PROLOGUE
The Southern Ocean, 180 miles beyond the tip of what would one day be South America, 2 million years ago
The male Carcharodon Megalodon glided through the dark waters after leaving behind the last landmass a day ago.
It continued to travel southward, rising to a depth of just on 100 feet, where the weak sunshine rippled across its pale upper body, giving it a faint tiger-like striping. It was a rarity in that its hue was more clay colored than the usual gray to black of its kin. This meant it avoided the shallows during the day and preferred to haunt the depths, only rising to feed at night.
The fifty-five-foot creature was just on sixty tons and not the largest of its kind. But the mass of its body meant it needed a lot of fuel. And after not eating for several weeks, it was now underweight, and starving.
The cooling waters and climate meant more glaciers and ice shelves locked up more of the sea, cutting off breeding estuaries and seaways and disrupting ocean currents. The great cetaceans it had dined upon in its early days had vanished and their telltale squeaks and clicks were just a dim memory.
Outside of the warm sea corridor it was swimming within, there was nothing but a cold and empty darkness. But this strange near-tropical current it navigated now was like a highway, and it held a promise – the scent of food, and of its own kind.
The Megalodon’s snout had a bank of nerves that were sensitive enough to detect a single drop of blood in sea currents even many miles wide, and on each side of the ten-foot-wide head were two nostril-like nares that drew water in and over the olfactory lamellae, a huge sensitive area that registered smells and then sent directional signals into the brain. Those stimuli were now like a blaring siren compelling it onward.
It detected the new landmass many miles before it was close to it. The waters here were dark and deep, and it increased its speed. It feared nothing, as there were few creatures other than its own kind that could challenge it.
It approached the landmass, but found not rock or shallows, but an opening in the rock face. From within, it sensed its own kind, and an abundance of life.
It swam inside and emerged into a warm sea with a blue light shining above. The Megalodon shark immediately began to hunt.
CHAPTER 01
The South Coral Sea, last voyage of the Pequod, 1842
“Thar she blows,” Ahab pointed the tip of his harpoon, his eyes round and white with wild fury. He turned. “Row, row, you dogs. The gold doubloon awaits he who puts their barb into the beast’s eye. Now row, damn you, row-www!” Ahab’s voice boomed like the thunder exploding all around them.
The waves smashed into the whaling boats and the six oarsmen pulled with every ounce of strength they had, stretching their backs and chafing hands that were already hardened like beaten leather.
It was just mid-morning, but the storm stained the day with a gloomy darkness, and it was made even more ominous by the screaming winds and churning foam on the iron-gray ocean.
Another crack of lightning, and their world was momentarily lit like white-hot flame, with Ahab standing firm at the bow of the boat, teeth bared, and pointing the tip of his spear as he sighted his quarry.
Coming up behind them, like a great wall of wood and canvas, was the Pequod, unbelievably in full sail even into the teeth of the storm. A reckless act, but Ahab’s soul was tied to that of the beast he pursued, and he’d send them all to hell if it meant taking the monster with him.
In the next boat, Ishmael was more frightened than he had ever been in his life. All the men were. But not one of them would dare stand up to Ahab. His resolve and fury were like a physical force, greater than the storm, greater than the churning sea, and matched only by the monstrous white creature they pursued.
“There.” Ahab pointed.
In the distance, they saw the rise and fall of the whales’ backs as the pod breached, blew air, and then went down again.
“It follows the whales. The white devil always follows the whales.” Ahab’s eyes seemed to glow in the storm’s murky shadows. His grin made his head look like a mad skull.
Ishmael sighted the back of the monster again through the driving rain and whip of the salty spray – never had he seen or even heard of a beast this size. All the men agreed it was twice the size of anything they knew, and being so close now they could smell its stink, like an island exposed at low tide, giving off a rank odor of rotting barnacles and age-old things that wriggled in the depths and waited to feed on men’s bones when they sunk down to the slimy sea bottom too many fathoms below them to count.
But there was something else that filled him with doubt and fear – the creature they chased didn’t swim like a whale. And though mighty sperm whales had fins on their backs, the white fin cutting the water far ahead of them rose as high as a barn roof.
But they were gaining on it now. The beast seemed to be slowing, allowing them to catch yards on it. Did it want them to come closer? Ishmael wondered.
In the lead whaler, Ahab balanced on his one good leg, his other familiar peg-leg carved from the rib bone of a long dead whale. According to Ahab, the missing leg was inside the beast they chased.
The men pulled and pulled again on their oars, drawing ever closer while Ahab urged them on, his screamed words and spittle merging with the chaotic fury of the storm. And then they were beside it. Rather than wait until they had the beast between their boats, Ahab drew his arm back, and launched his harpoon.
It flew straight and swift and penetrated the white hide, taking the trawl rope attached to the barbed lance with it. The mighty creature arched at the pinprick and rolled. Other harpoons flew, some hitting their targets and others missing.
As the white monster surged, the boats whose harpooners had struck their target were pulled forward by the trawl ropes tied off to the prow spike.
And in that one brief second of thinking they might triumph over Ahab’s nemesis, their world turned to hell.
The beast dived. Those tied off were immediately dragged down. Of the two boats and their sixteen men that went down, only a few heads bobbed back above the frothing waves. And none of them were Ahab.
Two boats were gone, and two more were on the surface. Then, it was as if the storm held its breath, and even the wind eased back.
“Where are they?” yelled a man in the water who swam to one of the boats.
“Taken straight ta hell,” an oarsman replied from behind Ishmael.
There were just three survivors in the water, and the two boats came together as the men watched the sea. But it was desolate, iron gray, as deep and cold as the devil’s home, and it refused to reveal what hid below.
Then the beast breached underneath the two boats, exploding upward and catching one boat in a mouth lined with gigantic, triangular teeth as long as Ishmael’s arm. The boat was turned to splinters.
The beast rose into the air like a mountain of white muscle. Two thirds of its body left the water, and hung there, impossibly, for a second or two. It was as if the laws of the natural world were cancelled out by this hellish creature.
But in those seconds it hung in the air, a fork of lightning illuminated it. The remaining men saw it was no whale, it was a shark, white, filling the sky, and its massive black eyes were as dark and soulless as death itself.
Just before it hit the water, Ishmael saw that the ragged remains of the bottom half of one of the men was caught in the beast’s teeth. A man with one good leg, and one pegged stump. It seemed Ahab had finally met his monster. And the monster had prevailed.
As the tower of white muscle and teeth came crashing down, the remaining men screamed and dived overboard. It landed on their whaleboat, creating a wave fifty feet high.
Ishmael swum toward the Pequod and tried to shut out the sounds of the men being picked off and eaten by the monster. Whales didn’t do that to people. Sharks did. But he would not let it happen to him, and he never looked back.
The lights of the Pequod drew him toward it in the darkness of the storm. It was his one chance of rescue in the maelstrom of wind and rain and monster. But then Ishmael felt the surge wave pass beneath him, and he was lifted high. He realized the mighty beast’s fury was not yet spent – it had one more act of revenge to execute on Ahab.
In those last few seconds where he still had hopes of rescue, he saw the creature come up – its huge fin cutting the water as it accelerated and struck the Pequod’s midship with a sound like a titan beating a drum. Masts collapsed, men screamed, and rigging fell to the deck. Round and round the white monster circled the boat. Their stricken ship now sitting low in the water, as its hull beams surely had been cracked.
Faster and faster the massive shark’s corpse-white body moved until the Pequod began to turn. Then spin. Around and around, quicker and quicker, and while Ishmael tread water he could only watch as a vortex began, as the creature used its massive tail to circle the ship, creating a sucking hole in the center of the sea.
The vortex sunk lower, and the Pequod was its eye. Lower and lower the ship went until he saw the final standing mast fall below sea level, and he heard the last scream of a doomed man. Then the monster shark also dived into the vortex, chasing down the morsels of meat.
And then it was over. The vortex closed and the monster vanished. Perhaps it was sated, its fury spent.
Ishmael was alone, and he knew he was all that remained of a brave crew, a fateful ship, and a driven man who took on the devil. And lost.
A few broken remnants of the ship bobbed back to the surface. One of them being the empty coffin of his friend, Queequeg. He clung to the carved box and drifted. And prayed.
Ishmael remembered a priest’s sermon telling them that when the gates of hell opened, the first beast through would be the leviathan. The devil’s pet.
Today was that day.
CHAPTER 02
Nick’s Cove, Marin County, California, present day
Cate Granger leaned on the railing of Jack Monroe’s boat, the Heceta, and watched the line of bubbles pop to the surface.
It was mid-afternoon, the wind had fallen away, and the sun was caressing her face. She closed one eye against the glare from the shimmering bay’s surface and inhaled the soft scents of clean salt water, suntan cream, and warming deck wood.
The sixty-two-foot motor yacht was their home now, and the beautiful mix of original teak planking over a white oak frame was their private fortress and their getaway machine. It was like being on holiday every day.
Cate drew in a deep breath as the tiniest of ripples made the boat rock gently and told her something was coming up.
She opened both eyes and, after another moment, she spotted the dark shadow, and then Jack’s head in snorkel and dive mask appeared. He pushed it up onto his slicked down hair.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Quite a bit of growth on the hull, a few barnacles, and the paint is flaking. About time she was hauled up and had her ass scraped.”
She smiled and rested her chin on her forearms. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
He laughed, the sound rolling over the still bay, and his handsome face with the sea blue eyes suddenly took on a wicked glint. “Plenty more where that came from, beautiful.”
Jack swam to the stern platform and climbed up. Cate followed and he threw a hand up to her. She leaned out and grabbed it and he stepped over the transom.
He grabbed a towel, rubbed his face and hair, and then sat on the waterproof cushions on the rear seats. He tilted his face to the sun, shut his eyes and let out a long sigh. “I love this life.”
“Me too.” She shared a smile that was like pure sunshine.
“Only one thing could improve it.” He turned to her. “Cate Granger, will you be my wife?”
She laughed and came into his arms. “What is that, three times now?”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “And I’ll keep asking you until you say yes.”
“Yes, but not yet,” she replied. “I love this life too. And you make it perfect. Let’s enjoy this for now, and leave the serious stuff for another day, hmm?”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “But I’m a pretty good catch – looks, brains, and money.”
She scoffed and sat opposite him, lifting her newspaper. “You’re lucky Sonya Borashev funded you.”
He opened one eye. “What else is a Russian girl to do with a few billion dollars after Valery left her his empire?” He shut his eyes again. “And the money has nearly run out. This boat eats hundred-dollar bills for breakfast.”
“We already know what else she’s doing.” Cate threw both legs up on the long plastic seat cushion. “Still chasing her sea monsters.”
Jack sat forward. “I don’t blame her. They took the love of her life.”
He turned to look over the side at the calm bay’s waters. The sun sparkled on its surface and there was only one other yacht half a mile away that seemed becalmed.
She turned from the newspaper to the water, following his gaze and guessing what he was thinking. “Do you think they’re still out there?”
“Out there, down there, somewhere?” He bobbed his head from side to side. “Maybe, maybe not. But if they are, then that’s where I hope they stay.”
“Yeah, me too.” She turned a page of the paper and read some more. An article caught her eye. “Have you seen this? A massive glacier sheet broke away in Antarctica. They think it might have exposed a cave beneath the ice shelf. A bi-iiig cave.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything to us.”
“What if I told you, its name was the Doomsday Glacier.” She smiled.
He chuckled. “Now I’m interested. Because if you give something an awesome, scary name then that’s certainly going to make me pay attention.” He turned away, smiling. “From now on to get more of my attention, Cate Granger will be known as Cate Danger.”
She grinned. “I don’t need a scary name to make you pay attention.” She reached behind her neck to undo the bikini top knot, and let it drop.
Jack immediately got to his feet. “Oh yeah, that works too.”
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