-twenty-nine-foot painting. “The other is a fake?”

“Oh no,” Trevor said, clearly tickled to be able to explain, “They’re both quite real. But the one displayed at convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie is merely a practice run for the real thing…a very detailed practice run, mind you, but not the final product. Da Vinci would have known that tempera on gesso, pitch, and mastic wouldn’t last. This final version is oil on canvas, a much more durable…and vibrant medium. Don’t you think?”