Kemal gave him a smile that showed he had no intention of following Austin's advice and wished them good luck in Turkish and in English. Austin bit down on his regulator mouthpiece, folded his body in a surface dive and with a flip of his fins disappeared below the surface. Zavala was only a moment behind. At twenty feet, they hovered and tested their voice-activated Divelink wireless underwater communications systems.

“Ready to invade Russia?” Austin asked.

“Can't wait!” Zavala said, sounding like Donald Duck in Austin's earphones. "Russia has some of the most beautiful women in the world. Green eyes, high cheekbones, lush lips- ”

“Keep a lid on your raging libido, José. This isn't Club Med we're going to. When we get home, you can order a Russian bride over the Internet.”

“Thanks for dashing cold water on my lustful thoughts.”

“Speaking of cold water, we've got about a mile of the stuff ahead of us, so I suggest we get moving.” Austin checked his wrist compass and jerked his thumb toward shore. They flicked on the switches of their propulsion vehicles, the battery-powered motors hummed into life, and the Torpedo 2000s surged ahead, smoothly pulling the divers through the pale green water. Their approach sent schools of fish flying off to either side, making it evident why Kemal and his fellow fishermen had risked their necks to work these waters.

Near the surf line, the water became turbid from floating particles of vegetation kicked up by the crashing waves. Austin angled the Torpedo 2000 down to the sandy sea bottom, with Zavala a few feet behind him.

“Any idea what we're looking for?” Zavala said, squinting toward the gravelly banking that rose sharply from the sea floor to meet the beach.

“A neon sign saying THIS IS IT would help. But I'll settle for something that looks like a big garage door.”

Zavala switched on his powerful Phantom dive light and played the bull's-eye across the slope.

“I don't even see a doorknob.”

“We're wasting our time here. They wouldn't build on the beach. They'd want solid rock over their heads. Let's check out the cliffs. I'll take the one to the right.”

Zavala waved, and with the ease of a natural pilot he put his propulsion vehicle in a graceful turn and shot off, quickly disappearing into the murk. Austin headed in the opposite direction. A moment later, the voice of a singing duck filled Austin's earphones as Zavala rendered an off-tune version of “Guantanamera.”

Austin moved parallel to the undersea embankment until the sand and gravel gave over to solid rock. Zavala's quacking became fainter as they expanded their range. Austin was grateful for this development, but he didn't want too much space separating them. He saw nothing that resembled an entrance, and was about to tell Zavala to head back, but Joe broke off his serenade with a loud “Whoa!”

“Say again?”

“Got something, Kurt,” he said excitedly.