Professor Isadore Axler sits at the SOSUS station, headphones on, eyes closed. His face, speckled with liver spots, is serene as he listens to the haunting cetacean echoes.

Dominique taps him on the shoulder.

Iz opens his eyes, his thinning gray goatee spreading into a tight smile as he removes the headphones from his ears. “Humpbacks.”

“Is that how you say hello? Humpbacks.”

Iz stands and gives her a hug. “You look tired, kiddo.”

“I’m fine.”

Edie steps forward. “Iz, Dominique has a favor to ask.”

“What, another one?”

“When did I ask the last one?”

“When you were sixteen. You asked to borrow the car. Most traumatic night of my life.” Iz pats her cheek. “Speak.”

She hands him the information on the Chicxulub crater. “I need you to use SOSUS and tell me if you hear anything down there.”

“And what am I supposed to be listening for?”

“I don’t know. Anything unusual, I guess.”

Iz gives her his famous “stop wasting my time,” stare, his tangled gray eyebrows knitting together.

“Iz, stop staring at her and just do it,” Edie commands.

The elderly biologist returns to his chair, muttering, “Anything unusual, huh. Maybe we’ll hear a whale farting.” He types the coordinates into the computer, repositioning the headphones.

Dominique hugs him from behind, kissing his cheek.

“All right, all right, enough with the bribes. Listen, kiddo, I don’t know what you’re looking to accomplish, but this crater’s spread out over a vast area. What I’ll do is estimate the center point, which looks to be somewhere near the Campeche shelf, just southwest of the Alacan Reef. I’ll program the computer to begin a low-frequency search. We’ll start at one to fifty hertz and gradually increase the cycles. Problem is, you’re focusing in on an area that’s loaded with oil and gas fields. The Gulf basin is all limestone and sandstone, containing porous geological traps. Oil and gas are constantly leaking out from fissures along the seafloor, and SOSUS is going to register every one of these leaks.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we eat lunch.” Iz finishes programming the computer. “The system will automatically home in on any acoustical disturbances in the area.”

“How long do you think it’ll take SOSUS to find something?” The remark earns Dominique another stare.

“What am I, God? Hours, days, weeks, maybe never. What difference does it make? In the end, all we’ll probably have is a bunch of worthless background noise.”

Washington, DC.

The maître d’ switches on his smile as the fourth-most-powerful person in the United States enters the posh French restaurant. “Bon soir, Monsieur Borgia.”

“Bon soir, Felipe. I believe I’m expected.”

“Oui, certainement. Follow me, please.” The maître d’ leads him past candlelit tables to a private room next to the bar. He knocks twice on the outer double doors, then turns to Borgia. “Your party is waiting inside.”