Leviathan Page 23

  “Here are the lungs,” Evan said about the point where Kelly would’ve cut. His hand moved posterior to the area. “And here’s the liver. A crocodile doesn’t use its lungs the way we do. Its liver moves horizontally, acting as a piston to pump oxygen. When it slides backward, the negative pressure inside the body cavity causes an influx of air. And vice versa to exhale.” His hands swept along the flesh between the Leviathan’s front and rear appendages. “This two-thirds here is protected by the ribcage. Unless you know exactly where to slice, you’ll hit bone. Running horizontal, posterior to the liver are the diaphragmatic muscles. And layered transversely over those are the abdominals and the intercostals. There should be a place right about . . . here where the two groups are separated.” He marked a spot one-third the way superior to the animal’s hind legs.

  Using a surgeon’s care, Evan took the scalpel and made an incision where he’d indicated. Although tightly interlocked scales made it impossible for the blade to cut straight, Evan carved a flap of skin six inches long and three inches wide. Bright crimson droplets beaded in the knife’s wake, which he wiped away using a fresh handkerchief.” He handed the cloth to Kelly. “Here, a blood sample. Don’t worry, the rag’s clean.” The flesh easily peeled away from the muscle on three sides. Only a film of fascia kept the skin connected to the musculature.

  In the section he pulled back, the muscle striations were clear to see. “Up and down here are the abdominals, like I said before. And just behind them” — he shifted some of the muscle aside so Kelly had a better view of what it covered — “is what it uses to push and pull the liver to breathe.”

  Evan held out a hand. “The tracker,” he said. The ranger was surprised how accommodating the creature had been thus far. It didn’t flinch or recoil when cut, and its heart beat normal as evidenced by the steady pulse of its chest.

  Kelly took the tracer from her pocket. “I wanna make sure it’s in good condition first.”

  “How’s it work?” Evan was used to tagging gators with a clip on the leg, or gluing tracking devices onto turtle shells.

  “It emits a GPS signal that’s picked up by passing probes. The Institute piggybacks on NOAA satellites that can triangulate specific loci anywhere in the world to within a meter.” She pressed a switch on one end of the tracker, and immediately a red light blinked three times. “The transmission is sent to a portable receiver. The Institute has two of them currently: one on the Aurora and the other back at headquarters.” She was pleased with the test results.

  Evan inspected the crocodile’s wound, hand outstretched behind his back. Kelly gave him the tracer and turned as she heard a hollow thud. Evan snatched the device from where it’d slipped out of his hand and dropped to the deck. “Do these things run on batteries?”

  Kelly nodded. “Lithium cells. They last anywhere from six to eighteen months. Most of ‘em crap out after a year. It depends a lot on whether they’re used continuously or automated on a duty cycle.”

  Evan slid the tracker horizontally into the creature’s muscle fiber, running parallel to the diaphragmatic striations. “This should pose the least discomfort or friction,” he explained. “If I place the tracer alongside the abdominals, it will scrape against the other muscles with every breath.” The goal was to insert the appliance in such a way that the animal didn’t realize it was there. Kelly threaded stiff sinew through the eye of a three-inch needle before handing it to the ranger. “Thank you,” he said.

  His hands worked smoothly as he stitched together the wound, plucking the needle with nimble fingers to sew the seam closed. A few minutes later he admired his handiwork. “Not bad,” Kelly said.

  “All thanks to my merit badge in needlework.”

  “You were a Boy Scout?”

  He shrugged and said, “I didn’t have friends growing up.”

  “No kidding.”

  “So what’s next on the docket?”

  Kelly looked at her watch. It was already six-thirty in the evening — where had the time gone? Getting the creature aboard took longer than she planned, and now it wouldn’t be long before the sun started to set. “A couple more things.” She produced the recorder again and went to the crocodile’s head.

  Although the snout was chained shut, Kelly was able to examine the largest teeth poking from its overbite. One of them was missing, the same one she kept in her pocket. Setting her discovered tooth against the jawline, she saw it was a perfect match. A nub of enamel already protruded from the abscess.

  She spoke into the recorder. “Dentary tooth number three is missing from the upper premaxillary. It looks like another’s already starting to replace it.” It was common for crocodiles to lose teeth from fighting or old age; whenever one fell out, a secondary tooth supplanted it.

  Next she studied the creature’s limbs. “Five phalanges on the front hands. Phalanx number one, two and three have talons about eight inches long. Rear legs have four phalanges, the fourth of which does not have a claw.”

  She shut off the audiotape. “Do you wanna do the dirty work, or shall I? We have to find out whether it’s male or female.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “Theoretically.”

  He sighed. “I’ll do it myself.”

  Between the creature’s rear legs was a cloaca, the reproductive organ for reptiles of both genders. It was a rippled mound on the underside, a hole leading to either a vagina or penis. During intercourse the penis distended to enter the female’s cloaca, where her eggs were stored prior to nesting. The normal way researchers checked for sex was to stick a finger into the cloaca to feel for a penis (or lack thereof). It was something Evan had done countless times before, except never on an animal this large.

  The ranger reached over the Leviathan’s underbelly to probe the creature’s cloaca. Although he normally used his pinkie for such delicate work, his whole hand disappeared up to the wrist. Evan searched and found nothing. He pulled out his glistening hand with a grimace and said, “It’s female, so far I as can tell.”

  Kelly noted that in the tape. Evan started across deck toward the superstructure. “Where are you going?”

  “Gotta wash my hands.” In that instant the way the waning sunlight hit Kelly made her look weary. “How much sleep have you gotten?” he asked.

  “In the last week?” The dark semicircles under her eyes were the size of quarters. “I’ll sleep when we get back to shore,” she said defensively. She couldn’t stop staring at the Leviathan. It looked peaceful on deck, not the same ferocious beast that had killed an unknown number of people.

  He sensed her troubled thoughts. “You don’t want to let it go.”

  She really didn’t. Too much effort had gone into capturing the thing, and now they planned to free it without reservation. “I’ll keep it overnight to monitor, make sure there are no side effects or complications from the sedative. Then we’ll release it tomorrow at first light.” Kelly was tired enough to nap standing up. “Does that sound selfish?”

  “Not at all,” Evan said. “What Wright wanted to do, that was selfish. So long as you set it free, there’s no harm done. My advice is to post a few people out here — Rafe and a couple interns maybe — and then come inside with me. I could use your help.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Hittin’ the books. I brought along several volumes I’d like to research, see what information can be culled from them.”

  “I doubt there’s anything in your books about the Leviathan.”

  “I’m not so skeptical. We may properly name it yet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  KELLY LEFT TWO guards to oversee the Leviathan (plus the ever-vigilant captain standing watch from the bridge) and retired with Evan to the ship’s study. The library was a barren room used more for extra storage than actual research. Most of the bookshelves were devoid of tomes, instead decorated with knickknacks and framed photographs of prior voyages. One solitary shelf was crammed with educational volumes and yellowed, pulp paperbacks.<
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  Almost all the technical journals and reference materials were heaped in piles on the table, both scientists perusing them. Evan and Kelly scoured the books at a brisk pace, scanning for pertinent passages and checking glossaries to reference and cross-reference relevant entries.

  A wireless laptop was open in front of Kelly. She’d sent an email to Lucas Hamilton and attached a photo of the specimen. No message, no note, just the picture.

  When they started their search, Kelly didn’t know where to begin. Evan handed her a book entitled Nature’s Family Tree. She skimmed it for twenty minutes, tracing the lineage of crocodilians over millions of years as they originally evolved from Cotylosaurs in the Paleozoic Era. That limb branched into the Thecodonts about 230 million years ago, the dawn of the Triassic Period. Those eventually split into various offshoots, including the saurischian and ornithischian dinosaurs. The present-day genus of crocodylia was separated into three distinct families: alligatoridae, crocodylidae, and gavialidae (the last of which the Leviathan seemed most closely related). As expected, she found no exact match in any of the texts.

  After two hours Evan went to the galley for a snack. By that point Kelly gave up on the volumes and had turned to the Internet in hopes of unearthing any tidbits, even a footnote.

  Evan had been thoroughly engrossed in one specific book for the better part of an hour and had scribbled three pages of notes in his cramped handwriting. When he left she peeked at the title: The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs.

  He returned with bottles of water for each of them. “Whaddya working on?” she asked.

  “Just thoughts to myself. What about you, come across anything juicy?”

  She shook her head and closed the laptop. “Not a whisper of the creature. I think it’s something new altogether.”

  “Or something ancient,” Evan said. “What if we’re dealing with a living fossil? Something that once walked the earth but died out eons ago. Modern crocodiles aren’t that different from those of the Mesozoic Era, only smaller.” He rifled through the pages of his dinosaur book. “When I was a kid, like most boys I wanted to be a paleontologist. From my childhood I vaguely recall reading about an animal called the deinosuchus. It was a thirty-foot crocodilian found in North America.” He found the right page to show the marine biologist. It illustrated a giant crocodile jumping out of a river to snatch a low-flying pterodactyl.

  “That isn’t it,” she said.

  “I know, I know. This set me on the right path though. In a couple books I kept running across one name, Sarchosuchus imperator.” He flipped to another page, and Kelly’s heart skipped when she saw the accompanying sketch. The minute details weren’t perfect — the color of the scales for instance — but that was to be expected since paleontology was equal parts art form and scientific discipline. “Outside the academic community, it’s known as the SuperCroc.”

  “That’s brilliant,” Kelly said. She took the book from him to read the supplemental article.

  “It says the first evidence of a skeleton was excavated in the 1940s by researcher Alfred de Lapparent.”

  “Where was the dig?”

  “Middle of the Sahara in what’s now Niger.”

  “The SuperCroc,” Kelly said. “They got that right. Helluva long way from Africa though.”

  “Not when you take Pangea into account. One megacontinent that connected every thriving species at the time. When continental drift shifted apart the tectonic plates, it left fossilized bones spread around the globe thousands of miles from their places of origin. This could be the same type of thing,” Evan said. “The oceans were filled with creatures so foreign to us that nowadays they’d probably be considered alien. Beasts which dwarf our fiercest predators.”

  Kelly scanned a passage of the book. “It says the SuperCroc went extinct 110 million years ago.”

  “We have a specimen that proves otherwise. Lapparent only found a few scutes and teeth. From what I understand, a full skeleton has yet to be discovered.”

  “We found a real, living dinosaur,” Kelly said slowly, allowing that fact to register in her brain. “How can something like that be part of our world?”

  “Not our world,” Evan said. “It’s theirs. By all accounts dinosaurs should rule the earth. The asteroid that wiped them out sixty-five million years ago was like a reset button for evolution, and it allowed mammals — and man, eventually — to flourish. If that had never happened, humans wouldn’t have had the opportunity to survive and become the dominant species.”

  Kelly opened her computer again, did an Internet search for SuperCroc. She linked over to an essay about an African excavation headed by Doctor Felix DeSalvo.

  “I bet this DeSalvo guy would love to hear from us.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He led a botched expedition a few years back. I guess he tried to exhume some SuperCroc bones.”

  “I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Evan said. “This is strictly a need-to-know situation. I’m already afraid an intern might leak our find.”

  “Don’t worry about the newbies. Everyone who works for the Institute signs a confidentiality agreement. If anybody goes to the press, that person’s out of a job.”

  “They won’t need one if some magazine offers enough cash. I wouldn’t put anyone above selling us out.”

  Evan made a valid point that concerned the marine biologist. She grew increasingly paranoid, rolling through a mental manifest of everyone onboard. She’d been shocked by Rafe’s betrayal and understood any of them could deceive her for the right price.

  Her mind wandered to the email she’d sent Hamilton. Was it possible for a third party to intercept the message? “Do you think someone’s already — ?”

  “No,” Evan said. “Don’t let your imagination get the best of you.”

  “You’re right. I’ll gather everybody together before we disembark to stress the importance of discretion.”

  “That’s a good idea. And if anyone believes — ”

  A loud, screeching wail reverberated through the Aurora. The noise echoed in the corridors, permeated every room with a jarring siren that was instantly recognizable as the emergency alarm.

  Captain Bart’s voice came over the intercom. “All hands on deck. Repeat, all hands on deck.” Kelly imagined a liberated Leviathan charging the superstructure, devouring interns as it escaped into the sea.

  The scientists bolted from the library and joined a couple students as they rushed topside. Kelly was first on the observation deck.

  The crocodile was chained exactly where she left it.

  Oscar Wright waited nearby for the others, firearm in hand. The interns she’d tapped to protect the creature stood wide-eyed beside the old man. Thorpe guarded the gangway, a silent sentinel.

  “Permission to board?” Wright said dryly.

  Kelly seethed with rage. “Denied.”

  “Then consider this a hostile takeover,” the billionaire said. “It wouldn’t be my first.”

  The students recoiled when they saw the old man’s Glock. Edgar Wallis came on deck with Captain Bart. The marine biologist gaped at the captain and asked, “What the hell?”

  “They threatened us,” Bart explained. He kneaded his Miami Dolphins hat in his hands. “I had no choice.”

  “We could’ve outraced them,” she said.

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “How many do you have aboard?” Wright asked.

  Kelly stepped forward and spoke for the Aurora’s entire crew. “Nine, including myself,” she lied. There were actually ten members in all. “That’s nine to one betting we can wrestle that weapon from you.”

  “But you won’t,” Wright said. He understood group dynamics and had already sized up the other personnel. Kelly, Evan or Bart may challenge him. Anyone else would kowtow to his demands. And if Wright made an example of their dear leader, nobody would dare oppose him.

  “Leave them out of it,” Kelly said. “This is between you and I.”


  “Wrong again. You’re quite the narcissist. This isn’t about you. It’s never been about you. This is between me and that thing.” He gestured with his gun to the Leviathan.

  “I won’t let you hurt it,” Kelly said. Her resolve was unwavering, and for that alone the businessman respected her.

  “You’re in no position to dictate what happens here.”

  Edgar walked next to the marine biologist. “Mister Wright, you don’t want to do this. There are severe ramifications for yourself. Any court of law — ”

  “Any court of law wouldn’t convict me for shit.”

  “If you go back to your yacht right now, I promise to be your legal counsel. We can get leniency from a judge. Put the gun away and we’ll talk. Probation, a fine, psychological treatment perhaps — I guarantee no jail time.”

  “You think I’m insane?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Edgar retracted. “I believe you’re dealing with a tremendous amount of stress and need a proper outlet to vent.” He took a slow step toward the old man then another. Wright’s grip on the Glock tightened and Edgar froze.

  “Why are you doing this?” Evan asked. “I thought you were headed back to shore.”

  “That was never his intention,” Kelly said as she realized the old man’s true motives. “After seeing our facilities here, he knew we had a better chance of catching the Leviathan than him. And rather than risk his own life like we did, it was a lot easier to steal it from us.”

  “She’s as smart as she is beautiful,” Wright said.

  “You backstabbing sonofabitch.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “It doesn’t need to be like this,” she pleaded.

  “It really does. I played the nice guy, gave you the opportunity to take your pictures and your notes. Even offered to share the body after I was finished with it, and you rebuked me. That was a one-time offer. Now when I kill the Leviathan, I’m dumping the carcass in the ocean. Within a month there’ll be nothing left: the flesh consumed, the bones scattered.”