P.M., Nan Madol, Southeast of Pohnpei Island

“Kaselehlie!” The small dark-skinned boatman greeted Karen in native Pohnpeian, smiling broadly. He was bare-chested and wore loose shorts that hung to his knobby knees. Behind him, the ruins of Nan Madol spread in a series of man-made islets toward the open sea. “Ia iromw?”

“We’re fine,” Karen answered, bowing her head slightly. “ Menlau. Thank you. I called earlier today about a day rental of one of your rowboats.”

The man nodded vigorously. “The scientists. Yes, I have better than a rowboat.” He turned and led them down a short stone quay of black basalt to a pair of long canoes. “Much better. Smaller. Travel the canals better. Faster.” He motioned with a hand, sweeping it back and forth.

Karen eyed the worn fiberglass canoes dubiously. They hardly looked seaworthy enough even for the shallow canals. “I guess these will be fine.”

“I act as guide. Seven American dollars an hour. I show you all the sights. Tell you stories.”

“I think we can manage on our own. Besides, we have our own guide.” She nodded toward Mwahu.

At the two canoes, Miyuki joined them. She studied the sun low on the horizon. “Let’s get going. We don’t have that much daylight left.”

Karen sighed. She knew her friend still fretted over Mwahu’s earlier warning. “Miyuki, you’re supposed to be a computer scientist. Since when do you believe in ghosts?”

“Looking at this place, I’m beginning to waver.” Overhead, a pair of fruit bats swept past. Distantly, the calls of birds sounded lonely and lost. “It’s so creepy here.”

Karen nudged one of the boats. “Well, you’re right about one thing. We should get going. Why don’t you and Mwahu take this one? Jack and I will take the other.”

Miyuki nodded and climbed into the canoe as Mwahu held it steady. Then the islander clambered skillfully in afterward.

“Are you sure you can lead us to the grave of your ancient teacher?” Karen asked Mwahu.

Satisfied, Karen turned to the other canoe. Jack already sat in the stern. She carefully stepped into the canoe’s bow end and picked up a paddle. “Everyone ready?”

Karen dug in her paddle, and the canoe slid smoothly from the dock. Ahead, Miyuki and Mwahu led the way, paddling under the basalt entry gate of the ruins. Past the gate, the breadth and scope of the site opened before them. High palaces, low tombs, great halls, miniature castles, simple homes. All framed by watery canals. Mangrove trees and thick vines were draped throughout, creating a maze of water, stone, and overgrown vegetation.

Karen paddled silently, while Jack guided the canoe with considerable skill. He cut the boat around a narrow corner. They were traveling through what was known as the “central city” of Nan Madol. The canals here were less than a meter wide, the basalt islets tightly packed around them. Jack continued to follow Mwahu’s zigzagging course.

“You’re good at this,” Karen said as Jack swung the canoe smoothly under a bridge of vines and lilting white flowers. “SEAL training?”

Jack laughed. “No. It’s a skill learned from years of float trips down the rivers and creeks of Tennessee. It’s like riding a bike. You never forget.”

Facing forward, Karen hid her smile. It was good to hear Jack laugh. She settled back as they paddled slowly toward the heart of the ruins, crisscrossing from canals dark with deep shadows to sunlit channels. Some paths were so choked with overhanging ferns and mangrove boughs that she wished they had a machete. Yet at all times the stacks of basalt logs surrounded them, prismatic crystals glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. Walls towered up to thirty feet, only broken by the occasional window or doorway.

Finally, the canals widened. To the right, an especially huge basalt island appeared, a great structure built upon it. Its walled fortifications towered forty feet, a monstrous construction of logs and gigantic boulders.

“Nan Dowas,” Karen said, pointing at it. “The city’s central castle.” They glided along the fern-choked coastline of the wide island. Doorways opened into the structure, some intact, some collapsed.

They passed another entrance guarded by a large basalt boulder. Nodding toward the structure Karen explained, “It’s one of the entrances to the subterranean tunnel network. The passages here have never been fully explored and are considered feats of engineering. In fact, further west, there’s an islet named Darong with a man-made lake atop it. At the bottom of the lake is a sea tunnel that leads to the reef’s edge. It allows fish to travel into the artificial lake, maintaining its stock.”

“Impressive.” Jack dug in his paddle and turned the canoe away from the castle as Mwahu led them to a more open section of the city. They floated over coral reefs rich with anemones and colorful fish.

From here the imposing sea wall of basalt pillars and slabs came into view. Taller monoliths dotted its lengths, silent stone sentinels staring out to sea. Periodically, narrow spaces opened: gates to the ocean beyond.

After a few minutes of gliding along the walls, they cut back into the maze of islets. Soon Karen found herself drifting down a narrow canal, the walls festooned with tiny pink and blue blossoms, scented not unlike honeysuckles. She inhaled deeply.

Karen smiled. “Leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone.” She felt something crawling on her arm and jumped — then realized it was Jack tickling her with a long blade of dry grass. “Funny,” she scolded him.

Karen faced forward, paddle across her knees. At least Jack seemed to be coming out of his funk.

Behind her, he spoke up, more serious. “Do you have any idea where this guy is taking us?”

She fished out her map and spread it on her lap. She eyed the islets around her, then bent over the map. “Hmm…”

“I can guess where he’s leading us. There’s a sacred place near here.” She looked up as they rounded a tall promontory.

Ahead appeared a huge island, even larger than Nan Dowas. But instead of a single castle, the artificial island held a sprawling complex of buildings and crumbled walls.

“Pahn Kadira,” Karen said, naming the place. “The ‘Forbidden City’ of Nan Madol.”

Mwahu glided into the island’s shadow and beached at a low spot. He waved them over.

Jack guided them toward the bank, pulling alongside the other canoe. “It seems we’re about to find out.”

Jack held the boat steady while Karen climbed ashore. As she joined Miyuki and Mwahu, Jack roped the canoes to the bole of a lone mangrove.

“This way,” Mwahu said softly. His gaze flickered across the deep shadows as he led them along a thin trail through a dense accumulation of ferns to an arched entry.

Beyond the gate, a wide stone plaza opened. Grasses and flowers sprouted between the cracks. To the left, the remains of an ancient fortification lay toppled. To the right stood low-roofed buildings with narrow doorways and small windows. Ahead, splitting the plaza in half, was a thin carved channel, an artificial creek forded by a wide bridge.

“It is so hot,” Miyuki said. She wiped her face with a handkerchief, then pulled out a small umbrella. Pohnpei was known for its frequent showers, but today the sky had remained cloudless. Miyuki opened her umbrella and sheltered in its shadow.

Karen would have liked to explore the surrounding sites, but Mwahu continued on single-mindedly, looking neither right nor left. He led them across the bridge and toward a tall building on the far side. It rose ninety feet above the plaza, with two low wings sprouting off from the central keep.

Mwahu did not answer. He made a vague motion to remain silent. Reaching the wide entrance to the central keep, he paused and bowed his head, his lips moving silently.

Finished with his prayer, Mwahu took a deep breath and led them inside, with Karen right behind him.

The entrance hall was dark and refreshingly cool. As Karen entered she was struck by how clean the air smelled. No mustiness, just a hint of salt and dampness. The short passage led into a cavernous chamber. Their footsteps on the stone floor echoed off the heights. She fumbled through her pack and removed a penlight. The thin beam pierced the darkness, splashing across the featureless walls and roof.

Jack whistled. “This place is massive. You described it, but to see this construction firsthand…It must’ve taken thousands and thousands of people to build this single building, even aided by a pair of the magical brothers.”

They left the huge hall and entered another low passage. The press of stone overhead seemed to weigh down upon Karen’s head. She wasn’t prone to claustrophobia, but there was a certain heaviness about the place that couldn’t be ignored. The passage turned sharply and sunlight flared ahead.

Mwahu led them into a rear courtyard. Karen stepped back into the brilliance of the sunlight — and the heat. Miyuki shook open her umbrella again.

Around the space, the once-tall walls lay toppled. Lengths of cracked basalt logs were tumbled amid boulders and smaller rocks. Still, the solemnity of the yard was not diminished. Though no longer inside the keep, Karen still felt the weight of centuries there.

Adding to this effect was the courtyard’s central altar: a massive hewn block of prismatic basalt. At four meters in length and a meter high, she guessed that it weighed several tons. They were all drawn to it as it glowed and sparked in the last rays of the afternoon sun. None of them could keep their hands from touching its surface.

Karen noted that the spot where he knelt was worn into the rock. How many generations of his people had made the pilgrimage here? she wondered, moving beside him. “Is this the gravestone of your ancient teacher?” she asked.

Mwahu stood and indicated that Karen should give respect and kneel. She nodded, not wanting to offend, dropped her pack and knelt. Mwahu pointed toward the stone.

She stared, not sure if she was supposed to bow, recite a prayer, or perform some other act of respect. As she looked at where Mwahu pointed, however, she had her answer. “Holy shit.”

“Come see.” Karen stood and returned to the stone. She brushed the block’s surface with the palm of her hand. It was no optical illusion. “I’m not surprised you missed it. You can only see it if you’re kneeling.”

She tugged Jack down by an arm so he could look across the stone’s surface. She traced a finger. “There.”

“Carved so thinly, or simply worn faint by time, that the only way to see it is from an extreme angle.”

Miyuki took a peek, too, then answered from under her umbrella, “It’s like back at the pyramid. We need the crystal.”

Karen hadn’t told him about how she’d used the crystal star, and now she tugged out a black cloth bag and shook it out. Behind her, Mwahu gasped with awe. She crossed to the stone as the others gathered around her, carefully placing the artifact atop the thin carving. It was an exact match. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect. Nothing happened.

Disappointed, Karen stepped back. “The crystal star must act as a key, but how?”

Miyuki, leaning over the stone, said, “Remember back at the pyramid — darkness was the final key.”

Karen slowly nodded. It had taken perfect darkness for the crystal star to function as the key to release them from the heart of the Chatan pyramid.

“I don’t know….” Karen studied the stone. Something didn’t sit right with her. Then it struck her. She recalled the symmetry and balance of the Chatan pyramids. The yin and the yang. “Of course!”

“It’s not darkness we need!” She waved Miyuki away from the stone. Her friend’s umbrella had been casting a shadow over the crystal. As Miyuki stepped back, raw sunlight bathed the crystal. The star burst with radiant brilliance. “It’s light!”

A loud crack sounded from the stone. The others moved back a few steps but Karen stood her ground.

A hidden seam appeared around the solid block. It outlined a four-inch-thick lid resting squarely atop the stone block.

She touched the block’s lid and pushed. The slab of basalt shifted, moving as easily as if it were Styrofoam. “It hardly weighs a thing!”

Jack moved beside her, his gaze fixed on the crystal star. He shadowed his hand over it. “Try pushing now.”

Jack removed his hand, exposing the crystal to sunlight again, and using a single finger, he moved the slab of stone to the side. “The star has somehow extended its weight-altering properties to the basalt.”

Karen was stunned. “Amazing. This must be how the magical ancients ‘floated’ the stones in the past.”

Inside the altar there was a carved alcove, lined by a shiny metal. Karen touched it. “Platinum.”

Jack nodded. “Like your story. The platinum coffins the Japanese divers discovered underwater during World War Two.”

Karen studied the remains. Clinging to the bones were a few scraps of dusty cloth, but what had captured her eye was a book, bound in platinum, clutched in the bony grip of the coffin’s occupant.

Disturbed, the bones of the fingers fell away to dust. Then, like toppling dominoes, the degradation of the bones spread. The rib cage collapsed, the femurs and pelvis disintegrated, the skull caved in. Soon the form was no longer recognizable.

Karen held the platinum book in her fingers, stunned by her thoughtless act of desecration.

As if hearing him, the first bullet struck the basalt altar, stinging Karen’s face with a spray of rocky shards.

Admiral Mark Houston climbed the five levels to the bridge of the USS Gibraltar. They were under full steam from Guam, where two days ago they had offloaded the civilian NTSB team along with the crated wreckage of Air Force One. In Guam, the Gibraltar had also reacquired its normal complement of aircraft — forty-two helicopters, both Sea Knights and Cobras, and five Harrier II fighter/bombers — along with its usual complement of LCAC amphibious landing craft. All to land the ship’s Marine detachment safely on Okinawa and bolster the island’s defense.

Reports coming from the region were growing worse by the hour. Apparently, the Chinese naval and air forces were merciless in their determination not to surrender Taiwan.

Passing through a cipher-locked hatch, Houston shook his head. It’s folly. Let the Chinese have the damn island. He had read the intelligence reports on the agreement signed between the leaders in Taipei and Beijing. It was not all that different from China’s assumption of control in Hong Kong and Macau. It would be business as usual. As they did in Hong Kong, the Chinese had no intention of weakening Taiwan’s economic base.

Still, he could understand the administration’s position. President Bishop had been murdered. Whether the upper levels in Beijing knew of the plot or not, the crime could not go unanswered.

Upon hearing of the escalating conflict, Houston had offered his services to remain on board and proceed to the beleaguered front. Calmer heads were needed out there. He was to oversee the situation and report his recommendations to the Joint Chiefs.

He climbed the last ladder, his knees protesting, and entered the bridge of the Gibraltar. The navigational equipment, map table, and communication station were all manned and busy.

All eyes turned in his direction. He waved them back to their duties. A groggy-eyed Captain Brenning pushed from his day cabin into the main bridge. He looked like he’d had less than an hour’s sleep in the past three days. “Sir, how can I help you?”

“I apologize for disturbing you. Just coming topside to stretch my legs. How are things faring?”

The C.O. nodded aft. “Sir, the Marine commander is over in debark control. I can let him know you’re here.”

“No need.” Houston stared out the green-tinted windows of the bridge. Rain sluiced across the glass. All day long a thin rain had been falling and a misty haze obscured the horizon. Having been holed up in his cabin since morning, conferring with Washington, he had primarily come up here to see the sun. He had thought a climb up to the bridge would do him some good, cheer him up. But instead he felt a heaviness grow in his chest. How many would die these next few days?

At the communication station, a lieutenant pulled headphones from his ears and turned to his captain. “Sir, I have an encrypted call from the Pentagon. They’re asking for Admiral Houston.”

Captain Brenning nodded to his day cabin. “Admiral, if you’d like, you could take the call in my cabin.”

Houston shook his head. “That’s no longer my place, Captain. I’ll take it out here.” He crossed and picked up a handset. “Admiral Houston here.”

As he listened, the cold of the island’s superstructure crept into his bones. He could not believe what he was hearing, but he had no choice. “Yes. I understand.” He handed the receiver back to the lieutenant.

Houston blinked a few times, stunned. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer to borrow your day cabin.” He turned and walked toward the door, indicating that Brenning should follow.

Once inside, he closed the door and turned to the C.O. “John, I’ve just received new orders and a new objective.”

“Word has come down from the Hill,” Houston finished. “We’re officially at war with China.”

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