CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
DANGER ON DECK!
EPIGRAPH
THE CRYPTID HUNTERS
ANATOMY
PART ONE – BON VOYAGE
LUTHER
MEMENTOS
BLACKWOOD & BUTCH
DRAGONSPY
MOLESKINE #319
BO VOYAGE
CASTOFF
SHIP’S TOUR
CAKE
THIRTEEN CANDLES
THE DOGHOUSE
PART TWO – OPEN SEA
GHOST SHIP
LAB NINE
PASSENGERS
ONE AND TWO
WHAT DINOSAURS EAT FOR BREAKFAST
KITCHEN PATROL
THE CARGO HOLD
PART THREE – THE ABYSS
OVERBOARD
THE TRUNK
DESSERT
THEO SONBORN
ROSE
THE ORB
ENDANGERED ONE
THE CHICKEN AND THE EGG
PORK AND BEANS
SPECIAL DELIVERY
PREHISTORIC GAS
MONKEY BUSINESS
BLACKWOOD THE PIRATE
THE PARTNER
INTO THE DEEP
PASTS
CHAOS
PREDATORS
TWENTY MINUTES
PIRATES
EIGHT MINUTES
SCUTTLE
TWO MINUTES
STANDOFF
ONE SECOND
TIME’S UP
AMAZING GRACE
HOVERING
TENTACLES
PREVIEW: CHUPACABRA
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
Marty reached the deck and took in a deep breath of fresh sea air, which smelled like perfume compared to the greasy galley. The dark sky was moonless, lit by millions of stars. The Coelacanth was anchored. He walked over to the rail and looked down at the water. Somewhere beneath the dark water a giant squid awaited.
Tomorrow, if things are going well in the galley, I’ll spend the day on deck getting some sun, he thought.
Something slammed into his back and he was falling over the wrong side of the rail. One of his flailing hands managed to snag the edge of the scupper and he came to a shoulder-wrenching stop. He managed to get his other hand onto the scupper, but his position was still precarious. He tried to pull himself up, but he didn’t have enough strength. He began to yell his head off. The sharp edge of the scupper was cutting off the circulation to his fingers. If someone didn’t hear him in a minute or so, he was going to drop into the dark sea and never be heard from again.
cryp·to·zo·ol·o·gy (krip-ta-z-ä-la-j) noun The study of animals, such as the Sasquatch, the Yeti, the Loch Ness Monster, the Chupacabra, kraken, and others, whose existence has not yet been proven scientifically. There are thought to be more than two hundred cryptids in existence today.
– cryp·to·zo·o·log·i·cal (-z-a-′lä-ji-kal) adj.
– cryp·to·zo·ol·o·gist (-′ä-la-jist) noun
THE CRYPTID HUNTERS
Marty O’Hara Wolfe’s nephew. Grace’s cousin (formerly thought to be her twin). Thirteen years old. Brown hair, gray eyes, a foot taller than Grace. Talented artist. Master chef. Scuba diver. Mountain climber. His parents, Timothy and Sylvia (the most famous photographer/journalist team in the world), are missing after a terrible helicopter crash in the Amazon rain forest.
Grace Wolfe Wolfe’s only daughter (although for most of her life she thought she was Timothy and Sylvia O’Hara’s daughter and Marty’s twin sister). Black hair, blue eyes the color of robin’s eggs. Born at Lake Télé in the Congo. Twelve years old. Small for her age, but a foot smarter than Marty. Fluent in several languages. Habitual journal-writer. Lock-picker. Genius.
Luther Percival Smyth, IV Marty’s best friend and former roommate at Omega Opportunity Preparatory School (OOPS) in Switzerland, where they got into a lot of trouble and coauthored graphic novels. Sleeps like a vampire. Gangly, with wild orange hair. Expert computer hacker and video gamer.
Dr. Travis Wolfe Called “Wolfe” by his friends — and foes. Grace’s father. Marty’s uncle. Cryptozoologist. Veterinarian. Oceanographer. A giant of a man – just under seven feet tall. Unruly black hair, bushy black beard, brown eyes, wears size-fifteen shoes. Cofounder and owner of eWolfe with Ted Bronson. His right leg was bitten off by a Mokélé-mbembé as he tried to save his wife, Rose Blackwood. He now wears a high-tech prosthesis invented by Ted Bronson.
Dr. Noah Blackwood Father of Wolfe’s deceased wife, Rose. Grace’s grandfather. Environmental superstar — but he is not who he appears to be. Wealthy. Powerful. Owner of several animal theme parks around the world, all called Noah’s Ark. He hunts and breeds endangered animals and cryptids, and displays them at his parks. In their prime he kills the animals, has them stuffed, and stages them in his private diorama.
Butch McCall Noah Blackwood’s henchman. Dangerous. Tattooed. Tough. Expert field biologist. More comfortable in the woods than under a roof. Sworn enemy of Travis Wolfe, who “stole” Rose away from him.
Bertha Bishop Ex–Army Ranger general; can kill a person 106 different ways with her bare hands. She is extra-large, but solid as a rock. Wolfe’s head cook. Phil’s wife.
Phil Bishop Ex–Air Force colonel. Former combat pilot. Wolfe’s chief pilot. Bertha’s husband.
Dr. Laurel Lee Wolfe’s cultural anthropologist. Birdlike. Athletic. Former circus aerialist. Taught Grace to walk on a high wire to help her focus and overcome her fears. Laurel and Wolfe are sweet on each other.
Dr. Ted Bronson Wolfe’s closest friend and partner at eWolfe. Eccentric genius. Inventor. Recluse. Rumored to have not left the Quonset hut on Cryptos Island (where he develops his marvelous gadgets) in more than three years.
Theo Sonborn A cohort of Wolfe’s since the beginning. Surly. Pugnacious. Obnoxious. Jack-of-all-trades, master of none.
Bo Female bonobo chimpanzee; orphaned and adopted by Wolfe years ago in central Africa. Pals around with PD and Congo. Fond of Luther’s orange hair. Sworn enemy of Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod.
PD Short for “Pocket Dog”; black-haired teacup poodle. Best friends with Bo. Does not get along with Congo. Jumps into a pocket upon hearing the word snake.
Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod Wolfe’s three bottle-nosed dolphins, who all love teasing Bo.
Congo African gray parrot who belonged to Rose, Grace’s mother, when she was in central Africa. Grace brought him back to Cryptos Island after their adventure with Mokélé-mbembé.
Monkey A plush toy resembling a primate. Covered with patches and stitches. Its mouth and left eye are missing. Grace has had it since she was a baby. Because of its tattered appearance, Marty refers to it as the Frankenstein Monkey. Between the cousins, a promise is sealed by giving Monkey’s arm a squeeze.
ANATOMY
GIANT SQUID (Genus: Architeuthis)
Pushing water in rhythmic pulses through its spherical-shaped body, or mantle (a), and steering by use of its caudal fin (b), thegiant squid is jet-propelled. On average, the mantle is six feet long.
More than one foot in diameter, the eyes (c) of the giant squidare among the largest of any living creature. The larger the eye, thebetter to detect light, which is scarce in deep, dark water.
Giant squid have eight arms (d) and two tentacles (e). The insides ofboth are lined with hundreds of suction cups (f) ringed with sharp, finely serrated circles of chitin. The combined gripping action of thesuckers and their pointy teeth attaches the squid to its prey.
The bases of both of the tentacles and all of the arms join to encirclea single, parrotlike beak (g), which shreds food with the aid of the radula – a tongue with tiny, file-edged teet
h.
* * *
Marty O’Hara did not realize how much he had missed his best friend, Luther Smyth, until Luther jumped out of the seaplane onto the dock at Cryptos Island. In fact, he was so excited to see Luther he didn’t even notice the other, rather odd-looking passenger who had flown in with his gangly, fluorescent-carrot-headed classmate.
The lanky Luther ran up to Marty, sporting his trademark goofy grin and a small backpack slung over his bony shoulder.
“You weren’t lying, nose-picker!” Luther said. “Cryptos Island is real and very weird!”
Marty returned Luther’s grin. “Duh du jour,” he said (meaning, “Duh of the day,” one of his and Luther’s favorite sayings).
Just then, almost as if to accent Marty’s point, a chimpanzee ambled down the wooden dock, came to an abrupt stop directly in front of Luther, and hooted.
“This is Bo,” Marty said. “And you’re the nose-picker.”
Luther ignored the insult and squatted down in front of Bo before Marty could warn him.
Bo grabbed a handful of Luther’s bizarre hair and yanked it out.
“Ouch!” Luther fell over backward and would have fallen into the water if Marty hadn’t grabbed his arm.
“Thanks,” Luther said.
“No problem,” Marty said.
Bo hooted again, ran back up the dock with her treasure, scaled the chain-link security gate, and disappeared into the trees.
“Hair-picker!” Luther yelled after her.
Marty shook his head. “I wondered what she was going to think of your hair.”
Luther rubbed his sore scalp. “I guess she doesn’t like it.”
“Wrong,” Marty corrected. “She wants it.”
“How much did she take?”
Marty looked at his friend’s head. “A pretty good chunk, but no one will notice.”
Luther’s hair had always stuck up all over the place in one giant cowlick that not even Elmer’s glue could keep down. (Luther had actually tried Elmer’s glue once, but it had just made things worse.) The missing hair already forgotten, Luther looked over at the giant ship moored to the dock.
“So that’s the Coelacanth,” he said, pronouncing the name koh-eel-uh-kanth.
“It’s pronounced see-la-kanth, you dunce,” Marty said. “Named after a fish thought to have gone extinct sixty-five million years ago, until it was rediscovered in South Africa by a woman named Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer in 1938. Wolfe has a breeding pair in an aquarium up in the library.”
“Well, that ship looks like it’s sixty-five million years old,” Luther said. “You sure that rusty bucket of bolts can make it to New Zealand?”
“It’ll make it,” Marty said, not mentioning the scuttlebutt on the island that the Coelacanth was haunted. Badly haunted. The ship had drifted into U.S. coastal waters ten years earlier — minus its cargo and its crew of nearly fifty men and women, except for the captain’s freshly severed head lying on the pillow in his berth.
Grace had gotten the information off the Internet, but there was no point in scaring Luther by recounting the ship’s grisly history. Marty’s uncle, Travis Wolfe, had bought the ship at an auction for a fraction of what it was worth because he was the only bidder. No one else wanted to touch the bad-luck ship. “Their ridiculous superstition was my good luck,” Wolfe had explained. “I had enough money left over to retrofit the interior.” Clearly, Wolfe was not concerned with what it looked like on the outside.
The Coelacanth was buzzing with activity: people hauling gear, cranes lowering crates into the cargo holds, deckhands battening down a helicopter to a landing pad behind the bridge. Marty was certain that none of them had heard the story of what had happened on the ship, and he wished that he’d never heard it, either.
“We’re shipping out in a couple of weeks?” Luther asked.
“Maybe sooner,” Marty said. “People have been coming in by airplane, chopper, and boat every day for the past week. They go right onto the ship. Wolfe hasn’t let any of them onto the island for security reasons.”
“Yeah,” Luther said, pointing. “Like that guy walking up the gangplank. He came in on the seaplane with me. His name is Dr. Seth A. Lepod. Barely said a word during the whole flight. I pegged him as a squid scientist. He has longer legs and arms than I do, and he smells like a dead fish. Even Phil was put off by the stench. He kept looking back at the guy, wondering what the problem was.”
Phil was Phil Bishop, a retired Air Force colonel and one of Travis Wolfe’s pilots. He was married to Bertha Bishop, a retired Army Ranger general with the ability to kill someone 106 ways with her bare hands. She was now Wolfe’s chief cook and mother to Phyllis Bishop, a.k.a. Phil Jr., another retired Air Force veteran and Wolfe’s chief pilot.
“Have the Mokélé-mbembé eggs hatched?” Luther asked.
“Not yet,” Marty answered. “But Wolfe expects them to start cracking any day now.”
“I can’t believe you guys saw an actual, living dinosaur in the Congo. Are you sure the eggs are real?” Luther said.
“As real as Bo yanking your hair from your scalp,” Marty answered. “Let’s head up to the Fort.”
“Fort?” Luther asked.
“You’ll see.”
“I’d better get the rest of my gear.”
Luther started toward the seaplane, but Marty stopped him. “Don’t bother. Phil will have someone haul it up and put it in your room after they search it.”
“Search it?” Luther said.
Marty nodded. “After what happened in the Congo, Wolfe hardened island security. About a week ago a guy named Albert Ikes took over island security. He used to work for the Central Intelligence Agency and he’s a complete paranoid nutcase. I don’t think he even trusts Wolfe, and Wolfe is his boss … at least I think he is.”
“Is this Albert Ikes guy going to New Zealand with us?” Luther asked.
“Unfortunately,” Marty said. “And don’t call him Albert. Call him Al or he might shoot you. Come on. Oh —” He stopped and handed Luther a silver chain with a square piece of carrot-colored plastic hanging from it.
“This is the tracking tag you wrote me about,” Luther said.
“Yeah, but these tags are new and improved,” Marty explained, pointing to the gray plastic square hanging from the chain around his own neck. “Put it on and don’t ever take it off — even when you’re in the shower. Don’t ask me how, but they know when you’re wearing it and when you’re not. The second day I had mine, I took it off in my sleep because it got tangled around my neck and I thought I was choking to death. Within minutes, two of Al’s stormtroopers burst into my bedroom with guns drawn. I almost had a heart attack.”
Luther slipped the chain over his head and tucked the square under his sweatshirt. “You’re not joking about any of this.”
“No joke,” Marty said.
“Why all the security?”
Marty counted the reasons out on his fingers. “Noah Blackwood, Mokélé-mbembé eggs, Ted Bronson’s top secret work for the government, and Grace.”
“Grace? What does your sister — I mean, your cousin — have to do with all this?”
Marty started walking down the dock. “I’ll tell you all about it after we get through the metal detector.”
“Metal detector?” Luther asked.
Marty pointed to the end of the dock, where two armed security men were guarding the chain-link gate. They wore camouflage fatigues and deadly serious expressions. “The guys with the shaved heads are a couple of Al’s stormtroopers, who are actually ex–Navy SEALs. They pretty much stick to the perimeter of the island, watching for intruders — except at the Fort, where Al has two guys on station 24/7. Once we get past them, everything on the island is a lot more relaxed. I would have emailed you about the changes, but Al cut off our email because he didn’t want anyone on the outside to know about the new security measures.”
Marty and Luther walked up to the two bullet-headed men.
“Em
pty your pockets and turn them inside out. You know the drill,” Bullet Head #1 said, slapping a plastic tray onto the stainless steel table.
“I already did,” Marty said. “I left all my stuff here with you so I didn’t have to be searched again. Remember?”
“Turn your pockets inside out anyway,” Bullet Head #2 said.
Marty turned his empty pockets inside out again.
Bullet Head #1 frisked him (making sure he hadn’t slipped a nuclear device into his undershorts while they weren’t looking), then had Marty pass through the metal detector.
“You’re next,” Bullet Head #2 said, glaring at Luther.
“You asked for it,” Luther said, relieving his first pocket of a half-dozen colored pencils, a pencil sharpener, candy wrappers, a small sketch pad, a pair of sunglasses, a comb (useless in Luther’s case), a handheld video game player, two flash drives, a digital camera, stereo earbuds, a stick of gum, an iPhone, and dental floss. “I started with the easy pocket first,” he said, then began emptying the second pocket.
The Bullet Heads rolled their eyes as they watched the mound of stuff grow.
“Did you cram everything you own into your pockets?” Marty asked.
“Nah,” Luther answered. “The big stuff is down at the dock. Three humongous suitcases. I didn’t know what to expect, so I brought everything I had at Omega Prep except my bed. I could have gotten everything into two suitcases, but I needed a third for those diaries Grace asked me to bring back for her.”