As she picked her way carefully down those rough-hewn stairs, she let the fingers of her left hand trail on the inner wall of the bowl to steady her. Ridge reached the last step and paused to wait for her on the shelf of black, sloping rock that formed the bottom of the bowl. Movement off to her right caught her eye and she glanced over to see Lieutenant Commander Sykes working his way around. The powerfully built officer moved purposefully back and forth from the sailors who were planting charges on the walls of the bowl to those who were at the edge of the shelf, anchoring the members of the descent team.
Sykes had a cool efficiency that she admired, not only doing his own job but making sure everyone else knew how to do theirs, pausing to make a quiet recommendation or adjustment here and there. In that fashion, he made his way around the open hole at the center of the bowl, so that by the time Alena reached the last step, Sykes had arrived at a spot perhaps a dozen feet away, where he checked the safety of several black ropes that vanished over the edge. Down below, the descent team would be setting other charges, and a kind of calm swept over Alena. With Sykes there, and the speed of the sailors working in the bowl and the sub-chamber below, they’d be out of the grotto in three-quarters of an hour at most. By then, many of the island’s other caves would also have been lined with explosives.
This would work. A grim satisfaction took hold of her as she followed Ridge along the inner wall.
“I expected to find more of the writing on these walls,” Ridge said, “but I confess I’m amazed by the extent.”
At first glance, Alena had trouble making out much detail thanks to the angle of the sun, but when she shifted position, cutting the glare, she understood why Ridge had made her climb the hill and risk the stairs into the bowl. Whatever the language of the island’s original inhabitants, it had been carved into an incredible expanse of glassy black rock at least fifteen feet high, and in apparent panels six to eight feet wide that stretched into the shadows at the rear of the bowl, and perhaps even around to the other side. There were images as well, and — though absent of any Egyptian influence — they communicated thoughts almost as well as hieroglyphics. Perhaps, after some study, they would prove even more eloquent than the Egyptian picture-writing.
“Alena?” Ridge prodded, awaiting her reaction.
She unclipped the two-way radio from her belt. “Lieutenant Commander Sykes—” she began, before remembering that the officer was right behind her. She turned to see him glancing down at his own radio, then up at her. A moment’s irritation creased the corners of his eyes, but then he must have seen something in her face, for he strode quickly over to join them.
“What is it, Doctor?” Sykes asked as he approached.
“The photographers who are documenting this,” Alena said, gesturing to the wall. “I need them all up here on the bowl, and right now. I want pictures of every mark on these walls that nature didn’t put here.”
Sykes started to balk. “Is that really—”
Alena shot him a hard look — one that brought him up short. “This is the third time in my life I’ve encountered creatures like this, and I don’t have any better idea of their history than I did the first time. What’s on these walls could give us clues to finding other habitats, if they have any, and to exterminating them for good. For science, for history, and for national security, I need a record of all of this. And since we’re going to blow it all to hell in a couple of hours—”
“I get it,” Sykes said, holding up a hand in surrender. “Sorry, Dr. Boudreau. I wasn’t thinking.”
He unclipped his own radio and started barking orders. His gaze was fixed on a point behind her, and Alena turned to see that curiosity had gotten the better of Tori and Agent Hart, who were working their way down the stairs and trying to get a glimpse of what Ridge had called her up to see.
Alena turned to Ridge. “Paul, I want rubbings of as much of this as you can get before we have to dust off.”
He nodded but did not turn, his focus entirely on the wall markings. “You got it.”
The explosion shook the entire grotto, from sub-chamber up through the bowl to the rim. The stone shelf bucked beneath Alena, knocking her off her feet, and she let out a scream as the black rock splintered and gave way beneath her. A cloud of dust billowed up through the old volcano’s throat and though the blast had muffled her hearing, the shouts and curses reached her even as she fell in a tangle of limbs and stone, flailing for a ledge that had been part of the broken shelf.
She held her breath as she fell, and a tiny, incoherent prayer filled her mind.
Then she hit the water and plunged into darkness, and the real fear began.
75
In the launch that carried her from the Coast Guard ship Kodiak to the USS Hillstrom, Angie Tyree stayed in the enclosed cabin behind the wheelhouse. The launch wasn’t much bigger than the lifeboat that had saved her, but it sat higher on the water and must have had a deeper draft. Agent Plausky, who had been as kind to her as she supposed she could expect, watched her from the door that led to the aft deck, but Angie did not want to budge from the bench where she sat.
Still, she had a question. She had caught a glimpse of the Antoinette in the distance just before Plausky had taken her below to get her on board the launch.
“All of these ships are moving away from the island,” she said. “What about the people you’ve sent ashore?”
Plausky glanced back toward the Kodiak, as though he could see right through it to the Antoinette and the island on the other side.
“The helicopters will bring them back. A half mile or so isn’t going to cause any problems.”
“So why pull back?” Angie asked.
“We’re not getting distance from the island,” the FBI agent explained. “We’re retreating from the Antoinette.”
A shiver ran through Angie. “Why? Didn’t you send people over there to kill the ones on board?”
Plausky nodded. “Yeah. And I guess they did the job. But as long as the Antoinette’s there, it’s going to be a safe haven for them. And if we left it there, it might draw undue attention. Someone might see it and want to explore the ship, and then the island. Probably a lot of salvage on board, not to mention inside the containers themselves. Better for everyone if it just goes away, like the wrecks Dr. Boudreau has the Navy and Coast Guard out there burning.”
“You’re going to burn it?” Angie asked.
“No. They’re going to blow it up.”
She stared at him, surprised to find herself sad at the idea of the Antoinette’s destruction. Not that the ship had ever been home, but it was a place for her to belong, and she doubted she would ever find such a place again.
The boat rocked under her and she hugged herself tightly. The conversation with Plausky helped keep her distracted, which was good. Sunlight or no, she couldn’t help but think what might be swimming right beneath the launch. Everyone seemed to think the sirens didn’t come this far from the island, but she didn’t want to bet her life on it.
Through a side window she could just make out the Navy ship ahead and she let out a calming breath. Just three steps now. Get onto the Hillstrom, then onto the chopper, and fly back to St. Croix. Whatever they wanted after that, wherever they let her go, at least she would be away from here.
As if summoned by her anticipation, a low buzz that had been nagging at the edges of her hearing grew into a sudden roar, and she angled her head to peer into the sky above the launch. After today, she would always welcome the sound of a helicopter, but what she glimpsed as she looked up made her draw back in confusion.