The medical officer leans over the unconscious Hispanic beauty. He verifies that she is breathing, checks her pulse, then flashes a light in her eyes. “This one has a bad concussion, possible internal injuries. We need to get her to sick bay.”

A corpsman pushes Mick aside, relieving him of the stretcher. He is too weak to protest.

The physician looks him over. “Son, you look like you’ve been through hell. Any injuries, other than the cuts and bruises?”

“I don’t think so.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know. Two days? My friend, will she be all right?”

“Should be. What’s your name?”

“Mick.”

“Come with me, Mick. We’ll dress those wounds, get some grub in you, then clean you up a bit. You need to get some rest—”

“Negative,” interrupts the lieutenant. “Captain wants him in the briefing room in fifteen minutes.”

It is raining by the time Ennis Chaney’s chopper touches down on the aft deck of the Boone. The vice president leans over and nudges the sleeping man to his right. “Wake up, Marvin, we’re here. How you can sleep through all this rickety-rack is beyond me.”

Marvin Teperman flashes a tight grin as he wipes the sleep from his eyes. “The traveling wears me out.”

An ensign slides open the bay door, salutes, then leads the two men into the superstructure. “Sir, Captain Loos is waiting for you in his briefing room—”

“Not yet. First, I want to see the bodies.”

“Right now, sir?”

“Right now.”

The ensign leads him inside a large hangar. Lying in rows along the concrete floor are body bags.

Chaney moves slowly from bag to bag, pausing at each to read the identification tag. “Oh, Lord…” The vice president kneels next to a bag and pulls back the zipper, his hands shaking. He stares at the pale, lifeless face of Brian Dodds. With a fatherly touch, he reaches out and smooths back the auburn hair from the forehead, the emotion welling in his eyes.

“How did this happen?” Chaney’s voice is a whispered rasp.

“Uncertain, sir. The one man who may know is in the captain’s briefing room, waiting to speak with you.”

Chaney reseals the bag and struggles to his feet. “Take us there.”

Mick shoves the last bite of turkey-and-cheese sandwich into his mouth, draining it with a swig of ginger ale.

“Feeling better?”

He nods to the captain. Although exhausted, the food, hot shower, and change of clothing have improved his spirits.

“Now, you say your name is Michael Rosen, and you’re a marine biologist working out of a facility in Tampa, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. You can call me Mick.”

“And you discovered the object below us—how?”

“SOSUS. It’s an underwater sound observation—”

“I’m familiar with SOSUS, thank you. Now, your companion—”