She tosses him the headphones, then hurriedly boots the seismograph.

Harvey listens as ink begins scribbling across the graph paper. “What is that—”

“Massive earthquake below the Campeche shelf,” she rasps, her heart racing. “Must have occurred less than an hour ago. That rumbling sound you hear is a series of very powerful tsunamis shoaling up along the West Florida shelf—”

“Shoaling?”

“Bunching together as they slow up, driving the energy vertical. These waves are going to be massive by the time they hit the shore. They’ll submerge every island on the coast.”

“How soon?”

“I’m guessing fifteen to twenty minutes tops. I’ll call the Coast Guard and the mayor, you alert the police, then get the car. We need to get out of here.”

Gulf of Mexico

The Sikorsky SH-60B Seahawk soars fifty feet above the whitecaps, the other four naval choppers following close behind. High above, two squadrons of joint strike fighters train their sensors on the fast-moving ripple of water a half mile ahead.

Dominique gazes out her window, staring at the monstrous ripples in the sea. In the distance, the Yucatan coastline peeks out behind an early-morning fog.

Below, propagating along the seafloor at speeds exceeding that of a jetliner is the first in a series of tsunamis. The killer wall of water slows as it hits the shallows, refraction and shoaling redirecting its awesome fury upward, the swell cresting directly beneath the airship. General Fecondo taps the copilot. “Why haven’t the JSFs continued firing?”

The copilot looks back. “They report the target’s too deep, moving way too fast. No signature, nothing to lock on to. Don’t worry, General, the E.T.’s about to run out of sea. Our birds’ll splatter it the moment it hits the beach.”

President Chaney turns to face Dominique, his dark complexion looking pasty and gray. “You doing okay back there?”

“I’ll be better when I—” She stops talking, staring down at the water, feeling her sense of equilibrium faltering as the sea appears to be rising straight up beneath them. “Hey—look out! Take us higher!”

“Shit—” The pilot yanks hard on the joystick as the monstrous wave pushes upward against the chopper’s undercarriage, lifting the airship as if it were a surfboard.

Dominique grips the seat in front of her as the Sikorsky lurches sideways. For a surreal moment, the helicopter teeters atop the mountainous swell, and then the eighty-seven-foot wave releases them and plummets, punishing the beachhead below with a thunderous slap.

The chopper levels out, hovering high above the submerged landscape, its passengers and crew catching a collective breath as the killer wave races inland, devastating everything in its path.

A deafening roar as the joint strike fighters circle overhead.

“General, our air wing reports they’ve lost all visual contact with the E.T.”

“Is it in the wave?”

“No, sir.”