Crash site, northwest of Enewak Atoll, Central Pacific

For the first time in over twelve years, Jack placed his foot aboard a United States military vessel — and it was no small tugboat. He stepped from the Sea Knight helicopter onto almost an acre of open flight deck. The USS Gibraltar was two football fields long and half a field wide, a monstrous beast powered by two boilers. Up and down the flight deck, huge painted numbers signaled, landing pads for up to nine aircraft.

Ducking his head, he strode from under the helicopter’s rotors. Overhead, the roar of the blades was deafening. The rotorwash tore at his unzippered jacket. As he cleared the blades, he almost tripped over one of the many aircraft tie-downs. He caught himself, feeling foolish. A rookie’s mistake. It truly had been a long time since he walked this deck.

Past the deadly blades, Jack straightened and glanced out to sea. Near the horizon, he could just make out the tiny dot that was the Deep Fathom. He had been flown here for an organizational briefing due to start at noon. Closer to the huge ship, flanking its two sides, were three smaller destroyers, support ships for the mighty behemoth.

Jack scowled at the sight. Talk about overkill. At least the Vice President hadn’t deployed an entire goddamn battle group.

Turning, Jack eyed the bristling array of weapons systems near the Gibraltar ’s superstructure. With that much firepower, he thought, who needed an entire battle group? The Gibraltar could probably take over a small country by itself. Its air contingent consisted of forty-two Sea Knight helicopters, five Harrier attack planes, and six ASW helicopters. Additionally, the vessel bore its own defenses: Sea Sparrow surface-to-air missile systems, Phalanx Close-in Weapons System, Bushmaster cannons, even a Nixie torpedo-decoy system. All in all, one hell of a big stick to shake at the enemies of the United States.

Motors whined on his left. A portside elevator lifted another Sea Knight helicopter from the hangar below. Men and women in red and yellow jackets buzzed around the deck. With the large ship approaching ground zero of the crash site, the great beast was stirring.

Near the stern, Jack noted new additions to the flight deck: three large cranes and winch assemblies. Now he understood one reason for the vessel’s late arrival. Before steaming here, they had clearly readied the ship for the salvage operation.

Jack turned. A trio of uniformed personnel strode toward him. He did not know any of them, but did recognize their credentials. Instinctively, he found himself straightening, throwing his shoulders back.

In the lead was the C.O. of the Gibraltar. “Captain John Brenning,” the man said, introducing himself as he stopped in front of Jack. No hand was offered to shake. He gestured to his right and left, saying, “My executive officer, Commander Julie Knudson, and Master Chief Hayward Lincoln.”

Both nodded. The woman eyed Jack up and down as if he were a bug. The black master chief remained stoic, barely acknowledging him.

“Rear Admiral Houston has requested a private meeting before the noon briefing. Commander Knudson will take you below to the officer’s wardroom.”

The captain and master chief turned away, meaning to cross toward the main deck and the rallying air wing. The female officer spun on her heel, ready to lead Jack away.

Three pairs of eyes swung his way. Clearly, their orders were seldom questioned. Jack met their stares, unmoving, awaiting an answer. The sun glared mercilessly off the metal flight deck. Jack knew he was no longer in their chain of command. He was a civilian, his own man.

Captain Brenning sighed. “The admiral did not elaborate on his reasons. He asked us only to deliver you to him ASAP.”

“If you would please follow,” the executive officer said with the barest trace of irritation.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. He would not be bullied into a subordinate position here. When it came to dealing with the military mentality, it was best to let them know where you stood, to get the pecking order firmly established up front.

“I agreed to lend the use of my submersible in this search,” he said. “Nothing more. I only accepted today’s meeting so I could discharge this duty as swiftly as possible. I am in no way obligated to kiss a rear admiral’s rear.”

Agruff voice called from an open hatch behind him. “And who the hell would want you to, Jack?”

The three uniforms snapped to attention, hands raised in sharp salute. “Admiral on deck!” the master chief barked.

From the shadows of the open hatch a large man stepped into the sunlight. He wore a green flight jacket, casually loose. His battle ribbons were in plain view. He strode forward from the shelter of the doorway. When Jack had last spoken to Mark Houston, the admiral had been a captain. Otherwise, Houston had not changed. The old man had the same thick gray hair cropped short, the same weathered features. His frosted blue eyes were as keen as ever as they stared Jack down.

Captain Brenning stepped forward. “There was no need for you to come up here, sir. Mr. Kirkland was just on his way down to meet you.”

The admiral chuckled. “I’m sure he was. But there’s one thing you need to learn about Jack Kirkland, Captain. He doesn’t take orders well.”

Though Jack stood six-foot-three, the admiral still seemed to tower over him, fists on hips. “Jack ‘the Flash’ Kirkland,” he muttered sternly. “Who would have ever thought to see you on the Gibraltar again?”

“Not me, sir. That’s for damn sure.” Though Jack hated to be aboard another Navy vessel, he could not shake a certain warmth at seeing the old man. Mark Houston had been more than his commanding officer. He had proved a friend and mentor. In fact, it was Mark Houston who had successfully campaigned for him to be awarded the seat on the military shuttle mission. Jack cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. Now maybe you’ll cooperate and follow me down to the conference room.”

The admiral dismissed his officers with a nod. “Come. I have coffee and sandwiches below,” he said to Jack, leading the way toward the hatch in the looming superstructure. “The NTSB people have had a long night, so we’re catering this briefing.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jack held his breath as he ducked through the hatch and entered the ship’s bowels. Out of the sun, the cold of the ship struck him immediately. He had forgotten how frigid the inside of the ship’s “island” could be, but the smell of oiled metal triggered old memories. Voices echoed from deeper in the ship. It was as if he had entered a living creature. Jonah in the whale, he thought morosely.

The admiral led him down to Level 2, stopping periodically to bow his head with other officers, to share a joke or pass on an order. Mark Houston had always been a hands-on officer. Before becoming admiral, when Houston was the C.O. here, he had never holed himself up in his room. He could be found as often as not down in the crew quarters as up in the officers’ galley. It was what Jack liked best about the old man. He knew all his crew, and the crew were all the more loyal for it.

“Here we are,” Houston said. He rested his hand on the latch to the door and glanced down the hall, a tired smile on his face. “The Gibraltar. I can’t believe I’m back here.”

Houston snorted. “They’ve got me berthed up in Flag Country. Seems strange. Last night I almost returned to my old C.O.’s cabin by habit. Funny how the mind works.” The old man shook his head and pulled open the door. He waved for Jack to enter first.

The conference room was dominated by a long mahogany table. It had already been set up for the briefing. Water glasses, notebooks, and pens were aligned precisely before each of the ten chairs. There were also thermoses of coffee and platters of small sandwiches.

Jack glanced around as he crossed to the table. Maps and charts hung on the walls, with tiny flagged pins poking out. He recognized a regional map of local currents on a nearby wall. Inked squares were checkered on it. The search parameters. It seemed that the admiral had not been lax on the ride here.

Jack took it all in quickly, then turned to find Houston directly behind him. Again the admiral seemed to study him. “So how’ve you been, Jack?”

Jack scrunched up his brows, surprised by this response. He did not think the admiral bore him any ill will.

But Houston clarified his statement as he sank into one of the seats and kicked another toward Jack. “Life isn’t just about surviving. It’s about living.”

The admiral shrugged. “Just wondering. We haven’t spoken in over a decade. Not even a Christmas card.”

“Okay, a Hanukkah card, you ass. My point is that I thought you’d at least keep in touch.”

Jack studied his own hands, rubbing at his chair’s arm-rests in discomfort. “I wanted to put everything behind me. Start new.”

“Whether you know it or not, I’ve been keeping tabs on you. I know the financial straits you’re in. You’re about to lose that rust bucket of yours.”

“Yeah, and you’ll manage a hell of a lot better with several thousand dollars from the Navy for assisting us in the search for Air Force One.”

Both men just stared at one another for several breaths. Houston finally clenched a fist on his knee, but his voice softened with old pain. “Do you remember when Ethel died?”

Jack nodded. Ethel had been the admiral’s wife for over thirty years. A year before the shuttle accident, she had succumbed to complications from ovarian cancer. In many ways, Ethel had been the only mother Jack had ever known. His own mother had died when he was three years old.

Jack looked up in surprise. The admiral would not meet his eyes, but Jack noticed a glint of tears.

“I don’t know what Ethel ever saw in you, Jack. But I won’t let the old broad down. I’ve given you enough time to yourself…to work through what happened on the Atlantis. But enough is enough.”

He met Jack’s eyes. “You’ve been hiding out here long enough. I want you to come in from the sea.”

“That’s why I recruited you. Not just for your submersible. It’s time you returned to the real world.”

Jack shook his head. “Listen, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I’m almost forty years old, not a child to be coddled. Whether you believe it or not, I’m happy in my current life.”

His former commander sighed and lifted his hands in surrender. “You are a goddamn piece of work, Jack.” He stood up. “The briefing should be under way shortly. I suppose you understand the importance of our work here.”

Jack nodded, standing also. “Of course. It’s Air Force One. The President.”

“It’s more than just the President, Jack. We’ve lost Presidents before. But never under such circumstances, in the middle of a worldwide catastrophe. As much as the rest of the world disparages the United States and its foreign policy, it still doesn’t stop them from looking to us for leadership during a time of crisis — and now we are leaderless, rudderless.”

“I see you at least keep abreast of current events out here,” Houston teased lightly, but his voice quickly grew sober again. His brows knit with worry. “Washington is screaming for answers. Before Nafe can be sworn in, we need to put the fate of President Bishop to rest. Already rumors are spreading. Some are claiming terrorists — Arabs, Russian, Chinese, Serbian, or even the I.R.A. Take your pick. Some are saying it’s all a hoax. Some say it’s a conspiracy tied to JFK.” The admiral shook his head. “It’s a friggin’ mess. For order to be restored, we need concrete answers. We need a body we can bury with the usual pomp and ceremony. That’s why we’re here.”

Jack had never seen Mark Houston look so worried. “I’ll do my best to help,” he said sincerely. “Just ask, and I’ll do it.”

“I never expected less of you.” Before Jack could stop him, the admiral reached out and gave him a quick hug. “And whether you believe it or not, Jack, I’m glad to see you again. Welcome back to the Gibraltar. ”

Houston released him and headed toward the door. “I have a few last minute details to address, but help yourself to the sandwiches, Jack. The egg salad is especially good. Real eggs, not that powdered shit.” The admiral gave him a tired smile, then left, closing the door behind him.

Alone, Jack sank into one of the seats. He wiped his damp palms on his trousers. The gravity of the situation began to press on him. For the first time in a decade, he sensed the eyes of the world again looking in his direction.

Three hours later Jack found himself back on the Deep Fathom, but not for long. Dressed in his blue Norseman dry suit, he climbed into the cockpit of the Nautilus 2000, squeezing into the cramped seat. Once settled, he hooked up the Bio-Sensor monitors and attached his microphone. He ran down the predive safety checklist with Lisa, who was in the Fathom ’s pilothouse.

Charlie worked atop the submersible as it floated behind the Fathom, stomping around, visually checking seals, while Robert, in mask and snorkel, swam under the ship. Jack had done his own check, but his crew were taking no chances. “Check everything twice,” he had drilled into them.

Charlie clambered over to Jack. He stared with concern at his friend. “You sure about this, mon? That’s a long way down. Deeper than you’ve ever flown this girl.”

“On the drawing boards maybe, but this is real life. The ocean has a way of surprising you. She can be a real bitch.”

Jack reached out and clasped the large man’s hand. Then Charlie lowered the acrylic dome over Jack’s head and screwed it into place. Once done, Charlie gave Jack a thumbs-up and dove off the sub, joining the marine biologist in the water as Jack finalized his checklist.

Around the Fathom, the other search ships were spread in a wide circle. Off to the south, the Gibraltar filled the horizon. Overhead, a Sea Knight helicopter buzzed by. All eyes remained on Jack and his tiny sub.

Lisa came on the radio. “You’re ready to go, Jack.” The nervousness in her voice could not be hidden.

“Check and check. Diving now,” he said dryly. He engaged the thrusters, the sub humming under him. He took on ballast and the Nautilus began to lower into the surf. The waterline climbed up the dome, swamping over Jack’s head.

A brief flash of claustrophobia struck him. He ignored it. He knew it was just a base animal reaction, a triggered survival instinct against drowning. Divers had been experiencing it for ages. He breathed steadily past the momentary twinge of anxiety as the sub sank deeper. He had a long way to go.

Earlier, on the Gibraltar, the briefing had been curt and to the point. The overnight search had picked up the pinging of the flight’s data recorder, and the NTSB team had localized the most likely dive spot — in water over six hundred meters deep. The Coast Guard’s vice admiral had argued for deploying the Navy’s Deep Drone, a remote-operated deep-sea robot, to explore the seabed. But the Deep Drone, presently stationed in the Atlantic, could not be flown on-site for another two days.

As the situation was debated, Jack had let the group know that his own ship’s test submersible was rated for depths of eight hundred meters and that he would be willing to at least recon the site and attempt to retrieve the data recorders. The NTSB seemed reluctant to accept his help. “Too dangerous,” the team leader had asserted. “We can’t risk the loss of more lives.”

But Jack’s former commander had argued against such caution. “If Mr. Kirkland says he can safely explore the region, then I say let him.”

Even now Jack could remember the flare of pride at Mark Houston’s support. Without it, he wouldn’t be diving to this new depth.

With his other teammates clear, Jack worked the pedals of the Nautilus. He descended in a slow spiral, his eyes on all his monitors, the ping of his own sonar echoing in his ears. The space between the ping and its return were still spaced far apart.

As he sank deeper, the waters grew darker around him. He flicked the battery switch and engaged the sub’s headlights. Cones of brilliance shot forward, disappearing into the infinite blue. Slipping past the two hundred meter mark, the waters became inky, as if he were descending through oil instead of water. Already Jack heard the telltale groan and tick of stressed seals as pressure built outside the sub. But this was just the beginning. At a depth of six hundred meters the pressure would grow to half a ton per square inch, enough to crush him to pulp in a heartbeat.

He reached to his computer monitor and tapped up the sonar model for this region of the seafloor. The detail was poor. Scans had revealed only an odd fuzzy detail of the seabed. Even side-scanning sonar had failed to make much headway. The topography of the seabed here was too folded and broken with hills, scarps, seamounts, and other seabed aberrations. Any hope of discovering a telltale sonar ghost of the airplane had long been given up. It would be up to him to search from here.

Jack began to feed his own sonar information into the computer model. Slowly the fuzzy detail began to focus. Details emerged. “Are you getting this?” he asked, touching his microphone.

As the sonar image grew crisper, he could make out a maze of gigantic seamounts and flat-topped guyots on the floor below. Deep canyons and troughs wound around these towering mounts. It reminded Jack of the Badlands of the American West, a maze of crisscrossing canyons and river channels through a landscape of windswept mesas and red rock. He had once taken a horseback trip through those wild lands. Even with a map, it had been easy to get lost. He suspected the same was true here.

The radio hissed for a moment, then Charlie’s voice came over the tiny speakers. “I don’t like what I’m seeing, Jack.”

“Seamounts arise from volcanic activity. This dense clustering looks highly suspect to me.”

“Keep an eye out for me, Charlie.” Jack remembered what happened the last time he had ignored the geologist’s advice. A volcano opened up under him. He did not want to repeat the experience.

He continued to sink deeper in a widening spiral, slowing his descent. He watched his depth gauge climb from the four hundred mark toward the five hundred. Beyond the acrylic dome, tiny flickering lights caught his eye, drawing his attention away from his monitors. At first he thought it was just his imagination, then, as if he were caught in a snowstorm, a flurry of blue lights swelled and fluttered around his sub. Bioluminescent creatures, too tiny and transparent to see clearly.

“Coming up on life down here,” Jack said. He hit the video button, swiveling around to appreciate the storm as it rolled and churned away into the darkness. “How’s the new video feed?”

As quickly as they had appeared, the flock of organisms were gone. Darkness closed in again. Jack settled into his seat. The experimental video system had been loaned to them by the Navy and installed quickly, so others could monitor his progress. He glanced to his depth gauge. He was already nearing the six hundred mark.

The sonar echo narrowed. He had to be near the floor. He slowed his descent from a spiral to a gradual slope, gliding smoothly down, lights spearing forward.

“Oh shit!” He saw it at the same time. He slammed the left pedal, tilting the sub and driving it in a sharp turn to the left. He just missed crashing into a tall gnarled pillar. It had appeared out of the darkness. Jack stabilized his sub, circled past the pillar and found himself in a forest of other twisted columns and spires. Some were spindly, only a hand span wide but tens of meters tall. Others were as thick as redwoods and towered just as high. He had almost crash landed into a stone forest.

Jack had never seen their like. He rose a bit to avoid the densest patches, but still had to weave and wiggle around the larger pillars. “What are they?”

“Lava pillars! Fragile basalt columns formed where lava extrudes up tiny cracks in the mantle, then are cooled rapidly by the frigid waters.”

Jack tilted to view the twisted tangle below and watched a huge octopus climb through the tangle. Fish darted from his light.

Charlie continued, “We still don’t know much about them. They were only recently discovered.”

Jack edged past a monster column that had to be three meters thick and vanished up into the darkness over his head.

“But be cautious, Jack. As I was warning you before, this clustering of lava pillars suggests the region is unstable. A tectonic hot spot. Not a place you want to be hanging around. But I’ve got your back. Any blip on the seismic scale and I’ll send you an SOS.”

“How am I positioned in reference to the NTSB’s estimate of where Air Force One’s black box is pinging?”

A short pause. “I’m feeding your computer the newest data. You should be almost on top of her. About a hundred and twenty meters due north.”

Jack glanced to his compass. The needle jittered in a half arc back and forth. He futilely tapped the glass. It had been working perfectly ten minutes ago. “Lisa, you may have to guide me in verbally. The compass is malfunctioning. Can’t get a clear reading.”

Jack slowly turned the ship, estimating by using one of the pillars as a reference point. “How about now?”

Jack depressed the foot pedals, and the sub slid smoothly forward, lights drilling a path forward.

Frowning, Jack watched his compass begin to swing wildly. It reminded him of the problem he had with his compass when he was caught in the volcanic eruption. “Topside…there’s something screwy with—”

Suddenly, the submersible’s lights reflected back at Jack, blinding him for a few blinks. “Holy—”

Ahead, a massive sleek triangle of whitewashed metal blocked the way forward, thrusting up from the jungle of lava pillars. The twin xenon lamps lit it up brightly. In the center, a huge American flag was prominently depicted, under it the designation BOEING 28000. It was the tail fin of Air Force One.

Jack slowed his sub, engaging the thrusters to lift him up and over the gigantic fin. As he rose he dilated his lights to maximum diffusion, thrusting a fog of brilliance over the landscape below.

Past the tail fin, the remainder of the wreckage appeared. In a rain of destruction, the Boeing 747 lay scattered across the valley in a rough circle. Hundreds of the fragile lava pillars lay toppled amid the debris. Seamounts towered on the far side.

Jack slowly circled the site. Sections of torn wing and chunks of fuselage littered the seabed. He crossed over the crumpled nose of the great plane. Its glass had been shattered out, but Jack could see the instrument panel.

He tore his eyes away, afraid of what else he might find. It was a graveyard down here. Memories of the shuttle crash flashed across his mind. Another fall from the sky. Had this been all that was left of Atlantis, bits and pieces scattered across a seabed floor? Jack shuddered.

The admiral’s firm desire to know the fate of President Bishop had been accomplished. All that remained now were the details.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. After the Atlantis disaster, he had experienced firsthand the feeding frenzy of blame, and he pitied the person who would bear the brunt of the coming accusations. Opening his eyes, he reached and gripped the controls to his exterior manipulator arms. He had one final duty down here. Retrieve the two black boxes — the flight’s data recorder and the cockpit voice recorder — and bring them to the surface.

“Lisa, I’m going to need more guidance from here to find those boxes.” Jack glanced at his compass, expecting to see it still spinning. Instead the needle remained fixed and steady, pointing toward the debris field. “Looks like I’ve got the compass back.”

Jack watched the compass needle slowly inch as the Nautilus circled the debris field. “Just a second, Lisa.” Bunching his brows, he accelerated, gliding around the edge of the crash site. He completed almost a full turn, yet the compass needle continued to point toward the center of the destruction.

Jack slowed the sub, swinging its nose forward. He coned his lights back down to narrow spears. The concentrated light penetrated to the heart of the debris field. A towering pillar lay near the center, at least forty meters tall — but something wasn’t right.

He edged the Nautilus forward, passing for the first time into the graveyard. Small hairs at the back of his neck began to tingle. Not from any fear of the ghosts, but something more physical. Even the hairs on his arm began to vibrate.

Lisa’s voice came over the radio, but interference drowned out her words. Not static. It was as if someone had recorded Lisa’s voice and played it back at a higher speed.

He concentrated, and he could just make out Lisa’s words. “Your heart rate…it’s dropping significantly. Are you okay?”

Jack glanced to his own pulse reading. It was normal. “I don’t understand.”

Any response was lost in a high-pitched whine. Jack lowered the volume as it began to ache his ear. He thought there must be a glitch with the radio, and glanced to the compass. It still pointed toward the strange pillar.

As he moved nearer the pillar, the tingling sensation was swept from his body, as if cool water were drenching him. Jack shivered and slowed the submersible. He hovered before the pillar.

Craning his neck, he examined its length. The column continued to glow, but not with its own light. It was simply an optical effect, a reflection and refraction of his own light, like sunlight on a diamond. Though the pillar was clearly stone, it was not black volcanic rock. Instead, it was made of some type of crystal, like a shaft of quartz thrust up from the seabed floor.

Under his lamplight, the crystal had a slight aquamarine hue to it, streaked with whorls of brilliant ruby. Though it stood as straight as an arrow, Jack sensed it was a natural structure. Not man-made. Some natural phenomenon, undiscovered until now. With only five percent of the ocean floor explored, such discoveries, like the lava pillars, were being made all the time.

Jack circled the crystalline obelisk. With the communications still garbled, he feared the video feed might also be affected, so he switched the cameras to local recording, saving it all on DVD disk. Once he was done, he turned the sub around and returned to the edge of the debris field.

The mystery would have to wait for now. He had a mission to complete. He would use his own hydrophones and sonar to search for Air Force One’s data recorders. It would make the work harder, but not impossible. Whatever communication glitch had occurred would have to be worked out topside.

As he swung free of the debris field, Lisa’s voice came over the radio, as clear as glass. “Jack…What the hell is going on down there?”

“Jack!” The relief in her voice rang clear. “You goddamn asshole. Why didn’t you answer me? The readings we were getting were all frizzed, and the video feed became garbled nonsense. We didn’t know what was going on.”

“I’m not entirely sure. There’s something here that I can’t explain. It’s screwing with my compass and must be affecting other systems, too.”

“What is it?” Charlie asked, piping in. “I was getting tiny seismic readings just as you went off-line. You scared me good, mon. ”

“I’m not sure, Charlie. But I got it all on DVD. I’ll show you when I get topside, but right now I still have my mission to accomplish.” Jack glided the sub near the jet’s tail fin again. He had come complete circle. “Lisa, can you guide me to the boxes?”

“Y-You’re right on top of them.” Lisa’s voice trembled. She was clearly still shaken. “Grab them and get your ass out of there.”

Jack lowered the sub. “Will do.” He glanced to his compass. It still pointed to the strange pillar thrusting up from the heart of the debris, a gigantic gravestone marking the resting place of the dead.

He began his search through the rubble with a quiet prayer for the men and women of Air Force One, especially one: Rest in peace, Mr. President.

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