P.M., Oval Office, White House, Washington, D.C.

Alone for the moment, Lawrence Nafe shifted in his chair, assessing the latest developments. His plan to implicate the Chinese had been proceeding like clockwork. Nicolas Ruzickov had proven a loyal friend and a skilled manipulator of the media. Earlier, Nafe had glanced over the letter his Secretary of State drafted to the Chinese Premier. It was fierce. Nafe recognized Ruzickov’s fingerprints all over the letter: no compromise…immediate reprisals…stiff sanctions…

It was just short of a declaration of war. Nafe had been only too happy to sign it. As far as he was concerned, it was about time the Chinese government felt the full weight of American diplomacy…a diplomacy backed by the might of the world’s greatest fighting force. The brief letter signaled an abrupt end to the pandering policies of Bishop’s administration. A shot across the bow, so to speak.

Nafe leaned back in his chair, surveying the spread of the Oval Office. This was now his administration, he mused, enjoying his new status. But his short moment to himself was interrupted by a knock at his door. “Come in,” he snapped.

The door was opened by his personal aide, a thin twenty-something boy whose name Nafe could not remember. “What is it?”

The youth half bowed, nervous. “Sir, the CIA director and the head of the OES are here to see you.”

Nicolas Ruzickov entered first and waved Jeb Fielding, the head of the Office of Emergency Services, toward the upholstered leather chairs to one side of the room. The older man, of bookish appearance, with rolled shoulders and an emaciated demeanor, bore an armful of papers tucked under his arm.

“Mr. President,” Ruzickov said, “I thought you should see this.” The CIA director gestured toward the sofas and chairs around an antique coffee table, where Fielding already sat. “If you’ll join us.”

With a groan, the heavyset Nafe stood and walked around his desk. “It’s late, Nicolas. Can’t this wait? I have my nationwide address first thing in the morning and I don’t want to look too tired. The American people will need a strong face in the morning as the news of Air Force One sinks in.”

Ruzickov bowed his head slightly, remaining officious. “I understand, Mr. President, and I implore your forgiveness. But this matter may have a bearing on tomorrow’s address.”

Nafe settled onto the sofa in the informal seating arrangement. Ruzickov and Fielding were in the chairs, the OES chief with his pile of papers…maps, Nafe realized.

“What is all this?” Nafe asked, leaning forward, as Fielding unfolded a map on the coffee table.

“As you know, the OES has been investigating the series of quakes from eight days ago. Given the devastation on the West Coast, detailed information was slow to dribble out.”

Nafe nodded impatiently. He had publicly addressed the whole “national disaster” bit last week. It was no longer his concern. He knew that in another few days he was due to tour the region, to shake hands at various homeless shelters and attend memorial services. He was even scheduled to cast a wreath off the coast of Alaska to mourn the thousands of deaths associated with the sinking of the Aleutian Islands. He was ready for the trip. He had his suits picked out and had posed before a mirror with his Armani jacket over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It was a solid down-to-earth look, a President ready to help out his people.

Ruzickov drew Nafe’s attention to the map now open on the table. “With data flowing again from scientific stations on the West Coast, Jeb’s office has been compiling the information and seismic readings, trying to explain the natural catastrophe.”

“No, not exactly, but maybe Jeb had better explain from here.” Ruzickov nodded for Fielding to speak.

The older man was clearly nervous. He wiped a handkerchief over his forehead and cleared his throat. “Thank you for your time, Mr. President.”

Fielding smoothed the map on the table. It depicted the Pacific Ocean, a topographic map of the sea floor, continental shelf, and coastlines. Drawn over it were a series of concentric circles. The outer circle, the largest, brushed across the western coast of the United States and arced around to the islands of Japan. The inner circles grew progressively smaller. Little red crosses dotted the coastlines and islands caught within these narrowing rings, marking disaster sites. Fielding ran his fingers along the concentric circles. “Our office has been able to map out the vectors of tectonic force during the series of quakes.”

Nafe wrinkled his brow. He hated to admit ignorance, but Ruzickov picked up on his confusion and said to Fielding, “Start at the beginning.”

Fielding bobbed his head. “Of course…I’m sorry…” He licked his lips. “We’ve known from the start that the eclipse-day quakes all occurred along the edge of the Pacific tectonic plate.” He marked out the rough margins of the outermost ring on his map.

“Maybe I’d better elaborate further,” Ruzickov said, putting Fielding on hold. “As I’m sure you know, Mr. President, the Earth’s surface is actually a hard shell over a molten core, a fractured shell, actually, like a hardboiled egg struck on a table. Each shell piece or ‘tectonic plate’ floats atop this liquid core and is constantly in motion, one grinding against another, sometimes sinking under to form trenches, or conversely, riding up to form mountains. It is at these friction points between plates that seismic activity is highest.”

Ruzickov pointed to the map. “There’s one big plate under the Pacific Ocean. The quakes and volcanic activity eight days ago all occurred along the margins or fault lines of that plate.” The CIA director pointed at some of the islands in the center of the map. “Additional catastrophes to coastlines and islands were the result of tidal wave activity generated by quakes under the sea.”

Nafe sat up, too tired to feign interest any longer. “Fine. I understand. So why this late night science lesson?”

Fielding nodded. “For the past week, we’ve been trying to find out what triggered so many points along the Pacific plate’s edge to go active at the same time, what triggered this catalytic reaction.”

Fielding pointed to each concentric ring drawn on the map, starting at the outermost and ticking down each smaller ring. “By triangulating data from hundreds of geologic stations, we’ve been able to trace the direction of intensity, zeroing in on the true epicenter of this entire series of quakes.”

“You mean all these quakes may have originated from a single bigger event somewhere else?”

“Exactly. It’s called plate harmonics. A strong enough force striking a tectonic plate could send shockwaves radiating out, causing the plate’s rim to blow out with activity.”

“Like a pebble dropped into a still pond,” Ruzickov added. “Generating waves on the shorelines.”

“No,” Fielding said, “but we do know where the pebble struck.” The head of OES continued to draw his fingertip down the map until he reached the centermost circle, a tiny red ring. He tapped his finger. “It was right here.”

Leaning closer, Nafe studied the map. It was only empty ocean. “What’s the significance?”

Nafe gasped. “Are you saying the crash of Air Force One caused this? That Bishop’s jet was this pebble we’ve been talking about?”

“No, certainly not,” Fielding said. “The quakes started hours before Air Force One crashed. In fact, it was the quakes in Guam that required the President’s evacuation. But either way, a plane crash would not yield a fraction of the force necessary to trigger a harmonic wave across the Pacific plate. Instead we’re talking about a force equal to a trillion megaton explosion.”

Nafe settled back onto the sofa. “Are you saying, then, that such an event occurred down there?” He nodded toward the tiny red circle.

Ruzickov spoke into the silence. “Jeb, that’s all we’ll need for now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

The man reluctantly pulled back his hand. He gathered up his other papers and stood. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

As Fielding moved off, Ruzickov said, “And, Jeb, your confidence in this matter would be appreciated. This stays between us for now.”

Ruzickov pointed to the map. “I think this discovery may be the most important find of this century. Something happened out there. Something that might be related to the crash of Air Force One.” The CIA director stared Nafe full in the face. “That’s why I wanted you to hear about this tonight, before the official announcement tomorrow, before we commit ourselves fully to our current plan of blaming the Chinese.”

Nafe shook his head. “I’m not changing our position. Not at this late stage of the game.” He scowled at the concentric rings. “All this is just…just science. Not politics.”

“I agree,” Ruzickov said with a firm nod. “You’re in charge. It is ultimately your decision. I wanted you to be fully informed.”

Nafe felt a surge of self-pride at the CIA director’s support. “Good. But Nick, what about all this other information? Can we keep it buried?”

“Good, then tomorrow’s announcement will go along as planned.” Nafe leaned into the sofa, relieved that nothing would upset his schedule. “Now what did you mean about this being the discovery of the century?”

Ruzickov remained silent for a few moments, studying the map. “I’ve been keeping abreast on all reports from the crash site. Did you know that all the wreckage’s parts are magnetized?”

“The chief investigator, the deceased Edwin Weintraub, theorized that the parts were exposed to a strong magnetic force shortly after settling to the ocean’s bottom. I also read reports that the salvage operation’s submersible experienced some strange effects while down there…something associated with the discovery of a new crystalline formation.”

Ruzickov looked up. “Whatever is down there was strong enough to shake the entire Pacific plate. As Jeb said, a force equal to a trillion megatons. What if we could harness that power? Discover its secret? A supreme new energy source. Could you imagine that firepower at our fingertips? It could free us of the Arab’s stranglehold on our oil supply…power weapons and ships to dwarf any other military. There would be no end to the possibilities.”

“Sounds pretty far-fetched to me. How can you harness a onetime event at the bottom of the ocean?”

“I’m not sure yet, but what would happen if some other foreign nation were to get hold of this power? Jeb is not the only scientist in the world. In the months to come, someone else might devise a similar map and go to investigate. Those are international waters out there. We couldn’t stop them.”

“Currently, we are uniquely situated to explore this site without raising suspicion or outside interest. We’re just recovering our lost President’s ship. It’s the perfect cover. We’ve got men and ships on-site already. Commander Spangler has it cordoned off. Under this cover, we could send down a research team.”

Nafe watched as Ruzickov’s eyes lit up. “So you’ve already thought about this?”

“And I’ve developed a tentative plan,” he said with a grim smile. “Off the coast of Hawaii, a deep-sea project, jointly run by the National Science Foundation and a consortium of Canadian private industries, has been under way for the past decade. They have developed and constructed a self-contained deep-sea research lab…equipped with its own submersible and ROV robots. It could be on-site and manned in four days. The two missions — recovering the last pieces of Air Force One and our clandestine research — should merge together smoothly. No one would suspect.”

Nafe nodded. “If there is something down there, we can’t risk it falling into foreign hands. You have the go-ahead to proceed.”

Ruzickov collected the map and stood. “I’ll contact Commander Spangler immediately and begin the operation.”

Nafe pushed to his feet. “But, Nick, after we set things in motion tomorrow, no one must know about this. No one.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. President. Commander Spangler will lock everything down tight. He has never failed me.”

Nafe swung around his desk and settled into the executive chair once again. “He had better not.”

Jack and the Deep Fathom ’s crew sat around the table in the ship’s wet lab. The marine laboratory was one of the roomiest spaces on the small ship, a convenient meeting hall — if not the most homey. There were only hard metal stools on which to sit, and lining the cabin’s shelves were hundreds of clear jars of marine-life samples, preserved in brine or formaldehyde. The rows of dead animals seemed to stare down upon the assembled crew.

“I’m still not buying this explanation,” George said heatedly. “I’ve wired into the news reports all day long, heard the so-called experts spouting on CNN, CNBC, and the BBC. I’m not believing a word of it.”

Jack sighed. Earlier, he had related to his crew the findings announced at the briefing and their new orders: vacate the area. It took the entire afternoon to restow their gear, secure the Nautilus, and get under steam. By evening they had long cleared the crash zone, and only empty sea surrounded them.

The meeting was not going along as he’d expected. He had called this evening’s session to congratulate everyone for their help and to concoct a plan. With the treasure ship Kochi Maru sunk into a deep-sea volcano, the Fathom would need a new target. The two gold bars dredged up from the dive a week ago had been shipped to Wake Island, and from there to Kendall McMillan’s bank in San Diego. The small treasure barely covered their expenses in the year-long search for the Kochi Maru. The salvage fee for their assistance with the Navy would buy them a bit of latitude, but not much. They would still need to renegotiate a loan.

McMillan, the bank’s accountant, sat at the far end of the table, still looking green around the gills from yesterday’s storms. Whatever was decided here, the bank would make the final decision, deciding whether or not to finance their next venture. McMillan sat with a pen in hand, doodling in the margins of his legal pad. The crew, still angry at being so rudely booted out, had yet to make any progress.

Jack tried to refocus the discussion. “We need to put this matter behind us and consider what to do from here.”

George scowled. “Listen, Jack, before the explosion last night, I wanted to show you something. I still want to get this off my chest.”

Jack recalled the historian’s interrupted midnight talk with Admiral Houston. “Okay, but this is the last time we discuss this matter. Then on to real business.”

“Agreed.” George reached down and retrieved a rolled map from beside his chair. With a flick of his wrists, he unrolled its length across the table. The map held a view of the entire Pacific basin. A large red triangle had been penciled on its surface, with tiny X’s marked within its boundaries.

George ran a finger along the boundaries of the penciled triangle. “It goes by other names. The Japanese call it, ‘Mano Umi,’ the Devil’s Sea. Disappearances in this region go back centuries.” He sat down and tapped each of the tiny X’s, describing the tragedy of a lost ship, submarine, or plane.

“Exactly,” George said, and continued his litany, ending at last with the story of a WWII Japanese pilot and the man’s final, fateful words before his plane disappeared. “ ‘The sky is opening up!’ That was his last radioed message. Now, I find that a remarkable coincidence. Air Force One crashes into the center of the Dragon’s Triangle, and the final words from its pilot are the same as the vanished Japanese pilot from half a century ago.”

Charlie leaned in closer, running a finger along longitude and latitude numbers. His brows were deeply furrowed.

“I saw the explosion site from the bomb,” Jack said. “ That was no weird phenomenon. That was plain murder.”

George made a scoffing noise. “But what of your own findings down below? The crystal spire, the strange hieroglyphics, the odd emanations. On top of all this, most of the wreckage of the President’s plane just happens to settle at this site. If a midair explosion had truly happened, the debris field would be much wider.”

Jack sat silently. In George’s words, he heard his own argument with the admiral last night. He, too, had been convinced that something powerful lay down there. Something with the strength to knock a plane from the sky. He studied the map. The number of coincidences kept piling up, too high to ignore. “But the bomb in the jade bust, the electronic circuitry…?”

“What if it was staged?” George asked. “A frame-up. Washington had already been implicating the Chinese before the explosion.”

Charlie spoke up, his Jamaican accent thick. “I don’t know, mon. I think ol’ George might be on to something.”

“I, too, have heard of this Dragon’s Triangle. I just never made the connection until now.”

“Great, another convert,” Kendall McMillan mumbled from the far side of the table.

Jack ignored the accountant. He turned to the ship’s geologist. “What do you know of the region?”

As answer, Charlie nudged Robert. “Would you please grab the globe from the library?”

Charlie nodded to the map. “Do any of you know the term ‘agonic lines’?”

“It is one of the many theories for explaining the disappearances here. Agonic lines are distinct regions where the Earth’s magnetic field is a bit off kilter. Compass readings are slightly out of sync with the rest of the world. The principal agonic line of the Eastern Hemisphere passes through the center of this Dragon’s Triangle.” Charlie looked around the table. “Do any of you know where the Western Hemisphere’s main agonic line passes through?”

“But what causes these magnetic disturbances in the first place?” Lisa asked. “These agonal lines?”

“Agonic,” Charlie corrected. “No one knows for sure. Some blame it on increased seismic activity in the regions. During earthquakes, strong magnetic fluxes are generated. But in general, magnetism, including the earth’s magnetic field, is still poorly understood. Its properties, energies, and dynamics are still being researched. Most scientists accept that the Earth’s magnetic field is generated by the flow of the planet’s molten core around its solid nickel-iron center. But many irregularities still remain. Like the fluidity of this field.”

Charlie realized that in his excitement he’d spoken too fast. “From a geological standpoint,” he went on, speaking more slowly, “man has only been here for a flicker. During such a small scope in time, the Earth’s magnetic field seems fixed. The North Pole is up and the South Pole is down. But even over this short course, the poles have wobbled. The true position of magnetic north constantly bobbles around a bit. But this is only a minor fluctuation. Over the course of Earth’s entire geologic history, not only have these poles shifted dramatically, but they have reversed several times.”

Charlie nodded. “North became south, and south became north. Such events are not fully understood yet.”

“Hell if I know. Like I said, I find it intriguing. Didn’t you say that Air Force One’s wreckage was magnetized? Doesn’t this fact add to the list of coincidences? And what about your own compass problems down there?”

Jack shook his head. After the passing of a couple days, he was not so sure what he had experienced down there.

“And what about those strange time lapses?” Lisa asked. “I’ve been struggling to find out why the Nautilus ’s clock was always messed up when the submersible neared that crystal thing, but I could never find anything wrong afterward.”

George sat up straighter. “Of course! Why didn’t I make that connection, too?” He began sifting through his pile of papers. “Time lapses! Here’s a report from a pilot, Arthur Godfrey. Back in 1962 he flew an old prop plane to Guam. His craft traveled the 340 miles in one hour. Two hundred miles farther than his plane could have traveled in an hour.” George lifted his nose from his papers. “On landing, Mr. Godfrey could not explain his early arrival, nor why his clocks read differently from the airport’s.”

“I have other examples,” the historian said excitedly. “Modern planes crossing the Pacific but inexplicably arriving hours earlier than their ETAs. I have the details down below.” George stood. “I’m going to go fetch them.”

“This is ludicrous,” Jack said, but he had a hard time mustering much strength behind his words. He recalled his own forty-minute time gap.

“It may not be that strange,” Charlie said as the historian slipped past. “It has been theorized that strong enough electromagnetic fields could possibly affect time, similar to a black hole’s gravity.”

As the historian left the room, he almost collided with Robert. The marine biologist stepped aside for the old professor, then entered. He bore a beachball-sized globe in his hands.

“Ah!” Charlie said. “Now let me show you the really bizarre part. Something I remember reading in a university research paper.”

Charlie held it up and pointed a finger at the Pacific. “Here is the center of the Dragon’s Triangle. If you drove an arrow from this point through the center of the world and out the other side, do you know where it would come out?”

Charlie flipped the globe around and jabbed a finger on it. “The center of the Bermuda Triangle.”

Charlie continued, “It’s almost as if these two diametrically opposed triangles mark another axis of the Earth, poles never studied or understood before.”

Jack stood up and took the globe from Charlie. He set it on the table. “C’mon. All of this is interesting, but it’s not going to pay the rent, folks.”

“I agree with Mr. Kirkland,” McMillan said sourly. “If I knew this was going to turn into an episode of Unsolved Mysteries, I could’ve been in bed.”

Jack rested his palm on the globe. “I think we need to turn this conversation over to more than theories and ancient myths. Set aside conjecture for now. This is a business I’m trying to run.”

George reentered the room then. He wore a blanched expression and held a single sheet in his hand. “I just received this e-mail.” He held up the paper. “From an anthropology professor in Okinawa. She claims to have discovered more of the strange hieroglyphic writing…etched on the wall of a secret chamber in some newly discovered ruins.”

“But that’s not the most amazing thing.” George looked around the room. “She discovered a crystal, too. She has it!”

Charlie sat straighter, abandoning his interest in the map. “A crystal? What does she say about it?”

“Nothing much. She’s vague, but hints that it bears some odd properties. She refuses to give out further information…not unless we meet with her.”

Jack found everyone’s eyes turning in his direction. “None of you are going to let this go, are you? Strange crystals, ancient writing, magnetic fluxes…listen to you!”

Except for the bank’s accountant, Jack saw a wall of determination. He threw his hands in the air and sank to his stool. “Fine…whether the Navy wants our help or not, whether we go broke or not, you all want to continue investigating what’s down there?”

Jack stared at his crew, then sighed. He rested his head in his hands. “Okay, George, how soon can you book me a flight to Okinawa?”

Wrapped in a leather flight jacket, David Spangler stood at the bow of the Navy’s salvage ship, the Maggie Chouest. It was an ugly ship, painted bright red and festooned with antennas, booms, and satellite dishes. A two-hundred-foot homely bitch, David thought. Manned by a crew of thirty, the salvage ship was the temporary home of the Navy’s Deep Submergence Unit and the unit’s newest rescue vessel, the submersible Perseus. Currently, the large sub still rested in the ship’s dry dock at the stern, awaiting its first deployment later this day.

Alone at the bow, David sucked a long draw from his cigarette. Morning was still hours away, but he knew any attempt at sleep would fail him this night. Two hours ago he had gotten off the scrambled line with his boss, Nicolas Ruzickov. They had talked at length concerning David’s revised assignment.

His primary goal of implicating the Chinese in the crash of Air Force One had been accomplished. With the country still struggling to recover from the disaster on the West Coast, and with paranoia sky high across the country, the public was ready to accept any explanation. It was an easy sell. David had received the thanks of a grateful President. In fact, Lawrence Nafe would be making a formal announcement in only a couple more hours, confronting the Chinese aloud, drawing a line in the sand between their two countries.

But now David had a new assignment: to oversee a clandestine research project into an unknown power source. Something to do with the quakes from nine days ago.

He did not understand half the details Ruzickov related, but it was not important. All he had to do was maintain a blanket over the site. To the world abroad, the activity here had to look like the continuing salvage ops.

Staring out at the dark seas, David exhaled slowly, a circle of smoke curling up from his lips. Half a day ago the USS Gibraltar had left with the setting sun, steaming toward the Philippine Sea. Without the giant ship here, the seas seemed empty. Besides the Maggie Chouest, only three other ships still circled the region — destroyers with enough firepower to maintain their privacy.

“Sir, I just wanted to let you know that the research site in Hawaii has been locked down. They’re dismantling the sea lab for shipment.”

“No, sir. The head of the project has been informed and signed a confidentiality agreement. The only concession was to let him oversee the research here. Our scientific liaison at Los Alamos vouched for the man. And the CIA director signed off on it.”

David nodded, wearing a grim smile. It seemed Ruzickov was getting as little sleep as he. “When are they due to be under way?”

Later today he planned to dive in the Navy’s submersible, to give the Perseus its first trial run here. He had watched the video recordings from Kirkland’s other dives, but David wanted to see the crash site for himself. Once this mission was under way, Omega team would oversee topside, while he would remain below at the sea lab.

David took a drag on his cigarette. “Yes. There’ll be no change. If anything, we now have a stronger mandate to proceed. No outsider must know what lies below. Those are the standing orders.”

“I’ll let you know. We can’t move too soon. I want him well away from here before we proceed.” David flicked the dying butt of his cigarette into the sea, angered that his moment of peace had been shattered by the intrusion.

After waiting for over a decade, he told himself, he could be patient a bit longer. Three days, he decided. No more.

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