On the bridge wing, the ex-calf roper Jack Dahlgren turned back toward the wheelhouse and gave Summer a quick wink and a grin. An instant later, Dirk rushed past him onto the bridge, wielding a gaff he had snared off the lower deck.
"You're all right," Summer gasped at the sight of the two men.
"Alive but soggy." Dirk smiled.
A jovial reunion was cut short by a jarring crash that knocked everyone to the deck. The four-thousand-ton drill ship, driven by the unabated power of its starboard thrusters, smashed broadside into the edge of the cove. The grinding impact of lava against steel echoed up from the waterline. The sharp volcanic rock sliced easily through the ship's hull, penetrating the lower hold in more than a dozen places. Seawater flooded in like a sieve, quickly tilting the ship to a port list. Somewhere in the darkened waters beneath the ship, the lifeless body of Tong swirled about, having found himself at the unfortunate point of impact between ship and shore.
The young helmsman was the first to find his feet, striking a ship's alarm bell, then fleeing out the starboard wing. Summer finally let go of Bull Neck's wrist, but the thug was in no mood to fight when Dirk jabbed the pike into his ribs and prodded him out the port wing door. Outside, the sound of men's shouts competed with the continued rumbling.
"Why did I have a feeling you had a hand in piloting the ship?" Dirk asked his sister with a grin.
"Desperate measures," Summer replied.
"Company on the way," Dahlgren said, peering off the bridge wing. Two flights down, a band of armed men were rushing toward the bridge.
"Can you handle a swim?" Dirk asked, leading the way up the sloping deck toward the starboard wing.
"I'm fine," Summer replied. "A dip was actually on my agenda before you arrived."
The threesome quickly scrambled off the bridge and down to the lower deck, where yells and shouts from the crew peppered the night air. On the bow, several crewmen were preparing to lower a lifeboat, though the water was already washing over the deck of the listing port side. On the opposite beam, Summer wasted no time in further encounters with the crew, climbing over the rail and sliding down the angled ship's flank until plunging into the water. Dirk and Dahlgren followed her in and quickly swam away from the ship.
The rumbling from the shoreline intensified until yet another earthquake rocked the ground. Stronger than the prior jolt, the quake rattled the unstable sections of the lava cliff face. All along the cove, chunks of lava were jarred free, tumbling down the cliffsides and crashing into the water with explosive eruptions of sea and foam.
The cliff towering above the drill ship shared in the instability, the quake carving out a large slice of volcanic rock. The huge piece tumbled once, bounding out from the cliff in free space before dropping directly onto the ship. The spire sliced through the rear of the bridge, collapsing the deck onto the computer room below. The base of the rock mashed into the port beam amidships, flattening a wide section of the ship. Panicked crewman dove into the water to escape the carnage, while the lone lifeboat finally broke free of the bow.
The rumbling from the quake finally fell away, and, with it, the crashing of the loosened rocks. The night air was now ruffled by the gurgling sounds of the dying drill ship, punctuated by the occasional shout of a crewman. A hundred yards away, Dirk, Summer, and Dahlgren treaded water while watching the old vessel's final minutes. "She'll make for a nice reef," Dahlgren noted as the ship tilted lower into the water.
A few moments later, the drill ship slowly rolled to her side, sliding off the rocks and disappearing under the waves to the seafloor seventy feet below. Only her tall derrick, sheared off during the roll and lying against the cliff wall, gave a clue to the ship's final resting spot.
"What did they hope to extract from the wreck?" Dirk asked.
"I was never able to find out," Summer replied. "But they were going to the extreme of ripping open the lava field to get to it."
"While generating a couple of earthquakes in the process," Dahlgren added. "I'd like to know what kind of black box they were using for that."
"I'd just like to know who they are," Summer said.
The drone of an airplane approached from up the coast and shortly banked over the cove. It was a low-flying Coast Guard HC-130 Hercules turboprop, with its landing lights glaring brightly across the ocean's surface. The plane began circling overhead, buzzing the lifeboat and the mangled derrick, before expanding its search for survivors in the water. A few minutes later, a pair of Hawaii Air National Guard F-15s from Hickam Field on Oahu screeched by at low altitude, then lazily circled overhead in support of the Hercules. Unbeknown to the NUMA crew in the water, Hiram Yaeger had persuaded the vice president to investigate the scene when evidence of the second earthquake appeared. An immediate military sortie had been ordered to the site of the earthquakes' epicenter.
"That's a sight for sore eyes," Summer said as the Hercules continued to circle overhead. "I don't know why they're here, but I'm sure glad they are."
"I bet a cutter and some choppers are already on the way," Dirk said.
"Heck, we don't need a darn cutter to pick us up," Dahlgren suddenly said and chuckled. "We've got our own rescue vehicle."
He swam off toward a nearby object floating in the water, then returned a minute later. Behind him, he towed the mangled but still intact catamaran.
"The cat. It lives," Dirk said in astonishment.
Summer looked at the object, then declared with a frown, "My surfboard. What's it doing here?"
She looked quizzically at a mangled aluminum frame that was roped to Dirk's surfboard, which she noticed was pummeled in several places.
"And what happened to your board?"
"Sis," Dirk said with a shrug, "it's a long story."
-51-
The hands of the clock had stopped. Or so it seemed to Theresa. She knew that the constant glances at the ornate timepiece on the wall of Borjin's study only acted to slow its movements. The pending attempt at escape was making her nervous until she finally willed herself to stop staring at the clock and at least pretend to focus on the geological report in front of her.
It was the second straight day they had worked into the night, sequestered in the study with only a break for meals. Unbeknown to their captors, Theresa and Wofford had actually completed the drilling analysis hours before. They feigned continued work in hopes that their evening escort would be just one guard, as occurred the night before. One of the two guards stationed at the door had disappeared after their dinner was cleared away, raising their prospects for escape.
Theresa glanced at Wofford, who was digesting a seismic-imaging report with an almost-happy glow.
He had marveled at the detailed imaging that von Wachter's technology had produced and devoured the profiles like a hog at Sunday brunch. Theresa quietly wished she could push the fear out of her mind as easily as Wofford seemed to.
The clock's hands were creeping past nine when Tatiana entered the study, dressed in black slacks and a matching light-wool sweater. Her long hair was combed neatly, and she wore a dazzling gold amulet around her neck. Her attractive external appearance, Wofford judged, was not enough to mask the cold and emotionless personality that ticked within.
"You have completed the analysis?" she asked bluntly.
"No," Wofford replied. "These additional profiles have impacted our earlier assumptions. We need to make further adjustments in order to optimize the drilling prospects."
"How long will this take?"
Wofford yawned deeply for effect. "Three or four hours should put us pretty close."