Ruins of Nan Madol, southheast of Pohnpei Island

“Get down!” Jack yelled. He pulled Karen to her knees. Bullets sprayed the courtyard. Jack quickly assessed the situation as the four of them took shelter behind the basalt crypt. Rifle fire. From two locations. He tried to spot the snipers along the walls, but the suppressing gunfire was too intense.

He studied the others. Blood dribbled down Karen’s cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Eyes wide, she nodded, then touched her cheek. “Rock shards.” The momentary shock faded from her eyes. She crammed the crypt’s platinum book into her pack.

Jack leaned back against the stone. He thought quickly. None of them had been shot. Why? They had been sitting ducks. They should not have survived the surprise assault. Beyond the stone, the rifle fire faded. “They’re pinning us down here,” he said aloud. “They want something from us or they would’ve killed us by now.”

Jack nodded. He crept to the edge of the crypt. The crystal star still rested atop the block’s lid. “It’s just out of reach. I’m going to need a distraction in case I’m wrong.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Miyuki…”

The professor nodded as Jack told her his plan, then slid to the opposite end of the basalt coffin.

Rifle fire blasted, ripping and shredding the umbrella’s cloth. Miyuki gasped, cringing, but held tight.

Jack listened. Both guns were firing. Good. He burst from his end of the crypt, grabbed the crystal star, and dove back into cover. Hunching, he clutched the artifact to his chest.

Jack glanced down. A trail of red dribbled across the crystal. He hadn’t felt the bullet that grazed the edge of his hand. The snipers were damn fast, he realized. He had better not underestimate them. “I’m okay. It’s just a scratch.”

Karen crawled to his side and wrapped his hand in her handkerchief, tugging it tight.

Mwahu moved nearer. “I know a secret way out of Forbidden City. But we must get back there.” He pointed toward the dark hall into the central keep.

Jack stared, biting his lower lip, thinking. It was only ten yards away — but it might as well have been a hundred. They would be exposed to the snipers for too long. “Too risky.”

Karen grabbed her pack and tugged a side pouch open. “I have an idea.” She pulled out a package of Trident gum.

She smirked at him. “Put the crystal down.” When Jack complied, she flipped the star over and unwrapped a piece of gum. She popped it in her mouth, chewed it for a couple seconds, then stuck the wad on the back of the crystal.

She nodded toward the lid, and Jack understood. “Let me help you.” He grabbed a few pieces of gum and chewed them vigorously.

Jack smeared a sticky chunk of gum on the crystal’s underside, then held it up.

Jack grabbed the crystal star, gummy side up. Taking a deep breath, he reached up and slapped the crystal down upon the nearest edge of the stone lid. He pressed hard, twisting it to ensure the gum stuck well. He yanked his hand back as gunfire spat again, sparking off the stone. He checked his hand, then held it toward Karen. “Look, Ma, no cavities.”

From the safety of the shelter, Jack reached out to the underside of the lid’s protruding edge. He pushed up on it. Rock scraped on rock as the lid rose an inch. “Light as a feather.”

Jack slid the lid to their side of the crypt, then stood, tilting the top between him and the snipers, like a stone shield. Bullets rang off the rock.

“Oof!” Jack felt the impacts all the way to his shoulders, but the shield held. Backing up, he dragged the makeshift shield off the crypt, tilting the lid vertically so the others could crouch in its shadow. “Okay, time to vamoose.”

Shuffling backward, he kept them all covered. Only his fingers were exposed on the far side. He prayed the riflemen were not good enough shots to take off one of his fingers.

Rifle fire continued to pelt the stone lid. Jack’s hands began to slip, jarred by the force of the continued rifle blasts.

Jack stepped into darkness. He took another step and the stone lid’s weight suddenly returned. Caught off guard, he couldn’t hold it. “Back!” he yelled as it came toppling toward him.

From behind, someone grabbed his belt and yanked him clear. He stumbled and fell hard on his rear end. The lid crashed to the ground, barely missing his toes. Jack hoisted himself up to a crouch. Karen had also fallen to her knees. She dusted off her hands, standing up.

Jack snatched the star, peeling it off the basalt. He passed it to Karen, who shoved it in her pack. Rifle blasts continued to abrade the hall’s entrance, but the group was far enough down the passage to be out of the direct line of fire. “Keep moving. It won’t be safe much longer.”

“This way,” Mwahu hissed from farther down the tunnel. “Hurry. Someone comes.”

Jack and Karen joined the other two at the edge of the cavernous central chamber. Across the room, Jack spotted a shaft of light flaring from the opposite hall. They were cut off from the exit.

In the deep gloom, the group slid close to the walls. Jack reached behind and took Miyuki’s hand. The professor’s fingers shook in his grip. He squeezed reassuringly. Together they followed Mwahu to a corner of the large chamber. By now hushed voices echoed from the opposite hall. No words could be made out, but from the angry tone, Jack suspected that the snipers’ failure to hold the captives had been radioed. The light quickly grew.

A hiss drew Jack’s attention around. In the deep shadows, he barely saw Mwahu crouched beside a thin crevice in the wall. It was no higher than Jack’s knee and narrower than his shoulders. Karen was already crawling inside, pack shoved in front of her. Mwahu stared with fear toward the men stepping into the chamber.

He pushed Miyuki toward the opening, and, without any hesitation, her small form vanished down the tunnel’s throat. Jack indicated Mwahu should go next. He was the only one who knew where the tunnel led.

Behind Jack a new light bloomed. Crouching, he spun around. It came from the hall leading to the courtyard. Shadowy figures entered. The snipers. The two parties signaled each other with their lights. Jack saw one of the beams flash in his direction.

He dropped to the floor, flattening himself. The light passed over where he had been standing. It did not pause.

Crawling on hands and knees, he slithered across the floor and into the crevice. It was a tight fit. Holding his breath, he crooked his shoulders and shoved himself inside. Crouching lower on his elbows and scrabbling with his fingers, he worked deeper into the chute, sure at any moment that lights would flare up around him. But finally he pulled his feet fully into the tunnel. He paused, suppressing a sigh of relief, he stared ahead — and saw nothing. The tunnel was pitch-black. The only evidence of the others was the occasional furtive scuffling.

Squeezing his large form along the chute, Jack listened for the noises as he followed the turns and twists of the tunnel. He scraped his shoulders and tore his fingernails on the rough surface as he went. In the dark, blind, his exertions seemed compounded. How long was this tunnel?

Finally, he was able to make out the dim form of Mwahu crawling a few yards ahead and he heard echoed whispers.

Jack prayed they remained cautious. He increased his pace, scraping his elbows and knees. Soon he, too, saw the end of the passage. A square of bright sunlight. “Careful,” he whispered ahead.

Jack watched the professor slide from the tunnel — and vanish. The others followed. He crawled after them, reached the tunnel’s exit and peered out. Below, the others were crouched in a meter-wide channel of stagnant water, waist-deep. He realized then where they were, recalled the thin artificial creek bisecting the plaza. Head hanging out, he surveyed the situation. The stone bridge lay twenty yards away. He listened for voices and heard none.

Jack wormed out of the chute and lowered himself into the creek. After the exertion, the water felt wonderfully cool, but the saltwater stung his cuts and abrasions.

He nodded. Nothing like crawling through a sewage pipe. He eyed Mwahu, silently asking the islander where to go next.

Before Mwahu could direct them, however, a loud voice cracked across the open plaza behind them. “Kirkland! If you want the others to live, show yourself!”

Karen touched his shoulder and shook her head. She pointed to Mwahu, who was half swimming down the artificial creek away from them.

Miyuki followed. Karen went next. Jack unclenched his fists. He knew it was not the time to confront David. Not yet. Not when others were in harm’s way. Lowering himself into the water, he silently glided after the others.

He heard the tromp of boots on stone…coming their way. He hissed at the others, pointing a thumb up.

Mwahu ducked under the bridge and twisted around. He motioned the others to join him. Jack and the two women were soon at his side. The bridge was so low that only their heads were above water.

Jack bit his lip. With the sun so low, the channel was thick with shadows. Under the bridge it was even darker. Still, if they thought to flash a light…

The pair hit the bridge and stopped. Their shadows could be seen on the far wall of the canal.

“No, sir. We’re still combing the building. They won’t get away. With the island under surveillance, they won’t be able to leave here without being spotted.”

“Sir, I’m getting a report from Rolfe over the radio.” A pause, then the man’s voice grew more excited. “He found a tunnel!”

“Goddamn it! Why didn’t someone spot this earlier? C’mon. Have Rolfe ready with the grenades.”

“Yes, sir.” The echo of boot steps retreated from the bridge and headed back toward the large structure.

One after the other the group swam toward the distant fortifications. No one breathed. All of them clung to the deepest shadows of the channel. As they neared the wall, Jack spotted where the creek ended. He saw no way forward.

Mwahu waited for them to gather. Once Jack was near enough, the islander made a diving motion with his hand. Then, to demonstrate, he sank under the water and vanished.

Karen whispered to Jack, “The creek must connect to the canals, or the channel would have dried out.” But she eyed the wall of stacked basalt logs with concern.

Karen nodded, unhooking her backpack so it was loose in her hands. “I’ll go next.” Taking a deep breath, she ducked under the stagnant water. With a kick, she vanished into the underwater tunnel.

Miyuki looked too frightened to move. Jack slid beside her. “We’ll go together.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m not the strongest swimmer.” But she held out her hand, her eyes determined. He took it.

Jack counted it off, and they both dove under. He found the passage easily. It was quite large. Kicking off the nearby creek wall, he led Miyuki through the tunnel. It was no longer than two yards. Light filtered ahead.

Jack popped out and found himself in one of the surrounding canals. Miyuki surfaced beside him, wiping back her wet hair. The group was hidden in an overhang of ferns.

The whining was now a high-pitched screaming. It came from just around the corner.

“Take each other’s hands,” Jack said. “Duck underwater until I signal you.”

They obeyed, and their heads vanished. Holding his breath, Jack sank until only his eyes were above the water. Peering between the fern fronds, he watched a sleek black jet ski turn the corner with a roar. It angled down the canal toward them, sweeping back and forth, lightly bumping the walls to either side. Jack pressed himself against the stones.

Half standing, the driver glided his jet ski along the passage. He studied the walled island, slowing as he puttered past Jack’s hiding spot. The man, in a black wet suit with his mask pushed up on his forehead, wore a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

Keep going, asshole. Jack knew the others could not hold their breath forever. In the reflection of the man’s sunglasses, Jack spotted his own face hidden by leaves. His skin, pale, seemed to shine in the shadows. He should have smeared his face with mud, he thought. But it was too late now.

The jet ski inched past him, its fiberglass edge almost grazing his cheek as it swept by him. The man remained unaware of his presence. As he drifted away, Jack recognized the automatic weapon strapped to the man’s back. A Heckler & Koch MP5A3 assault weapon. The SEALs’ weapon of choice.

He kept an eye on the gunman until he disappeared around the corner, then pulled the others up. They gasped for air.

Jack strained to listen. Another whine arose from across the ruins. A second jet ski! He surmised there were two guards, circling in tandem around the island. He had maybe three minutes to come up with a plan.

Mwahu pointed toward an islet fifty yards down the waterway. “More tunnels. Go over to shore.” But he seemed unsure of himself.

Jack sighed. “You make a very good point.” The group had no other choice. They’d have to take their chances. “Move fast, folks. We’ve got more company coming.”

Mwahu led the way. Here, the water was deeper. They were forced to swim. Jack cringed at the amount of splashing. If the second guard should turn the corner now, they would be spotted easily.

Positioned at the rear, Jack kept glancing over his shoulder. The whining began to roar, echoing off the walls. “Faster,” he urged the others.

The splashing worsened, but their progress only improved slightly. Jack realized they would not make it. Ahead, he spotted a narrow side channel jutting from the main canal. “Turn in there!”

Jack swam after them into the cramped space. Bare walls surrounded them on either side — and the canal dead-ended only a couple yards away. They were boxed in. Jack swung around. “We’ll have to hold our breath again.”

Jack judged their waning strength, knowing they were all growing cold and exhausted. The rising scream of the jet ski drew his attention around. “He’s coming.” He knew he could not risk even peeking out. He listened, trying to time it, grabbed Karen’s hand and raised his other arm.

The noise drilled his ears. He held his breath, waiting, tense. Then he lowered his arm, and the others sucked air and dove. Again Jack lowered his face to eye level with the water.

The jet ski roared up to the opening of the side channel, but the driver, a clone of the other, maintained a watch on the larger island across the canal. Standing, the man had a hand pressed to an ear, listening to his radio, reporting in. His words were muffled by the jet ski’s engine.

As if hearing his silent plea, the man swung around. Jack just barely managed to duck underwater in time. From under the surface he stared up. He could see the man’s watery image, saw him pause, floating the jet ski in place.

Jack felt Karen tug on his hand. She and the others were running out of air. He squeezed her hand, then released his grip and slipped away from her side. Karen tried to grab the back of his shirt, but he knocked her hand aside.

Overhead, the jet ski turned in their direction. Jack saw the man reach for his rifle. Exhaling slowly, Jack sank deeper. He slid out of the side channel, scuttling under the starboard edge of the ski. He hated to abandon the others, but he needed a moment’s distraction.

Crouching down on the bottom of the canal, he positioned his feet and squinted up. C’mon, he urged the others. Then he heard a frantic kicking as one of his group ran out of air and was forced to surface.

Jack did not wait. He shoved with all the strength in his legs and shot out of the water.

The driver, still facing the channel, had his weapon pointed in the wrong direction. He noticed Jack’s attack a moment too late.

Jack knocked him off the jet ski’s seat. The man grabbed the handlebars and twisted around, but by then Jack’s elbow had smashed him in the face, crushing his nose, driving the bone into his brain. Instant death.

Jack did not pause. His old instincts arose. He relieved the guard of his rifle and radio headpiece, then shoved the man into the canal.

As he swung back into the jet ski’s seat he found Karen staring up in shock from the canal.

Karen held out a hand, and Jack pulled her into the seat behind him. There was not enough room for the other two.

“Grab the edge of the jet ski,” he instructed them. “I’ll drag you both.”

Jack edged the ski forward. Over the noise of his own watercraft he heard the growing roar of the other jet ski. He increased his pace, but a squeal of protest from Miyuki forced him to throttle down. The professor gagged out a mouthful of seawater.

“Sorry,” he said, twisting around and watching for the other guard. Jack clutched the handles in a tight grip. “We can’t outrun them like this.”

They should have just enough time, Jack thought, and slowly throttled up. “Hold your breath.”

Gliding the jet ski, he headed toward the islet Mwahu had pointed out. Once abreast of it, he ducked the ski into another side canal and parked it out of sight.

Half drowned, the islander indicated the rear side of the islet’s single squat building.

Shouldering the rifle, Jack hopped to shore and helped the others up onto the weed-choked island. He quickly led them around the building, where he stumbled to a stop. “Goddamn it!” The entrance to the building was blocked by a large basalt boulder. He sagged and turned. “Is this your entrance to the tunnels?”

Mwahu crossed and placed a hand on the boulder. He looked near tears. Answer enough.

Karen joined the islander. “We can move it,” she said, wiggling out of her wet pack. “It’s basalt. We have the crystal.”

Jack looked at the boulder. It was deep in shadows as the sun hovered at the horizon. “We need sunlight.”

Karen passed him the crystal. “I’ll get it for you.” She removed a plastic compact from her pack, opened it and broke off the mirror. Stepping back to the corner, she aimed the mirror toward the sun and deflected a beam toward the boulder so a spot of sunlight danced on the boulder’s surface.

He crossed to the boulder and slapped on the star, still sticky with gum. It failed to adhere to the uneven surface, but he found he could hold it in place and push with his shoulder. He nodded to Karen.

It took her a few tries to hit the star with the reflected sunlight. Jack pushed each time the star burst with radiance. The boulder, much more massive than the crypt’s lid, was still heavy. Jack dug in his heels, straining against the rock, fighting it. Mwahu joined him and pushed, too. Slowly, the boulder shifted.

Jack paused. She was right. Silence lay over the ruins. “He must have discovered the body. He’s probably reporting in.” He hunkered down again. “C’mon, we’re running out of time.”

Karen tilted her mirror. The star flashed brilliantly. Jack and Mwahu groaned, against it. The boulder rolled a full foot. The gap opened enough for a small person to crawl inside.

“That’ll have to do,” Karen said. “We can squeeze.” She passed Jack her pack and crouched down, slithering into the space. Once through, she called back. “Mwahu was right. There is a tunnel. It leads steeply down from here.”

Jack waved for Miyuki and Mwahu to follow. The pair quickly squeezed inside, into the stone building, while Jack backed to the far side of the boulder. The stone’s far edge, now pushed beyond the shelter of the building, was bathed in sunlight.

He hooked Karen’s pack to his own shoulder and placed the crystal star against the sunlit edge of the boulder.

The crystal glowed brightly. Jack crouched down and shoved against the boulder, legs straining. The large stone rolled back into the shadows. Then he straightened and walked back around. Without sunlight, the boulder was now impossible to move any farther.

“What are you doing?” Karen asked from the other side. The crack was no wider than the palm of his hand. Her face was pressed to the gap.

“We can’t leave the way open,” he said. “They’ll find the jet ski and quickly discover the opening. They’ll hunt us in the tunnels.”

The roar of a jet ski echoed over the water. First one, then another, then another.

“They’re coming,” Jack said, standing. “I’ll try and lead them away.” He stepped back and tucked the crystal into the pack on his shoulder. “But if they catch me, I’ll have what they want — the crystal. Either way, they should leave you all alone.”

Jack turned her hand and gently pressed his lips to her palm. “I’ll see you soon.”

Jack pushed back up. There was nothing else to say. He hitched Karen’s pack higher on his shoulder and hurried to the lone watercraft. The screams of the other jet skis echoed across the ruins.

Jack settled into the jet ski’s seat, hooked the radio headset in place and strapped the assault weapon over his shoulder. Ready, he gunned the jet ski, adding its voice to the chorus of others. Opening the throttle, he shot forward.

Across Nan Madol the sun was sinking below the horizon. As darkness descended, Jack remembered Mwahu’s earlier warning.

David Spangler stood atop the stone roof of the central keep, one of the tallest points in Nan Madol. He had a comprehensive view of the entire megalithic city. Using a night vision scope, he watched the chase begin. He saw Jack’s jet ski suddenly burst from out of hiding behind one of the islets.

“He’s in quadrant four,” David radioed his men. “Circle the area and keep him contained.” On his command, the other three jet skis swung around, circling toward the designated region. He listened to the chatter over the radio as his team closed the noose.

David allowed himself a hard smile. Darkness was Omega team’s ally. While Jack stumbled around blindly, his own men, equipped with goggles and UV lanterns, moved with skill and certainty. He watched the trap tighten. He would end this tonight.

He touched his microphone. “Jeffreys, check out the island where Jack was hiding. Make sure he hasn’t left anyone behind.” David knew it was not above Jack to play hero, leading his team on a wild goose chase while the real prize lay hidden.

Below, he heard a jet ski throttle up. He had held Omega team’s last jet ski in reserve, for emergencies and backup. Now, the jet ski roared away, angling toward the tiny islet.

Sighing, David returned his attention to the chase. When they first arrived, he had ordered his men to capture Kirkland and the others alive. But the man was proving more of an adversary than he’d imagined. As a consequence, he adjusted his estimation of Kirkland and upgraded his order to “Kill on sight.”

Still, he found it frustrating. His team had been outwitted. He’d spent many hours planning the day’s mission. He had commandeered a local police cutter and the six jet skis. “Drug runners” was the official explanation. He had stationed the boat outside the reef and awaited the arrival of Jack and the others. Once they were there, he had watched them paddle around the ruins and finally beach their canoes. From that point it was a simple matter to jet-ski into the ruins through the sea gates and sneak onto the island silently. He had then ordered the area cordoned off, while he and his extraction team hunted Jack’s group.

Even now David was not entirely certain how Jack and the others had escaped his trap. Rolfe and Handel had sketched a story of Jack using some sort of stone shield to flee into hiding. Then he apparently disappeared down some secret tunnels, where Kirkland killed one of his men as he escaped. It was a sorry excuse all around, and he would demand a full debriefing on his men’s failure once this was over.

From his vantage point, David watched as Jack’s jet ski was encircled within an especially cramped section of the ruins. All exits from the area were blocked by his men. Jack was trapped. He would not escape a second time.

“Get him!” David ordered. “Shoot to kill!” Gleefully, he watched his men close in. If he couldn’t be there personally, this was the next best thing — watching Jack hunted down like a dog and shot.

“I see him!” one of the men shouted over the radio. The jet ski in the background made it difficult to hear.

Rifle fire rang out, the sound echoing over the ruins. Off to the left a flurry of birds took flight from their nests, frightened by the blast. But David’s scope remained fixed on the glowing mote of Jack and his jet ski.

The spot flared brightly, stinging his eyes like a camera flash. Swearing, David shoved away the night vision goggles and blinked away the glare. He stared across the ruins.

Noises of victory sounded over his radio. David clenched a fist of satisfaction. Across the dark islands a bonfire burned high into the sky, reflecting off the waters.

The radio squelched, and Rolfe’s voice whispered in his ear, “We got him, sir. Blew his ass out of the water. The target’s eliminated.”

Down in the tunnels, Karen heard the gunshot. She cringed, then heard an even more ominous sound: a muffled explosion. The noise thundered through the tunnel system, echoing and reverberating from everywhere. Sound traveled strangely through the low passages. Even their own echoing footsteps sounded more like a score of people tromping throughout the tunnels. It made her edgy…as if they weren’t alone.

Ahead, Mwahu crouched in the low passage. He held her small penlight. It was their only source of light.

“Keep going,” Miyuki said, voice trembling. “There’s nothing we can do to help Jack.”

The tunnels had been carved out of the coral itself. The walls and roof were coarse, and they had to be careful not to brush against it. Only the floor was smooth, worn by centuries of feet and the occasional flood of water. In fact, several of the passages still held trapped pools of water, chilly and oily with algae.

Karen hoped so. Rather than safe, she felt helpless and trapped down here. It seemed with each step she took, she was abandoning Jack to the murderous scum back there. If only her pistol had not been confiscated back in Japan…

They quickly joined the islander. Beyond the turn in the tunnel, an opening lay directly ahead. Though the sun had set, the early evening was still brighter than the dark tunnels. Together, they hurried toward the exit.

Diving down, Karen retrieved the penlight and flicked it off. Straightening, she surveyed their surroundings. They had exited a squat basalt building, not far from the shore of Temwen Island. In fact, the stone quay where they had rented their canoes lay less than fifty meters away.

She looked down at the extinguished light. Had it been spotted? Had they just thwarted Jack’s attempt to draw the others away?

The answer came soon enough. Karen heard the whine of a jet ski escalate. Someone was coming to investigate. She eyed the distance between them and the coastal gate. The assassins, alerted now, would know where her group was heading — where else could they go?

“They know we’ll try for the exit. But if I run the other way with the flashlight”—Karen pointed in the opposite direction—“they’ll have to follow.”

She reached out and clutched her friend’s arm. “Go. I dragged you into all this. I’ll get you out.”

“Well, I do.” She stared Miyuki down as the noise of the jet ski grew louder. “Go!”

Karen backed away, lifting her penlight high. She hopped into the canal. This close to the shore, the waters were shallow, only chest-deep. She slogged and swam away from the coastal gate. Behind her, she heard splashes as Miyuki and Mwahu jumped into the canal and made for the exit.

Alone, Karen swam through the murky water, trying to put as much distance as possible between her and the others. She soon lost sight of the exit. Only shadowy walls surrounded her.

David rode behind Jeffreys on the jet ski. He clenched his teeth in a silent curse. Kirkland had tried to play him the fool.

Shortly after the explosion, Lieutenant Jeffreys had reported in. David had almost forgotten he had sent the man to reconnoiter Kirkland’s original hiding spot. The lieutenant reported no sign of anyone else.

This news had puzzled David. Where had Kirkland stashed the others? His primary assignment, after all, had been to kidnap the Canadian anthropologist and retrieve her crystal sample. Suspicious about their absence, he had ordered Jeffreys to come and get him. Together they would search the surrounding islets. The others had to be somewhere.

It was only pure luck that he caught the brief clue to the others’ whereabouts. Donning his night vision goggles for the search, he caught the flare of brightness off by the coast, about a quarter mile away, and knew what it meant. He had read of the subterranean passages here.

While Jack had distracted him, the others had almost burrowed their way out of his trap. But Kirkland had failed, David thought with satisfaction. His sacrifice had achieved nothing.

Now, as he and Jeffreys raced through the ruins on the jet ski, David unhitched his rifle. The target was within reach. For a brief moment the light flicked out, but now it had returned.

“I see that. Keep following it. They must be trying to make for another tunnel. We have to catch them before they disappear.”

Jeffreys nodded, swinging the ski around, following the trajectory of their target. They whipped back and forth through the maze of islets. David kept a firm grip around the lieutenant’s waist, his rifle resting on his shoulder. As they swept around tight turns, waves broke against the canal walls, buffeting David with the spray. He ignored the dousing and urged Jeffreys to faster speeds.

Jeffreys called out, “Just ahead!” He spun around the next corner, tilting the ski savagely.

Jeffreys raced down a channel and sped around another corner. The wash of the jet ski swept forward as he dug in. The source of the light lay just ahead.

The tiny penlight was jammed in the crook of a mangrove branch. He searched around him. No one was here. He had been tricked… again.

His radio buzzed in his ear. It was Rolfe. “Sir, we’ve found no sign of Kirkland’s body.”

Suspicion and mistrust rode high in David’s mind, especially after this newest ruse. “Who shot him?”

“Who the fuck got on the radio and yelled that he saw Kirkland and shot him!”

It dawned on David that his murdered teammate had not only been missing his rifle, but his radio headpiece, too. Shit. Jack had staged his own death, eavesdropping over the radio and masquerading as one of his men. “Fuck!” He touched his microphone and screamed, “ Find that bastard!”

As David collapsed to his seat, he heard a small splash echo from nearby. He froze, silencing Jeffreys with a hand signal.

On the other side of the ruins, Jack slowly surfaced. Stripped to his boxers, he silently shoved his rifle under a heavy fern at the shoreline and strained for sounds of pursuit. It was difficult to hear well. His head still rang with the jet ski’s explosion. He’d been too close — but had little choice. He had to make sure the fuel tank was hit squarely by his single shot.

But the strength of the explosion had caught him by surprise, throwing him backward, singeing his eyebrows, knocking off his radio headpiece. Dazed, he’d been forced to dive quickly and swim under the jet skis of the swarming ops team. He swam until his lungs burned, then surfaced. As he’d hoped, the others had pulled off their night vision eye-wear, the flames too bright for their equipment.

The misdirection had allowed him time to escape deeper into the ruins. As stealthily as possible, he had hurried, having no idea how long his ruse would last. He searched for some way out of the ruins. His plan was to reach the coastal mangrove swamps of Temwen Island. But he knew he had wasted valuable time, and only succeeded in getting himself lost in the dark.

A quarter mile away, hearing the jet skis rev and whine, he concluded that his pursuers had realized his ruse. He listened for a few moments. They were spreading out. Search pattern. The hunt had started again.

So far he had kept in the water as much as possible, staying hidden, trying to keep his body heat from revealing the fact that he still lived. But now he knew such subtlety was useless. He needed to find a way out of here — and quickly. The mangrove swamps were his only hope. The jet skis would be useless among the mud and dense roots.

Heaving his tired body up onto the islet, Jack sprawled on his belly before crawling to his feet. A steep slope led up from there. A difficult but not impossible climb. He needed to reach higher ground to get his bearings, even if it meant exposing himself for a few seconds.

Stifling a groan, he pushed up the slope, discovering it was steeper than he’d estimated. He scrabbled through clinging brush and terraces of basalt. His fingers slipped and his knees, already raw, were savagely scraped. His limbs, leaden and weak, shook with exhaustion, but at last he dragged himself onto the summit.

Staying on hands and knees, he surveyed his position. In the darkness, he had not thought freedom was so close, but under the starlight, he watched small waves pound against the artificial breakwater just thirty yards away.

Out in the deeper waters, Jack spotted a small cutter, painted white with a blue light atop a tall pole. A coastal police vehicle. Its running lights were ablaze. A small figure stood on the bow deck. A tiny glint indicated the man was spying with binoculars, most likely equipped with night vision capability. Jack knew this was no friendly ship. Probably Spangler’s means of transportation.

Now that he was at the summit for the first time, Jack noticed the body of water on top. It was roughly square and looked like a small lake, and for some reason he felt drawn to it. In fact, the dark body of water was ringed by a narrow beach of sand and finely crushed coral, and Jack’s hands and knees sank into soft sand.

A grenade hit the far side of the islet, exploding and casting dirt and shredded ferns high into the air. Jack flattened himself, his ears ringing from the concussion. As the blast subsided, he heard the telltale sound of jet skis converging on his spot, then spotted the tiny figure on the police ship. The figure was frantically pointing toward him.

Another grenade sailed through the air, bounced across the stony summit of the island, and rolled over the edge, exploding in the canal. Water geysered up in a wide funnel. Someone was targeting the islet with a grenade launcher.

On his belly, Jack shimmied toward the summit’s edge. He needed to reach the canals. He’d been lucky twice, and knew the odds were running thin. Peering over, he spotted two jet skis racing his way, another arcing to circle around the back. He was about to be surrounded. Then rifle fire spattered against the stones, missing his head by no more than a foot. He pulled back, but not before he spotted his adversary.

As Jack rolled away, another grenade whistled through the air, exploding in the sand and water of the summit lake. Shrapnel tore through the air.

Jack unhooked his weapon and remained prone on the stone, offering no target to the sniper. He positioned the rifle and crawled forward, keeping an eye focused through the scope. As the squat building on the far side appeared in his sights, he froze, hoping his submersion in the seawater had not damaged the rifle. He waited, exhaling slowly, steadying his gun. Spotting a flicker of movement, he fired a volley of shots, then rolled away. On his back, clutching the rifle to his chest, he didn’t know if he had nailed his target, but either way, it would make the sniper more cautious. And now, at least, he knew that his gun would fire.

Across the channel, something heavy hit the water with a loud splash. A voice called out from one of the jet skis, “Handel’s down! Get that shithead!”

Jack rolled back to his stomach and crawled to the far side of the islet. He would have to take his chances and leap. The canals here were only six feet deep, but the enemy was closing in too fast. He had no choice.

Reaching the edge, he prepared to jump, then spotted a jet ski directly under him. In all the commotion, he hadn’t heard it come up.

He dove away as rifle fire peppered the edge. His right ear flared with pain, but he ignored it and rolled deeper, reaching the sandy slope of the summit lake. Listening, he heard the other jet skis closing in. Blood ran down his neck. He positioned his rifle, knowing he was doomed, and edged farther back, keeping his barrel forward. His feet and ankles now dangled into the water of the lake. He had nowhere else to go. His only consolation was that Karen and the others had escaped.

As he waited for the full assault, tiny fish nibbled at his toes, drawn by the blood of his abraded feet. He kicked them away.

Then he remembered the story Karen had told him about the construction of Darong Island. A sea tunnel connected the lake to the sea beyond the reef, she’d said, allowing fish to enter. He looked back; the breakwater lay only thirty yards away. A tough swim, but not impossible.

He dropped his rifle and, tugging the backpack over both shoulders, slid into the lake. Its bottom fell away steeply. He tread water for a few breaths, taking deep lungfuls of air. Usually, he could hold his breath for up to five minutes, but this was going to be a long dark swim.

With a final deep breath, he dove down into the depths. The fresh wound in his ear burned in the saltwater, but at least the pain kept him focused.

His hands reached the silty bottom. Curling around, he searched the edges of the artificial lake, struggling to find the sea tunnel opening. He swam first along the section facing the breakwater, believing this the most likely place. It quickly proved true: his arm disappeared down the throat of a stone tunnel.

Fixing its location in his mind, he rose to the surface and refreshed his lungs with rapid, deep inhalations. As he readied himself, he listened. It sounded like the jet skis were leaving. But the sounds echoed strangely around the lake. He couldn’t be sure, especially with so many. Then closer, he heard whispers, arguing, and the rattle of loose rocks, the word “bomb.” That was enough for him.

He dove with a clean scissor kick and reached the entrance to the tunnel. Not pausing, he ducked into the coral-encrusted hole and pulled and propelled himself down the chute, using hands and toes. There was nothing to see. Scooting blindly, his legs and arms were scraped and cut by the sharp coral. But he no longer felt the pain. He pushed past it, concentrating on one thing — moving forward.

Reaching forward, his hand touched stone. A moment of panic clutched him. He frantically reached out with both palms. A wall of stone blocked his way forward. He struggled, gasping out a bit of air, before he forced himself to calm down. Panic was a diver’s worst enemy.

He searched the walls on either side and realized the way opened to the right. It was simply a blind turn in the tunnel. He reached it and pulled himself around the corner.

Though relieved, he was also concerned. How long and torturous was this tunnel? Darong Island lay only thirty yards from the edge of the reef, but if the passage twisted and turned, how long did he really have to swim?

By now he was running out of air. The hours of exertion were taking their toll. His limbs demanded more oxygen. Small specks of light began to dance across his vision. Ghost lights of oxygen deprivation.

Jack increased his pace, refusing to let panic rule him. He moved quickly but methodically. The passage made two more turns.

His lungs began to spasm. He knew that eventually reflexes would quickly kick in and make him gasp. But blind, with no idea how far he had yet to traverse, he had no choice but to squeeze past his animal instincts.

Knowing he was close to drowning, he slowly exhaled a bit of air from his lungs. This gave his body a false sense that he was about to breathe. His lungs relaxed. The trick bought him a bit more time.

But eventually this last ruse failed him. His lungs were almost empty. His body screamed for oxygen.

Jack strained to see, searching for some clue to how far he had to travel. But darkness lay all around him. There was no sign of an end to the tunnel.

Then a flicker of light appeared far ahead. Was it real? Or was he hallucinating, close to death?

He heard a muffled explosion behind him, the noise reverberating through his bones. He glanced over his shoulder just as the shock wave struck him. He was shoved roughly by a surge of water, tumbled in the tide, bumping along the walls. Water surged up his nose. With the last of his air, he choked it back out. Blindly, he pawed around him. It took him a second to realize walls no longer surrounded him.

Kicking, writhing, he fought upward. His fingers broke the surface just as his lungs gave out and spasmed, sucking saltwater through his nose and mouth. He choked and gasped. His body wracked as it sought to expel the water.

Then his hair was grabbed and his head pulled out of the water. Into air, into light. Jack looked up. The moon had come down to the sea. A circle so bright. He twisted around…or was flung around.

He saw a dark visage bent over him. It was an old friend, come to take him away. He reached numbly up as darkness again swept over him. In his head, he whispered his friend’s name: Charlie …

Charlie hauled Jack’s limp body into the pontoon boat. “You’re the doctor, you tell me.” He rolled Jack over, pulled off the water-logged backpack, and pumped a wash of saltwater from his drowned chest. Jack coughed and vomited out more.

“He’s breathing, at least.” Lisa bent over Jack’s form. “But we need to get him back to the Deep Fathom. He’ll need oxygen.”

The motor revved as Robert, at the stern, gunned the engine and spun the launch toward the waiting ship. The Fathom lay not far across the bay. Two other police cutters patrolled back and forth along the edge of the ruins.

Earlier, Charlie had spent half the evening trying to convince the local authorities to aid him in his search for Jack and the others. No one had listened, insisting he wait until morning. Then a frantic call had come in from Professor Nakano, relating an attack upon their party at Nan Madol. Now motivated, the police had converged on the location, arriving with the Fathom to find the place already deserted.

Apparently, Spangler’s assault team had been tipped off, for just as they entered the bay, a large blast blew apart one of Nan Madol’s tiny islets. Already in the Fathom ’s launch, Charlie had aimed for the site, knowing there must be a reason for the explosion.

As they neared the reef’s edge, Robert spotted a bubbling surge. He aimed for it just as a pale hand broke the surface. Then the fingers sank back down. It would have been easy to miss.

In the boat, Jack groaned and struggled to right himself. His eyelids fluttered but he did not regain consciousness. Charlie leaned down to his ear and whispered, “Rest, mon. We got you. You’re safe.”

“His color’s looking better,” Lisa said, but she herself was as pale as a ghost, bloodless with fear and worry.

Robert spoke up from the rear. He had a radio pressed to his ear. “The police say they’ll search the ruins until sunup.” He lowered the radio. “But it looks like the ops team got clean away.”

“Damn those bastards,” Charlie swore. “If I ever get my bloody hands on them…”

David stormed down the narrow stairs of the small commandeered police cutter. His team’s escape had been too damn close. Over the radio, he received word of the police at the same time his assault team found Jack.

Pressed for time, David had ordered explosive charges set around the islet, then ordered all of them to evacuate to the boat. For a black ops mission, exposure or capture was worse than death. Working efficiently, they left no trail behind. Gathering their dead, they quickly vanished into the maze of atolls and islands. All told, it took less than five minutes to evacuate the site.

Even so, it had been a close call. Running without his lights, David had watched the first police cutter, its sirens blaring, enter the bay just as he slipped away. The explosion helped cover their escape, distracting the arriving ships.

Scowling, David reached the lower level of the ship and crossed to a steel door. He tapped in the electronic code and shoved into the small cell beyond. Though he had lost two good men on this mission, the sortie hadn’t been a total failure. Inside the cell, the Canadian anthropologist was tied, spread-eagled, to the bed. She struggled against her bonds as he entered. Gagged, her eyes grew large at the sight of him.

“Give it up. You can’t escape.” He slipped his diving knife from its thigh sheath and crossed toward her.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached out with the knife and cut her gag. She spit out the wad of cloth. “You bastard!”

David fingered the edge of his blade. “We’re gonna have a little chat, Professor Grace. Let’s hope I don’t have to free your tongue with this blade.” He spotted a trickle of blood running from her hairline down her neck, reached out and pressed his thumb against the lump there.

It was the spot where he had bludgeoned her with the butt of his rifle after discovering her hiding place. Her ruse with the penlight had come close to working. He dug his thumb into the tender spot, eliciting a sharp cry from her. “Now are you done with your little tricks?”

He let it dribble down, not bothering to wipe it away. “Just so we both understand each other.” He grabbed her between the legs. She was still damp from the swim through the canals. He squeezed her, hard.

She gasped, her eyes growing wide, and tried to squirm from his touch. “Get away from me, you goddamn bastard.”

He held her tight. “Though my bosses may want you alive to pick your brain, that doesn’t mean we can’t hurt you in ways you never imagined. So let’s start again. Where’s the crystal you mentioned in your e-mail to Kirkland?”

A knock on the door drew him around from his play. He saw Rolfe standing at the threshold, still in his wet suit, half unzipped. The man eyed their prisoner, then his gaze returned to David.

“Sir, Jeffreys has continued to monitor the police bands. Some…um, startling news has come through.” Rolfe nodded to the prisoner. “Perhaps outside…”

Rolfe nervously shifted his feet. “She’s right, sir. They’ve dragged Kirkland from the ocean. He’s hurt but alive.”

Closing his eyes, rage swelled through David. At every turn, Kirkland had thwarted him. He swung to the bound woman. Kirkland had risked his own life so she could escape. Why? He studied her. He sensed an edge here, a way of turning this to his advantage.

Jack woke slowly. It took him several breaths to realize where he was. The teak paneling, the chest of drawers, the captain’s table and hutch. It was his own cabin aboard the Deep Fathom. It made no sense.

He turned his head, noticing for the first time the oxygen mask strapped to his face. Tubes led to a portable tank. He lifted a hand to brush it away.

Jack focused on his bedside companion. “Lisa?” Beyond her, he saw Charlie Mollier standing over her shoulder. At the sound of his master’s voice, Elvis lifted his head from the floor and rested it on the bedside.

“Who did you expect?” Lisa straightened his pillow. “Do you feel strong enough to sit up?”

Jack’s mind fumbled, trying to recall his situation. He remembered the chase through the ruins of Nan Madol, the struggle through the underwater tunnel, but…“You’re all dead.” He coughed thickly as he pushed up, then groaned loudly.

“Ow.” Every inch of him ached. He lifted his arms and saw an IV line trailing to a bag of saline. His arms were smeared with salve and bandages.

“ We’re supposed to be dead?” Charlie said with a toothy smile. “ Mon, you’re the lucky one to be alive.”

He coughed again. It felt as if someone had scoured his lungs with a Brillo pad. “But the bomb…?”

Charlie sat on the edge of his bed. “Oh, about that, sorry, but we needed to make everyone think we were sunk. The bomb is down in my lab, locked away.”

Jack shook his head, then regretted it, grimacing at the pain. “What the hell happened?” he barked with irritation.

Charlie related the events. The crew had found the bomb, and Robert recognized the trigger as a radio receiver. With Lisa’s skill at electronics, it was a simple matter to remove the receiver. But they knew whoever had set it would not be satisfied unless the ship blew up. So they placed a call to Jack and warned him about the bomb, knowing that if someone were eavesdropping, they would probably trigger the device. “Which they did,” Charlie explained. “When we saw the detached receiver blink, we knew the signal to blow the bomb was being sent, so we staged our own deaths. Dumped a bunch of oil and fuel, threw in some deck chairs and floaters, then lit the whole mess on fire.”

“From there, we just hightailed it here to Pohnpei. Of course, we had to run silent. No communication of any sort or we’d blow the ruse.”

“But…but…” Jack felt his old anger returning, fueling his strength. He pushed off his oxygen mask and glowered at the two of them. “Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Charlie looked innocently at him. “So what are you saying…you’d rather we all blew up?”

Jack stared at Charlie’s hurt expression, then burst out laughing. He held his sides against the pain. “Of course not.” He glanced up at them; his eyes began to tear up. “You have no idea what it means to see you all here….”

Lisa reached over and gave him a quick hug. “Just rest. You’ve had a rough day.”

Charlie looked to Lisa, then back at Jack. “Spangler’s long gone. But I’ve been in contact with Professor Nakano. She was hoping you knew what had happened to Dr. Grace. They’ve been unable to find her.”

Jack felt a sick lump in his gut. “What does she mean? I left Karen with her.”

Charlie shook her head. “The police are still questioning Professor Nakano on one of their boats. She asked if she could join us here. I said it would be okay.”

Running footsteps sounded in the hall. Robert burst into the room and eyed the others. “Thank God you’re awake, Jack.”

“A radio call.” He was out of breath. “From David Spangler. He wants to speak to you.”

Jack swung his legs off the bed, moving Elvis aside. He motioned Lisa to the IV. “Unhook me.”

Lisa peeled back the surgical tape and slid out the catheter, covering the site with a small Band-Aid. She glanced at Charlie with concern.

Jack stood, wobbling on his feet. Charlie reached out to steady him, but Jack waved him away. “C’mon. Let’s see what this bastard wants now.”

As a group, they climbed up to the pilothouse. Jack grabbed the mike to the VHF radio. “Kirkland here.”

Spangler’s voice crackled from the radio. “Jack, glad to hear you’re up and about. Rumor is you got pretty shook up.”

Spangler answered. “She’s enjoying our company. Now let’s talk business. I have no need for this woman. All I want is that bit of crystal.”

“An even exchange. The crystal for the woman. Then we all part friends and forget this ever happened.”

Right, Jack thought. He trusted David about as far as he could throw him. But he had little choice. “When?”

“Just so no one tries to pull any stunts, let’s say dawn tomorrow. At sea. In the light of day.”

“Agreed…but if I see a single police vehicle, the woman gets cut up into bite-sized pieces and fed to the sharks.”

“Understood. Then we’ll meet at dawn off the eastern coast of Nahkapw Island.” Jack spelled the name out. “Do you know where that is?”

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