"The orders from the White House definitely state that the INS is not to molest or harass Qin Shang." "So?" "The orders," Pitt said, still grinning but with a hard edge to his voice, "make no mention of what NUMA can or cannot do—"

He broke off as Gunn ran excitedly from the control room onto the bridge wing. "Al thinks he's got them," the words rushed out. "He's coming to the surface now and wants to know how you want them handled."

"Very carefully," said Pitt. "Tell him to rise slowly and maintain a good grip. When he surfaces, we'll lift the Sappho IV aboard with them."

"Who is them?" asked Julia.

Pitt gave her a quick glance before he rushed down a ladder to the submersible recovery deck. "The bones of Peking man, that's who."

Word quickly spread throughout the salvage fleet, and the Ocean Retriever's crew began assembling on the stern work deck. The crews of the other vessels crowded their railings, watching the activity aboard the NUMA ship. There was a strange silence as the turquoise Sappho TV broke the surface and rolled slightly from the low waves of the lake. Divers waited in the water to attach the crane's cable hook to the lifting ring on top of the submersible. Every eye was on the large wire-mesh basket between the twin articulated arms. Two wooden boxes sat in the basket. They all held their breath as the submersible was slowly lifted from the lake. The crane operator used great caution in swinging the underwater craft over the stern before lowering it gently into its cradle.

The crowd on deck gathered around the sub as the ship's archaeologist directed the unloading of the crates on the deck. While the archaeologist, a blond lady in her forties by the name of Pat O'Connell, was engaged in exposing the interior of the crates, Giordino threw back the hatch from inside the submersible and pushed his head and shoulders into the open air.

"Where did you find them?" Pitt shouted up at him.

"Using a diagram of the deck plans I managed to force entry into the captain's cabin."

"The location sounds right," said Gunn, peering through his eyeglasses.

With the help of four eager pairs of hands, archaeologist O'Connell pried off the top of the crate and peered inside. "Oh my, oh me, oh my," she muttered in awe.

"What is it?" Pitt demanded. "What do you see?"

"Military footlockers with U.S.M.C. stenciled on the top."

"Well, don't stand there. Open it up."

"It really should be opened in a laboratory," O'Connell protested. "Proper methodology, you know."

"No!" Pitt said flatly. "Proper methodology be damned. These people worked long and hard. And by God they deserve to see the fruits of their labor. Open the footlocker."

Seeing that Pitt was not to be denied, and glancing at the sea of faces around her reflecting expressions of hostility, O'Connell knelt down and began working open the latch on the front of the footlocker with a small crowbar. The wall around the latch quickly fell away as if it were made of clay, and she lifted the lid open very, very slowly.