Leviathan Page 10

  The Naglfar was named in honor of Wright’s Norwegian heritage. As an aficionado of world mythology, he had an affinity to Scandinavian folklore, one of the more violent dead religions. According to Norse legend, the Naglfar was the ship of the damned, assembled from the fingernails of dead men and helmed by a vengeful god. At the time of the apocalypse, Ragnarok, the trickster Loki was to gather the elemental giants and lay siege to Asgard, kingdom of the gods. The ensuing war ended in the near-obliteration of both humanity and the immortals.

  Thorpe walked across the gangplank to meet the old man. “Nice to see you again, Mister Wright. May I call you Oscar?”

  “Mister Wright is fine.” The billionaire wore a short-sleeved polo shirt, a few strands of gray chest hair poking from the open collar. The last locks of the old man’s dark hair had turned white ages ago, except for his bushy eyebrows. “Tell me we’re on schedule.”

  “A little ahead, actually.”

  “Excellent news.”

  The Naglfar was a massive vessel, its length almost two hundred and forty feet. In the age of the opulent and super wealthy, the Naglfar was more than a mere yacht or megayacht. It was a level of conspicuous consumption reserved for the richest individuals in the world. The Naglfar was a gigayacht.

  Its amenities were extensive and numerous. A helipad with Wright’s other chopper was on the uppermost deck. Inside was a living space with plasma-screen television, wet bar and Jacuzzi, in addition to three bedroom suites. Wright hadn’t utilized most of the luxuries and had no intention of using them on this trip.

  “Step aboard and I’ll show you a few tools I brought along,” Thorpe said.

  The old man followed the hunter inside to the dining area. “You certainly have fine taste,” Wright remarked when he saw the weapons. An assortment of artillery was laid out on the table. Firearms, knives and gas bombs were included in the arsenal. “What kind of goodies do we have here?”

  Thorpe motioned to the guns. “Two M4s, a machete, three MP5s, and a baker’s dozen of RGD-5s I got cheap after the Soviet Union collapsed.”

  Wright said, “Impressive as this is, don’t you think it’s a bit light?”

  “This is the same equipment I bring on any safari,” Thorpe said. “Feel free to try anything here yourself. For this particular expedition, I packed an added surprise.”

  The hunter turned to a luggage trunk on the floor. Inside were the separate parts of another firearm. He set the pieces on the table then proceeded to assemble the weapon. “This is an M16, my personal favorite.” He handed the full piece to the old man.

  “Damn. With this you could take down a pachyderm in one shot.”

  “Not quite. The Asian elephant I hunted with this took two rounds. The first to slow it down, and the second as a killshot.”

  “Where was that?”

  “Laos, about three years ago.”

  “Even with all these, do you think we can stop our prey?”

  “If we get close enough, I can pump it full of tranquilizer.”

  “I don’t wanna put the goddamn thing asleep. I want it dead.”

  “Until we know exactly what your Leviathan is, this is our best bet. Then you can finish it off yourself. That’s what I’ve done for past clients. I sedate the game, and you go in for the kill. May not seem sporting or fair, but it’s the only way to level the playing field against such skillful predators.”

  “I don’t care about sporting or fair,” the old man said. “What God did to my family was neither.” Wright handed back the weapon. “Is my special delivery here yet?”

  “It arrived yesterday,” Thorpe said. “Took four of us all night to get it in place.”

  “I want to see.”

  “It’s topside,” Thorpe said. They walked from below deck and went to the bow to check out Wright’s newest plaything, a ten-foot-long harpoon cannon.

  “It’s beautiful,” the billionaire said. “How much does it weigh?”

  “Half a ton, give or take. It comes with a dozen serrated harpoons and has a lifetime warranty on all the parts.”

  Wright looked like a boy who’d received his first bike for Christmas. “Hope it lasts longer than my lifetime,” the old man mused. “See, this is more like it. I can picture this taking down our sea monster.” It was custom built to Wright’s specifications, complete with a telescopic lens and cushioned chair. It swiveled on an axis and could be fired in any direction. “I never thought it’d look like I imagined in my head.” It had been welded together in four major pieces then bolted to the deck by massive anchor plates.

  A voice said, “I hope you like it, sir. We put in a lot of hard work to make sure it was ready when you got here.”

  The old man turned and spied two gentlemen standing behind him. The tall one he vaguely recognized, but the other was a total stranger.

  “Compliments all around.” Both men realized how infrequently Oscar Wright meted out praise, so they reveled in the moment.

  “Thank you, Mister Wright,” the shorter man said.

  “You are?”

  “Douglas Hatfield. I’m first mate.” The old man shrugged. “You hired me personally. I’ve worked here two years now.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Don’t take offense though. If I don’t know your name, it doesn’t imply I don’t care. On the contrary, it means that . . . ” Wright failed to conjure a lie on the spot. “Ah, fuck it. People come and go through my life so quickly, it’s not worth learning anyone’s name.”

  “Not a problem, sir. I don’t expect you to remember me.”

  Wright turned to the taller man. “Captain, how have you been?”

  “Pretty well, sir. Yourself?”

  “We’ll see what transpires over the next few days. So far I’m in high spirits.”

  Captain Tim Jenkins had helmed the Naglfar for seven years. He lived on the yacht, and it was his responsibility to keep the vessel in pristine working order in case the old man spontaneously called and wanted whisked off to the Caribbean or elsewhere. This only happened twice a year — sometimes only once — and Captain Jenkins was paid handsomely for his time and services.

  “I assume we’re getting ready to ship off?”

  “A few last-minute things are being tended.”

  “Good, I want to leave soon.”

  “Not a problem, sir.”

  “What exactly do you need that for?” Hatfield asked, gesturing to the harpoon.

  “A little hunting.”

  “What will you do with your catch?” the captain asked.

  Wright hadn’t given thought to the prospect. What would he do with the slain Leviathan? “Figure I’ll get the best taxidermist on the East Coast to mount it as a trophy.”

  “Mister Thorpe has been kind enough to chart our course, so we’ll have an idea where we’re headed.”

  “Good,” the old man said. He wandered away, normal behavior for billionaire when a conversation grew stale. Captain Jenkins and the first mate resumed work, and the hunter joined Wright at the gunwale.

  The old man’s gaze was fixed on the Atlantic expanse beyond the harbor. “I have to draft up some papers in my study and don’t want disturbed ‘til we set sail.”

  “Yessir,” Thorpe said.

  The old man sighed. It was a full-body exhale filled with ennui for life. He coughed then, throaty and wet, before spitting over the side rail. “That thing is out there,” he said. “I feel it in my soul. And I’m going to destroy it.”

  * * * * *

  “We have a problem.”

  That was the voicemail in its entirety from Captain Bart to Kelly Andrews. After she received the message, she called him back and didn’t get a reply. That morning she drove to the Aurora expecting bad news.

  It was worse than she thought.

  She imagined the worst-case scenarios. The ship’s motor had broken, the navigational system was on the fritz, or any number of electrical or plumbing problems that could land the ship in dry dock for a week or more.

&
nbsp; Bart was in the pilothouse when she arrived. “What’s up?” she asked.

  The captain did not look pleased. “We have company.”

  “Coast Guard? Harbormaster?”

  He shook his head. “Hamilton sent someone.”

  Kelly breathed relief. “Oh, him. That’s nothing. His name’s Evan. I had dinner with him last night. Seems like an okay guy, but I want him on a short leash.”

  “No, somebody else.”

  “Who?”

  “Take a guess. He’s demanding a room of his own.”

  Kelly clenched her jaw. “That weasely little shit.”

  “I only learned about it this morning.”

  She paced a few times, thinking. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Evan entered the bridge, noticed the worry on their faces. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re unexpectedly staffing one extra.” Kelly stormed out of the wheelhouse and descended three levels to the sleeping quarters. “Where are you?” she yelled.

  “There’s no need to get upset,” Edgar Wallis said. The attorney was the most frustrating, annoying individual Kelly had the displeasure to know. “The Trustees cut a check for this voyage under a couple conditions. They want an independent expert — ”

  “Which we already have, Evan Hale, a notable ichthyologist.”

  “And they also wanted Mister Hamilton to personally attend. As his services were predisposed, he asked me to fill in for him.”

  “He asked you?”

  “Actually I offered. The way I see it, you need my manpower.”

  “That presumes you’re a man,” Kelly said. “I have to turn down your kind proposal.” She turned and started down the corridor.

  “The Trustees aren’t kidding. They’re mighty pissed at you. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

  Despite her aggravation, Kelly realized Edgar was right. “I’ll see if we can squeeze you in somewhere, maybe the head.”

  Captain Bart and Evan were chatting when she returned to the pilothouse. Rafe was there too, laughing along with the other men.

  Kelly said, “What’s so funny?”

  Bart pointed to Evan. “He’s telling us some war stories.”

  “Like what?”

  “How I once set a trap to catch poachers who were fishing with dynamite.”

  Kelly turned to Rafe and told him, “You have a roommate now.”

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Got any more tales?” Bart asked the ranger.

  Evan tried to remember another anecdote. “Oh, this one’s good. I was scuba diving in Belize, which is an island off the coast of Venezuela. And that country has a nasty reputation for drug trafficking. Dealers use low-flying planes to drop shipments of cocaine in the ocean at night. They mark the deliveries with a GPS tracer, then have associates dive down to retrieve them the next morning.

  “So I go wreck diving and see all these white bricks littering the nearby reef. It takes me awhile to realize what they are, and I collected as many as I could. Every day law enforcement patrols the beaches to confiscate as many kilos as possible before the dealers come back for their dope.

  “I got about ten that I left onshore before I called a taxi to pick me up. The driver took me back to the hotel, and when I went to pay for the fare he says, ‘This one’s on me. You already gave me a generous tip.’

  “I didn’t understand what he meant ‘til I opened the trunk to fetch my gear and saw a load of coke bricks stashed there.”

  The four of them broke into laughter. Although the others seemed to like Evan, Kelly reserved judgment.

  “How are we on time?” she asked Bart.

  “On schedule. Final preparations are underway.”

  Rafe looked out the window and motioned to the pile of wires and metal framework that had once been Kelly’s camera. “Whaddya want done with that, take it to the scrap yard?”

  “I’ll salvage what can be saved. I already promised the Institute it wouldn’t go to waste.”

  Bart moved toward the door. “You two were the last here, so everyone’s accounted for. May as well get the ceremony outta the way now.”

  “I agree,” Kelly said. She went to the captain’s console and turned on the intercom. “Attention, all hands to the observation deck. Repeat, all hands to the observation deck.”

  Within minutes the entire crew had assembled, ten members in all. Like many seafarers, the captain was a superstitious man. Before each voyage he gathered everyone together for a short ritual to bless the trip.

  “What’s going on?” Evan asked. “Employee meeting?”

  Kelly whispered, “Bart’s an old tar who clings to certain sailing rites. Just indulge him; it doesn’t take long.” Across the deck she spied Edgar Wallis and pointed out the attorney to Evan. “That guy there is Hamilton’s pet. No doubt he’ll make himself a pain in your ass too.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Okay people,” Bart bellowed, “you know how this works. Hold hands — com’on, don’t be shy.” Bart flinched when Edgar gripped his hand. “Not you, Jonah. Hold hands with someone else.”

  “My name’s Edgar,” the lawyer said.

  “To me you’re Jonah. That’s what we call a person who bears a cloud of bad mojo.”

  Edgar took another hand to complete the interlocking chain, the captain on one end and Evan on the other.

  “You there, Ethan, touch the mainmast.”

  “It’s Evan.”

  “Just put your free hand on it.”

  The ranger pressed his palm against the cold metal. “What are we doing?” he asked Kelly.

  “This supposedly draws out any negative energy in the ship and crew, transfers it all to the captain.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “See that rotten boot he’s wearing?” Bart’s left foot was clad in a soggy, cracked leather boot. “He fished that outta the water last week. All the bad luck goes into that boot.”

  Evan looked to the captain, whose eyes were closed and whose lips moved soundlessly in an inaudible prayer. The captain finished, removed the now-cursed shoe from his foot and cast over the bulwark and into the harbor.

  “Thanks for humoring me,” he told everybody afterward. “You can go back to your tasks now. Remember, we set sail within the hour.” There were a few grumbles of acknowledgement as folks dispersed, leaving the captain with the two researchers.

  “Do you believe in Santa Claus too?” Evan asked Bart.

  “It makes me look gullible, but these are things I’ve picked up over the years. Mother Nature can be a cruel mistress sometimes, and any bit to guard against her fury is welcomed. Lord knows I had enough qualms taking helm of this vessel at all.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because of the namesake. Any ship whose title ends in A has bad fortune.”

  Kelly added, “He only agreed to be captain after I explained that the Aurora is exempt from that rule since it also starts with A. She was christened in honor of the sister ship that helped Sir Ernest Shackleton’s Endurance on the first transcontinental crossing of Antarctica.”

  Bart leaned against the side rail and asked her, “What’s the rush? We’ve never done two expeditions back-to-back like this.”

  “I wanted to get on the water as a follow-up excursion.”

  “You’ve been awful tightlipped. I’m entitled to know what I’m getting my crew into.”

  “This doesn’t leave between us,” Kelly said.

  Bart nodded. “Loose lips sink ships. If I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with your little incident.” He nodded toward the crumbled mass that had been the infrared camera.

  “That’s the camera?” Evan asked. He walked off to inspect the broken equipment.

  Bart knew more than he led on. “It’s about that tooth you found, isn’t it?”

  “That’s exactly why we’re here,” Kelly admitted.

  “I’ll be damned, this is e
xciting.”

  “The Board of Trustees made me bring Mister Hale for liability reasons. His expertise should come in handy if we find the creature.”

  “When we find it,” Bart corrected. “With the Aurora we have a decent shot at tracking it. Too bad it’s not Thursday.”

  “Why?”

  “In the Book of Genesis, God created the sea creatures on Thursday. If we waited a few days, it could be a good omen.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment but we have to leave today,” she said. “Though I’ll take all the luck I can get.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THREE SHARP RAPS on the door roused the billionaire from a nap. After rewriting some business proposals, Oscar Wright had fallen asleep on the sofa in his study. It took a moment to reorient himself and remember he was on the yacht.

  “Coming,” he called. The old man got to his feet after a couple false starts. Every joint in his body throbbed in agony. Rheumatoid arthritis was one of the minor ailments from which he suffered. Wright didn’t let it bother him, except on days when the pain was so great it turned his hands into aching talons.

  He shuffled to the door and opened it a crack. “What is it?”

  The first mate said, “We’re about to leave the marina. You wanted to be informed when we were ready.”

  “Yes, right, of course.”

  Hatfield added, “Mister Thorpe wants to speak with you too.”

  “I’ll be up shortly.” The old man closed the door and took a few moments to wrestle on some footwear. Long ago he gave up on shoes that required laces, as limited dexterity didn’t allow him to tie them.

  Five minutes later he went to the weather deck to watch as the Naglfar left dock. The engines caused a slight vibration through the ship’s floorboards. He listened to their revving and viewed the yacht slowly moving from the pier. The harbor water was brown with sediment, eddies swirling around the rotors as the chasm between ship and shore widened. The Naglfar navigated to a deeper channel, marked by colored telephone poles to denote varying water depths.