Chapter No. 3 Unlocking of the Abyss

After parking their Blazer, Eric hurried to catch up to his wife. She seldom waits for him, often entering the Pacific Institute of Oceanography Marine Biology building minutes ahead of him. She enjoys a brisk walk up the expansive marble-tiled walkway, past beds of hyacinths and jasmines, to the excessive chrome and glass entrance so typical of sixties institutional architecture.

This time he caught up to her before she made it to the entrance, but his success had a price. A young man dressed in black sweatpants--tall, long legged, short dark hair, well-trimmed mustache on an angular face--grabbed a package out of his wife's hand and ran off.

"Stop, thief!" Eric took off after him like a cheetah chasing after a gazelle.

Eyes wide with alarm, Margaret yelled at her husband, "Eric! Wait!"

He ignored her and ran as fast as he could after the thief: down the walk; into the parking lot; up a small grassy rise to another parking lot; in between cars and trucks; into a wooded section; back onto a walkway; around people strolling to work. He was breathing hard, gulping air through his mouth fast enough to dry his throat. Legs pumping like pistons, he kept the thief in sight, but he was falling behind. He could see his great opportunity at glory slipping away with his fading legs. Try harder. Harder, damn it. Run. Run. See Eric run. See Eric huff and puff.

I've got to get that tape. Got to! Everything depends on it. Everything!
 
When the thief reached a chain link fence, he easily climbed over it. When Eric reached the fence, he stopped and fell down next to it. The cold wire felt good on his back, but he was gulping air like it was his last to breathe. His chest throbbed and his head felt like it was in a spin cycle. He could hear his heart beat like thunder in his ears and his whole body was covered with sweat. He watched the thief finish going over the ten-foot fence and drop to the ground.

"Damn. Damn you." He could only manage a wheezed whisper over his efforts to suck air.

The thief smirked and ran off leaving Eric working hard to catch his breath.

Eric slowly trudged back to the main entrance like a whipped puppy. He found his wife patiently waiting.

"I couldn't catch him, Love. I guess he got our tape."

She gave him an amused grin. "I hope he likes the movie."

Eric stared at his wife with a puzzled expression.

"Well, dear, that was Citizen Kane. I know how you like Orson Wells. I was going to surprise you."

Eric's eyes widened and then he began to laugh. He pointed at her and then himself and laughed harder.

"You thought that was our tape?" She giggled.

He shook his head up and down. They both laughed, slapping their thighs and pointing at each other, impervious to everyone and everything. Employees entering the building gawked at them and wondered if the hysterically laughing couple had gone bonkers or were reverting to childhood.

Laughter is a release. Release is a cure. Anxiety needs a cure. Laugh 'til your head aches, your jaws tighten, your eyes bulge. Feel the cure.

Suddenly, Eric stopped laughing, and his wife followed suit. They stood there staring grimly at one another, not saying anything, just staring with eyes that reflected both pain and fear.

They knew that the cure was worse than the disease.

###

Eric Hauptman swallowed before he scanned the faces of the members of the peer-review committee seated around the large table that dominated the Institute's main conference room. He was about to address a very distinguished group of scientists--specialists all, and he felt his knees weaken.

Sitting at the head position was long-faced, stiff-jawed Dr. Anderson, trying to project a facade of administrative control. He has a Ph.D. from MIT, but he had given up research work to earn a doctorate in Business Administration at Harvard.

And to his right was good old George Stevens, the organization's principal antagonist. His Ph.D. came from Cal Tech and he has a reputation for churning out publications. George always looks as if he has a bad case of hemorrhoids.

Dr. Conners sat next to him despite the fact that she pretended to despise him. Joyce A. Conners is a respected expert on marine evolution and has published several papers on the evolution of cetaceans. As a matter of fact, she's the best marine evolutionist in the field.

Sitting at the far side of the table was the Nobel winning bioengineer, Dr. Josh Talliman, exuding an aura of superiority to go with his good looks. Tall, rustic blond hair, and a distinguished face that hides his age well, his specialty is the communication dynamics of cetaceans and other marine mammals.

The others are less noted, except for Dr. James L. Wang--for all intents and purposes the best marine biologist on the planet. Short of stature, but not of reputation, his inscrutable face reveals no emotion--or agenda.

Eric knew this wasn't going to be one of his better days, so he cleared his throat and waded right into it. "My wife and I called this meeting to discuss a possible new species of marine life that we chanced upon during the last expedition to the Galapagos Islands. We were--"

George Stevens raised an impertinent finger. "I don't understand. We already have copies of your report for that expedition. We've had them for months."

"This information was withheld . . . ah, because we wanted to confirm its authenticity and it's, ah . . . well, it's controversial. You'll see what we mean when you view the tape. My wife and I would prefer not to influence your judgment. Let's view the tape now and you can come to your own conclusion."

Eric waited for Anderson's nod before he pressed the play button of the conference room's main video system. A large screen lit up with images of choppy waves crashing onto a dark volcanic slag-strewn shore. Sheets of water occasionally cascaded over the screen's image, depositing drops. Teasing scenes of the world below the surface flashed onto the screen, scenes populated by a myriad of shark species, some menacingly approaching the foreground of the image.

"This recording was made about a hundred meters off the western shore of Fernandina, the most western island of the Galapagos group. We had just arrived on station and were about to begin our run when we were greeted by this."

Suddenly, the zoom lens of the camcorder pulled a spot near the shoreline closer to reveal blurry images of three figures perched on rocks.

Icy silence.

The astute audience viewed the scenes with expressions of shock. Eric could see the disbelief in their faces, so he knew his next words would be the most important weapons he had available.

"Needless to say, we were both stunned. We did have enough presence of mind to turn on the audio. The sounds you will now hear were made by those creatures"

The room was filled with rhythmic high-pitched tones that had an alluring musical quality. The tones varied in frequency over several octaves and they often were accompanied by a series of rapid clicks, noises reminiscent of the sputtering of a motorboat.

"We attempted to move closer, but we obviously frightened them and they took refuge in the sea. As you can see, they swim with the speed of dolphins."

"Are you suggesting that these are dolphins?" Dr. Conners asked, raising her hand like a student.

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm . . ." He glanced at his wife. "My wife and I are not even sure that they're real. We hung around the area and used sonar scans, but we never made another sighting. We were unable to substantiate the sighting."

The view screen went blank and the meeting degenerated into murmured conversations that grew louder with each moment.

"Before we get into a discussion concerning this data," Eric shouted over the din, "I would like to say something." He paused to wipe his brow. All attention was riveted on him, a fact that made him more uncomfortable than he already was. "In all the years that my wife and I have spent exploring the oceans, we have never been as stunned and, yes, as frightened as in this instance. We would normally write this type of observation off to exhaustion, illusion, or even hallucination, but the tape--we just can't dismiss it. We've viewed the tape over and over and submitted the images on it to exhaustive computer analysis. They're real! I don't know how it's possible, but they're real."

Dr. Anderson was the first to speak. He cracked a brief smile before he returned to his administrative face. "I can understand why you were reluctant to report this. My mind just refuses to believe what my eyes have seen."

Stevens quickly injected his own opinion with an annoyingly harping tone. "This could very well be a hoax. There's no way that such creatures can be real. They're probably scoundrels wearing suits."

"That's possible, but unlikely," Conners said. "They move too fast to be humans. Besides, those islands are difficult to approach."

"Well I don't care. I've been on several expeditions to the Galapagos region. Granted, they're some of the most rugged islands in the world, but people can still go there. They get thousands of visitors every year and there are many thousands of inhabitants. And besides, if these creatures are real, I can't understand why they've never been sighted before. Many research teams have explored those islands. In fact, we've sent quite a few from the Institute."

"So what." Conners said. "Many species go undiscovered, especially in the Galapagos. We have no choice but to send another expedition to investigate the sighting."

Stevens' face reddened. "Get serious! Those things are just figments of drunken sailor's imaginations. They usually turn out to be manatees, dugongs, or sea lions. We can't afford to involve the Institute in such a ridiculous project. We would become the laughing stock of the scientific world."

Everyone turned to Dr. Anderson, who was repeatedly tapping his index finger to his lips. He looked right at Stevens. "You're absolutely right, George."

Stevens sported a smug grin.

Anderson wasn't finished. "However, we may be able to resolve this dilemma without any hullabaloo. We have an upcoming expedition scheduled for the Galapagos. No one need know about this--outside this room, that is. If another sighting could be made." He sprang up out of his seat like a jack-o-lantern. "Even better, if one of them could be captured, we could do a complete study; otherwise, the whole matter can simply be dropped."

He turned to Eric and his wife. "Is that satisfactory to you two?"

They both nodded.

"Good. Now we can all get back to our work."

Stevens stood up and shouted, "This is ridiculous! How in the hell can we waste precious research time on this nonsense?"

Eric's face began to redden, but Anderson stopped the impending eruption before it started.

"Say, George, why don't you accompany the Hauptman's on the expedition. I'm sure they'll welcome your skepticism."

That generated laughter. Eric's face softened.

Dr. Stevens wagged his finger at Anderson. "Science needs my brand of skepticism, and you damned well know it!"

Anderson laughed as he swiftly strolled out of the room. Many of the retreating scientists joined in the laughter. George glared at the Hauptman's before he took his leave.

Eric leaned forward to grasp his wife's hand. "Well, Love, I'm afraid we've stuck our proverbial necks out several leagues this time."

Margaret's eyes flashed with frustration and her abdominal muscles tensed. "Damn it! I warned you. What will we do if we can't find them again? They already think we're old fools."

"That's just something we'll have to chance." Her husband leaned back on his chair and stroked his beard. "Risk is what research is all about. Besides, let them think what they want. If we're successful, they'll be laughing out of the other sides of their faces."

Margaret wasn't as optimistic. Her stomach churned unpleasantly.

###

Turning into a narrow driveway, the black limo tilted violently to one side before it spit gravel when it accelerated past an old brick factory. Rows of small windows flashed by, many replaced by steel sheets infected by patches of rust. Scraps of paper and dust swirled in the cyclonic wake of the speeding vehicle, encouraging rats to take refuge in holes gnawed out of rotting doors.

The limo slowed long enough to allow an occupant to disembark before speeding up again. The former passenger, a tall thin young man dressed in black, hurried to a doorway and pressed a button mounted along side the hard steel door. A small slot slid open and two steely eyes peered out. The young man brushed a clump of black hair from his face and stood motionless while a red beam scanned his right eye. After a pause, the door swung open and the young man entered. The entrance clanged shut like a cell door.

Julius Stram stared blankly at a monitor and tried to calm his churning stomach by sipping warm milk. The remedy wasn't working, but he had no choice. His wife insisted that he acquiesce to her homespun advice, and he did not wish to argue with her. Argument precipitates pain, and the last thing he wanted to see is his wife suffering a migraine. Her stability deteriorates quickly when she endures her life's burden.

The door to his office flew open and his wife burst in with a beaming smile and a videotape. He held a hand to his mouth to conceal a burp.

"Oh, Julie, the tape has finally arrived. Now we will see the Amphitrite."

"You are jumping to an unsubstantiated conclusion, my Pet," her husband said as calmly as he could.

That did little to dampen her enthusiasm. She waited like an excited child as he inserted the tape in a playback unit.

"I'm not surprised that those two old scientists use outmoded methods to record their sightings. They're slaves to tradition, a fate I do not wish to suffer."

"You are a romantic, Julie. We're too young to become obsolete."

The monitor screen lit up with solid blue. Julius and his wife stared at it with anticipation showing in their eyes, but their eyes soon displayed frustration.

"What is this?" Julius shouted.

"This isn't the tape!" his wife shrieked. "Those idiots snatched a commercial video."

Her husband slouched back in his chair and rubbed his stubby hand over his face. "It is painfully obvious that we must resort to more extreme measures to obtain the information we need. We will seize the woman."

Confusion bloomed on Marian's face. "Why the woman? You know that I am more effective when I interrogate men."

He looked up at her and sighed. "I know, my Pet, but interrogation of the woman will yield more fruit."

"Why do you say that, Julie? Why?"

"Because she is the better scientist of the pair, my Pet. She has two degrees, her name appears first on their publications and she gives all the talks. Her husband is subservient to her."

The pout on his wife's lips was expected, but expediency transcends personal desire. She'll get over it. Eventually.

###

The noise of more than fifty people talking at once is disquieting to Eric. He's accustomed to the reassuring sounds of the ocean: the white breakers crashing onto rocks; the sharp conversations of seagulls fishing near shore; the whistling of a refreshing offshore wind. This party's cacophony is unsettling.

Eric stared into his Beefeaters gin martini and wondered if he could hide his true feelings. He felt a growing uneasiness invading his usual unflappable psyche. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to sense any concern.

The atrium in the Alfred Boder wing of the Institute was packed with staff and guests. Socializing before an expedition is a traditional part of institutional culture. Most scientists and staff think of it as a satisfying way to catch up on gossip. Eric considered it a total waste of time.

The location was great, though. The atrium is a marble wonder, constructed in the Roman style with plenty of Ionic columns circling a pool decorated with a myriad of water plants. Too bad all these people had to be here. Crowds make Eric nervous. He prefers solitude and quiet.

At least there was one thing that wasn't a waste of time: seeing his wife in an evening dress. As far as he was concerned she could still splendidly fill out a dark blue full-length Gianni Versace original. He wasn't happy about the dough she blew on it, but the visual effect was definitely worth the price. It bared the entire length of her beautiful back, and delicate spaghetti straps held up the low-cut front. The decorative supports crisscrossed her back, adding a pleasing, if not erotic, detail. As a bonus, a slit ran up the side of the skirt exposing her shapely leg. A pair of Manolo Blahnik stiletto heeled shoes, the symbol of erotic femininity, nicely accented those shapely gams. Looking at her was like viewing a George Hurrell glamour photo. Delicious.

A booming voice penetrated through the noise of conversations, laughter, and clinking glasses. "Dr. Hauptman!"

Eric and his wife watched a large man with a full gray beard, bushy gray hair, and a red nose that made him look like Santa Clause bump his way through the crowd.

"Dr. Hauptman! I would like a few words," he said, lifting his drink in a toast.

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir." Eric returned his toast.

"Dr. Claus Heimler."

"Dr. Heimler," Eric repeated. He turned to his wife "I've heard that name before."

"You remember him; he discovered the Lungfish missing link."

"Oh, yeah! That Dr. Heimler."

Heimler smiled, his eyes brightening. "Dr. Hauptman, I would like to know if you believe that the creatures you and your wife have observed are the mythological sirens?"

"We're not sure what they are," Eric said. "There's a certain resemblance, but there's no way to determine if they are the creatures referred to by sailors. Whatever they are, they're unlike anything we've ever seen."

"I see." His eyes narrowed. "What you may be dealing with is some sort of missing link between the archaeocetes and modern cetaceans, perhaps something dating to the late Miocene."

Eric shook his head. "I think it's too premature to formulate a theory about these creatures. There's no telling what they evolved from."

"Yes, you're right. But whatever they are, they can breath in air. Any sea creature that can live on land may represent a missing link. What you have discovered is of great interest. I wish you luck in your attempt to find them again."

"Thank you." Eric flashed a quick grin. "But, my wife and I are not all that confident that we'll see them again."

Heimler waved his hand as if he were reacting to a bad joke. "My dear man, you underestimate your abilities. I read your report on the Giant Cephalopods of the North Atlantic. A very nice piece of work! No, I think that you and your wife will succeed." He started to leave, but turned back. "However, I would proceed with caution. There are forces out there that do not wish to see you succeed." And then he blended into the merry revelers.

"I wonder what he meant by that?" Eric said, turning to his wife.

"I don't know, but at least someone around here appreciates our work."

"But how did he find out about the creatures?"

"Anderson probably told him," his wife said. "How else could he have found out?"

"Figures."

Joyce Conners emerged from the crowd and slouched down in a chair opposite the Hauptman's. "What are you two doing over here in the corner by yourselves? You're supposed to be socializing."

"We're trying to maintain a low profile," Eric said with an amused smirk.

"You don't have to worry about that old Stevens. He's over there bending Anderson and his date's ears."

Margaret raised an eyebrow. "Who's Anderson dating now?"

"I never saw her before. Stephanie . . . Stephanie Wilson. She's a psychiatrist--at least that's what I've been told."

Eric laughed. "Oh brother."

Conners grinned reciprocally, but her face relaxed. "Speaking of dates, how did you two meet?"

Margaret glanced at her husband for a few seconds, lowered her eyes and then looked up at Conners, adding a brief smile. "We were graduate students at UCLA in the very new field of Marine Biology. I think we met in Comparative Anatomy." She turned to her husband. "Isn't that right, dear?"

"God, it seems like a million years ago. All I remember is looking over at this really great looking babe in the next seat and wondering why someone with her looks was in such a stuffy course."

"He's always exaggerating," A blush began to grace Margaret's cheeks.

"It took me an entire month to build up the courage to ask her out. I was deathly afraid that she would turn me down. But, she didn't."

"How could I resist his advances? He wouldn't leave me alone. To tell you the truth, I really didn't want to get involved with someone in my own field, but . . . well, here we are."

Eric took a sip of gin. "Yes, here we are: like two peas in a pod."

"You got married then?"

"Heavens no," Margaret said with a squeaky voice. "We didn't get married until we were in our thirties."

"I don't get it. If you didn't get married when you were at UCLA, when . . . where did you?"

"Well," Eric said, "the babe here went off to work at some state agency . . .." He looked at his wife.

"The California Bureau of Fisheries," Margaret said.

"Wait a minute. I thought that you specialized in crustaceans and mollusks?"

"I did. They had me studying abalone."

"Oh," Conners said before she turned to Eric.

"I did a postdoc at Stanford," he said.

"How in the hell did you two get together again?"

Margaret grinned. "Guess where I went back to school."

Conners pointed at her and smiled. "Stanford."

"Right. I got a Ph.D. in Zoology with a minor in Systematics."

Eric smiled. "Yeah, the babe here is piled higher and deeper than I am."

"I'm impressed," Conners said with a genuine tone of voice.

Eric lowered his eyes. "I doubt anyone really cares about us."

Conners leaned closer and looked around before she turned back to the Hauptman's. "Well, let me tell you this: despite what George says, you two are well respected by all of the scientists at this institution. You're the only husband and wife team here and you're still pursuing the frontiers despite your years. I, for one, admire that."

"Thank you," Eric said. "We need all the support we can get."

Conners flashed a brief smile and then got up. "Well, I guess I had better circulate some more. I'll leave you two love birds to your own devices." She faded into the crowd.

"I hope she isn't just patronizing us," Eric said after taking another sip of his drink.

"I doubt it. Joyce is a very straightforward person. She doesn't beat around the bush."

Eric gave his wife a weak nod. Straightforward was an understatement. Joyce Conners seldom minces words, and she can argue with the best of them. Women scientists, even in this day and age, are rare, and a woman scientist with Conners' abilities is extremely rare. Eric reasoned that her gruff exterior is a defense mechanism, especially against her principle adversary: Old George.

He and his wife sat there for a time watching the people standing in twos, threes, even fours conversing, discussing, and reminiscing and, in some cases, arguing. A few loaners stood around observing the other groups. One person seemed to be watching them. He was a young man, tall, well built, dark hair, wearing a dark suit with a dark blue shirt and black tie. He didn't seem nervous. In fact, he seemed casual, almost too casual.

Eric turned to his wife. "Hey, Love, get on your cell phone and call Anderson."

"What for? He's standing right over there."

Eric frowned. "Just call him, and smile like you're talking to your mother."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Ask him to have Willis check out that guy in the dark suit and the blue shirt standing over by the pillar."

"Who is that?"

"That's the problem," Eric said. "We've been around here long enough to know everyone. I've never seen him before. He looks out of place."

Margaret flicked her phone open and dialed Anderson's cell phone number. "This is Margaret. My husband would like to have the man standing by the pillar--the one in the dark suit and blue shirt--checked out, unless you know who he is." Her eyes moved around before she said: "Ok."

She looked at her husband. "He's going to check him out."

Eric leaned back. "Good."

A large burly man with a huge head and arms big as tree trunks appeared on the social stage. His entrance had a calming effect on the Hauptman's for they knew that the head of Institute security was capable of handling any problem.

After the two scientists sat there and watched Ralph Willis walk over to the suspect, talk to him and then escort him out of the room, they got up and made there way over to Dr. Anderson.

"Who was that?" Eric asked.

Anderson's brow wrinkled. "We don't know. He didn't have any identification."

Eric sighed. "That's just wonderful."

"Why are we being singled out?" Margaret asked.

Anderson looked at her with a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"We were deliberately run off the road. Someone broke into our house and ransacked it. Some idiot planted a bomb under our truck. And, now this! Why are they doing this to us?"

Anderson nervously rubbed his jaw. "You think that these incidents are related?"

Margaret's eyes flashed with resolve. "You're damned right I do."

Anderson's eyebrows rose. Eric half smiled. Anderson's date looked pleased.

"I'll have it investigated," Anderson said. "Perhaps, there is some connection."

"Thank you," Eric said. "In the mean time, my wife and I will stay on the move until we join the expedition."

"Good idea," Anderson said. "If I find out anything, I'll let you know."

Eric nodded. Margaret's face relaxed.

A little.