Project Hyperion (A Kaiju Thriller) (Kaiju #4)

Only about twenty feet of the whale rolls in the surf, which means it wasn’t bitten in half, “It was bitten in two tenths.”


“That doesn’t even make sense,” Collins says, but it’s just a whisper. She’s fixated, as I am, on the helicopter’s spotlight as it pans farther down the beach, illuminating three more partially consumed whale carcasses, lined up like a plate of sausages big enough for a god.

Nemesis.

“I think you were right about the creature,” Zandri says.

“It’s growing bigger,” Collins says, finishing the detective’s thought.

I nod. “A lot bigger.”





36



By the time we get back to FC-P, it’s two in the morning, and after the last couple of days, my eyes are hanging heavy. I sit at my desk while retelling the details of what we found at the beach. I ask Cooper to put the Coast Guard and Navy in the area on a higher alert, and ask that those sweeping the waters to the north, work their way south. My last request is a pot of coffee.

When Cooper leaves, Watson confirms that the land in Alaska is owned by a series of shell companies leading back to Zoomb. As he explains how he uncovered this information, I lean my head back and close my eyes. I hear him saying something about showing me satellite photos of the site.

And then, the coffee is there, tickling at my nose.

I open my eyes to what feels like a spotlight. “Turn the lights down,” I say, covering my face with my hands.

“Hard to turn off the sun,” Cooper says.

The sun?

I open my eyes again, moving out of the light by rolling my chair to the side, and I find the early morning sun pouring through the fourth story windows, the way they do every morning.

Cooper stands next to me, still looking impeccable in her power suit, but there are bags under her eyes. She stayed up all night. She’s holding a large, steaming coffee mug.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep,” I say.

“I would have woken you if anything new developed,” she says.

I take the mug, and take a blissful sip. My body relaxes from the heat, familiar flavor and the knowledge that caffeine will soon hit my bloodstream. I blink my eyes and sit up straighter. Watson is at his computer, typing away. He doesn’t like to use the same cup twice, so there’s a collection of empty coffee mugs next to his workstation.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Six in the morning,” Cooper replies.

Six is hardly my typical wake-up time. Cooper’s words sink in—I would have woken you if anything new developed. My heartbeat doubles its pace. “What happened? Do we need to leave?”

“Nothing that requires immediate action,” she says.

As my racing heart slows, I notice that Collins and Woodstock aren’t present. “Where are the others?”

“I assigned them rooms on the second floor,” Cooper says. “They decided to sleep when they saw their fearless leader passed out in his chair.”

I look up at her in time to see a small smile before she can hide it. “Coop, was that a joke? And a smile? We’re going to have to keep you up all night more often.”

“I’d rather not,” she says, returning to her normal straight-faced self. For a moment, I wonder if she’d be a fun drunk, but then I remember seeing her drink half a bottle of wine one Christmas while we three loners, with no place to go, watched the snow fall, and later, kids sledding in a neighboring backyard. The alcohol seemed to have no effect, but that might have simply been a result of whatever Christmas memories she was trying to ignore. That, or she just needs something stronger. An experiment for another day.

“Do you want me to wake them?” she asks.

“Get Collins,” I say. “Woodstock needs as much sleep as possible.”

She nods in agreement. “Tired pilots are never a good thing.”

“And he’s old,” I say, looking for a smile. Nothing. “Tell me what happened.”

“Last night, sometime before you were called out to see the whales, a booze cruise steamship out of Portsmouth disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Last known contact was with the harbor master, who ordered all ships dock after the creature took to the ocean in Portland.”

I nod. I’m the one who made the request that all ships return to port.

She continues. “But the ship never returned. There was no mayday sent. No GPS locator activated. This morning, the Coast Guard spotted debris that could have come from the steamship, but there was no way to identify it. However, based on the circumstances, I think it’s safe to say that the ship was destroyed and everyone on board killed.”

I cringe. “How many on board?”

“Manifest shows three hundred, but it was a private party, so whoever showed up was let on board. The person running the ticket booth at the time said he stopped letting people on board once it reached capacity.”

“Which is?”

“Three fifty,” she replies. “Apparently, many of the last to board were...entertainment.”

“You mean hookers,” I say.

She nods.