"Take a look at the bridge. Quick."
Dirk glanced up at the ship's forward superstructure. Through the open side wing door, he caught a brief glance of a person stepping by. A tall person with flowing red hair that fell beneath the shoulders.
"Summer."
"I'm sure it is her," Dahlgren said.
A wave of relief fell over Dirk at seeing his sister still alive. With renewed vigor, he kicked the catamaran harder toward the ship. "Let's get aboard and find out what's going on."
It was a task easier said than done. The ship's lowest deck was still ten feet above them. And with the ship held in position by its thrusters, there was no anchor line in the water. Dirk hoped there might be an imbedded steel ladder on the ship's stern, a feature not uncommon on utility vessels.
They reached the bow and were quietly paddling aft when the third detonation erupted below them.
They could feel a minor vibration from the ship and noticed a few ripples in the water, but still no boiling torment of an underwater explosion. The lights around the moon pool illuminated the underside of the ship, and they could see a string of cables running down to the tripod device, which stood upright on the sea bottom.
They moved a few more feet down the ship's side when Dirk realized that the rumble of the nearby side thrusters had fallen silent. Before he knew what was happening, the ship's side hull smacked into the catamaran with a bang, then jerked the craft up on a building wave of water. The entire ship was moving laterally into them and quickly building speed. Sitting atop the side thrown high, Dirk could see that the catamaran was going to flip. The low surfboard was being pushed down and it was just a matter of seconds before the whole craft got sucked under the moving ship.
"Get off the board," Dirk yelled at Dahlgren.
He prepared to roll off the side himself when he caught sight of a line over his head. It was an unused mooring line that looped over the side of the ship, dangling down a few feet below the deck. With a desperate lunge, Dirk sprang up and off the twisting catamaran, barely grasping the rope with his left hand. Pulling his body around, he grabbed on with both hands, the line dropping taut under his weight to within a yard of the water.
He looked back to see the catamaran tumble down and under the advancing ship, swallowed beneath its side. Dahlgren was farther back, riding atop the cresting wave and swimming like a madman.
"Over here. I've got a line," Dirk implored in a low voice, hoping not to draw attention to their plight.
It was loud enough for Dahlgren to hear. He fought his way toward Dirk at a frantic pace that both men knew he could not sustain for long. The water seemed to swirl in all directions off the flat side of the ship, tugging Dahlgren one way, then another. When he finally surged close, Dirk reached out and grabbed a handful of his wet suit and yanked with all his strength. He pulled him far enough out of the water that Dahlgren was able to hook an arm over the line. He hung limp for a minute, catching his breath from the exertion.
"That was exciting," he muttered.
"And also the second time today that I've had to fish you out of the water," Dirk said. "If this continues, I must insist that you go on a diet."
"Ah'll take that under advisement," Dahlgren panted.
Resting for a moment, they proceeded to climb up opposite ends of the rope, emerging on deck a few yards apart. Though faint voices told them that a few crew members were on the stern, they were able to regroup undetected on the port beam. Dirk took a quick glance toward the high wall of lava that was quickly approaching in the darkness. There was clearly something amiss in the wheelhouse, as the ship was on a collision course and nobody seemed to be aware of it.
"Let's move," Dirk whispered. "I have a feeling we're not long aboard this ship."
As they started to move forward, another deep rumble began to sound in the distance. This time, the noise came from the shore.
***
Five thousand miles away, the elevator doors opened on the tenth floor of the NUMA headquarters building and a sleepy-eyed Hiram Yaeger eased toward his computer room toting a thermos of Sumatra-blend coffee. His eyes widened at the sight of Dr. McCammon seated at the console, an anxious look on his face.
"You got the jump on me again, Phil?" Yaeger asked.
"Sorry for the early intrusion. Something just came over the wire from the National Earthquake Information Center that looks important."
He spread a seismogram across the table as Yaeger slid into an adjacent swivel chair.
"A large quake struck the Big Island of Hawaii just moments ago," McCammon said. "A little over 7.0
magnitude. And it was a shallow quake. Its epicenter was just a mile off shore, in a place called Keliuli Bay."
"What do the foreshocks look like?"
McCammon crinkled his brow. "Very similar to the ones we've seen before. Man-made in appearance.
I just fed the data to Max for assessment. Hope you don't mind me taxing her talents while you were away," he added.
Max was standing near a computer bank with her arms crossed, looking deep in thought. She turned and smiled at McCammon.
"Dr. McCammon, I am delighted to assist you at any time. It is a pleasure to work with a gentleman,"
she added with a slight tweak of her nose in Yaeger's direction.
"Good morning to you, too, Max," Yaeger said. "Have you completed the analysis for Dr.
McCammon?"
"Yes," Max nodded. "As Dr. McCammon can show you, there were two primary foreshocks recorded before the quake. Each had nearly identical seismic readings, though there was a slight increase in intensity with the second foreshock. And both foreshocks appear to have originated near the surface."
"How do they compare to the foreshocks recorded before the two Persian Gulf earthquakes?" Yaeger asked.
"The foreshocks show near identical signal characteristics to those that preceded the earthquakes at Ras Tanura and Kharg Island. Like those shocks, they originated near the surface."
Yaeger and McCammon looked at each other with grim silence.
"Hawaii," Yaeger finally said. "Why Hawaii?"
Then with a shake of the head, he added, "I think it's time we contact the White House."
-50-
Summer kept her hands gripped around Bull Neck's wrist, despite staring down the barrel of a Glock automatic pistol. Tong stood still in the doorway, trying to assess the situation. Behind him, a deep rumbling echoed across the water, but he ignored the sound while silently admiring Summer's skill at subduing one of his toughs.
On the opposite side of the bridge, the helmsman regained his tongue and nerve, while keeping a safe distance from Summer.
"The port thrusters are disabled," he shouted at Tong. "We will strike the rocks." Waving animatedly, he pointed toward the lava cliffs now materializing off the port beam.
Tong listened without quite comprehending, then followed the helmsman's motions and looked out the bridge wing. As he turned, an unseen pair of thick arms, clad in the black neoprene rubber material of a wet suit, reached out of the darkness and grabbed Tong around the torso. The Mongolian instinctively squeezed the trigger on his pistol, but the shot fired harmlessly through the roof of the bridge. Tong then turned to fight off his attacker by whipping the gun around as a club. But his movements came too late.
His assailant had already taken a step forward, pitching Tong off balance. Tong staggered forward, trying to stay on his feet, but only added momentum to his captor. The assailant capitalized on the momentum with a gyrating lift, sweeping Tong completely off his feet. With a staggering lunge, he heaved Tong up and over the side railing, then let go. The stunned Mongolian let out a shriek as he disappeared over the side, his scream ending with a loud splash when he struck the water below.