Free Meg: Origins by Steve Alten Page B

air tanks.
    A fourteen inch section of the reinforced fiberglass housing had been peeled back, leaving a gaping hole.
    What the hell could have done that?
    He knelt by the assembly, his light revealing a triangular white shape lodged in the tank—an object that clearly didn't belong there. Danielson gripped and twisted it free, sharp serrated edges tearing the flesh of his right palm.
    Sweet Jesus…
    For a long moment he stared at the object, his bleeding hand cleansed by the rain. Concealing the six inch weapon under his jacket, he walked toward the stern rail.
    The ship’s twin propellers churned the dark waters into a trail of foam. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Danielson tossed the white Megalodon tooth into the Pacific Ocean, returning it to its rightful owner.

Epilogue
    Naval Medical Center
San Diego, California
Two months later…
    “THE HEARING WAS A JOKE. My JAG officer essentially told me my career was over, that the best deal I could make was to accept the dishonorable discharge and complete a three month psychiatric evaluation. I actually felt relieved this morning when I got the note that you finally wanted to see me. Guess I was lucky the hospital was in San Diego. At least my wife can visit.”
    “And does she?”
    “Does she what?”
    “Visit you. It’s been a month. Has she been back since the men in the white suits brought you in?”
    “She’s been busy. She just started working weekends at a local television station.”
    “Which leaves Monday through Friday.”
    “What are you implying?” Lying on the leather sofa, Jonas Taylor sat up and gazed at the psychiatrist. The man had his bare feet propped up on the oak desk, the drab white wall at his back harboring framed diplomas and a few naval photos.
    “Implying? Nothing. In fact, it’s common for spouses of dishonorably discharged officers to distance themselves at first. Same thing happens with drunk drivers who kill innocent bystanders. Forgiveness takes time.”
    “Now that I think about it, Maggie seemed more upset about me losing my commission than killing those two scientists.”
    “Women… Actually though, I was talking about you. I’ve been watching you since you got here. You’re angry. You feel used. Abandoned by the Navy, your brothers-in-arms. You also feel guilty about what happened on the dive. You’re a moral guy. We need to work on that.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “For starters, Bo Peep, if you can’t deal with death then don’t herd sheep and for Jesus freakin’ Christ’s sake don’t join the military. No sane person dives the Mariana Trench; those two eggheads knew the risks just as every soldier knows the risk when he enlists. Two guys died on your watch. Deal with it. I’ve been in combat and I’ve killed other human beings. It’s a sucky, clouds-of-doom feeling, and even though it’s true, the whole ‘doing it for God and country’ business still doesn’t heal the wound.”
    “What does?”
    “Instead of moping around, try doing something nice for a stranger. Help others who are less fortunate than you. You’re staying in a hospital, how about visiting some sick people? There’s an entire ward of kids with cancer here—teach ‘em how to play poker. God will judge you when He’s ready; use the time you have left to give Him as many positives on your resume as you can. At the same time, stop being such an all-American hero patsy. You should have told Danielson and his piss boy, Heller, to take that last dive order and shove it up their asses.”
    “Dude, you don’t sound like any shrink I’ve ever met.”
    James Mackreides grinned. “That’s because I’m more of a life coach.”
    “Hey coach, how come you’re not in any of the family photos on your desk?”
    “We’ll discuss that in the EVAC chopper.”
    “EVAC chopper?”
    “The one on the roof. We’re taking it to tonight’s 49ers-Cowboys game.”
    “You have tickets?”
    “Hell, no. I figured