Free MEG: Nightstalkers by Steve Alten Page B

socket against the surface in looping east-west gyrations, scooping up great swaths of sea, which rolled the fishing boat.
    Realizing he had just “poked the bear,” Steven Lebowitz raced up the ladder to the helm and powered up the engines, slamming down the throttle.
    *   *   *
    For Lucas Heitman, the miracle of his rescue had turned into a nightmare.
    Rising within the wooden crate, he braced for the impact of the swarming juvenile great whites—only to see them flee into the kelp forest. Elated, the diver whispered a prayer of thanks into his regulator, then wondered how his employer would react to the loss of the abalone.
    Alexi’s going to be pissed. No doubt Donna will blame it on me.
    Looking up, he saw the boat’s hull pass overhead—and realized, to his horror, it was one of the Megalodons. The monster’s belly and pectoral fins resembled a small passenger jet, its tail methodically pushing it into an easy glide which ended with a ballet-like vertical ascent as Lizzy’s head broke the surface.
    Helpless and terrified, Lucas could only hang on and wait while his crate continued to rise alongside the Megalodon’s gently swaying caudal fin, the half-moon-shaped appendage channeling a rush of water that pushed him beneath the boat.
    Twelve feet from the keel all hell broke loose.
    Blood splattered across the surface—which erupted in a maelstrom as the forty-six-foot albino beast shook its head to and fro beneath the frothing shallows, unleashing a tornado of kelp.
    Seconds later the twin engines spun a dervish of bubbles and suddenly the crate—and Lucas—were bouncing along the surface.
    *   *   *
    The MH-65C Coast Guard helicopter chased its shadow over the emerald-green waterway, approaching Obstruction Island from the west. The co-pilot’s eyes shifted from the white speck on the horizon to the airship’s fuel gauge. “Captain, we’re on fumes. One flyover, then we need to refuel at Shaw Island.”
    Captain Royston glanced at Mac. “Don’t look so worried, grandpa . There’s always a little reserve left in the tank.”
    “Really, douche bag? Because my wife says the same thing … just before she runs out of gas.”
    Jonas had moved nearer to the open cargo door, the shifting cabin making it difficult to keep his binoculars trained on the fishing boat up ahead. For a brief second he thought he saw Lizzy’s head poised above the water … until the frame spun away as the craft beneath his feet started losing altitude.
    *   *   *
    He needed to head north for the safety of East Sound, only the Lebofilm ’s bow was pointing south. As Steven Lebowitz accelerated and then pulled his boat into a tight portside turn, the former movie producer realized he had made a costly error.
    The anchor was dragged thirty feet through the kelp forest roots, digging in tighter and deeper until it had become firmly entrenched between two rocks. The more Lebowitz gunned the engines, the higher his bow rose and the less his boat moved.
    “Son of a bitch!”
    Tethered to the bottom, they were sitting ducks.
    *   *   *
    The Coast Guard chopper hovered sixty feet above the rotor-blown surface, its crew mesmerized by the spectacle taking place below.
    The fishing boat’s twin engines were running at full throttle, yet the charter seemed frozen in place. Twenty feet to port was the Meg. Like the ship, the albino monster seemed stuck in place, its enormous head—easily the size of the ship’s bow—whipping the sea as if the shark had gone insane.
    “Captain, I’ve got the target sighted!”
    “Hold your fire until that boat clears the area.”
    “Why isn’t it moving?”
    “Its anchor’s hung.”
    Jonas focused his binoculars on Lizzy. “Mac, she’s wounded.”
    “Good. Where’s Bela?”
    Jonas’s flesh tingled. Where was Bela? “Captain, watch our altitude!”
    The reflection of the late afternoon sun and the propeller-whipped whitecaps had camouflaged Lizzy’s dark-backed