Age of Blood

9

A fifty-four-foot fishing yacht waited for them when they bobbed to the surface. They boarded, dragged the TUV with them, then began removing their scuba gear. The stern deck was lit by a pair of lights from the cockpit, which could be reached by ladder over a bunkroom with two long benches and a bar at the back. Meanwhile, a tall African American with a close-cropped, dyed-yellow Afro brought out a six-pack of Corona. He wore UDT shorts, flip-flops, and a shirt that said I’d Rather Be Fishing. He had a soul patch beneath his lower lip in the shape of a diamond.

When he passed the beers out, Holmes said, “Thanks, J.J.”

“No problem at all. Glad you had the time to come down and do some fishing.”

“Except it’s not your kind of fishing,” Walker said, standing with his wetsuit peeled down to his waist. He drank deeply from his bottle.

“You don’t know what kind of fishing I do down here,” J.J. said. “I could be doing anything.”

“Knowing you, I bet you spend most of your time fishing for mermaids,” Laws said good-naturedly.

“I do spend a considerable time in search of Mrs. Jones number five. I keep doing interviews, but still not hiring.”

“Interviews.” Laws snorted. “Good one. Here, let me introduce someone to you. Petty Officer First Class Jack Walker and Petty Officer Second Class Shonn Yankowski, meet Lieutenant Commander Jingo Jones, BUD/S Class 231.”

“Retired,” J.J. added. “You can call me J.J., just don’t call me Jingo.”

“J-I-N-G-O and Jingo was his name-o,” Laws said, as if on cue.

“Need I say more?” J.J. looked pained as he took a sip of his own beer.

Walker stuck out his hand. “Call me Jack.”

“You can call me Yank, then,” the newest SEAL added.

Triple Six finished unsuiting, then climbed into shorts and T-shirts from their dry bags, which J.J. had retrieved for them. When the scuba gear was stored and Holmes had reported in to Billings, they sat around relieving the stress from the mission.

“So, what brings your spooky selves down here?” J.J. asked.

Walker and Yank glanced at each other.

Laws stared at Holmes, deferring to him.

Holmes leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring into the beer bottle. “How much do you know about my team?”

Not our team and not the team, but my team. Walker liked the sound and feel of it. It gave him a strong sense of belonging.

“Other than the rumors, not much. I know you guys had a serious op in Southeast Asia. I know you did something in West Africa last year. I know that right about the time I was getting ready to retire there were rumors of you guys somewhere north of Point Barrow, Alaska, doing something in the snow.” J.J. looked at the others. “SEALs don’t do snow.”

“We do if there’s an abominable snowman taking out scientists studying the ever-expanding hole in the ozone,” Holmes said matter-of-factly.

Everyone was quiet for a moment as J.J. stared at him, wide-eyed. Then he said, “Just like that. You’re going to tell me just like that.”

“This isn’t an interrogation. You wanted to know, now you know.”

“Is this a read-on?”

Holmes nodded.

J.J. stood and hammered the air with his fist. He glared at Holmes, shaking his head. “Fuck. Why’d you do that?”

“We need your help.”

“I would have helped, Sam. You didn’t have to lure me in.”

“What just happened?” Yank asked.

Laws grinned conspiratorially. “See, J.J. wanted to remain aloof and too cool for school. As long as he wasn’t read on to our mission, he had zero responsibility toward us, other than past friendship. But the commander headed him off at the pass and gave him classified information. Now either our boss is off reservation and illegally divulging classified information, or he spoke with Billings, who gave permission, knowing that once J.J. knew the mission, he’d be forced to assist us.”

J.J. nodded. “What he said.”

“You left off one thing,” Holmes said.

“And what’s that?” Laws asked, and then he grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t tell me she authorized that.”

Holmes nodded. “She did.” He turned to J.J. and stood. “Lieutenant Commander Jingo Jones,” he began. “You—”

“Oh, hell no,” J.J. said, as if he knew what was coming.

“—are hereby RTD—returned to duty for a period not to exceed one week, during which time you incur all the benefits of an active duty Navy seaman, and must adhere to the regulations thereof.”

“Fuck me.” J.J. took a deep swig of his beer. When he was done, he added, “Don’t expect me to cut my hair.”

“You can keep the hair.” He placed a hand on J.J.’s shoulder. “Listen man, this was the only way I could do this. We seriously need your help and time is of the essence.”

J.J. shook his head, then went and brought back six more beers. He was about to pass them out when Holmes shook his head. “No more. We’re on mission.”

J.J. pointed at Yank. “And that, my little brother, is why I quit the fucking navy. Too many rules.” He took the beer back inside, this time returning with water bottles. He passed them out, sat down, and looked expectantly at Holmes. “Okay motherfucker. Dish.”

Holmes smiled tightly. He gave J.J. the Cliffs Notes version, while Laws brought a tablet computer from his dry bag and showed the footage. When they were done, J.J. sat back and stared at the members of Triple Six. Walker couldn’t tell if he was astounded or if he couldn’t believe what he was being told. But then he did something Walker never would have anticipated. He broke out laughing. The laughter continued, while the members of Triple Six became increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally Holmes couldn’t take it anymore. J.J.’s laugh had gone from humor to ridicule. “Do you want to share?”

J.J. choked and finally stopped. “And you’re serious about all that sea monster shit?”

“Yes.”

“And about the senator’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Who told you that it was an oarfish that took her?”

“SPG. Special Projects Group. Analysts and specialists from the agency providing direct support to our ops.”

“They must be on a Jules Verne kick, because there aren’t any oarfish big enough on the planet to carry off a person like I saw there.”

Walker jumped in. “How can you be so sure?”

“I know these waters better than the honeyed thighs of the lady who does my hair, and let me tell you, I know those thighs. If there was an oarfish that size, then you’re talking an apex predator. I’d know about it before I ever saw it. Schools of fish would go missing. Sport fishing would be disrupted. A hundred different things would be affected. No, ain’t no oarfish that big.”

“What about a Humboldt squid?” Walker asked.

“Sure. They get that big, but they don’t look anything like what took this girl.”

“Then what is it?” Yank asked, looking from one team member to another. “If you’re so sure what it isn’t, then tell us what it is.”

J.J. stared at the frozen image on the tablet. “It has the length of a mature oarfish. I see that. I also see something like dorsal and pelvic fins.” He shook his head. “This is definitely not an oarfish. If I was to bet, which I won’t, but if I was, I’d say it was an axolotl. But that can’t be, because the largest one I ever saw was about this big.” He held his hands about a foot and a half apart.

“What’s an axolotl?” Holmes asked. “Maybe it’s a giant one.”

“Still hard to believe. An axolotl is actually a salamander and not technically a fish. Locals call the small versions ajolete, but it’s really old Aztec, mainly found in Lake Xochimilco beneath Mexico City.”

“Wait—there’s a lake beneath Mexico City?” Walker asked. “Do the Mexicans know this?”

“More than that. There’s a whole other city down there. The Spanish built right on top of where the Aztecs used to live. And now the ajolete are near extinction. Can’t be more than a few thousand left. What makes them interesting, which is why I actually know something about them, is that during their larval stage they don’t metamorphose, which means they retain their ability to breathe underwater as well as breathe air. In fact, they can actually walk.”

“You’re talking like an expert,” Holmes said. “Didn’t know you had a degree in marine biology.”

“Hardly.” J.J. shook his head. “During the long hours between fish strikes there’s little to talk about other than the sea. I had a foursome hire me out for a week. Archeologists, I think. Some of it must have rubbed off on me.”

“Here,” interrupted Laws. “I did a search and found some references. Look at the picture.”

Everyone crowded around Laws and his tablet, which showed a small salamander with wavy appendages around its body, similar to an oarfish’s.

“How could one get that big?” Yank asked.

“Radiation?” Laws shrugged. “Go ask Godzilla. I don’t know.”

“And you’re sure this picture isn’t doctored?” J.J. asked.

Holmes and Laws looked at each other.

J.J. persisted. “You did have someone check, right?”

Laws spoke first. “This came from a security camera on a hotel.”

“Which just happened to be pointing down at the area the senator’s daughter was taken from. Right?”

“But why would someone want—”

Laws turned to Holmes. “She might still be alive.”

Holmes nodded thoughtfully. “Got to make a call.”

“Now we’re talking.” J.J. sat down on one of the benches and crossed his legs. “Jingo Jones to the rescue once more. What else you bad new SEALs need from this old-timer?”