P.M., Naha City, Okinawa Prefecture, Japan

Forgetting how much he hated airline travel — the stale air, the cramped seats, the crying children — Jack was glad when the jet’s tires finally touched down and he was freed from the belly of this beast. Though, in truth, his annoyance did not entirely arise from the usual discomforts of flight, but from his memory of Air Force One’s crash. The flight here had been in the same class of jet, a Boeing 747. Jack had spent much of the journey staring out the window, studying every wing seam, bolt, and flap.

But after three days since making the decision to travel here, he had finally reached Okinawa. The journey had taken so long because the closest airport was on Kwajalein Atoll, a day’s sail in the Deep Fathom. And once there, he had been forced to fly standby, killing another half day waiting for a seat to open up. But at least the journey was finally over.

Free of the plane now, Jack crossed through the con-course to the customs area. His only luggage, a single backpack, was hooked over his shoulders. He stepped up to the Japanese customs agent and slapped down his passport. The officer gestured him to open his bag.

As Jack obeyed, the man studied his passport and spoke to him in English. “Welcome to Okinawa, Mr. Kirkland. If you’ll step over to the right.”

The first man spoke as he sifted through Jack’s backpack, picking through his underwear and toiletries. “Extra security,” the officer explained, “because of China’s attack.”

Jack nodded. Over the plane’s intercom, the pilot had described the short skirmish and Taiwan’s concession. The strong were always eating the weak.

Jack stepped over to the second agent, who waved a metal detector over his legs and up his body. The detector buzzed at his wrist. He pulled back his sleeve to expose his watch. The officer continued his sweep. The detector sang out again as it passed over his heart. The officer looked up at him.

Frowning, Jack patted his jacket. There was a small bulge in the inner pocket. He opened his jacket and reached inside, remembering David Spangler’s parting gift as he pulled out a tiny, ribbon-wrapped box. With all the commotion, he’d forgotten about it.

Jack nodded and moved back to the customs table. He tugged the ribbon free. Leave it to David to cause trouble from half a world away. He popped open the tiny ring box.

Inside, resting on its velvet-lined interior, lay a small piece of circuitry. A couple of blue wires stuck out of it.

Jack had no idea, but he knew some explanation was needed. He thought fast. “It…It’s for a repair job. An expensive and critical component. I’m a computer consultant.”

“So you gift-wrapped it?” the man asked, studying the tiny piece of electronics, searching for some threat.

“It’s a joke between—” He struggled to remember the name of the computer scientist helping the anthropologist. “—Professor Nakano and myself.”

The customs officer nodded. “I’ve heard of her. The university’s computer expert. Smart woman. Nobel Prize winner.” He replaced the circuit, snapped the ring box closed, and passed it back. “She taught my nephew.”

Behind him, a loud Portuguese family aimed for the customs station. A large woman was arguing with her husband. Both dragged gigantic suitcases.

The agent glanced at them and sighed in exasperation. “You’re free to go.” He waved Jack off.

Jack zipped his bag and proceeded through the gates into the main terminal. The airport was in a tumult, with masses of travelers leaving. Clearly, the Chinese attack had made everyone nervous. Taiwan was too close for comfort, just south of the Ryukyu chain of islands, of which Okinawa was a part.

Jack’s eyes drifted over the crowd. The terminal was so busy he failed to notice the woman trying to get his attention until she called out his name.

The woman hurried over. She had been waiting at the customs gate. She stopped and held out her hand. “I’m Karen Grace.”

Jack blinked stupidly at her for a second. “The…the professor?” He had not expected her to be so young.

She smiled. “I know you told us you would call once you were settled in your hotel, but…well…” A blush brightened her cheeks. “Miyuki hacked into the airport’s computers and downloaded your itinerary. I figured you could stay at my apartment rather than a hotel. It’ll make things easier.” She began to stammer, clearly realizing she might be stepping over a line. “That is…if you’d like.”

Jack rescued her from further embarrassment. “Thanks. I appreciate the offer. I hate hotels.”

She turned and led the way. Jack watched her. For just a moment as the woman had rushed up to him, Jennifer’s memory had flashed before him. Not that the two women looked anything alike. Except for the blond hair, the professor bore no resemblance to Jennifer. Karen was taller, her hair cropped shorter, her eyes green. She carried herself differently, too. Striding sternly, no sway in her step.

Still, Jack recognized a similar energy coming from this professor. She practically glowed with it, a light that shone past the superficial differences.

“So you’re that astronaut,” Karen said when he caught up to her. “I remember the news stories. The hero. God, I’d love to go up there sometime.”

Karen stumbled to a stop. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. The accident. You lost friends up there. What was I thinking?”

Jack turned the conversation in another direction as they moved off again. “So you’re American?”

“Canadian actually. A visiting professor. I have an apartment near the university…faculty housing.”

“Sounds good. After I clean up, I’d like to get to work as soon as possible.”

Exiting the terminal, Karen pushed forward through the throng. At the curb, she raised a hand to hail a cab. One zipped to a stop at the curb. Stepping forward, she pulled open the door. “C’mon. I want to get to the bank before it closes.”

Jack ducked inside the small car as Karen spoke rapidly to the driver in Japanese. Then she slid in next to him. “If you want to work this afternoon, I’ll need to collect something from my safe deposit box first.”

As the taxi wove into highway traffic, aiming for the city, she looked at him, studying him. In her eyes, Jack saw her weighing something in her mind. Finally, she said, “You don’t have any tattoos, do you?”

“Um, that won’t be necessary,” she mumbled. “How about snake tattoos? Any of those?”

She chewed her lower lip, then spoke. “We’ve had some trouble with a group trying to steal the crystal artifact. They bear these snake tattoos on their forearms. That’s why I insisted on meeting you in person. We need to be cautious.”

Jack pushed back his jacket’s sleeves, baring his forearms. “No snakes. Anywhere. I swear.”

After a short drive, they exited the highway. Signs for the university were written in both Japanese and English.

Karen leaned forward and again spoke to the driver, who bobbed his head. She pointed at the next corner, to a large Bank of Tokyo sign. The taxi squealed to a halt. “I’ll be right back.” She hopped out.

Jack sat in the steaming heat. With the car stopped, there was not even a breeze through the window to move the air. His thoughts drifted back to the professor. She smelled vaguely of jasmine. Her scent remained in the cab. He could not help smiling. Perhaps this trip wasn’t such a bad idea.

Then Karen was climbing into the cab again. “Got it. Here.” She handed him a small leather satchel.

Jack fingered loose the leather straps and tugged the satchel open. At the bottom lay a crystal star, smaller than his outstretched hand. Even in the shadowed light of the cab, he appreciated its brilliance. He also recognized the distinct appearance: translucent crystal veined with azure and ruby whorls. “It’s the same.”

He reached in and pulled out the crystal. “I’d swear this is the same type of crystal that I found at the crash site.”

“Exactly.” Jack held the artifact up to the direct sunlight. Its facets burst with brilliance.

Karen pulled out a black handkerchief and tossed it over the crystal. Jack’s arm dropped. It was as if the handkerchief weighed ten pounds. “What the hell?”

“The crystal’s weight is dependant upon light exposure. The stronger the light, the less it weighs.”

Jack whisked off the bit of cloth, exposing the crystal again. It was lighter. “My God!”

“We’ve already arranged to have it studied. Next Monday, in fact, when the university’s geology staff returns. I’ll pass the data on to your friend.”

Jack knew this would hardly satisfy Charlie. He wished he had collected a sample of the crystal pillar himself.

“Now it’s your turn,” Karen said. “You said you would bring a copy of the obelisk’s inscription.”

Shrugging, Jack bent over and fished through his backpack for his notebook. Pulling it free, he handed it to her.

Karen opened the book. The first page was covered with the tiny hieroglyphics. A small gasp escaped her throat. “Rongorongo.”

Karen flipped through the remainder of the notebook. There were forty pages of glyphs. The book trembled in her fingers as she mumbled, “There has never been a discovery of this length before.”

She closed the book and gave him a quick lesson on the history of the etchings found on Easter Island. “Over the centuries,” she finished, “no one has been able to translate them. This may hold the final clue.”

“I hope it helps,” Jack said lamely as his mind spun. If the language was from Easter Island, what was it doing inscribed on a crystal spire six hundred meters underwater? He struggled to incorporate this newest bit of information. Could this have anything to do with the crash of Air Force One?

Before flying here, he had not mentioned to Karen his own agenda in meeting with her — to tie the strange crystal to the downing of Air Force One. It seemed too far-fetched to admit to a stranger. “Do you think you’ll be able to translate what’s on the pillar?”

Karen clutched the notebook in her lap. She stared out the window, lost in her own thoughts. “I don’t know.”

Within a few minutes they reached her apartment: a second-floor town house, two bedrooms, neat and wonderfully cool. Karen apologized for the drab furnishings, all beige and browns. “It came prefurnished.”

But Jack noted small personal touches. On a mantel rested a collection of stone statues and fetishes from Micronesia. In a corner were four carefully tended bonsai plants. And stuck on the apartment’s refrigerator were scores of pictures — family, friends, old vacation photos — affixed by an equally colorful assortment of kitchen magnets.

Jack followed Karen toward the bedroom area. As his host passed the decorated refrigerator, all the magnets suddenly clattered to the floor, the pictures fluttering after them.

Jack glanced from the refrigerator to Karen. She stood with the satchel clutched to her chest. “It think it’s the crystal. It’s demonstrated strange magnetic effects before.”

As proof, he waved her away. When she moved off a few steps, he collected one of the magnets and put it back on the refrigerator. It stuck again.

“That is so weird,” Karen said. “No wonder the looters thought the crystal was cursed.”

She matched his frown with a nod to the single magnet. “It seems both of us have been holding back a little. Let’s get you settled and then head over to the lab. We have much to discuss.”

He showered, shaved, and changed into a pair of loose khakis and a light short-sleeve shirt. He repacked his backpack: camera, notebooks, pens, cellular phone. He felt worlds better as he left Karen’s apartment. It was only a short walk to the university.

“I already called Miyuki,” Karen said. “She’s waiting for us at her lab.”

As they walked an awkward silence descended. Jack sought to break it. “So tell me where you found the crystal.”

Karen sighed. “That’s a long story.” But she gave Jack a quick sketch: the risen pyramids, the ambush, the escape through an underwater passage.

As the story unfolded, Jack’s respect for the two women grew. “And these looters were the same ones who broke into Professor Nakano’s office?”

“I’m not sure they did. They just know we found something. Something they think is cursed.”

Jack thought about the crash of Air Force One, wondering if these men’s warning might hold a kernel of truth. “Definitely strange,” he mumbled.

“Here we are,” Karen pointed to a building just ahead. She led the way. Inside, she flashed her credentials, and a guard escorted them to the elevators.

Karen caught Jack’s inquisitive look at their escort. “Pre-cautions because of the break-in last week.”

The elevator ascended swiftly. When the doors opened, Jack found a small Japanese woman waiting for them, pacing anxiously.

Stepping forward, Karen introduced them. Miyuki bowed slightly but offered no hand. Jack nodded in greeting. Asian customs involved little physical contact. “Professor Nakano, thank you for your help.”

“Let’s go,” Karen said as the guard returned to the elevator. “I want to enter Jack’s data as soon as possible.” Karen hurried forward, waving for Jack and Miyuki to follow.

Once at the office, Miyuki stepped forward and keyed open the lock. Karen was first through the door. “Miyuki maintains a clean room for her computers,” she explained as Jack entered. She pointed to a row of starched coveralls hanging on the wall. “You’ll need to wear one of those.”

“I don’t know if I have a suit that’ll fit him,” Miyuki said. She sifted through the coveralls. “This might do.” She passed him a large suit.

Karen was already zipping into her own coverall. “Jack, while you dress, may I show Miyuki your notebook?”

He nodded and nudged his pack in her direction, then applied himself to forcing his large frame into the tight suit.

“Miyuki, come see this.” She tugged free his notebook. As she did, something tumbled from his backpack and rolled across the floor.

As Jack struggled to work both shoulders into the coveralls, he saw that Miyuki held David Spangler’s gift box, and an idea dawned on him. “Open it,” he said to Miyuki. “I could use your expert opinion.”

Miyuki leaned closer. “It’s an inexpensive switching circuit.” She closed the box with a snap. “Worthless really.”

Jack frowned. What was David’s scam here? The circuitry must contain some veiled insult, but what?

Miyuki handed the box back to Karen. “It’s just an obsolete Chinese design.”

Her words struck Jack in the stomach. He suddenly felt ill. “Chinese? Are you sure?”

Jack’s mind fought for any other explanation. His first suspicion couldn’t possibly be true. But he remembered George’s question a few days back: What if the explosion had been staged? A frame-up? Jack ran various scenarios through his mind, but only one rang true: Spangler had faked the explosion.

“That bastard!” he spat out. Even the little “gift” was David’s way of rubbing his nose in this fact, knowing he couldn’t do a thing about it. Washington had wanted this explanation for the tragedy, and David had handed it to them. No one would listen to anything contradictory.

Bile rose in Jack’s throat. The stupendous gall of the murderous bastard! And how far up did this treachery go? he wondered. Was it just a frame job, or had David played a role in the jet’s downing, too? Jack swore under his breath and clenched his fists, sharpening his resolve. He would discover the truth behind the crash — or die trying!

Jack finally noticed the two women gaping at him. He sat down, his legs suddenly weak as his anger faded. “It seems I also have a long story to share.”

On his belly in the submersible, David Spangler ascended through the depths of the sea, rising in a slow spiral toward the surface. Over the past three days the Navy’s new prototype sub, the Perseus, had been functioning far better than the estimates from the drawing board.

David lay sprawled on his stomach within the sub’s inner shell, a torpedo-shaped chamber molded of two-inch-thick Lexan glass. Except for the clear nose cone, where his head and shoulders protruded, the rest of the Lexan cubicle was encased in the sub’s outer shell, a top-secret ceramic composite that was lighter and stronger than titanium. Within this outer shell were housed all the ship’s mechanical, electrical, and propulsion systems. This dual shell system was designed for safety. In case of emergency, the entire outer shell could be jettisoned with manual pyrotechnics, freeing the inner Lexan pod to rise to the surface under its own buoyancy.

“Perseus,” a voice said in his ear, “we have you locked in. If you’d like to switch to autopilot, we’ll guide you into the docking bay.”

David answered the topside technician, “I’ll take her in myself.” This was his sixth dive in the Perseus, and he felt comfortable enough with her controls now to do this manually. With his thumb, he flicked a switch, and a heads-up display appeared superimposed over the nose cone’s glass. His trajectory to the bay of the Navy’s salvage ship, the Maggie Chouest, was delineated in red. It was simply a matter of guiding his sub along the designated approach, not unlike a flight simulator.

“I’m hooked into the tracking computer,” he radioed. “I’ll be at the bay in three minutes.”

Slowing the thrusters, David eased the sub upward. Around him, as he neared the surface, the dark waters began to lighten. As he aligned his sub he could not escape the sensation of true flight. On his belly, it was as if he and the ship were one. The sub’s hand controls were as responsive as his own thoughts. The telescoping wings to either side were like the fins of a creature born to the sea, twisting and tucking to guide the vessel.

But this was no creature of the sea. Under its belly a pair of titanium manipulator arms were folded and stored, capable of crushing granite, and atop the sub, protruding like a shark’s dorsal fin, stood a stacked array of minitorpedoes, on a pivoting dolly for ease of targeting. Though small, each missile was tipped with a powerful warhead, able to pierce an armored submarine. They were nicknamed “sub-busters” by the Perseus ’s support team, the Navy’s Deep Submergence Unit. The weapons gave the tiny rescue sub an extra advantage in hostile waters.

David ran a finger over the torpedoes’ activation control. Earlier that day he had been informed of the loss of Taiwan to the Chinese. The news had kept him agitated all day. How had they lost the island to the goddamn Communists? It was an embarrassment and a black eye to all of America. If only he could have taken part in the fighting…

The technician came on the line. “Sir, one of your men is here. He says it’s urgent he speak with you.”

A short pause, then Rolfe’s voice came over the radio. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but you told us to let you know if there were…um, any change in your secondary objective.”

David frowned. Secondary objective? He had been so focused on the timetable here and on the growing drums of war that he had momentarily forgotten about Jack Kirkland. “What is it?”

David bit back a long curse. Kirkland had gone missing. He knew any further details and explanations could not be discussed over an open radio. “I’ll be topside in two minutes. Meet me in my cabin and brief me then.”

Grimacing, David shoved aside his concerns about Kirkland. Right now he had work to finish. He swept the sub around on a wingtip, aligning its trajectory into the proper approach. He checked the sub’s clock. He had been underwater for almost six hours. After he surfaced, the Perseus would be checked over and reoutfitted for the day’s third dive. An alternate Navy pilot would take the submersible down to the work site on the seabed floor. Then, in another seven hours, it would be David’s shift all over again.

But the two pilots were not the only ones with tough schedules. Since the arrival of the research team and barges from Maui, the entire crew had been working around the clock. Aided by the researcher’s submersible and robots, the sea base’s support framework had already been bolted to the bottom. Starting this afternoon, the three-tiered living units and labs would be sunk to the bottom and assembled. Barring any mishaps, David expected the entire base to be established within the next forty-eight hours and manned soon afterward.

He had been ordered to get this base up in four days, and he would not disappoint, even if it meant cracking the whip. In fact, earlier in the day, when the research team’s leader, a geophysicist named Ferdinand Cortez, objected to the strenuous pace, David encouraged him to call Washington. It had given David great pleasure to see the Mexican browbeaten by Nicolas Ruzickov over the satellite phone. Even from a step away David had heard Ruzickov screaming at the scientist. Afterward, though tensions remained acute, no one questioned his orders nor his schedule again.

He was in sole control of this operation, and he would not let anyone or anything delay its completion — not the embarrassing loss of Taiwan, nor the mysterious disappearance of Jack Kirkland. He would not fail.

Ahead, out of the gloom, the submerged docking bay appeared. David angled the sub with deft skill, gliding her skids onto the submerged platform. He settled the sub between the self-locking clamps. As he released the controls, the sub’s wings retracted and two C-clamps snugged against the vessel’s ceramic sides. “Locked and loaded,” he called topside.

Through the Perseus ’s hydrophones, David heard the whine of the hydraulics as the captured submersible was drawn to the surface. Around him the seas grew brighter until, at last, he surfaced. Saltwater sluiced over the nose cone and small waves crashed against the sub’s side, but the vessel did not move. And after a few seconds even the waves were no threat. The Perseus and its pilot were hauled up out of the ocean and craned onto the stern deck of the Maggie Chouest.

As soon as the platform settled to the deck, the sub’s five-man maintenance crew swarmed over the vessel. The nose cone’s O-ring was unscrewed and the glass bubble dropped open. David slid like a beaching seal onto the deck. One of the crewmen offered him a hand. After six hours on his belly in the cramped space, his limbs were un-trustworthy.

Once on his feet, David unzipped his wet suit and stretched the kinks from his muscles. Behind him the maintenance crew was already at work: checking seals, blowing the carbon dioxide scavengers, piping fresh oxygen into the two flank tanks. They reminded David of an Indy 500 pit crew. Fast, efficient, and coordinated.

David turned his back on them and found Cortez aiming his way across the deck. Groaning, David straightened. Right now all he wanted was a hot shower and his bunk. He did not want to deal with the geophysicist. He set his face to a hard scowl as the man stopped before him. “What is it, Professor?”

From the dark circles under his eyes, the man had slept little. Even his clothes, khakis and a flannel shirt, were wrinkled and worn. “A request, Commander.”

“On this next dive, I was wondering if Lieutenant Brentley could take a few moments and scout closer to the crystalline formation. From the video feed of the previous dives, we’ve spotted some scratches on its surface. They appear too regular to be natural. We think its some form of writing.”

David shook his head. “Any such investigation will have to wait. My first priority is to get that base built and manned. After that, you and your scientists can begin your own investigation.”

“My orders stand, Professor. ” David spat out the last word as if it were an insult. “Stay clear of the crystal until the station is built. That pillar radiates a strong magnetic signature, creating glitches and communication problems. I will not risk the Perseus just to satisfy your curiosity.”

Though the researcher backed down, David spotted the contempt in the man’s eyes. He did not care. The Mexican was under his command. He would do what he was told.

Across the deck, near the aft hatch, one of David’s subordinates was on guard. He stalked up to the man. “Where’s Lieutenant Rolfe?”

David nodded and ducked through the hatch. He climbed two flights up to the ship’s flag deck. He had commandeered this level’s cabins for his men. Ahead he saw his room’s door was ajar. Another of his men patrolled the passageway. He nodded and pushed into his cabin.

David closed the door and began stripping off his wet suit. “So what happened to Kirkland? Did you lose his ship?”

“No, sir.” Rolfe cleared his throat. “We’ve been monitoring the location of the Deep Fathom continually. It still circles the Kwajalein Atoll.”

“Earlier this morning, Lieutenant Jeffreys got suspicious about why the ship was remaining in the area for so long. So he did a little checking and found Jack Kirkland’s name on a Quantas passenger list leaving the atoll.”

David kicked out of his wet suit and stood naked. “Dammit! When did he leave?”

David scowled. What was the bastard doing in Okinawa? He stalked to his cabin’s bathroom and twisted on the shower nozzle. “Do we know exactly where he went?”

“No, sir. He had reservations at the local Sheraton, but he never showed up. However, he did book a round-trip ticket. He’s due back in two days.”

David’s face darkened. Two more days. He had been looking forward to completing this little side objective much sooner. Still, he was impressed by his own team’s resourcefulness. Kirkland would not escape him. As busy as he was here, he could wait out another two days.

“Very good, Mr. Rolfe. But I want to know as soon as we have confirmation that Kirkland’s back on his boat.”

“I don’t know if we have two days to wait. According to Handel, the transmitting signal has been deteriorating. He estimates a day or two until we lose contact.”

David swung around, angry. “I told Handel to make sure the bomb remained functioning for at least two weeks.”

“He knows, sir. He believes one of the bomb’s electrical circuits may be faulty. He says that Chink crap is not reliable.”

David stood there, almost shaking in frustration. Refusing to admit defeat, he pondered other options and angles. He knew no plan was as foolproof as on paper. Improvisation was the key to a mission’s final success. As he thought about it, a new strategy formed. “Fine. Then if Kirkland’s not back in time, we blow his ship anyway.”

“Destroying his boat and killing his crew will be only our first steps in bringing Kirkland down.” As David stood in the steamy bathroom, he warmed to his new plan.

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