“Whirlpools usually appear in narrow straits where there is fast-moving water. The whirling confluence of tides and currents, combined with the shape of the sea bottom, can create substantial disturbances on the surface.”

The image on the screen showed the distance shrinking between the whirlpool and the Benjamin Franklin. “Could that thing be a danger to the ship?”

“Not if earlier scientific observations are any indication. The Old Sow whirlpool off the coast of New Brunswick is approximately the same strength as Moskstraumen, with speeds of about twenty-eight kilometers per hour. It's the largest ocean whirlpool in the Western Hemisphere. The turbulence near the phenomenon can be dangerous to small boats, but it poses no hazard for larger vessels.” He paused, staring in fascination at the screen. “Damn!”

"What's wrong?

He stared at the malignancy on the screen. “I wasn't sure at first. But this thing is growing rapidly. In the time we've talked, it has almost doubled in size.”

Austin had seen enough.

“I'd like you to do me a great favor, Professor,” he said, keeping his voice cool and calm. “Get to the survey control center, fast. Tell Joe to pull the ROV immediately and come to the bridge as soon as possible. Tell him that it's urgent.”

Adler glanced at the screen once more, then hurried off. While the professor went on his errand, Austin climbed to the bridge.

Tony Cabral, the Throckmorton's skipper, was a genial man in his late fifties. His tanned face was dominated by a strong nose, he had an upturned black mustache and his mouth was usually stretched in a crooked grin that made him look like a benevolent pirate. But he wore an expression of dead seriousness that changed to one of surprise when he saw Austin.

“Hey, Kurt, I was just about to send someone looking for you.”

“We've got a problem,” Austin said.

“You know about the SOS we received?”

“First I've heard of it. What's going on?”

“We picked up a Mayday from the NOAA vessel a few minutes ago.”

Austin's worst fears were realized. “What's their status?”

Cabral frowned. “Most of the message was garbled. There was a lot of background noise. We recorded the call. Maybe you can make sense of it.”

He flicked a switch on the radio console. The bridge was filled with a cacophony that sounded like an oratorical contest at a madhouse. There was wild shouting, but the words were mostly incomprehensible except for a hoarse male voice that cut through the pandemonium.

“Mayday!” the voice said. “This is the NOAA ship Ben Franklin. Mayday. Come in, anybody.”

Another voice, more garbled, could be heard in the background, bawling: “Power! Damnit, more power ...”

Then came a quick phrase. It was only caught for an instant, but that was all that was needed to convey the unmitigated terror.

“Damnit! We're going in!”

Cabral's recorded voice came on. He was trying to respond to the SOS.