"Anything yet?" Dover asked, peering over Pitts shoulder at the high-resolution screen.

"Nothing man-made," Pitt answered. "Bottom terrain is rugged, broken, mostly lava rock."

"Good clear picture."

Pitt nodded. "Yes, the detail is quite sharp."

"What's that dark smudge?"

"A school of fish. Maybe a pack of seals."

Dover turned and stared through the bridge windows at the volcanic peak on Augustine Island, now only a few miles away. "Better make a strike soon. We're coming close to shore."

"Lab to ship," Mendoza's feminine voice broke over the bridge speaker.

Dover picked up the communications phone. "Go ahead, lab."

"Steer zero-seven-zero degrees. Trace elements appear to be in higher concentrations in that direction."

Dover gave the nearby island an apprehensive eye. "If we hold that course for twenty minutes we'll park on your doorstep for supper."

"Come in as far as you can and take samples," Mendoza answered.

"My indications are that you're practically on top of it."

Dover hung up without further discussion and called out, "What's the depth?"

The watch officer tapped a dial on the instrument console. "One hundred forty feet and rising."

"How far can you see on that thing?" Dover asked Pitt.

"We read the seabed six hundred meters on either side of our hug."

"Then we're cutting a swath nearly two thirds of a mile wine."

"Close enough," Pitt admitted.

"We should have detected the ship by now," Dover said irritably.

"Maybe we missed it."

"No need to get uptight," Pitt said. He paused, leaned over the computer keyboard and fine-tuned the image. "Nothing in this world is more elusive than a shipwreck that isn't ready to be found.

Deducing the murderer in an Agatha Christie novel is kindergarten stuff compared to finding a lost derelict under hundreds of square miles of water. Sometimes you get lucky early. Most of the time you don't."

"Very poetic," Dover said dryly.

Pitt stared at the overhead bulkhead for a long and considering moment. "What's the visibility under the water surface?"

"The water turns crystal fifty yards from shore. On the flood tine I've seen a hundred feet or better."

"I'd like to borrow your copter and take aerial photos of this area."

"Why bother?" Dover said curtly. "Semper Paratus, Always Ready, is not the Coast Guard's motto for laughs." He motioned through a doorway. "We have charts showing three thousand miles of Alaskan coastline in color and incredible detail, courtesy of satellite reconnaissance."

Pitt nodded for Giordino to take his place in front of the hydroscan as he rose and followed the Catawba's skipper into a small compartment stacked with cabinets containing nautical charts.

Dover checked the label inserts, pulled open a drawer and rummaged inside. Finally he extracted a large chart marked "Satellite Survey Number 2430A, South Shore of Augustine Island." Then he lain it on a table and spread it out.

"Is this what you have in mind?"

Pitt leaned over and studied the bird's-eye view of the sea off the volcanic island's coast. "Perfect. Got a magnifying glass?"