"What's wrong?" Paul asked.

"I think I've found someone."

"I don't see anything on the screen," Paul said.

"Hold on," she said. "Looks like everything that wasn't nailed or tied down slid forward and to one side as the yacht sank. I have to maneuver around a pile of junk."

With her heart racing more than she'd care to admit, Gamay brought the camera around the pile of furniture and focused the small floodlight until the image resolved. And she could clearly see a body, bloated by the water and trapped by the piled furniture, come into view.

"I hate to say it," Elena whispered, "but that man didn't drown."

"Nope," Gamay agreed. "By the look of things, he never got the chance."

Despite the damaging effects of the salt water, three bullet holes in his chest were clearly visible.

Eight hundred feet above the sunken yacht, Paul stared at a computer screen that was displaying the view from Gamay's camera.

The bullet wounds were unmistakable.

Pressing a b.u.t.ton, he froze the image and e-mailed it directly to Dirk Pitt.

He pulled the freestanding microphone closer to his mouth. "Keep searching," he said. "Be meticulous. This is no longer a recovery mission. It's now a crime scene."

Duke replied quickly. The call from Gamay was a little garbled.

"Say again, Scarab One?"

This time Paul heard even less. A burst of static came from the speaker and then a squeal, sharp enough to hurt his ears.

Paul clicked the transmit b.u.t.ton. "Gamay, do you read?"

He waited.

"Gamay? Elena?"

He called across the control room to another member of the team. "Oscar, do you have their telemetry?"

Oscar was flicking through screens of his own. "Nothing," he said. "I'm getting a signal from the buoy, but no data from Scarab One."

Paul grabbed the microphone again. "Duke, do you read me?"

"Loud and clear."

"We've lost telemetry from Elena and Gamay. It might just be the wire, but can you get over there and check?"

"On my way" came Duke's firm reply.

Paul tried not to worry. The filament linking the buoy to the Scarab was extremely thin, and the connectors often had problems, but he didn't like losing contact with his wife when there was eight hundred feet of crushing water between them.

Paul drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited. He tapped the refresh key on the computer, hoping the data from Gamay's sub would pop up once again. It didn't.

"Come on, Duke," he whispered to himself. "Let's not dawdle."

A flutter ran through the screen, and Paul hoped the image was about to reappear. Instead, the screen froze and went black.

"What in the world . . ."

At the same time, the overhead lights went dark. All around, the little green LEDs on the computer towers and keyboards went out. And Paul could hear the sound of the ventilating system shutting down.

A group of battery-powered emergency lights came on.

"What's happening?" Oscar called from the other side of the console.

Paul looked around. Without the fans blowing, the air went still. He clicked the microphone transmit b.u.t.ton a few times, but to no avail. "Looks like someone forgot to pay the electric bill."

With the AC units off, it got stuffy in the tiny control room very quickly.

Paul stepped over to the intercom, but it too was dead. He cracked the door. The gangway was dark. "Stay here," he said to Oscar. "I'm going to find out what's going on."

Paul slipped through the door and down the hall. Aside from the emergency lights, every compartment was dark. The engines were off. The ship was dead in the water.

He climbed a ladder amidships and entered the bridge. Only the helmsman was there.

"What's going on?"

"Power's out all over the ship."

"I can see that," Paul said. "Does anyone know why?"

"Cap'n went to check with the chief," the helmsman said. "Main electrical bus went out. Followed by the backup. All systems are dead."

Paul was about to turn and head for engineering when he felt a subtle vibration travel through the hull. The engines and auxiliary power unit were coming back on. "Thank goodness for small favors," he muttered.

He went to the intercom. It was still out. So was the radio. He flicked the light switch. Nothing.

As Paul wondered why, he noticed the Condor was beginning to move. Not just holding station in the current but accelerating. He stepped to the command console. There was power for the display, but as the helmsman tapped various icons on the screen nothing happened.

The ship began to turn, healing over as if the rudder had been deflected all the way to the stops.

"It's not me," the helmsman insisted. He was holding the small wheel that controlled the rudder dead center.

The ship continued to accelerate, straightening out and heading due south. They continued to pick up speed. In a moment the ship was running flat out, racing across the gla.s.sy sea and cutting a white swath away from the two submersibles and the wreck below.

A warning light on the console showed the propeller rpm's reaching maximum and going beyond. "You have to reduce speed," Paul urged.

"I'm trying," the helmsman said. "Nothing's working."

The rpm's were already three percent beyond the red line. "Why isn't the limiter cutting in?"

Another crewman joined them on the bridge and went to the circuit breaker panel.

"Hit the override," Paul shouted. "Emergency stop."

The helmsman did as Paul ordered. He slammed his palm onto the yellow-and-red emergency stop b.u.t.ton that acted as the override. The ship continued to charge south.

It dawned on Paul that the override was just another b.u.t.ton to tell the computer to stop doing whatever it was doing. But if the system was faulty or had been corrupted, there was no reason to expect the override to be working correctly.

With the rpm's still climbing, a shaft failure was possible, or even bearing failure in the engines themselves.

"Keep trying," Paul said. "I'm headed to the engine room." From her seat in the c.o.c.kpit of Scarab One, Gamay continued transmitting to the Condor. "Paul, do you read me? Come in, Condor?"

With no luck, she tried contacting Duke in Scarab Two. "Duke, how's your radio?"

There was no response. But, seconds later, Scarab Two appeared, rising over the far side of the wreck like the sun coming up. Gamay saw the thrusters align with the body, and the yellow submersible began to come their way. It moved slowly, its lights aimed oddly downward toward the wreck instead of forward.

"The radio must be out," Gamay said to Elena.

"I'll flash him," Elena said.

"I bet he's been dreaming about that," Gamay joked.

Elena smiled and began to toggle the lights, tapping out a quick message in Morse code: Radio out. Scarab Two continued their way. It eased over the superstructure of the sunken yacht and began descending toward them. The lights finally came up and focused on them, but there was no flashed message in response.

Elena shielded her eyes. "Thanks for blinding us, Duke."

"He's coming in awfully fast," Gamay said.

"Too fast," Elena said. With a flick of her wrist, she put the thrusters in reverse and tried to back out of the way, but Duke's sub bore down on them at full speed and rammed them, c.o.c.kpit to c.o.c.kpit. It was a glancing blow, but they were knocked sideways just the same. Gamay felt herself thrown about in the seat.

"What is wrong with him?" Elena blurted out, struggling to get control.

Gamay looked around. There were no leaks that she could see. No cracks. The Scarabs were certified to depths of two thousand feet-their hulls were immensely strong-but the b.u.mper car experience was one she'd rather have on dry ground in an amus.e.m.e.nt park.

She looked out through the clear dome of the c.o.c.kpit. Scarab Two was turning around and coming back their way, moving even faster this time.

"Something's not right," she said.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," Gamay said. "Go. Just go!"

Elena slammed the throttles forward and pushed the control column down and to port. The yellow shape of Duke's craft raced overhead and turned back to the left.

"What is he doing?" Elena asked. "Has he lost his mind?"

"I have no idea," Gamay said. "Just keep us moving."

"I've got the throttles full open," Elena said. "But Duke's in a newer ride, with upgraded thrusters and newer batteries. I hate to say it but we're outcla.s.sed."

Gamay could see that plainly. This time Duke sideswiped them and tried to force them into the hull of the Ethernet.

Elena reversed thrust and the orange submersible slowed. Duke shot past once again.

"Now what?"

"Take us up."

"He'll catch us if we try to surface."

"Not all the way," Gamay said. "Just over to the other side of the wreck."

Elena twisted the control column upward and the thrusters pivoted into a vertical position. The sub rose up, cleared the superstructure, and sped across it. As soon as they hit the other side, Elena pushed the column forward and forced the sub down behind the yacht's stern, tucking them into a spot at the rear section of the hull.

"Douse the lights!" Gamay said, flicking a series of switches on her side.

Elena reached forward and switched off the main floods and the sub was plunged into utter darkness. Gamay sighed. "Now, hold your breath," she said. "And hope he doesn't find us."

Up on the surface, on the racing vessel, Paul dropped onto the main deck and sprinted aft. The Condor was charging across the water like a three-thousand-ton speedboat, all but planing across the sea.

Halfway to the engine room, he found the captain, who was rushing forward to the bridge.

"What in the name of Poseidon are they doing up there?" the captain shouted.

"It's not the crew," Paul said. "Something's wrong with the system."

"I should have known better than to accept a ship controlled by computers," the captain said.

"We have to get back to the engine room," Paul said. "She's over-revving. We'll blow out the propulsion units if we don't shut them down."

The captain turned around and ran with Paul to the aft end of the ship. They ducked inside and took a ladder down to the engine compartment. The noise was ear-shattering and verbal communication was all but impossible.

They found the chief and another member of the crew trying desperately to slow the engines down. The captain made a cutting motion across his neck.

The chief shook his head.

"What about the fuel pumps?!" Paul shouted at the top of his lungs.

They looked at him.

He leaned closer. "Fuel pumps! There must be an emergency shutoff in case of fire!"

The chief nodded and waved for them to follow. Like many modern ships, the Condor was powered not by heavy diesel engines but by a high-tech gas turbine system. Essentially, a jet engine connected to heavy reduction gearing and then to the propeller shaft or shafts.

As they put a bulkhead between them and the turbines, the sound lessened just enough that shouted communications could be heard.

"There are two turbines," the chief said. "Two fuel pumps. Climb that half ladder and reach in behind the gauges. The red lever will shut off the fuel. I'll handle the starboard pump. You take the port."

Paul nodded and went to the ladder. The ship was shuddering and bucking with the speed. The heat from the turbines was like a blast furnace. With sweat pouring into his eyes, Paul climbed up and found the instrument cl.u.s.ter. He noticed the rpm indicator at one hundred thirty-nine percent. Well above the red line.