Williamson’s staffers grew nervous. “Will they get close enough to fire on us?” asked a young woman who had recently joined the doctor from Minnesota State University.
“Depends on the boat that’s coming after us—but I doubt it,” Chad said with every drop of charm he could muster. He was always suave around Missy Juk from MSU. “This baby’ll outrun almost any ship on the ocean.”
One of the older men laughed derisively as he blotted the vomit stains from his peach-colored golf shirt. “This hunk of junk?”
“It’s old but quick.”
“We know it goes around in circles pretty fast, anyway.”
Chad colored. That kind of embarrassing statement was not going to make him look any better in the eyes of Missy Juk.
“We’ll outrun ’em,” Chad said, and floored it.
He kept the joysticks pressed all the way to their stops, palms sweating from the intense concentration. The slightest drop or rise in thrust on either side could be catastrophic, and at this speed the antiquated auto-align system might not adjust the thrust fast enough. Chad had to be ready to make emergency manual compensation. And he had to admit that his recent performance at the controls wasn’t stellar.
The waters were flattening out under them as they reached the growing vortex current. They lost the waves that had been splashing against the air-apron, making the hovercraft ride smoother and faster. Williamson was tense and the others were silent, feeling the danger.
The radio conked out, silencing the low-volume demands of the Coast Guard cutter. The cutter had vanished behind them; they were beyond the watch zone.
“We’ve gotta be inside the vortex now,” Chad announced. “Look at that sea!”
The water was rushing visibly along with them—like a flat, fast river that stretched into the gray horizon.
“I’m powering down. We’re safe,” Chad announced. “The Coast Guard’s not coming after us now.”
“‘Safe’ is a funny choice of words,” said Goodall, the man in the foul-smelling golf shirt.
The others were cheering and the girl from MSU was actually doing jubilant cheerleader hops. Even that couldn’t distract Chad from the ominous note in Goodall’s words.
“What did you mean by that, buddy?” he asked the man quietly.
“We slipped past the Coast Guard and that means we’re in real danger. You know, from the vortex?”
“Oh.” Chad felt relieved. “That’s why we’ve got this. It’ll ride out as easy as it rides in. It doesn’t care about ocean currents.”
“I hope so. We’ll see.”
“Believe me, bub, it’s a monster. It was made for hauling icebergs. The engines are huge. Why d’you think they charged so damn much to rent her out?”
“How much?” Goodall asked.
Chad said, “Quarter-million,” and then he remembered that he was absolutely not supposed to talk money with anybody. It was in his contract with Williamson. He added hastily, “But you didn’t hear it from—”
“Williamson, is that right?” Goodall exclaimed. “You paid 250 grand to lease this tub?”
Williamson was floored. “What? Who told you that?”
“Slick Mick. Is he lying?”
Dr. Williamson tried to think of something to say.
“Spill it, Willy. What’s going on here? Did you or didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Where in the hell did you get that kind of money?” Goodall asked. “That much cash will operate the entire organization for six months.”
Dr. Williamson nodded seriously, then straightened his spine. “I have an announcement to make. Now is a good enough time.”
The bridge full of staffers grew quiet.
“The organization you once worked for no longer exists,” Williamson said.
He ignored Goodall’s “What?” and continued. “I have disbanded the legal entity that was the Association of Cryptozoological Investigations and Studies. You are now all a part of Cryptozoological Investigations and Studies, Inc.”
Goodall was the only one who seemed to get it. “You son of a bitch. You went commercial.”
“I made us rich.”
“He shut down the nonprofit organization and turned us into a corporation!” Goodall explained indignantly to the others. “What’d you do, get private funding?”
“Exactly,” Williamson said.
“We’re not scientists anymore,” Goodall lamented. “We’re sellouts!”
‘What was that about being rich?” Melissa Juk piped up.
Williamson smiled benevolently. “Every one of you is now an employee of the new corporation and you all have a guaranteed share of the profits of this venture.”
“Hey, Willy, we don’t even know if we’re going to find land inside of this black hole,” Goodall said. “Let alone some great new species. What if we come home empty-handed?”
“Then we’ll be the only living human beings who have entered the vortex and emerged again alive,” Williamson said. “With or without new scientific samples to show for ourselves, it won’t be a loss. The story alone will be worth millions.”
There was a wave of excitement among the researchers. “Wait. Wait. I thought we were cryptozoologists,” Goodall said. “I know I am. I dedicated my career to the discovery of new species. I made myself a promise that I would prove the existence of at least one so-called legendary creature before I retired. That’s what I’m in it for. What are you all in it for?”
“Right, Goodall, and think about what you can do with your share of the money,” Williamson said. “It’ll be more than you’ve made in the past ten years. You can mount your own expeditions if you want to. The new Cryptozoological Investigations and Studies, Inc., will have money in the bank. Our new reputation will mean all kinds of new funding, as well. We’ll mount expeditions every year! Maybe twice a year!”
“Really?” Goodall said.
“Our funding partner is a well-known media conglomerate. They have already agreed to develop a television miniseries based on this trip. Everybody on board will get the opportunity to audition to play themselves.”
The bridge was filled with excitement.
“What do you say, Good?” Williamson asked.
“I guess it sounds okay. Wish you would have asked me first.”
“The studio wouldn’t let me,” Williamson said, still smiling. “This way, your credibility is intact. You didn’t know you were part of a studio deal until it was too late to turn back. Adds an element of drama to the story.”
“I always wanted to act,” Goodall admitted. “I hope we actually get out of here.”
Mick Chad was bothered by that. Why was Goodall so glum about their prospects of surviving this trip? They had a hovercraft, after all. She was performing beautifully, gliding as fast and smooth as a puck on an air-hockey table.
“Hi,” whispered Missy Juk, close to Mick Chad’s elbow.
“Hi.”
“Everybody is really excited,” she said in a hush.
“Yeah.” Now Mick was getting butterflies in his stomach. Goodall was a smart cookie. Maybe the smartest one of them all. What made him worried about their survival?
“This is what I’m thinking,” Missy said. “There’s gotta be some love interest in this TV program for it to work. Right? A little sex and romance?”
The word sex got his attention.
“D’you see what I’m saying?” Missy asked.
“Not exactly,” Chad said. “But I like the direction it’s headed.”
“You and me, Mick. We hook up. We have a torrid love affair. We flirt in front of the others, we have sex where they can see us, we have a few big fights. We’ll be the stars of the miniseries!”