MEG: Nightstalkers by Steve Alten Page A

the airship fell forty feet, collapsing onto the beach.

 
    6
    Aboard the Supertanker Mogamigawa
77 Nautical Miles South of Japan
    The converted Japanese supertanker, Mogamigawa moved through the dark waters of the Western Pacific, displacing 300,000 tons. She was as large as they came—a Malacca-max VLCC (very large crude carrier) designed with a draft shallow enough to navigate the Straits of Malacca, the preferred route between the Persian Gulf and Asia. A floating steel island, the Mogamigawa and her sister ship, the Tonga were 1,100 feet in length and 196 feet wide, with a superstructure rising out of the stern that towered twelve stories. But it was the converted crude holds that made these goliaths unique—six large seawater pens, each rubber-lined saltwater tank equipped with saline and temperature controls, along with jet stream breathers designed to tranquilize, subdue, and safely transport extreme aquatic life forms that were larger than whales and bore the ferocity of a tiger.
    Accompanying the Mogamigawa was the Dubai Land-II, a 196-foot, 280-ton fishing trawler which held two Manta submersibles designed by Jonas and David Taylor. The pilots aboard the DB-II had been trained to use their subs to entice a targeted sea monster up from the depths of the Panthalassa Sea—a prehistoric purgatory isolated beneath the Philippine Sea Plate. That mission had shifted dramatically (to the sub pilots’ relief) when several species had escaped into the Western Pacific.
    The Boeing CH-47 Chinook twin engine heavy lift helicopter hovered above the Mogamigawa ’s helipad. Fifteen restless passengers were seated in the cargo bay, exhausted from their ten hour flight into Tokyo. Upon landing, they had been ushered through customs and taken by bus to a commuter airport for the two hour helicopter ride south.
    The Chinook touched down with a double thud . The bay door opened, venting the hold with a blast of cold air.
    Amanda Silvernail, the executive producer, stood watch over Nichole Middelkamp, her petite green-eyed assistant, who passed out manila envelopes to each of the ten female contestants. “You’ll find cabin assignments and a map of the ship inside. The local time is nine-fifteen p.m. Breakfast is in the galley at eight, followed by video bios. Get some sleep, ladies, tomorrow is a big day. If you need anything contact Nichole.”
    The women grabbed their suitcases and makeup bags and formed an exit line. As they passed Monty, two Egyptians and a Syrian model ceremoniously slapped the Iraqi War vet across his face—all to the delight of James Gelet, who was filming everything (the cameraman having sent a text moments ago that the man they had seduced aboard the 747 was not in fact David Taylor, but an imposter assigned to the tanker as a short order cook).
    David winced as another dark-haired beauty smacked Monty atop his head, cursing at him in Arabic.
    “Was it worth it?”
    Monty rubbed his skull, his cheeks—swollen and red. “Well, that hellcat wasn’t, but the other three … hell, yes. Did you know ancient Roman priestesses called vestal virgins were required to keep their hymens intact as proof of virginity until they were thirty years old, or they’d be buried alive. That’d be my dream job—hymen inspector.” He nodded to Jackie Buchwald, who was seated four rows back. “What’s with the strawberry-blonde? You’ve been giving her the evil eye for the last hour.”
    “Her? Nothing.”
    “Studious type, but definitely cute. One of the reality show producers?”
    “She’s with the aquarium … a marine biologist who thinks she knows it all.”
    “Uh oh. You either like this chick or she makes you Bushusuru .”
    “What?”
    “ Bushusuru . It’s a new Japanese word for vomiting in public. It was created after George Bush Sr. vomited on the Japanese Prime Minister.”
    “She was playing head games with me, Monty.”
    “Big head or little head?”
    “I gotta get some air.” David