Leviathan Page 14

  “Tell me, what did you see when the creature attacked?”

  “I saw exactly what you did.”

  “You have a different perspective than me. What kind of animal was it?”

  “I only saw the underbelly from the corner of my eye. A flash of white and black, then it was gone. I did see scales though. Teeth and scales.”

  “So it is a reptile?”

  “I’d say so,” Thorpe said.

  “Do you think it could be a dragon?”

  “Like a komodo dragon? Nasty buggers, those. Even their bite is poisonous.”

  “I mean like in fairy tales.”

  “I don’t believe in magical animals,” the hunter said.

  “Have you heard the term polygenesis?” Thorpe stared blankly at the old man. “It translates as many births. It’s when a single idea comes about simultaneously in disparate locations, usually as folklore or urban legend. Dragons appear in mythologies around the world, particularly in tales from the Orient. They may not look or behave the same in all accounts — some of them bring luck while others portend destruction — but there’s a common thread. Dragons are part of our collective unconscious.”

  “Are you gonna pay me to hunt unicorns too?”

  The billionaire ignored Thorpe’s pale humor. “It’s possible dragons did exist at some point and remain nowadays through oral storytelling. They could’ve become extinct before the advent of the written word, and all we’re left with are bastardized versions of their existence. Literally Chinese whispers.”

  “They were a reality,” Thorpe said. “The dinosaurs. And they all died out millions of years ago.”

  “Are you certain about that?”

  “If they still existed, we would’ve discovered them by now. There are very few places in the world, if any, left untouched by cartographers or satellite maps.”

  “I’m not convinced such places haven’t survived.”

  “Then what accounts for the total lack of knowledge about your Leviathan?”

  “Maybe God kept it hidden.”

  “Your Bible again,” the hunter mumbled.

  “The Talmud also mentions the creature. It explains how God originally created two Leviathans, a male and female, and killed one of them when He realized the fearsome beasts would overrun the earth.”

  “What about the Koran?”

  “Supposedly Muhammad thought that a monster — ”

  The yacht rocked violently to the side.

  “It’s back,” the old man said.

  The hunter dashed to starboard and looked at the mass swimming beneath the vessel. “It’s the whales,” he said. “They’re getting aggressive.”

  “The Leviathan must’ve driven them back to the surface,” Wright said.

  “If that’s true, it probably breathes air.”

  “Lends credence to the reptile theory.”

  “I count eleven around the ship,” Claude reported from the bridge.

  “They’re circling pretty fast,” the billionaire said. “Something has ‘em spooked.”

  The captain asked, “Can I borrow those binoculars?”

  The old man handed them to Jenkins. “What do you see?”

  “Ten degrees east of here. It keeps slipping between the waves.” He peered at the vast stretch of water. “About fifty yards out.” He gave the binoculars back to Wright.

  The old man saw nothing.

  Until there came a brief glint in the distance, a flash instantly obscured by the rolling waves. The Leviathan waited for them, biding time for its own moment of providence.

  Wright again espied a softball-sized knot above the waterline. “Thorpe, get over here.”

  The water around the Naglfar churned with activity. The whales regrouped and now crisscrossed paths to fend off the encroaching beast.

  The hunter stepped beside the old man and took the binoculars. He pinpointed the creature, a mere sliver of scales bobbing on the sea. “Stealthy,” he said. “Stealthy and patient, a dangerous combination.”

  “Patience was a virtue I was born without,” Wright said. “When can I kill it?”

  Thorpe was about to chastise Wright for his haste when the beast moved. At least the hunter thought it had. It was difficult to tell without a stationary point of reference.

  It shifted again soon thereafter, traveling silently through the waves like a snake crossing a vegetable garden. That time he was certain it had moved. “It’s coming our way,” he said. The skilled hunter kept a watchful gaze on the creature, and the Leviathan stared back with as much interest in turn. A single yellow eye surveyed him, its black pupil perpendicular to the horizon like a feline’s.

  Off the prow something else caught Thorpe’s attention, a sizeable chunk of meat. It was the remnants of the dolphin chum, an ample piece bitten from the flank. “It left the rest,” Thorpe said.

  “Does that mean something?”

  “It prefers live prey.

  “For the thrill of the hunt,” Wright said.

  The ship rocked again as another whale brushed the hull. Their blowholes hissed at regular intervals to scare away the Leviathan. It wasn’t working.

  “Look at that one,” the first mate said. One of the smaller forms separated from the gam and headed west away from the creature.

  “A juvenile,” Thorpe said. “It best get back with the others if it wants to survive.”

  At the same time, no one noticed the Leviathan sink from view.

  One of the adult sperm whales followed after the wandering adolescent. That’s when the captain spotted another figure closing in fast from the east.

  “I see it,” Jenkins said.

  The juvenile surfaced for a breath of air, giving the ferocious Leviathan opportunity to attack. With a massive snap of its jaws, the beast tore into the whale. The larger adult realized the lost cause and returned to the pod while the creature feasted.

  The men on the yacht listened to the juvenile’s pained screams. None of them had heard a whale’s wail before; it sounded like an off-key string solo.

  The Leviathan took one bite and held onto the thrashing whale like a rodeo champion atop a bucking bronco. The creature arched its ridged back and dived into the ocean, taking the whale underwater as it spun. The motion reminded Thorpe of a tree trunk rolling downhill. He had seen similar behavior before from only one type of predator.

  He turned to the old man and found Wright no longer next to him. “Where’d he go?” Thorpe asked the captain. Jenkins pointed at the billionaire on the bow.

  Oscar Wright sat behind the harpoon cannon, grinning so wide it hurt his saggy jowls.

  The others rushed to the old man while the Leviathan finished rending its meal to shreds.

  “What are you doing?” the captain asked Wright.

  “It’s now or never,” he said.

  “Let’s not be reckless.”

  The old man glowered at the captain. “I’m not about to let it get away. God’s already stolen too much from me. I won’t have Him take this too.”

  “If that’s what you want,” Thorpe said. The enormous size of the creature surprised even the hunter. It had to be upward of forty feet long and weigh about ten tons. Thorpe didn’t feel safe with that beast anywhere near the Naglfar. He wanted it dead too, and if the old man preferred to do the wetwork, that was Wright’s prerogative. He twisted the contraption on its axis so the billionaire faced starboard.

  “Clear the area,” Thorpe told the crewmen. “Step back and don’t make a sound.” Jenkins and Hatfield went to the stern.

  The old man’s face was sweaty and pale. He looked like a reanimated corpse sitting on the prow of the yacht. “Are you all right?” Thorpe asked.

  The billionaire waved him away. “I’m fine, mother.”

  “Remember the moment of providence,” Thorpe advised.

  “I’ve waited my whole life for this.”

  The hunter selected one of the harpoons and loaded the projectile into the cannon before taking his place
behind the old man.

  Heart racing, Wright sighted the Leviathan through the scope. His finger rested on the trigger.

  The creature was twenty yards from the Naglfar, chomping on the remains of the whale. Only its bulbous snout and the pink of its mouth were visible.

  Wait. Wright’s head filled with memories of his wife and child.

  Wait. Joseph was supposed to take control of Wright Enterprises when he retired. Except that would never happen, and the company would likely fall to competitors after his death.

  Wait. Brenda had wanted to move to Italy. He took her there for their fifth wedding anniversary where both of them fell in love with the country.

  No more. Those fantasies had been worn away. Not shattered by tragedy so much as eroded by unjust fate.

  The creature stopped feeding and looked at the Naglfar.

  No, not the yacht.

  At Oscar Wright.

  NOW!

  The billionaire targeted the fleshy area inferior to the creature’s snout, submerged just below the waterline. The harpoon fired from the barrel like a horizontal lightning bolt.

  The Leviathan reacted in that same second, diving beneath the waves. It had time enough to half-turn before the spear pierced its back.

  And bounced off.

  The projectile bent from the tremendous velocity yet failed to puncture its mark.

  “Goddammit,” the old man said. “Reload.”

  When he rises up, the mighty are terrified. They retreat before his thrashing. The sword that reaches him has no effect, nor does the spear or the dart or the javelin.

  Verses from the Book of Job rattled through Wright’s mind. “Closer,” he said. “I need to get closer.”

  Thorpe placed another harpoon in the cannon. “Make this one count,” he said. “This may be your last shot.”

  Wright nodded and fought off a dizzy spell.

  Then the coughing began. Only a couple chest spasms at first, quickly followed by violent hitches that wracked his elderly frame. The captain and first mate rushed to their employer’s side. Wright slumped out of the chair and dropped to his knees as the strength ran from his legs.

  “Sir, are you okay?” Hatfield asked.

  The old man pushed them away and struggled to his feet. He spoke between forceful fits. “Is . . . is it . . . still . . . around?”

  Ian Thorpe searched the area for any sign of the Leviathan. While he saw none, he knew the beast may be lurking under the water.

  “You need to rest,” the first mate said.

  “Stay . . . back.” The old man reached a trembling hand into his pocket and produced a bottle of pills.

  “What are those?” the hunter asked Captain Jenkins.

  “I can’t tell you,” he said, “medical confidentiality.”

  Wright dropped the vial by accident and it slid across deck.

  “I’ll get it,” Hatfield said.

  Another ferocious coughing spell hit the billionaire. It felt as though his insides were worming their way up his throat.

  The wet hacking worsened as he spewed a spray of bright blood onto Thorpe’s shirt. The hunter recoiled in surprise.

  Hatfield scrambled to retrieve the pill bottle and brought it back to the captain.

  “It’s too late for those,” Jenkins said. “He’s too far gone. I’ll need the kit.”

  The first mate ran inside the superstructure to recover emergency supplies.

  Thorpe wiped the red droplets from his cheek. “I demand to know what’s happening,” he said.

  “Don’t worry, I’m trained to treat him. Sometimes he gets like this.” Jenkins assisted Wright to lay supine on the deck. “Take it easy . . . Breathe deep . . . Breathe . . . Breathe . . .”

  It became the captain’s mantra until Hatfield returned with a medical bag. “We need Doctor Lehman,” the first mate said.

  “He’s on vacation in Fiji,” Jenkins said. “Usually Mister Wright’s private physician travels with him,” he explained to the hunter.

  The billionaire’s bloodshot eyes rolled back in his head. He started to convulse, a thin line of spit dribbling from his lower lip.

  The captain said, “He’s seizing. Get the phenobarbital.”

  Hatfield opened the kit, found the proper medication and a syringe. “How much?”

  The old man didn’t shake violently, only enough to send tremors throughout his body. “Hold down his legs,” the captain told Thorpe. The hunter lent a hand, surprised by the old man’s wiry strength. “I’ll need sixty milligrams.”

  “Should I radio for help?” Claude asked over the intercom. He watched the commotion from the bridge. Captain Jenkins made an X with his arms to signify No.

  The first mate unloosened Wright’s belt, folded it over and placed the leather strap between the old man’s chattering teeth. Then he offered the needle to Jenkins, who pinned down Wright’s arm with his knee to inject the medicine. The captain winced as the pain in his injured shoulder returned.

  Thorpe had witnessed many traumatic incidents in his professional life — a man mauled by lions in Malawi, a woman attacked by a shark off the Australian coast, a mountain climber who accidentally hanged himself with his own rappelling equipment — but this was the first time he’d responded to this type of health crisis.

  Jenkins read the ambivalence on Thorpe’s face. “This has happened before. It’s been awhile since the last bout though.”

  The phenobarbital took immediate effect. Within minutes the tremors subsided and color flooded the old man’s ashen face. His eyes refocused while his breathing returned to normal.

  “You still with us?” the captain asked. “You had another fit.” Jenkins’ tone was calm and measured, as if he spoke to a child and not a seventy-three-year-old man.

  Wright had a pounding headache, pain stabbing behind his eyes. “You used the phenobarb?”

  The captain nodded.

  Wright sat up with a grimace. His appendages were tense and drained of energy, as though he’d competed in a grueling triathlon.

  The captain checked him over with a penlight. The billionaire’s pupils dilated properly and his heart palpitations had ceased. “You should be fine. You need to get in bed at once.”

  The old man was resolute against the idea. “Absolutely not. I won’t be confined on my own boat.”

  “Sir, your health — ”

  “ — is fine for now,” he finished. “This too shall pass.” He got to his legs using Thorpe and Hatfield for support, then he stomped his feet a few times to work the tingling paresthesia out of his limbs. Wright turned to the hunter. “Can you fly?”

  “I have a pilot license, yes.”

  “Good, fire up the chopper.” He motioned to the helicopter on the top deck.

  “To travel for help?” Hatfield asked.

  “No,” Wright snapped. “Not so long as that Leviathan’s still alive.”

  “I’m not certain it’s around anymore,” Jenkins said. No one had spotted the creature since Wright’s health scare.

  “I agree that turning back is our best option,” the captain said.

  “I won’t step on dry land ‘til I have the stripped hide of that hellish beast with me.”

  Thorpe realized there’d be no convincing the ornery old man, so he started toward the heliport.

  “I’ll toss overboard anyone who mentions retreat again, use you as bait for the Leviathan.”

  The two employees understood the old man wasn’t joking. They left as Wright followed Thorpe to the helipad.

  The deck vibrated as the helicopter powered up. The rotorblades spun slowly, increased intensity until they blended together in a slow-motion blur. Thorpe helped the old man into the rear cargo area before buckling himself into the cockpit. “I want a view of the whole region,” Wright shouted over the din. “Fly in a spiral pattern until we spot the Leviathan.”

  Thorpe handed Wright earphones to protect his hearing from the roar of the rotors. The hunter was able to pilot almost a
ny machine if it could get off the ground, including the billionaire’s Augusta A119 Koala.

  The chopper was soon ready for liftoff. It left the yacht, Wright watching out the open door as the Naglfar sank below them. They hovered a hundred feet above the ocean while examining the vicinity. The whales were nowhere to be found, having fled to safety elsewhere.

  And there was no evidence of the Leviathan.

  “Take us higher,” Wright shouted.

  At three hundred feet, the gigayacht appeared the size of a football. Wright searched in all directions and saw only waves into the horizon.

  He twirled his finger and said, “Let’s circle ‘round.”

  Thorpe arced around the Naglfar in a counterclockwise loop. The yacht shrank into the distance until it became no bigger than a matchbox car.

  That’s when Wright spotted his prey.

  The creature was a massive black shadow just under the water, racing east at twenty knots. “One of the whales?” He motioned wildly until Thorpe spied the animal too.

  Thorpe shook his head. “That’s your dragon,” he said.

  “Get us closer.”

  The chopper dipped toward the water. It hovered fifty feet above the waves, whipped the water directly beneath it into a circular frenzy. The form dived out of sight.

  “The noise is scaring it off.”

  “There’s nothing I can do about that,” the hunter told him.

  “Take us to one hundred feet and keep it level.”

  Thorpe raised the helicopter to a higher altitude. Wright hoped the sounds might diminish enough to coax the beast back to the surface. He needed something more effective, something to force it topside and send it toward the yacht.

  The old man unbuckled his harness. “You need to stay seated,” Thorpe pleaded.

  “Just do your job. I can take care of myself.”

  Thorpe was hesitant to bring the old man along, and he didn’t want Wright taking unnecessary risks. He also realized the billionaire wouldn’t heed any orders from him. Thorpe worked for Wright, not the other way around.

  The old man stood and swiveled around to the rear seats. Air blasting into the cabin nearly knocked him down. Thorpe told him, “Close that door right now.” The old man ignored the request. “What the hell are you doing?” Ian Thorpe expected the billionaire to be eccentric; the longer he spent with Oscar Wright, the more he believed the old man was downright unstable.