Deep Fathom

15 Pohnpei

Karen sat in the spacious cabin of the private Learjet as it taxied across the tarmac of Pohnpei’s airport. Outside, a fine misty rain drizzled down, muting the views of the jungle-draped peaks of the South Pacific island. As the plane turned, the island’s most prominent feature came into view: Sokehs Rock, a towering volcanic plug overlooking Kolonia harbor, nicknamed the “Diamond Head of Micronesia.”

“It’s beautiful,” Miyuki said beside her, leaning closer. Her friend, clearly exhausted, had slept most of the way, only awakening as the plane began to land.

Karen, however, had not been able to sleep. Neither had Jack. She stared across the cabin. He still sat stiff in his seat, barely noticing the passing scenery. Mwahu sat slumped beside him, snoring.

Earlier, after boarding the plane, Jack had spent a few frantic hours trying to discover the fate of his ship. By the time he reached someone in authority who would listen, he was informed that a search helicopter had already been sent out to investigate. So they were forced to wait. Jack had paced up and down the cabin, clenching and unclenching his fists. When the report finally came in, it was not good.

Lit by a burning pool of oil, the debris from the ship had been easy to spot.

After the news, Jack had not spoken a word. He’d crossed to the cabin’s bar, poured himself a couple fingers of whiskey, downed it, and repeated it two more times until Karen coaxed him back to his seat. And there he had sat, just staring, unblinking. At first she had tried to engage him in conversation, but his only response was cold and savage: “I’m going to kill that bastard.” So she returned to her seat, watching the world pass beneath her.

It had been a monotonous journey until they reached their destination. Before landing, the jet circled the island. Pohnpei was roughly thirteen miles across, encircled by a protective ring of coral reefs, creating an island of lagoons and mangrove swamps. Inland, its mountainous interior was all rain forests, streams, waterfalls, and steep cliffs.

Studying the circular island from above, Karen had hoped to spot Pohnpei’s other well-known feature — the seaside ruins of Nan Madol — but the mists had been too thick on the southeast side of the island.

Miyuki settled back in her seat as the jet taxied toward the terminal. She nodded toward Jack. “Is he going to be okay?”

“It’ll take time, I think.” Karen knew Jack bore a lot of guilt. It was etched in the lines on his face and the hollowness in his eyes.

As the plane rolled to a stop, Miyuki unbuckled her seat belt. “Let’s get him moving. Try to get his mind off what happened.”

Karen nodded, though she doubted it would help. Jack’s brooding went beyond simple distraction.

Across the cabin, Mwahu stretched. “We here?”

“Yes,” Karen said, freeing herself from her seat. Jack had still not moved.

Fresh sunlight entered as the aft door cracked open. Karen crossed the cabin as Mwahu and Miyuki moved toward the exit. She sat down and touched Jack’s arm. “Are you all right?”

He remained silent for a few moments, then spoke, his voice numb: “It was all my fault…again. First the Atlantis, now the Fathom.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “I should never have left. If I’d been there, I could’ve defused the bomb.”

“And maybe you would’ve been killed with them. Then this Spangler fellow would have truly won. If what you say is right — that he planted the bomb amidst the wreckage aboard the Gibraltar—then you’re the only one who knows the truth. All hope of exposing him would be lost if you were killed.”

“What does the truth matter? It’s not worth this cost.” Jack finally looked directly at her.

Karen was shocked at the pain in those blue eyes. She had an urge to pull him to her chest, to envelope him, to hold him until the pain went away, but knew any true solace could not come from her. He would have to find his own way past this tragedy. “If you want justice for your friends,” she said softly but firmly, “you’re gonna have to win it. You’re not gonna get it by killing Spangler.”

Rage flickered through his pain. “Then how?”

She faced his anger and matched it. “By exposing the goddamn bastard, Jack. That’s how you’ll win!” She touched his knee. “And I’ll help you. You’re not alone in this, Jack. You have to understand that.”

He closed his eyes, sighed, and after a few moments opened them again. The pain was still there, but it was not all-consuming anymore. She saw a glimmer of the Jack she had met in the Okinawa airport. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “There’s too much at stake. David needs to be brought down, but the only way to do it is to discover the truth about Air Force One. I won’t let him win.”

“We’ll do it together.”

Jack nodded, almost reluctantly.

Karen sensed a critical moment had passed between them…. that the ex-SEAL seldom allowed anyone to share his grief or his guilt.

Turning in his seat, Jack took her hand from his knee and raised it to his lips. The brief touch on her skin sent an electric thrill through her. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Shocked at the sudden intimacy, Karen could not move.

Jack lowered her hand. In his eyes, she saw a twinge of bewilderment, as if the impulsive act had surprised him as much as it had her.

Miyuki called from the doorway with a wave, “We need to go.”

The two stared at each other for a silent moment.

“Let’s go,” Karen finally said. “We have a lot to plan.”

David stood near the stern of the research vessel. Behind him the last of his team’s gear was being loaded into the helicopter. The journey to Pohnpei Island would take seven hours. With Ruzickov’s help, the U.S. embassy on the island had been alerted and expected his arrival.

“Commander Spangler.”

David swung around. He had been so lost in his own plans that he hadn’t heard the approach of the paunchy Mexican leader of the research group. “What is it, Cortez?”

“You asked that I inform you when we were ready to evacuate the water from Neptune base.”

David cleared his throat. “Of course. Are you prepared?”

“Yes, sir. If you’ll join us in the command center, you can oversee the process.”

David gestured the man to lead. Cortez crossed to the ship’s superstructure and wound toward the main monitoring station on the second level. The ex-wardroom was now a jumble of computers, monitors, and other equipment. Four other scientists were crowded into the small room but they made space for David, moving out of his way with nervous glances.

Cortez motioned David to join him before a console of monitors. He tapped two of the screens. “Here we have feeds from the two ROV robots. As you can see, Neptune is ready for the second stage.”

David studied the assembled base. It was a stack of three doughnuts, one atop the other, sitting on a four-legged frame. Power cables and other lines wound from its top shell toward the surface. He watched as one of the robots positioned another of the site’s “lamp poles.” Each illumination pole was six meters, surmounted by a sealed halogen spotlight. Twelve in all, the poles were positioned around the base. The dark seabed had become a well-lit parking lot.

In the bright lights, David watched the Perseus, piloted by Lieutenant Brentley, slowly circle the large sea base. Now assembled, the structure contained almost four thousand square feet of living space.

Cortez sat down at the console. “Watch the three center monitors; I’m going to bring up the inner cameras. One for each level of the complex.”

Murky images appeared on the screens, watery views of dim rooms. Little detail could be discerned. The only light filtered through tiny portholes along the curved walls.

“What am I looking at?” David asked.

Cortez tapped the first monitor. “The lowest level is solely for docking the submersibles. The middle level houses the labs; the top level, living quarters.” He glanced over his shoulder at David. “We chose this arrangement so, in case of emergency, the top level could be freed manually and rise to the surface on its own. There are multiple redundant safety features built throughout the complex.”

David sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “Fine. Are you ready to drain the complex or not?”

“Certainly. We’ve triple-checked everything.”

“Then let’s get this done. I’m due to leave within the hour.” Off to the side, David caught the relieved smile pass between the two technicians. It seemed his team’s absence would not be missed.

“We were just awaiting your arrival.” Cortez busied himself at one of the computers. He spoke into a microphone. “Perseus, this is Topside. Clear for blowout. I repeat, clear for blowout.”

On one of the monitors the torpedo-shaped submersible banked sharply and glided away from the sea base. Lieutenant Brentley’s voice scratched from a set of speakers. “Roger that. Clearing out.”

“Here we go,” Cortez said. He tapped a series of buttons on his keyboard. “Level 1…blowing. Level 2…blowing. Level 3…blowing.”

On the screens the view of the deep-sea station vanished in an explosion of bubbles, the visibility obscured by the roiling waters.

“Look.” Cortez pointed to the center monitors.

The interior views were clearing as the water lines dropped below the level of the camera lenses. Within a few minutes the water drained away, leaving the rooms wet but habitable. Interior lights flickered, then blazed.

“Bringing the pressure down to one atmosphere,” Cortez said. “Checking hull integrity.” He smiled up at David. “Green lights all around, Commander. Neptune is ready for company.”

David clapped the Mexican on the shoulder. As much as he hated to admit it, the man knew his job. “Good work, Cortez.”

“We can take it from here, Commander.” The research leader stood up from his console. “I know you’ve been ordered away for a few days, but there’s no need to worry. My team won’t let you down.”

“It had better not,” David said as he turned to leave, but he could not give his statement much heat. Cortez ran a tight ship.

Leaving the command center, David climbed down to the deck. As soon as he pushed out of the air-conditioned superstructure and into the heat, he was met by his second-in-command.

Rolfe was dressed in a black flight jacket. “We’re loaded and ready, sir,” he said. “Jeffreys just heard from our contacts on Pohnpei. Jack Kirkland and the woman landed an hour ago. They’re under surveillance as we speak.”

“Good.” Everything was going well. First the base, now this. It was as if Kirkland were trying to make his job easier, David thought. To extract the scientist and her crystal from the growing war zone around Okinawa would have been complicated. But out in the backwaters of Micronesia, on an island sympathetic to American concerns, it shouldn’t be a problem. Everything was falling into perfect place.

“Sir, Jeffreys also reports that the woman has been making inquiries about hiring a boat to take them all to some ruins on the southeast side of the island.”

David nodded. Overnight he had studied topographic maps of Pohnpei. He knew the island’s entire terrain by heart. “When are they planning to go out there?”

“Late afternoon.”

David thought a moment and nodded. There should just be enough time. “Get me Jeffreys. I want a boat arranged.” He zipped up his jacket. “We’re going to prepare a little welcome for Mr. Kirkland and his friends.”

Jack’s headache still pounded behind his eyes. And the bumpy ride along the jungle road in an old rusted Jeep Cherokee wasn’t helping. Karen sat behind the wheel, squinting through the grimy window for landmarks.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Miyuki asked from the rear seat. A particularly large bump sent the small woman flying for the roof. She swore at Karen in her native language.

“This is the right way,” Mwahu said, also in the backseat. “Bridge to Temwen Island is not far.”

“So you’ve been to Nan Madol before?” Karen asked, trying to glean more information from the man.

“Sacred place. I visit with father three times.”

Karen glanced at Jack, as if to stress the coincidence.

Jack rubbed his temples, trying to grind away the headache. After landing, he had finally slept a bit, but the pain of the last twenty-four hours could not be alleviated with a nap.

While he’d slept, Karen had hired a car and arranged for a boat to explore the ruins of Nan Madol. Because the best time to explore was at high tide, they were leaving late in the day, when boats could traverse the meter-deep canals. Otherwise, at low tide, it meant slogging through the ruins in knee-deep water and mud.

Clearing his throat, Jack sought some way to distract himself from the pounding in his skull. “Karen, you never did tell me the full story of Nan Madol. What’s so special about this place?”

“There are many stories and myths surrounding this island,” she replied, “but the story of Nan Madol’s origin is the most intriguing. According to the myth, two demigods, Olhosihpa and Olhosohpa, came to the island in a great ship from some lost land. With magical powers they transported the gigantic basalt logs across the island and helped the natives build the canal city. Some say the stone logs flew through the air.”

Jack shook his head. “Yeah, right.”

Karen shrugged. “Of course, who knows the truth for sure? But mysteries remain. Some of the stones weigh up to fifty tons. The entire complex of Nan Madol is composed of 250 million tons of crystalline basalt. How did it all get there?”

Jack shrugged. “On large rafts. Bamboo is great building material, and there’s plenty of it on the island.” He nodded to the rain forest out the windows.

Karen shook her head. “Back in 1995, researchers tried to float a one-ton basalt log using every sort of raft imaginable. They failed. The best they could manage was a stone that weighed a couple hundred pounds. So how did these unsophisticated natives move rocks weighing fifty tons? And once at the site, how did they lift and stack them forty feet in the air?”

Jack’s brow crinkled. As much as he hated to admit it, the mystery was intriguing. How had it been done?

Karen continued, “I have no idea what the real answer is, but I find the myth of the demigods interesting. Another story of a magical people from a lost continent.”

Jack settled back in his seat. “So how old are these ruins?”

“Hmm…that’s another bit of controversy. Nine hundred years is the current estimate, based on carbon dating on fire pits done by the Smithsonian Institute in the sixties. But others have argued for an older date.”

“Why?”

“Carbon-dating of the fire pits only proves that it was occupied during this time, not that the place was built then. In the early seventies an archaeologist from Honolulu, using newer techniques, came up with a date over two thousand years old.” Karen shrugged. “So who can say for sure?”

From the backseat Miyuki shifted forward and pointed between them. “Look.”

Karen slowed the Cherokee as raw sunlight appeared ahead. It was the end of the forest road.

“Finally,” Jack murmured.

The view opened before them as they swung out of the forest. A wide bay lay ahead, sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. In the middle of the bay towered a steep mountainous island, fringed by swamps. From the height of the jungle road, a coral reef could be seen in the shallows circling the small island, mottling the blue waters in hues of rose and jade.

Karen pointed. “Nan Madol is on the far side of Temwen Island. Facing the open ocean.”

Turning, she guided the Jeep down the steep grade toward a long, two-lane steel bridge that spanned the strait between coast and island. They descended into shadows as the sun, setting toward the western horizon, disappeared behind the mountainous peaks of Pohnpei. Then they were trundling across the bridge, passing over coral atolls and deep blue waters.

Karen played tour guide. “The harbors around here are fraught with submerged sections of other ruins: columns, walls, stone roads, even a small sunken castle. Back during World War Two, Japanese divers reported discovering caskets made of pure platinum down there.”

“Platinum? Here?”

“Yep. The divers brought up quite a bit of it. Platinum became one of the island’s major exports during the Japanese occupation.”

Jack eyed the water. “Strange.”

“In fact, just recently a large megalithic discovery was made in the deep waters off the east coast of Nahkapw Island.” She pointed to a speck of an island just visible near the southern horizon. “A submerged stone village named Kahnihnw Namkhet. For decades natives told stories about it, but it was only in the last five years that divers rediscovered it.”

With a kidney-jarring bump the Jeep left the bridge and turned onto the coastal road that circled the small island. Karen accelerated. Soon they wound out of the shadows and into the sunlight of the southern coastline.

Ahead and below, the ruins of Nan Madol appeared.

Jack lowered his map, stunned by the sight. Spreading far out into the shallow sea from the coastline were a hundred man-made islets. The buildings and fortifications were all composed of basalt columns and slabs, constructed similar to American-style log cabins. Framing the entire site was a gigantic sea wall, also of basalt.

“Amazing,” he said. “I can see now why the place is called the Venice of the Pacific.” The ancient city spread over ten square miles, with canals intersecting and connecting the entire community. Mangrove trees and ferns grew thickly throughout it. Looking down, the stones of the city sparked in the sunlight, reflecting off the quartz crystals in the basalt.

“It’s been compared to the building of the Great Wall of China,” Karen said. “They built the entire city atop the coral reef, carving deeper channels and canals out of the reef itself. There’s also an extensive tunnel system connecting the various islets. It was lucky the eclipse-day quakes weren’t too bad out here. It would’ve been a great tragedy to lose this historic site.”

Jack stared, struck by its breadth and size. “It’s so large.”

Karen nodded and guided their vehicle down the last few switchbacks toward the city’s edge. “That’s another mystery. Why is it so big? To support such a city would require a populace ten times larger than currently living on the island and a land area thirty times as big.”

“Further evidence of your lost continent?”

“Perhaps.” She turned into a parking lot before the entrance to the ruins, parked under the shade of a large mangrove tree and switched off the engine. Then she turned her attention to Mwahu, in the backseat. “You said before this place was sacred to your people. Before we go further, I want to know why.”

Mwahu stared out the open window, silent for a long time, then spoke slowly, as if it pained him. “It is the last home of our ancient teacher, Horon-ko. He came here to die.”

“When was this? How long ago?”

Mwahu turned to face Karen and Jack. “Long, long ago.”

“But why did he come here?” Karen asked.

“Because his own home was gone.”

“His own home?”

Mwahu again seemed reluctant to answer. His voice became a whisper. “He came from Katua Peidi.”

Karen gasped at his answer.

“What?” Jack said to her, puzzled.

“According to myth,” she explained, “Katua Peidi was the name of the original homeland of the magical brothers who had helped build Nan Madol.”

Jack frowned. “He thinks his teacher was one of these Katuans?”

“So it would seem.” She turned her attention back to the rear seat. “What did Horon-ko teach your ancestors?”

“He teach many things. Mostly he teach us to guard the old places. He tell us where they are. Word pass from father to son. Forbidden to speak. He say none must open the heart of old places.” He stared hard at Karen.

She ignored his accusing eyes and sat pondering. “A secret sect assigned to guard the Pacific’s countless megalithic ruins…by the last survivor of some lost continent.” She swung one more time on Mwahu. “You say Horon-ko died here.”

He nodded.

“Is he buried here?”

He nodded again and turned toward the watery ruins of Nan Madol. “I will take you. But we must leave before night.”

“Why?” Jack asked.

Karen answered instead. “A superstition about the ruins. If someone stays among the ruins overnight, it is said he will die.”

“Great,” Miyuki mumbled from the backseat, eyeing the low sun.

“It’s only myth,” Karen said.

All their eyes swung to Mwahu. The man slowly shook his head.

Ferdinand Cortez rode as passenger aboard the researchers’ two-man submersible, the Argus. The pilot, seated ahead in his own acrylic dome, signaled a thumbs-up as he guided the vessel under the sea base and up into the entry dock on the station’s underside. The docking hatch sealed under them and the seawater was pumped out.

Ferdinand watched the waterline recede down his dome. The whole docking procedure took less than five minutes. He smiled at his success. After his wife died, he’d devoted all his energies to the Neptune project. It had been a goal he and his wife had shared.

A functioning deep-sea research station.

“We did it, Maria,” he whispered to the station. “We finally did it.”

As the central computer calibrated the air pressure in the docking bay, a green light flashed on the wall, indicating it was safe to depart the Argus. Ferdinand unscrewed the dome’s seal using a motorized winch. The seal broke with the barest hiss of pressure differentials. Ferdinand smiled. Perfect.

He pushed back the dome and climbed out of the sub, hauling his bag with him. The pilot remained in his forward dome. He had another four research members to ferry down to the deep-sea station.

Free of the sub, Ferdinand breathed deeply. The air tasted stale, but that couldn’t be helped. No amount of conditioning would freshen it.

Waving a thanks to the pilot, he crossed to the door and unscrewed its three latches. Beyond the door, he found John Conrad wearing a wide shit-eating grin.

“We’re here,” his friend and colleague said. “We’re on the goddamn bottom of the ocean.”

Ferdinand smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Then how about a tour?” he asked — not that he needed one. The Neptune had been based on his own design specs. He knew every inch of the base, every circuit, every switch.

John took his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “C’mon. Everyone’s waiting.” He led the way to the ladder up to the second tier of the station. As John climbed, electronic sensors marked his presence and opened the hatch overhead. It was all automated. Once both men clambered up to Level 2, the hatch self-sealed. Another safety feature. Each of the tiers were sealed from one another unless a crew member was on the ladder. The hatches could also be cranked shut and locked in case of power failure or a system malfunction.

Stepping from the ladder, Ferdinand surveyed his domain. Level 2 contained a circular series of labs: marine biology, geology, climatology, physiology, even archaeology. The base’s tiny hospital ward also shared a wedge of this floor’s space. The tier above this, Level 3, housed the living quarters, galley, tiny recreation room, and unisex bathroom.

Ferdinand could not wipe the smile from his face. The Neptune was finally up and functioning. As he passed through the labs, other scientists called to him, congratulating him. He acknowledged the well-wishes and continued to his own wedge: the geophysics laboratory.

John accompanied him. “Can’t stop working, can you?”

“How can I? Especially with that pissant Spangler gone. He’s been hobbling my work ever since we first arrived here. This may be my only chance to be free of the asshole, and I’m going to take advantage of it.”

Ferdinand settled onto a fixed stool before a smooth metal console. He hit a button, and like a rolltop desk, the airtight seals on his station wheeled open to reveal a bank of computers, monitors, and tools. “Is the Perseus over by the crystal pillar?” he asked.

“Yep. Lieutenant Brentley has been waiting for an hour, and he’s growing a bit impatient. We had to argue against him collecting your sample on his own.”

“Good, good…I should oversee the sampling. We can’t risk damage to the pillar.”

“Brentley’s audio is on Channel 4. Video feed on Channel 3.”

Ferdinand called up the proper channels on his central monitor. “Perseus, this is Neptune. Do you read?”

Lieutenant Brentley answered. “Aye, Neptune, read you loud and clear. Just cooling my thrusters.”

Ferdinand adjusted the monitor to pick up the video feed from the Deep Submergence Unit’s sub. He was surprised at the clarity of the image. The sub faced the crystal pillar from a distance of ten yards away. Its faceted surface filled the screen. Across its smooth planes the silver etchings were plainly evident. “Have you recorded the entire pillar?”

“Aye, completed and recorded. Just waiting to collect the sample.”

Ferdinand heard the exasperation in the man’s voice. “I appreciate your patience, Lieutenant. We’re ready to proceed. Try to collect a sample without marring any of the writing.”

“Aye, sir. I’ve studied the pillar. There’s no writing near the top. Should I attempt a sampling there?”

“Yes. Very good.”

On the screen, Ferdinand watched the Perseus circle the forty-meter length of crystal, climbing toward its apex. Once there, the image focused on the faceted top of the obelisk. “I’ll try to nip a bit off the very tip.” The pilot’s voice crackled with static as the vessel edged toward the pillar.

“Be careful.”

As they watched, the video feed began to flicker with static, too. The sub floated toward the pillar, slower and slower. It was almost as if the video feed were playing in slow motion. As the sub neared its goal, a titanium arm reached cautiously outward.

“Careful,” Ferdinand warned. “We don’t know how fragile that thing is.”

A few jumbled words answered, frosted with static: “…odd…trembling…can’t hear…”

John touched Ferdinand’s shoulder. “The crystal’s emissions must be messing with the sub’s communications. Remember the reports from the salvage ship’s sub.”

Ferdinand nodded, worrying that perhaps he should’ve waited until Spangler had returned. If the Navy’s sub were damaged…

The titanium claw reached for the pillar, intending to pinch the tip off the crystal. It was agonizingly slow.

“The first deep-sea circumcision,” John mumbled.

Ferdinand ignored his friend’s attempt at humor and held his breath.

The pincer closed on the faceted point. Brentley’s voice suddenly came through the speakers, crystal clear again. “I think I’ve—”

The video image froze. Both John and Ferdinand glanced in puzzlement at each other. Frowning, Ferdinand tapped the screen. For a brief moment he thought he saw the submersible vanish then flicker back.

Abruptly, the video image resumed. “—got it!” Brentley finished. On the screen, the sub retreated from the pillar, its titanium arm held up high, a chunk of crystal in its grip.

“He did it!” Ferdinand said.

“To hell with the glitches!” John blurted out happily.

A cheer arose from the crew — but broke off as a fierce rattling began to shake through the base.

A wary hush descended. Ferdinand held his breath.

The rattling grew into a savage shaking. Doors rattled. Shelved containers tumbled.

“Sea quake!” John yelled.

Cries rose from the various science stations. The video connection to the Perseus disappeared as the monitor’s screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.

John stumbled to one of the porthole windows. “If any of the seals break—”

Ferdinand knew the threat. At a depth of six hundred meters, the pressures outside were close to half a ton per square inch. Any rupture would lead to immediate implosion.

Emergency klaxons bellowed; red warning lights flared.

Ferdinand yelled in a firm tone of command. “Retreat to Level 3! Prepare to evacuate!”

One of the marine biologists ran toward them, almost colliding with John. “The interlevel hatches have sealed themselves. I can’t override on manual.”

Ferdinand swore. In case of flooding, the safety systems automatically locked down and isolated each tier — but the manual override should have worked. He stood up on the bucking floor as the main lights flickered out. Everything became red-tinged in the glow of the emergency lights.

“Oh, God!” John said. His face was still pressed to the porthole.

Ferdinand stumbled to a neighboring port. “What is it?” It took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing. The neighboring forest of lava pillars shook and vibrated as if a mighty wind were blowing through it. Distantly, bright fiery glows marked opening magma fissures. But neither sight was what had triggered John’s outburst.

In the direction of the pillar, a jagged crack split the seabed floor. As Ferdinand watched, the rift widened, and in vicious zigzags it raced toward the Neptune.

“No…”

There was no time to evacuate.

Other scientists took up positions at other portholes. A heavy silence settled. From somewhere across the way, a whispered prayer began to echo.

Ferdinand could do nothing as his lifelong dream was about to end. His fate was in the hands of God. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cold glass. How many had he killed down here? As fear and guilt clutched him, it took him a moment to realize the rumbling roar had begun to recede. The temblors underfoot calmed.

Ferdinand lifted his face.

John was staring back at him, wearing a frightened smile. “Is…is it over?”

Ferdinand glanced out the porthole. The jagged fissure had reached within a yard of Neptune’s steel legs.

The quake shook with one last fierce rumble, then died away.

“That was too close,” John said.

Ferdinand nodded.

Over the radio, a squelch of static erupted. “Neptune, this is Perseus. Is everyone okay in there?”

Ferdinand stumbled to the transmitter, relieved that Brentley had safely weathered the quake. “All clear, Perseus. Just shaken up.”

“Glad to hear it! I’ll pass the news topside.”

“Thank you, Perseus.”

Ferdinand slumped in his seat. He turned to John. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen again.”

John nodded. “Oh, yeah. I don’t have enough clean pairs of underwear.”

Ferdinand smiled weakly. He willed his heart to stop pounding. That had been too damn close.

“Kaselehlie!” The small dark-skinned boatman greeted Karen in native Pohnpeian, smiling broadly. He was bare-chested and wore loose shorts that hung to his knobby knees. Behind him, the ruins of Nan Madol spread in a series of man-made islets toward the open sea. “Ia iromw?”

“We’re fine,” Karen answered, bowing her head slightly. “Menlau. Thank you. I called earlier today about a day rental of one of your rowboats.”

The man nodded vigorously. “The scientists. Yes, I have better than a rowboat.” He turned and led them down a short stone quay of black basalt to a pair of long canoes. “Much better. Smaller. Travel the canals better. Faster.” He motioned with a hand, sweeping it back and forth.

Karen eyed the worn fiberglass canoes dubiously. They hardly looked seaworthy enough even for the shallow canals. “I guess these will be fine.”

The boatman’s smile widened. “I have map. Two American dollars.”

Karen shook her head. “I have my own. Thank you.”

“I act as guide. Seven American dollars an hour. I show you all the sights. Tell you stories.”

“I think we can manage on our own. Besides, we have our own guide.” She nodded toward Mwahu.

The boatman looked crestfallen and waved them toward the canoes.

“Menlau,” she said, passing down the quay, leading the others.

Jack kept pace with her and mumbled, “A real capitalist, that guy.”

At the two canoes, Miyuki joined them. She studied the sun low on the horizon. “Let’s get going. We don’t have that much daylight left.”

Karen sighed. She knew her friend still fretted over Mwahu’s earlier warning. “Miyuki, you’re supposed to be a computer scientist. Since when do you believe in ghosts?”

“Looking at this place, I’m beginning to waver.” Overhead, a pair of fruit bats swept past. Distantly, the calls of birds sounded lonely and lost. “It’s so creepy here.”

Karen nudged one of the boats. “Well, you’re right about one thing. We should get going. Why don’t you and Mwahu take this one? Jack and I will take the other.”

Miyuki nodded and climbed into the canoe as Mwahu held it steady. Then the islander clambered skillfully in afterward.

“Are you sure you can lead us to the grave of your ancient teacher?” Karen asked Mwahu.

He bobbed his head.

Satisfied, Karen turned to the other canoe. Jack already sat in the stern. She carefully stepped into the canoe’s bow end and picked up a paddle. “Everyone ready?”

There was a general sound of assent.

“Let’s go!”

Karen dug in her paddle, and the canoe slid smoothly from the dock. Ahead, Miyuki and Mwahu led the way, paddling under the basalt entry gate of the ruins. Past the gate, the breadth and scope of the site opened before them. High palaces, low tombs, great halls, miniature castles, simple homes. All framed by watery canals. Mangrove trees and thick vines were draped throughout, creating a maze of water, stone, and overgrown vegetation.

Karen paddled silently, while Jack guided the canoe with considerable skill. He cut the boat around a narrow corner. They were traveling through what was known as the “central city” of Nan Madol. The canals here were less than a meter wide, the basalt islets tightly packed around them. Jack continued to follow Mwahu’s zigzagging course.

“You’re good at this,” Karen said as Jack swung the canoe smoothly under a bridge of vines and lilting white flowers. “SEAL training?”

Jack laughed. “No. It’s a skill learned from years of float trips down the rivers and creeks of Tennessee. It’s like riding a bike. You never forget.”

Facing forward, Karen hid her smile. It was good to hear Jack laugh. She settled back as they paddled slowly toward the heart of the ruins, crisscrossing from canals dark with deep shadows to sunlit channels. Some paths were so choked with overhanging ferns and mangrove boughs that she wished they had a machete. Yet at all times the stacks of basalt logs surrounded them, prismatic crystals glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. Walls towered up to thirty feet, only broken by the occasional window or doorway.

Finally, the canals widened. To the right, an especially huge basalt island appeared, a great structure built upon it. Its walled fortifications towered forty feet, a monstrous construction of logs and gigantic boulders.

“Nan Dowas,” Karen said, pointing at it. “The city’s central castle.” They glided along the fern-choked coastline of the wide island. Doorways opened into the structure, some intact, some collapsed.

“It’s huge,” Jack said.

They passed another entrance guarded by a large basalt boulder. Nodding toward the structure Karen explained, “It’s one of the entrances to the subterranean tunnel network. The passages here have never been fully explored and are considered feats of engineering. In fact, further west, there’s an islet named Darong with a man-made lake atop it. At the bottom of the lake is a sea tunnel that leads to the reef’s edge. It allows fish to travel into the artificial lake, maintaining its stock.”

“Impressive.” Jack dug in his paddle and turned the canoe away from the castle as Mwahu led them to a more open section of the city. They floated over coral reefs rich with anemones and colorful fish.

From here the imposing sea wall of basalt pillars and slabs came into view. Taller monoliths dotted its lengths, silent stone sentinels staring out to sea. Periodically, narrow spaces opened: gates to the ocean beyond.

After a few minutes of gliding along the walls, they cut back into the maze of islets. Soon Karen found herself drifting down a narrow canal, the walls festooned with tiny pink and blue blossoms, scented not unlike honeysuckles. She inhaled deeply.

A slap drew her attention around. “Bees,” Jack warned.

Karen smiled. “Leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone.” She felt something crawling on her arm and jumped — then realized it was Jack tickling her with a long blade of dry grass. “Funny,” she scolded him.

He tossed the blade away with a look of total innocence.

Karen faced forward, paddle across her knees. At least Jack seemed to be coming out of his funk.

Behind her, he spoke up, more serious. “Do you have any idea where this guy is taking us?”

She fished out her map and spread it on her lap. She eyed the islets around her, then bent over the map. “Hmm…”

“What?”

“I can guess where he’s leading us. There’s a sacred place near here.” She looked up as they rounded a tall promontory.

Ahead appeared a huge island, even larger than Nan Dowas. But instead of a single castle, the artificial island held a sprawling complex of buildings and crumbled walls.

Mwahu aimed his canoe toward its shore.

“Pahn Kadira,” Karen said, naming the place. “The ‘Forbidden City’ of Nan Madol.”

Mwahu glided into the island’s shadow and beached at a low spot. He waved them over.

“Why forbidden?” Jack asked.

“No one can say. It’s a term passed from generation to generation.”

Jack guided them toward the bank, pulling alongside the other canoe. “It seems we’re about to find out.”

Jack held the boat steady while Karen climbed ashore. As she joined Miyuki and Mwahu, Jack roped the canoes to the bole of a lone mangrove.

“This way,” Mwahu said softly. His gaze flickered across the deep shadows as he led them along a thin trail through a dense accumulation of ferns to an arched entry.

Beyond the gate, a wide stone plaza opened. Grasses and flowers sprouted between the cracks. To the left, the remains of an ancient fortification lay toppled. To the right stood low-roofed buildings with narrow doorways and small windows. Ahead, splitting the plaza in half, was a thin carved channel, an artificial creek forded by a wide bridge.

“It is so hot,” Miyuki said. She wiped her face with a handkerchief, then pulled out a small umbrella. Pohnpei was known for its frequent showers, but today the sky had remained cloudless. Miyuki opened her umbrella and sheltered in its shadow.

As a group, they crossed the long plaza.

Karen would have liked to explore the surrounding sites, but Mwahu continued on single-mindedly, looking neither right nor left. He led them across the bridge and toward a tall building on the far side. It rose ninety feet above the plaza, with two low wings sprouting off from the central keep.

Karen stepped up next to Mwahu. “Is this the tomb of Horon-ko?”

Mwahu did not answer. He made a vague motion to remain silent. Reaching the wide entrance to the central keep, he paused and bowed his head, his lips moving silently.

Karen and the others waited.

Finished with his prayer, Mwahu took a deep breath and led them inside, with Karen right behind him.

The entrance hall was dark and refreshingly cool. As Karen entered she was struck by how clean the air smelled. No mustiness, just a hint of salt and dampness. The short passage led into a cavernous chamber. Their footsteps on the stone floor echoed off the heights. She fumbled through her pack and removed a penlight. The thin beam pierced the darkness, splashing across the featureless walls and roof.

Basalt and more basalt. No crystals, no indication of any writing.

Mwahu frowned hard at her, then continued to lead them on.

Jack whistled. “This place is massive. You described it, but to see this construction firsthand…It must’ve taken thousands and thousands of people to build this single building, even aided by a pair of the magical brothers.”

Too awed to speak herself, Karen nodded.

They left the huge hall and entered another low passage. The press of stone overhead seemed to weigh down upon Karen’s head. She wasn’t prone to claustrophobia, but there was a certain heaviness about the place that couldn’t be ignored. The passage turned sharply and sunlight flared ahead.

Mwahu led them into a rear courtyard. Karen stepped back into the brilliance of the sunlight — and the heat. Miyuki shook open her umbrella again.

Around the space, the once-tall walls lay toppled. Lengths of cracked basalt logs were tumbled amid boulders and smaller rocks. Still, the solemnity of the yard was not diminished. Though no longer inside the keep, Karen still felt the weight of centuries there.

Adding to this effect was the courtyard’s central altar: a massive hewn block of prismatic basalt. At four meters in length and a meter high, she guessed that it weighed several tons. They were all drawn to it as it glowed and sparked in the last rays of the afternoon sun. None of them could keep their hands from touching its surface.

Mwahu dropped to his knees.

Karen noted that the spot where he knelt was worn into the rock. How many generations of his people had made the pilgrimage here? she wondered, moving beside him. “Is this the gravestone of your ancient teacher?” she asked.

He nodded, head bowed.

Jack circled the great block. “I don’t seen any writing. No clues.”

Mwahu stood and indicated that Karen should give respect and kneel. She nodded, not wanting to offend, dropped her pack and knelt. Mwahu pointed toward the stone.

She stared, not sure if she was supposed to bow, recite a prayer, or perform some other act of respect. As she looked at where Mwahu pointed, however, she had her answer. “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Jack said. Miyuki stepped to her other side.

“Come see.” Karen stood and returned to the stone. She brushed the block’s surface with the palm of her hand. It was no optical illusion. “I’m not surprised you missed it. You can only see it if you’re kneeling.”

“See what?”

She tugged Jack down by an arm so he could look across the stone’s surface. She traced a finger. “There.”

Jack’s jaw dropped. “A star!”

“Carved so thinly, or simply worn faint by time, that the only way to see it is from an extreme angle.”

He straightened. “But what does it mean?”

Miyuki took a peek, too, then answered from under her umbrella, “It’s like back at the pyramid. We need the crystal.”

Karen nodded and tugged open her pack.

Jack still looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

Karen hadn’t told him about how she’d used the crystal star, and now she tugged out a black cloth bag and shook it out. Behind her, Mwahu gasped with awe. She crossed to the stone as the others gathered around her, carefully placing the artifact atop the thin carving. It was an exact match. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect. Nothing happened.

Disappointed, Karen stepped back. “The crystal star must act as a key, but how?”

Miyuki, leaning over the stone, said, “Remember back at the pyramid — darkness was the final key.”

Karen slowly nodded. It had taken perfect darkness for the crystal star to function as the key to release them from the heart of the Chatan pyramid.

“So what do we do?” Jack asked. “Wait until nightfall?”

Miyuki looked sick at this suggestion.

“I don’t know….” Karen studied the stone. Something didn’t sit right with her. Then it struck her. She recalled the symmetry and balance of the Chatan pyramids. The yin and the yang. “Of course!”

“What?” Jack moved to her side.

“It’s not darkness we need!” She waved Miyuki away from the stone. Her friend’s umbrella had been casting a shadow over the crystal. As Miyuki stepped back, raw sunlight bathed the crystal. The star burst with radiant brilliance. “It’s light!”

A loud crack sounded from the stone. The others moved back a few steps but Karen stood her ground.

A hidden seam appeared around the solid block. It outlined a four-inch-thick lid resting squarely atop the stone block.

Karen stepped forward.

“Be careful,” Jack warned.

She touched the block’s lid and pushed. The slab of basalt shifted, moving as easily as if it were Styrofoam. “It hardly weighs a thing!”

Jack moved beside her, his gaze fixed on the crystal star. He shadowed his hand over it. “Try pushing now.”

She did. The lid wouldn’t budge.

Jack removed his hand, exposing the crystal to sunlight again, and using a single finger, he moved the slab of stone to the side. “The star has somehow extended its weight-altering properties to the basalt.”

Karen was stunned. “Amazing. This must be how the magical ancients ‘floated’ the stones in the past.”

“It looks downright magical enough to me, that’s for damn sure.”

Miyuki, beside them, pointed into the block’s interior.

Karen leaned over as Jack pushed the stone lid back farther.

Inside the altar there was a carved alcove, lined by a shiny metal. Karen touched it. “Platinum.”

Jack nodded. “Like your story. The platinum coffins the Japanese divers discovered underwater during World War Two.”

Karen nodded. “But this coffin isn’t empty.”

Resting inside were the bones of a human skeleton.

Mwahu spoke at Karen’s shoulder, a whisper. “Horon-ko.”

Karen studied the remains. Clinging to the bones were a few scraps of dusty cloth, but what had captured her eye was a book, bound in platinum, clutched in the bony grip of the coffin’s occupant.

Carefully, she reached inside.

“No!” Mwahu cried.

Karen could not resist. She gripped the book and lifted it.

Disturbed, the bones of the fingers fell away to dust. Then, like toppling dominoes, the degradation of the bones spread. The rib cage collapsed, the femurs and pelvis disintegrated, the skull caved in. Soon the form was no longer recognizable.

“Ashes to ashes,” Jack mumbled.

Karen held the platinum book in her fingers, stunned by her thoughtless act of desecration.

Mwahu began to weep behind her. “Doomed,” he moaned.

As if hearing him, the first bullet struck the basalt altar, stinging Karen’s face with a spray of rocky shards.

Admiral Mark Houston climbed the five levels to the bridge of the USS Gibraltar. They were under full steam from Guam, where two days ago they had offloaded the civilian NTSB team along with the crated wreckage of Air Force One. In Guam, the Gibraltar had also reacquired its normal complement of aircraft — forty-two helicopters, both Sea Knights and Cobras, and five Harrier II fighter/bombers — along with its usual complement of LCAC amphibious landing craft. All to land the ship’s Marine detachment safely on Okinawa and bolster the island’s defense.

Reports coming from the region were growing worse by the hour. Apparently, the Chinese naval and air forces were merciless in their determination not to surrender Taiwan.

Passing through a cipher-locked hatch, Houston shook his head. It’s folly. Let the Chinese have the damn island. He had read the intelligence reports on the agreement signed between the leaders in Taipei and Beijing. It was not all that different from China’s assumption of control in Hong Kong and Macau. It would be business as usual. As they did in Hong Kong, the Chinese had no intention of weakening Taiwan’s economic base.

Still, he could understand the administration’s position. President Bishop had been murdered. Whether the upper levels in Beijing knew of the plot or not, the crime could not go unanswered.

Upon hearing of the escalating conflict, Houston had offered his services to remain on board and proceed to the beleaguered front. Calmer heads were needed out there. He was to oversee the situation and report his recommendations to the Joint Chiefs.

He climbed the last ladder, his knees protesting, and entered the bridge of the Gibraltar. The navigational equipment, map table, and communication station were all manned and busy.

“Admiral on the bridge!” an ensign called out.

All eyes turned in his direction. He waved them back to their duties. A groggy-eyed Captain Brenning pushed from his day cabin into the main bridge. He looked like he’d had less than an hour’s sleep in the past three days. “Sir, how can I help you?”

“I apologize for disturbing you. Just coming topside to stretch my legs. How are things faring?”

“Fine, sir. We’re thirty-six hours out and ready.”

“Very good.”

The C.O. nodded aft. “Sir, the Marine commander is over in debark control. I can let him know you’re here.”

“No need.” Houston stared out the green-tinted windows of the bridge. Rain sluiced across the glass. All day long a thin rain had been falling and a misty haze obscured the horizon. Having been holed up in his cabin since morning, conferring with Washington, he had primarily come up here to see the sun. He had thought a climb up to the bridge would do him some good, cheer him up. But instead he felt a heaviness grow in his chest. How many would die these next few days?

At the communication station, a lieutenant pulled headphones from his ears and turned to his captain. “Sir, I have an encrypted call from the Pentagon. They’re asking for Admiral Houston.”

Captain Brenning nodded to his day cabin. “Admiral, if you’d like, you could take the call in my cabin.”

Houston shook his head. “That’s no longer my place, Captain. I’ll take it out here.” He crossed and picked up a handset. “Admiral Houston here.”

As he listened, the cold of the island’s superstructure crept into his bones. He could not believe what he was hearing, but he had no choice. “Yes. I understand.” He handed the receiver back to the lieutenant.

The others must have sensed his dismay. The bridge grew quiet.

“Sir?” Captain Brenning stepped toward him.

Houston blinked a few times, stunned. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer to borrow your day cabin.” He turned and walked toward the door, indicating that Brenning should follow.

Once inside, he closed the door and turned to the C.O. “John, I’ve just received new orders and a new objective.”

“Where do they want us to go?”

“Taiwan.”

The captain blanched.

“Word has come down from the Hill,” Houston finished. “We’re officially at war with China.”