On the surface, the sun's rays pierced the depths, increasing visibility. Pitt switched off the exterior lights. The steel plates, black in the earlier darkness, now became a dull red as the antifouling paint became more evident. There was a slight current caused by the outgoing tide, but Pitt held the submersible steady as the inspection continued. For the next two hours they glided back and forth as if mowing a lawn, each man strangely silent, intent on his job.

Suddenly, Cabrillo's voice broke the silence. "Care to make a progress report, gentlemen?"

"No progress to report," Pitt answered. "One more sweep and we'll have finished the bottom of the hull. Then it's up the sides toward the waterline."

"Let's hope your new paint job makes it tough to spot you from the surface."

"Max Hanley and his crew laid on a darker green tint than I'd planned," said Pitt. "But if nobody stares down in the water, we should be okay."

"The ship still looks deserted."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"See you in two hours and eighteen minutes," said Cabrillo jovially. "Try not to be late."

"We'll be there," Pitt promised. "Al and I don't want to hang around down here any longer than we have to."

"Standing by and out."

Pitt leaned his head toward Giordino without looking at him. "How's our oxygen supply?" he asked.

"Tolerable," Giordino replied briefly. "Battery power still reads steady, but it's creeping slowly toward the red line."

They finished the final run working out from the keel. Pitt guided the little craft along the section of the hull that curved upward toward the waterline. The next hour passed with agonizing slowness, and nothing out of the ordinary was revealed. The tide turned and began flowing in from the sea, bringing cleaner water and increasing visibility to nearly thirty feet. Swinging around the bow they began working the starboard side, which was moored next to the dock, not rising to within ten feet of the surface.

"Time remaining?" Pitt asked tersely without lifting a hand to glance at his Doxa dive watch.

"Fifty-seven minutes to rendezvous with the Oregon's launch," replied Giordino.

"This trip definitely wasn't worth the effort. If Qin Shang is sneaking aliens on and off the United States, it isn't by means of an underwater passage or submarine-type vessel."

"Doesn't figure he'd do it topside in the open," said Giordino. "Not in enough numbers to make it pay. Immigration agents would tag the operation ten minutes after the boat hit port."

"Nothing more we can do here. Let's wrap up and head home."

"That may present a problem."

Pitt glanced sideways at Giordino. "How so?"

Giordino nodded through the canopy. "We have visitors."

Ahead of the submersible, three divers materialized out of the green void, swimming toward them like evil demons in their black wet suits.

"What do you think the fine is for trespassing in these parts?"

"I don't know, but I'll bet it's more than a slap on the wrist."