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  The awkwardness of swimming with bound wrists increased her fatigue, so she rolled over and rested by floating on her back. Looking into the sky, she noticed a pair of red flashing lights in the distance. Turning herself over, she studied them as they flashed—airplane warning lights. In their brief stabs of illumination, she could see they were affixed to a pair of tall concrete smokestacks. They could only be part of a riverfront power plant.

  As she floated past the lights of Metropolis, she worked her way back toward the near shore. The riverbank went black for a mile, and Ann began feeling cold and alone. But she continued to track the blinking red lights and eventually drew closer. A haze of light at the base of the stacks crystallized into a profusion of bright lights that engulfed the power plant. The lights were set well back from shore, but as Ann passed a shrub-lined bank she spotted a thin inlet that had been cut from the river to the plant.

  When she approached the mouth of the inlet, she began kicking hard. The Ohio’s current tried to drag her past, but she broke free of its grasp and entered the inlet’s calm waters. The cut ran about a third of a mile toward the plant, where the water supplied the coal-fired steam boilers.

  Exhausted from her final struggle against the current, Ann made for the nearest bank. She rested in the mud for several minutes, then pulled herself off the bank and climbed up a berm that had been graded on top for vehicle access.

  She shivered in her wet clothes as she hiked toward the power plant, smelling the rich odor of burnt coal. As she drew closer, she counted several vehicles parked around the plant. Thankfully, a sizable night shift was on-site. Headlights flickered to her left, and she saw a white pickup truck move slowly from the parking lot, an orange light flashing atop its cab. Ann quickened her pace and began waving her bound arms as soon as she thought the driver might spot her.

  The truck sped up and turned onto the berm. It bounced along the narrow track and stopped in front of Ann with a swirl of dust. She raised her cuffed hands and approached the open driver’s window. “Can you please help me?”

  Her voice quivered when she saw Pablo stick his head out the window, brandishing a portable GPS unit keyed to her handcuffs and the Glock pistol.

  “No, my love,” he said in a cruel voice. “It is you who can help me.”

  PART III

  PANAMA RUN

  43

  SUMMER PITT LOOKED UP FROM A CLIPBOARD IN HER lap and gazed out the submersible’s acrylic dome window. With nothing to see but blackness, it felt like being locked in a closet. “How about some exterior illumination?” she asked.

  Her twin brother, seated at the pilot’s controls, flipped on a row of toggle switches. A battery of bright LED lights popped on, putting a glow into the coal-black water. But there was still little to see, aside from particles in the water rushing past the acrylic. At least it gave Summer a visual sense of their rate of descent.

  “Still afraid of the dark?” her brother asked.

  While Summer had inherited the pearlescent skin and red hair of her mother, Dirk Pitt, Jr., resembled his father. He had the same tall, lean build, the same dark hair, even the same easy smile.

  “Down here, what you can’t see can hurt you,” she said. She checked the depth indicator on an overhead monitor. “Coming up on the bottom in fifty meters.”

  Dirk adjusted the ballast tanks to slow their descent, easing the vessel to neutral buoyancy when the seafloor appeared to rise up beneath them. At their depth of three hundred feet, the seafloor was a walnut-colored desolation, populated only by a few small fish and crustaceans.

  “The fault line should be on a bearing of zero-six-five degrees,” Summer said.

  Dirk engaged the submersible’s electronic thrusters and propelled them on the northeast heading. Through the yoke, he could feel a strong bottom current sideswiping them. “The Agulhas Current is humming today. Like to take us to Australia.”

  The powerful Agulhas flowed down the east coast of Africa. Near the southern tip of Madagascar, where Dirk and Summer were diving, it converged with the East Madagascar Current and streams from the Indian Ocean to create an unpredictable swirl.

  “We likely drifted a considerable amount during our descent,” Summer noted, “but if we hold to the heading, we’ll still cross the fault line.” She pressed her nose against the bubble and scanned the lightly undulating seabed passing beneath them. After several minutes, she spotted a slight, but distinct, ridge. “That’s our uplift.”

  Dirk ascended slightly and positioned the submersible in a hover ten feet above the ridge. “Ready for video.”

  Summer powered on a pair of external cameras mounted to the submersible’s skids, then checked the feed on a monitor. “Cameras are rolling, marking start,” she said. “Take us down the line.”

  Dirk thrust the submersible forward, following the ridge in the seafloor. They were working in concert with a NUMA research ship that had surveyed the area previously with a multibeam sonar system, examining an active fault line off the Madagascar coast in hope of better predicting how earthquakes create tsunamis. The submersible’s video would give the shipboard geologists a baseline reference for the area. The submersible would then be sent back to bury small sensors that would precisely record seismic activity.

  The project required an interdisciplinary mix of talents that appealed to both siblings. With Dirk educated in marine engineering, and Summer specializing in oceanography, both twins had inherited their father’s love of the sea. They had joined Pitt at NUMA only a few years earlier but soon reveled in the opportunity to travel the globe to solve the sea’s mysteries. Their work was made all the better when the three of them could collaborate on a project, as they had recently in Cyprus, where they’d discovered a trove of ancient artifacts related to Jesus.

  “Passing kilometer number eight of the subsurface ridge that will never end,” Dirk said two hours into their trolling. The constant bucking of the current was taking a toll, and he could feel his arm muscles begin to tighten.

  “You’re not getting bored already?” Summer asked.

  Dirk stared at the unchanging brown bottom that scrolled beneath them. “It’d be all right with me if someone imported a whale shark or a giant squid to the neighborhood.”

  They tracked the uplift for another hour before Dirk became concerned about their battery reserves.

  “Fighting the current has put an extra strain on the motors. I suggest we think about breaking off the run soon.”

  Summer checked their distance covered. “How about another six hundred meters? That will put us at an even twelve thousand.”

  “Deal.”

  Completing that last remaining stretch, Dirk pulled the submersible to a halt while Summer turned off the video cameras. He began purging the ballast tanks to ascend when Summer motioned out the front bubble window.

  “Is that a shipwreck?”

  Beyond the effective range of the exterior lights, Dirk saw a faint object. “Could be.” He released the ballast pump and thrust the submersible forward.

  A towering black mass gradually emerged, taking on the distinctive shape of a ship’s hull. As they drew closer, the rest of the vessel took form, sitting upright on the bottom and appearing remarkably undisturbed. Maneuvering just a few feet off the seafloor, they approached amidships, inching close to the mystery vessel. The red paint that covered the hull reflected clearly under the submersible’s lights, detailing every rivet and seam.

  “She looks like she just went under,” Dirk said. He drove the submersible up the side of the hull and above the deck rail. There, they spotted three large open hatches on the forward deck. Dirk piloted the submersible toward the bow, skimming over cargo compartments filled with nothing but seawater. They peered down the sharp prow, detecting no damage around the bow. They turned back and surveyed along the starboard rail to the rear superstructure,
where they ascended several levels to the bridge. From just a few feet away, they peeked through the intact windows at an empty control station.

  “Looks like the helm was stripped of most of its electronics,” Dirk said. “That makes a good argument for her being scuttled.”

  “Somebody call Lloyd’s of London,” Summer said. “I’ve never seen such a pristine shipwreck. She must have sunk recently.”

  “No more than a few months, judging by the minimal sea growth.”

  “Why would somebody scuttle a perfectly good freighter?”

  “Hard to say. It’s possible she was under tow, headed for a refit, and sank in poor weather.” He checked the status of their battery power. “It’s about time we head topside, but let’s see if we can get a ship’s name.”

  He guided the submersible around the superstructure to the stern and descended past the aft rail. A bent flagpole hung forlornly over the rail, its former colors long since vanished. When they were twenty feet off the ship, he turned the craft to face the freighter’s transom and adjusted their height so the lights would shine on the ship’s name.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he said in a low voice. “She was scuttled after all.”

  In front of them stood a blank wall of red bisected by a thick horizontal band of rust where the ship’s name and home port had once been posted. But somebody had intentionally ground away the name and covering paint, sending the freighter to the lonely depths in total anonymity.

  44

  THE NUMA RESEARCH SHIP ALEXANDRIA WAS stationed four miles away when the submersible broke the surface, and Summer radioed for recovery. As the submersible drifted with the current, she and Dirk passed the time studying the dusty brown shores of southern Madagascar, which seemed to rise and fall across the choppy sea.

  The Alexandria arrived promptly, its turquoise hull, like all the ships in the NUMA fleet, sparkling under a sunny sky. A brawny man with a thick mustache and even thicker Texas accent directed the retrieval of the submersible onto the ship’s aft deck. Jack Dahlgren opened the vessel’s rear-mounted hatch and welcomed Dirk and Summer to the fresh air. “Y’all have a good swim?”

  “We certainly did,” Summer said, holding up a portable hard drive. “We obtained excellent footage of the uplift and should be able to identify some prime insertion points for the ground sensors.” She climbed past him, scurrying to locate the ship’s marine geologist so they could jointly review the seabed footage.

  “I take it that means an immediate prep for another dive?” Dahlgren asked with a long face.

  Dirk patted him on the shoulder. “I’m afraid it does, my friend.”

  Dirk assisted Dahlgren in removing several heavy sets of battery packs that powered the submersible, swapping them with freshly charged replacements. While they worked on the aft deck, a large patrol boat appeared from shore. As the boat loosely circled the Alexandria, two casually dressed occupants on its open bridge studied the research ship with a look of displeasure. When the Alexandria moved off-site, the patrol boat ran back to shore.

  “I wonder what those boys are up to,” Dahlgren said.

  “They didn’t exactly look like government officials.” Dirk gazed toward the receding boat, and shoreline beyond. “I thought the coast around here was pretty well an empty desert.”

  “A small freighter came cruising through while you were down. It appeared headed to shore, so there must be some sort of harbor nearby.”

  They finished swapping batteries and completed an extensive predive safety check before tracking down Summer in one of the ship’s labs. She had assembled a crate of tiny battery-powered ground sensors that would track tremors and movements in the fault line. Each was contained in a stainless steel canister that sprouted a bright orange metal marker flag.

  “We’ve surveyed in a perfect location,” Summer said. “What we want to do next is go back and bury ten sensors, five hundred meters apart, along the same track.” She looked to Dahlgren. “Can you drop us back at the same starting point?”

  “Can a boll weevil find a Mississippi cotton field? You just go get yourself comfy in my submersible before I decide to put you over the side without it.” He stormed out of the lab, heading for the bridge to confer with the captain.

  “What’s he so touchy about?” Summer asked.

  “I made the mistake of telling him about the wreck we discovered,” Dirk said. “He’s mad that we found it in his submersible without him.”

  She shook her head. “Boys and their toys.” Summer grabbed the sensors and carried them to a cage basket affixed to the front of the submersible. Once they were secured, she climbed inside and joined Dirk in reviewing the predive checklist.

  Dahlgren appeared a few minutes later and ducked his head inside the hatch. “Good to go when y’all are.”

  “We’re launch ready,” Dirk said. “Have a couple of cold ones waiting when we get back.”

  “Sure, but they’re liable to be empty cold ones. Anything else?”

  “Yes. See what the records show in the way of southern Madagascar shipwrecks in the past five years.”

  “That I can do. Happy sowing.”

  Dahlgren sealed the hatch and hoisted the submersible over the Alexandria’s stern. He waited until a radio call from the bridge confirmed they were at the designated drop spot, then lowered the sub. Once the grapple was freed, Dirk was given the okay to flood the ballast tanks, and the yellow submersible slipped under the waves.

  The bottom appeared a few minutes later, and Dirk guided the submersible on its earlier northeast heading. This time they traveled less than fifty meters before crossing the familiar uplift.

  “Kudos to Jack,” Summer said. “He played the currents almost perfectly.”

  “Shall we drop the first sensor?” Dirk asked.

  Summer checked their position, calculated from a dead reckoning program initiated at deployment. “Actually, we should move about thirty meters east to pick up our first track.”

  Dirk made the adjustment. He eased the submersible to a flat section of seabed adjacent to the uplift and powered off the thrusters to settle the whirling clouds of sediment they had stirred up. Summer took over from there, activating a pair of articulated robotic arms. She clawed a vertical pit into the seafloor with one arm, then used the other to grasp a sensor from the basket. She wedged the sensor into the pit and covered up the main body of the sensor, leaving just the bright orange flag protruding from the seafloor.

  “That went well,” Dirk said. He powered up the thrusters and shot down the rift at top speed.

  “You in a hurry to get someplace?” Summer asked.

  “I figured we might take another look at the wreck when we’re finished.”

  Summer smiled. She’d had the same idea and made sure a backup video hard drive was aboard for them to film the wreck.

  They proceeded along the fault, planting the remaining nine sensors along the seven-mile route. When the last sensor was secured, Dirk checked their position relative to the shipwreck. He maneuvered the submersible a short distance until the mass appeared before them. “Right where we left her.”

  “I’ll get some video this time,” Summer said, activating the forward cameras.

  Dirk ascended the submersible as they approached the hulk, heading immediately for the main deck. He crossed to the opposite rail, allowing Summer’s cameras to film the width of the ship’s beam and its open holds, which were missing their hatch covers. He was on a mission of identification, as he turned the submersible and its video cameras toward the high rear superstructure. Its design would offer another clue to the age of the ship and its builder.

  Creeping up the front face of the superstructure, he zoomed over the bridge and hovered near the funnel, which protruded from the aft side. Commercial ships often carried the company colors or logo there, but this
one was painted black.

  “Funny there’s no smudge marks,” Summer said. “Looks like it was freshly painted.”

  “Another attempt to conceal her identity.”

  “Take us in a little.” Summer leaned forward, peering closely at the funnel’s surface.

  While Dirk drew them in, Summer activated one of the robotic arms and flexed it toward the funnel. Making contact, she dragged the claw across the surface, leaving a foot-long gouge.

  “Please don’t carve your initials,” Dirk said. “I don’t want a Lloyd’s agent knocking on my door at two in the morning.”

  “Just checking what’s underneath.”

  As the paint flakes swirled away with the current, they could clearly see an ocher line beneath the scratch.

  “The funnel was originally gold, or had a gold band,” she said.

  “That’s one more nugget.”

  They filmed the wreck for another thirty minutes, capturing its length, deck configuration, and any other details that could aid in its identification.

  “Batteries are approaching reserve power,” Summer said.

  “I think we’ve learned all we can,” Dirk said. “Besides, Jack won’t be too happy if we surface after dark.”

  He purged the ballast tanks, and they began a controlled ascent. Several minutes later, they broke the surface amid a choppy sea driven by a gusting westerly. The sun was already dipping beneath a bank of clouds on the horizon, stabbing the fading sky with bolts of pink and orange. As waves splashed over the submersible’s acrylic canopy, Dirk saw a nearby boat approaching. It was the same patrol boat he and Dahlgren had seen earlier.

  “Looks like someone was waiting for us.” The boat turned directly toward them while increasing speed. “Might be a good time to call the Alexandria to come fetch us.”