Douglas Preston - Riptide

Bonterre glanced up and down the man's suit appraisingly, as if seeing it for the first time. "Grande merde du noir," she muttered fervently. "I did not know Speedo made wetsuits."

"Italians make everything fashionable," Scopatti laughed. "And molto svelta."

"How's my video working?" Bonterre called over her shoulder to Streeter, tapping a small camera mounted on her mask.

Streeter ran his hand down a bank of switches and a video screen popped to life on the control console, showing the jiggling, grinning face of Scopatti.

"Look somewhere else," said Scopatti to Bonterre, "or you'll break your camera."

"I shall look at the doctor then," said Bonterre, and Hatch saw his own face appear on the screen.

"That wouldn't just break the camera, it would implode the lens," Hatch said, wondering why this woman kept him at a loss for words.

"Next time, I get the comm set," said Scopatti, in a joking whine.

"Never," said Bonterre. "I am the famous archaeologist. You are just cheap hired Italian labor."

Scopatti grinned, not at all put out.

Neidelman's voice broke in: "Five minutes to the turn of the tide. Is the Naiad in position?"

Streeter acknowledged.

"Mr. Wopner, is the program running properly?"

"No problemo, Captain," came the nasal voice over the channel. "Running fine now. Now that I'm here, I mean."

"Understood. Dr. Magnusen?"

"The pumps are primed and ready to go, Captain. The crew reports that the dye bomb is suspended over the Water Pit, and the remote's in place."

"Excellent. Dr. Magnusen, you'll drop the bomb on my signal."

The people on the Naiad fell silent. A pair of guillemots whirred past, flying just above the surface of the water. On the far side of the island, Hatch could make out the Grampus, riding the even swell just beyond the ledges. The air of excitement, of something about to happen, increased.

"Mean high tide," came Neidelman's quiet voice. "Start the pumps."

The throb of the pumps came rumbling across the water. As if in response, the island groaned and coughed with the reversal of the tide. Hatch shuddered involuntarily; if there was one thing that still gave him a shiver of horror, it was that sound.

"Pumps at ten," came Magnusen's voice.

"Keep it steady. Mr. Wopner?"

"Charybdis responding normally, Captain. All systems within normal tolerances."

"Very well," said Neidelman. "Let's proceed. Naiad, are you ready?"

"Affirmative," said Streeter into the mike.

"Hold steady and keep an eye out for the spot where the dye appears. Spotters ready?"

There was another chorus of ayes. Looking toward the island, Hatch could see several teams ranged along the bluffs with binoculars.

"First one who spots the dye gets a bonus. All right, release the dye bomb."

There was a momentary silence, then a faint crump sounded from the vicinity of the Water Pit.

"Dye released," said Magnusen.

All hands peered across the gently undulating surface of the ocean. The water had a dark, almost black, color, but there was no wind and only the faintest chop, making conditions ideal. Despite the growing rip current, Streeter kept the boat stationary with an expert handling of the throttles. A minute passed, and another, the only sound the throb of the pumps pouring seawater into the Water Pit, driving the dye down into the heart of the island and out to sea. Bonterre and Scopatti waited in the stern, silent and alert.

"Dye at twenty-two degrees, " came the urgent voice of one of the spotters on the island. "One hundred forty feet offshore."

"Naiad, that's your quadrant," said Neidelman. "The Grampus will come over to assist. Well done!" A small cheer erupted over the frequency.

That's the spot I saw the whirlpool, Hatch thought.

Streeter swung the boat around, gunning the engine, and in a moment Hatch could see a light spot on the ocean about three hundred yards away. Both Bonterre and Sergio had their masks and regulators in place and were already at the gunwales, bolt guns in their hands and buoys at their belts, ready to go over the side.

"Dye at 297 degrees, one hundred feet offshore," came the voice of another spotter, cutting through the cheering.

"What?" came Neidelman's voice. "You mean to say that dye is appearing in another place?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

There was a moment of shocked silence. "Looks like we've got two flood tunnels to seal," said Neidelman. "The Grampus will mark the second. Let's go."

The Naiad was closing in on the swirl of yellow dye breaking the surface just inside the reefs. Streeter cut the throttle and sent the boat in a circling idle as the divers went over the side. Hatch turned eagerly to the screens, shoulder-to-shoulder with Rankin. At first the video image consisted only of clouds of yellow dye. Then the picture cleared. A large, rough crack appeared at the murky bottom of the reef, dye jetting out of it like smoke.

"Le voila!" came Bonterre's excited voice over the comm channel. The image jiggled wildly as she swam toward the crack, shot a small explosive bolt into the rock nearby, and attached an inflatable buoy. It bobbed upward and Hatch looked over the rail in time to see it surface, a small solar cell and antenna bobbing at its top. "Marked!" said Bonterre. "Preparing to set charges."

"Look at that," breathed Rankin, swiveling his gaze from the video to the sonar and back again. "A radiating fault pattern. All they had to do was tunnel along existing fractures in the rock. Still, incredibly advanced for seventeenth-century construction—"

"Dye at five degrees, ninety feet offshore," came another call.

"Are you certain?" Disbelief mixed with uncertainty in Neidelman's voice. "Okay, we've got a third tunnel. Naiad, it's yours. Spotters, for God's sake keep your scopes trained in case the dye spreads before we can get to it."

"More dye! Three hundred thirty-two degrees, seventy feet offshore."

And then the first voice again: "Dye appearing at eighty-five degrees, I repeat, eighty-five degrees, forty feet offshore."

"We'll take the one at 332," said Neidelman, a strange tone creeping into his voice. "Just how many tunnels did this bloody architect build? Streeter, that makes two for you to deal with. Get your divers up as soon as possible. Just mark the exits for now and we'll set the plastique later. We've only got five minutes before that dye dissipates."

In another moment Bonterre and Scopatti were up and in the boat, and without a word Streeter spun the wheel and took off at a roar. Now Hatch could see another cloud of yellow dye boiling to the surface. The boat circled as Bonterre and Scopatti went over the side. Soon another buoy had popped up; the divers emerged, and the Naiad moved to the spot where the third cloud of dye was appearing. Again Bonterre and Scopatti went over the side, and Hatch turned his attention to the video screen.

Scopatti swam ahead, his form visible on Bonterre's headset, a ghostly figure among the billowing clouds of dye. They were already deeper than at any point on the first two dives. Suddenly, the jagged rocks at the bottom of the reef became visible, along with a square opening, much larger than the others, through which the last tendrils of dye were now drifting.

"What's this?" Hatch heard Bonterre say in a voice of disbelief. "Sergio, attends!"

Suddenly Wopner's voice crackled over the radio. "Got a problem, Captain."

"What is it?" Neidelman responded.

"Dunno. I'm getting error messages, but the system reports normal function."

"Switch to the redundant system."