The fax machine on the other side of the plane began spitting out pieces of paper, and Ariana went over to check them, ignoring the Fasten Seat Belt sign, and staggering slightly as the plane accelerated down the runway at JFK International.
She recognized what was on the papers as she scanned: muonic imagery from Nagoya’s superkamiokande. She sat back down and traced the lines. She immediately noted the probing around the Ring of Fire and the focus on Mounts Erebus and Wrangell.
She accessed her geological database and looked at Erebus first. It was the second-highest peak in Antarctica, surpassed only by the Vinson Massif. It was also an active volcano, overlooking the largest base on the continent at McMurdo Station. There was an observatory on the side of the volcano at the three-hundred-meter mark that transmitted telemetry and was the jump-off point for visual inspections once a year, during the brief two month of relatively decent weather.
The volcano was wired, which was a good thing, Ariana thought. Six vertical geophones listened to it; gas emissions were checked by a COSPEC V; and seismic stations at McMurdo and around the world were tuned in to any disturbance that might occur. She went to the Department of Geosciences of New Mexico Tech’s web site, where all this data was collected. She accessed the latest reading and was disturbed by what she saw. The volcano was acting up, and a stage-two alert had been issued. A stage three required evacuation of all those who might be affected.
But why Erebus? Ariana wondered. There were only a couple hundred people at McMurdo, certainly not a significant target for the Shadow. She went back to the map and checked the location. Erebus was located in the Ross Dependency of Antarctica, almost an island, connected to the mainland on one side. It was also adjacent to the Rose Ice shelf, the largest ice shelf on the planet. She saw part of the reason then. If Erebus had a major eruption, the ice shelf would be shattered all along its eastern edge, causing massive blocks to float out to sea. Also, the heat from the volcano would have devastating effects on the ice cap.
And what about Wrangell? She cleared her screen and searched for information on the mountain. It was located in Alaska at the west end of the Wrangell Mountains. It too, was an active Volcano. It was also being monitored, and she checked the data. Activity, but not as much as Erebus.
Ariana then looked up the Ring of Fire and immediately saw the significance of the Wrangell. It was like the top of a zipper of volcanoes along the west coast of the Americas. If it went, and the Shadow moved south, it could set off a chain reaction that would tear down the coast of North America, into South America all the way to Erebus in the south; or Ariana reflected, the effect could go the other way from Erebus to Wrangell. She remembered the devastation when Mount St. Helens in Oregon had erupted. She had been on one of the first geological survey teams to go in.
She shuddered to think what effect dozens of simultaneous eruptions all around the Pacific Rim would have.
As the water grew shallower, the water power from crustal displacement had nowhere else to go but up. A tidal wave grew until it towered sixty feet high, carrying millions of tons of water at high speed toward the Chilean coast.
There was no warning, no chance of escape for the thousands who lived in the region where the wave hit. The death toll was low compared to the devastation that had been wreaked in Puerto Rico, Iceland, and Connecticut, but that was little consolation to those who died.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“We must stop by Thera,” Kaia announced as the ship slipped its moors in the port of Brundisium.
“Why?” General Cassius asked.
This was their first chance to really talk since leaving Rome. They had traveled the Via Brusdisii by horse, switching at every stage to new horses, escorted by a troop of Praetorian Guard. The smoothly set stones that made up the way were flanked by a deeply rutted dirt track on which the horses ran. The road, an example of spectacular engineering, was designed for marching troops and carts, not speedy horses.
The road passed thirty miles to the east of Pompeii, and they had ridden at night, the way lit by the red glow on the top of Vesuvius. They’d encountered columns of dazed refugees, and what they heard confirmed what Falco and Kaia had seen: Pompeii had been completely destroyed. The tales of horror were so bad that Falco had forced himself to stop listening. The only solace he had was that he knew his children had died quickly; at least that was the sense he had had in the arena. He had been quiet the entire ride, his mind turned inward, dwelling on the fact that his special talent always seemed linked to death and mourning.
“There is someone at Thera I must talk to,” Kaia replied.
Captain Fabatus was the commander of the ship, a forty-foot-long galley, part of the imperial fleet. It was designed for speed rather than cargo, with sleek lines and two rows of oars poking out of the side, manned by sixty slaves. There was a small contingent of soldiers, one contuberium of eight men. They were there more to keep control over the slaves than for defense, as the Mediterranean and Aegean were Roman seas.
Fabatus was as short, fat man, with a face weathered by the sea. He had outlined the route the ship would take. Southeast around the tip of Greece, passing between there and Crete, then through the Hellespont and into the Pontus Euxinus to make landfall and link up with the XXV Legion.
“My orders are to take you where you wish,” Fabatus said, “but Thera is a little off our route.”
“Who is it you must see?” Falco asked.
“The oracle of Akrotiri.”
Cassius nodded as if that made perfect sense. “How far out of the way is Thera?” he asked Fabatus.
“A half a day, but it is a bad place.”
“A bad place?” Falco repeated. He was wearing the uniform of a centurion, and the armor felt strange, not the same as that which he had worn in the arena. He had brought his gladiator armor with him, but it was tucked away in his campaign bag.
“There is a harbor inside the island,” Fabatus said. “Two ways in with high land all around. It would be an excellent anchorage, superb indeed. But no one uses it.”
“Why?” Falco pressed.
“Bad spirits,” Fabatus said. “Neptune does not favor it. A man would be a fool to go there unless it was absolutely necessary.”
Falco knew that seamen were an extremely superstitious lot, almost as bad as gladiators, but both groups had reason to be. Their lives and livelihood were very dependent on forces beyond their control.
“Is there a harbor on the outside of the island?” Cassius asked.
“A small dock at the base of the cliff,” Fabatus said.
“You will make for that,” Cassius ordered.
Fabatus waddled off into the dark, muttering under his breath about landlubbers and whims of the gods.
“I am tired,” Cassius said. “I must get some rest.”
“I will take watch,” Falco said.
“We are in the bosom of the empire,” Cassius said. “Do you think a watch is needed?”
“Even more so because we are in the bosom of the empire,” Falco said.
Cassius’s teeth flashed in the dark as he smiled. “Very good, Centurion. The right answer as always. I will relieve you in four hours.”
Cassius headed toward the rear of the galley. Falco and Kaia could hear the slap of oars in the water and the low steady beat of the drum as the mater below decks kept the rhythm for the slaves who handled the rowing. Falco felt the cool breeze of the Mediterranean on his skin and knew that here was no such comfort below decks.