Leviathan Page 9

  The hunter snuffed out his cigar in the ashtray on Wright’s desk. “Let’s get on the water,” he said. “Assuming my fee isn’t too rich for you.”

  “Anything you request will be at your disposal: the latest equipment, the newest technology. Name your price.”

  “My retainer is fifty thousand, plus ten grand a day.”

  “Good. Fine. Whatever.”

  “And I ask to be paid upfront. Cash only.”

  The old man turned to the portrait above him, which swung out on a hinge to reveal a secret vault. He punched in a four-digit code on the keypad to unlock it. Wright opened the door, pulled out a wad of crisp Federal Reserve Notes and counted off several. He handed the bills to the hunter.

  Thorpe counted the money. “This is only twenty-five.”

  “You get half now and the rest when that monster’s gutted and hanging on my wall. After the Ararat debacle, I’m leery of so-called specialists. I won’t be burned again.”

  Thorpe decided the terms were acceptable. “Fair enough. I look forward to working with you.”

  “For me,” the old man corrected. “My secretary will be in touch with the specifics. We’ll be leaving after the weekend.”

  “Very well.”

  “Now if you’ll excuse me . . . ” Wright buried his nose in some paperwork.

  Thorpe stood and said, “Of course.” He took the old man’s cue and exited, closing the penthouse doors behind him.

  Wright’s vision drifted back to the Bible. He reread the Job passage twice more before getting up. His attention focused on the painting that overlooked him, to the family he couldn’t have. The billionaire remained like a statue for several minutes, engrossed in recollections and lost chances.

  The butt of his cigar hung loosely from slack lips. He finally took it from his mouth with one hand, wiped away a tear with the other. The cigar hovered above the ashtray and beside the open-faced Bible. He extinguished the stogie on the book, its heated tip burning through several onionskin pages.

  The lonely billionaire dried his eyes and activated the intercom. A voice chirped from the lobby: “Yes, Mister Wright?”

  “Have the jet prepped. I’ll be traveling to Florida.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A SINGLE THOROUGHFARE, Highway One, joined the disparate Florida Keys and stretched north to south. The sole entrance and exit to the islands, it served as the only route to safety from approaching tropical storms. Driving south from Miami, the first islet was Key Largo, followed by Islamorada, Marathon, Big Pine and Key West at the very tip. Seven Mile Bridge connected them together, traveling parallel to an abandoned railway bridge built by tycoon Henry Flagler.

  During hurricane season — the second half of the year, from June through November — the highway was prone to traffic jams. To help ease congestion, Monroe County implemented an evacuation strategy that allowed mass departure in shifts, starting with the southernmost part of the Keys and moving north. Although tourists took the hurricane warnings seriously and were the first to leave, only sixty percent of the eighty thousand permanent residents did the same.

  Most of them were jaded about the storms, refusing to abandon their fortified homes for anything less than a Category Three. Even those who lived in the trailer parks that littered the Keys chose to stay, opting to keep plywood boards on their windows year-round. The islands suffered from severe flooding in even minor storms, since their highest point of elevation was Windley Key, eighteen feet above sea level. As a storm surge swept in, the Gulf of Mexico swallowed the isles.

  The Keys weren’t the cleanliest part of the state. Garbage and leftover hurricane debris was strewn about any time of year, stray animals picking at trash piles. Keys’ residents were Americans and Floridians, but not in the traditional sense. They prided themselves on being different from the continental U.S., much like Hawaiians and Alaskans. Life went at a slower pace — what locals called Keys’ time — and everyone lived by the motto that it was too damn hot to work hard.

  Kelly Andrews rented a small place on Islamorada. There were no houses available for fewer than two hundred thousand dollars, and those were fixer-uppers. The home she found was no different, in need of heavy repairs that she kept putting off. The front door was rotted around the edges. The roof should be re-shingled. It wasn’t leaking yet but had an embarrassing amount of black moss growing on it. The driveway was cracked, the living room required re-carpeting, and the bathroom shower sprayed only cold water. All these tasks she would’ve forced her husband to tackle; because she was single, they went unfinished.

  The neighborhood itself was less than ideal. All the houses on the block were identical, only their garish paintjobs setting them apart. Yellow, tan, lime green and salmon were common hues. They’d been constructed in the 1950s as low-priced incentives to lure new teachers to the Keys.

  There were two messages on Kelly’s answering machine when she returned from the supermarket. She unloaded three bags of groceries before listening to them.

  “Hey Kelly,” a raspy voice said. “This is your father.” Any time they spoke on the phone, he prefaced their conversation with This is your father, as if she wouldn’t otherwise recognize the sound of his voice. “It’s been awhile since I heard from you, and I wanted to check in. How did your trip go? Call me back when you get a chance. And use the home number — I still haven’t figured out how to use that goddamn cell phone you bought me. Talk to you later.”

  She felt bad about not calling her father. Paul Andrews made an effort to be in her life nowadays, and sometimes she wanted to be more receptive to him. Kelly erased the message, and the machine clicked over to the second voicemail.

  “Hi Kel, it’s Lucas. I talked to my friend, Evan. He agreed to join the expedition. I also spoke with the Trustees and persuaded them to write a check for forty thousand. I know you think that’s a bit thin, but it’s the best I could do.

  “I made reservations at Blue Haven for Sunday at six. Evan will meet you there, and I’m sending your tooth down with him. He’s a good guy, so play nice. I’ll see you next week.”

  Kelly glanced at the clock over the kitchen counter. It was twenty minutes to six. She cursed and darted into the bedroom. Rifling through the closet, she found a couple respectable outfits. The red dress was too revealing. She didn’t want Mister Hale to think their meeting was anything less than professional. The green one wasn’t bad, except it didn’t have straps and she wasn’t about to go braless. At last she uncovered a suitable ensemble. When in doubt, go with the little black dress. It was simple, elegant and didn’t show off her breasts.

  Ten minutes later she’d applied her makeup and done something halfway decent with her hair before dashing out the door. The restaurant was a fifteen-minute drive away and her favorite place to eat, no doubt the reason Hamilton chose it. She arrived five minutes after six: not bad for time, considering.

  A waitress welcomed her with a smile. “Thank you for dining at Blue Haven, how many in your party?”

  “I’m looking for someone actually,” Kelly said. “His last name’s Hale.”

  The young lady checked a roster and frowned. “No one here by that name.” Kelly mentioned Lucas Hamilton, in case the director had accidentally put the reservation under his own name. The woman shook her head. “No one under that name either. I’m sure he just hasn’t shown yet. Do you still want seated?”

  “I’ll wait in the bar, if it’s all the same. Send him over when he shows up, okay?”

  “Sure, absolutely.”

  Kelly thanked her and made a beeline for the bar. Half a dozen television sets were tuned to various sporting events. The largest, a sixty-inch screen positioned on the rear wall, played a baseball game between the Tampa Bay Rays and Cleveland Indians.

  The bartender looked barely old enough to drink the alcohol he served. “What can I get you?” he asked.

  “House draft is fine.”

  A few moments later he returned with a bottle of Michelob. She reac
hed for her purse and stopped when he said, “Ladies’ night tonight. It’s free.”

  “Awesome,” she said. “Much appreciated.”

  She spent the next five minutes feigning interest in the baseball game before boredom set in and she reached for her mobile phone. She replayed some old voicemail messages in a lame attempt to look busy.

  Hamilton wanted her to be fair, not biased toward the stranger. But if that bastard Hale planned to stand her up —

  A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you,” a voice said. Kelly turned to face the man behind her. He was tan, about six feet tall and had sun-bleached hair. “Doctor Andrews, right?”

  “It’s Kelly,” she said.

  “I’m Evan.”

  “No, you’re fifteen minutes late.”

  “Sorry ‘bout that. I just got into town and checked in at the motel. Didn’t even have time to unpack before driving over here.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “You want to pick a table somewhere?”

  Evan spotted a door leading to an outside terrace. “How about some fresh air?”

  They found a table outdoors kept shaded by a canopy. Cigarette smoke wafted in the gentle breeze. “Are you a smoker?” Kelly asked.

  “Not anymore. Still like the smell though.”

  A waiter approached them for drink orders, handed each a menu.

  She read over the entrée choices and asked, “How do you know Lucas?”

  “We were frat brothers in college. He originally wanted to major in economics, and I urged him to switch to the sciences.”

  “No wonder he runs the Institute like a business,” Kelly said.

  “Did you first meet him at work then?”

  Kelly shook her head as she took a sip of beer. “I knew him before. He offered me a job when he was put in charge. I’d just finished a project in Australia at the time.”

  “The Great Barrier Reef, right?”

  “Coral stagnation, yes. You read it?”

  “I saw it in one of the academic journals, can’t remember which,” he said. “Lucas said you need my help labeling an animal you encountered.”

  Kelly balked at the man’s arrogance. “I can identity it myself. The fact is the Board of Trustees wants a third party to tag along.”

  “Lucas said he didn’t see it himself. Did you get a clear look at the thing?”

  “Only through thermal imaging and infrared.”

  “And it wrecked your gear?”

  “Thoroughly.”

  “That’s too bad.” Evan set Kelly’s prized tooth sample on the table. “He showed me this too.”

  “What do you think of it?” she asked.

  “It’s hard to form any theories on evidence so subjective. It could belong to almost anything.”

  “So much for your expert opinion.”

  “Don’t get defensive,” Evan said. “We need more data is all. I assume that’s what this other trip is for?” Kelly nodded. “What did it look like on infrared?”

  “I didn’t see much, but it definitely had a tail and no discernable fins.”

  “How long would you guess it was?”

  “I’d say thirty feet. The trunk itself was probably half that.”

  “Do you really believe this is something undocumented? Or are we going back to Hamilton with another story like the Saint Augustine blob?”

  In 1896 a decomposing “sea monster” washed ashore outside America’s oldest city. Spectators and researchers thought the massive glob was a significant marine discovery. After thorough examination, it was determined the specimen was actually the rotting carcass of a giant octopus. While larger than anything on record at the time, it was hardly a new species. Since then the scientific community had been cautious of anyone claiming new zoological finds.

  “I keep telling myself not to get excited,” Kelly said. “It could turn out to be nothing. If I’m right though — ”

  “We’d be set for life,” Evan said. “Book deals, the lecture circuit, professional adoration, you name it.”

  “Who’s we?” she asked. “I discovered the thing.”

  “And you need me to verify it.”

  “I don’t need anyone,” Kelly shot back. “Lucas only asked you to come aboard ‘cause the Trustees want a babysitter for me.”

  “Then you should stop acting like a child.” Evan intended the comment to be lighthearted. A glowering Kelly hadn’t interpreted it that way. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean — ”

  “Of course you did,” Kelly said. “Don’t sweat it. I put my foot in my mouth all the time.”

  The waiter returned and asked for their orders. Evan had the steak with asparagus spears and Kelly wanted the tilapia.

  “Figured a marine biologist never ate fish,” Evan said.

  “I prefer to think of it as a delicious autopsy on my plate.”

  “Oh, she does have a sense of humor,” he said. “When do we leave port?”

  “Tomorrow morning at ten. I can’t risk having this creature disappear. Hopefully it’s still somewhere in the same location.”

  “That’s like finding a needle in a haystack the size of Vermont.”

  “I have to try. The ship’s sonar should help. I’ve been charting water currents to get an idea what direction it might head. The Coast Guard supplied me with information about missing boaters and whatnot. It appears there is a loose connection to a few of them, moving up from south of the Keys. Couple of their guys even allege to have seen the thing.” She finished her beer and set it aside.

  “What did they say it looked like?”

  “They claimed it was a dinosaur.”

  “A dinosaur?” The ranger was more than a little skeptical.

  Kelly shrugged. “They said it, not me. I wanted to leave yesterday, but Hamilton made me wait for you. The Aurora’s gassed up and ready.”

  “We’re taking the Aurora? I thought that vessel was decommissioned. It’s been around forever.”

  “Forever and a day. I’ve been using it the last several years. It’s still seaworthy, though not the prettiest thing to look at.”

  “I did a stint on the Aurora as an undergrad. Spent about three months there, the summer of ’92.”

  “So you know the place inside and out.”

  “If nothing’s changed.”

  “In 2000 the Institute had some extra riggings put in and replaced the photo lab after a fire. Other than that, everything’s the same.”

  Their meals came ten minutes later, and they dined in relative peace. The sky turned from blue to a shifting indigo as the sun set. They chatted about their childhoods — Evan grew up in Florida, while Kelly originally came from Southern California.

  After they finished Evan reached for the check. Kelly snatched it away first. “It’s on me,” Evan protested.

  “No, it’s on the Institute. Hamilton will reimburse me.”

  When they walked inside to pay, they noticed the restaurant was abnormally quiet. Until a voice boomed, “Goddammit, I said medium well.” Kelly and Evan saw an old man in a corner booth scolding a red-faced server. “Take it back to the kitchen and prepare it like I ordered. Otherwise I’ll buy this whole fucking place and fire every last incompetent dipshit who works here. Starting with you.”

  “Is that who I think it is?” Evan whispered.

  “He looks younger on TV.” Kelly passed through and paid the bill. Before leaving she said, “I wanna say something to Mister Wright.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “He doesn’t scare me. I bet he’s all bark and no bite.” The researchers approached the billionaire’s booth. Oscar Wright sat by himself, his back toward the other patrons so he didn’t have to look at anyone else.

  “Mister Wright?” Kelly asked.

  “Whaddya want? I don’t sign autographs.”

  “No, I’d like to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “My name’s Kelly Andrews. I work for the S
iesta Key Research Institute.”

  “That sounds familiar. How do I know it?”

  “About fifteen years ago you were our first generous benefactor. You donated the five million dollars we needed to operate after our government subsidies fell through. We managed to stay open because of you.”

  “You paid back the money, right? Because I don’t so much give to charity as loan cash from the Wright Foundation, most of which comes from other wealthy donors.”

  “Yessir, the Institute has paid you in full.”

  “Then why are we talking?” Wright asked.

  “I’d like to offer you a tour of our facilities, considering you helped pay for them. We’re in the midst of exciting porpoise research, and we’re devising new ways to fabricate artificial reefs. There’s evidence we can speed coral growth by — ”

  Oscar Wright waved her away. “Not interested, Miss. Peddle your wares elsewhere.”

  Kelly’s face flushed with indignation, and Evan interceded on her behalf. “Forgive us for interrupting your meal. I’m certain you’re a busy man.”

  “I’m in the Keys for the next few days on vacation. Got a bit of deep-sea fishing lined up.”

  Evan tugged at Kelly’s arm. “Good luck with that.”

  The old man mumbled under his breath and turned back to the table. As Kelly and Evan left the bistro, they heard him shout at another waitress for some minor infraction. On their way out the door Kelly commented, “What an asshole.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IAN THORPE GREETED the old man when Oscar Wright arrived at the dock the next morning. A limousine drove the billionaire to Longboat Harbor, and he walked to where his yacht was moored at Pier Six. Half an hour after sunrise, the sky was a milky pink. The weather radio called for a cold front to blow through at midday, bringing strong winds and moderate sea chop. A small-craft advisory had been issued in advance of the front. Luckily for Mister Wright, his ship was no small craft.