for nearly half a minute no one spoke, they hardly breathed. Then

slowly each shook off the nightmare and turned away from the monitors.

The ice was broken. They began to relax and laugh with all the

spontaneous enthusiasm of saloon patrons celebrating a winning touchdown

by the home team.

Pitt and Giordino could sit back and take it easy for the rest of the

voyage. Their part in the search project was over. They had found a

needle in a haystack. Then slowly Pitts expression turned serious and

he stared off into space.

Giordino knew the symptoms from long experience. Once a project was

successfully completed, Pitt suffered a letdown. The challenge was gone,

and his restless mind quickly turned to the next one.

"Damn fine job, Dirk, and you too, Al," Knight said warmly. "You NUMA

people know your search techniques. This has to be the most remarkable

intelligence coup in twenty years. "

"Don't get carried away," said Pitt. "The tough part is yet to come.

Recovering the sub under Russian noses will be a delicate operation. No

Glomar Explorer this time. No salvage from highly visible surface

ships. The entire operation will have to be carried out underwater-"

"What the hell is that?" Giordino's eyes had returned to the monitor.

"Looks like a fat jug."

"More like an urn," Knight confirmed.

Pitt stared into the monitor for a long moment, his face thoughtful, his

eyes tired, red and suddenly intense. The object was standing straight

up. Two handles protruded from opposite sides of a narrow neck, flaring

sharply into a broad, oval body that in Turn tapered toward the base

buried in the silt.

"A terra-cotta amphora," Pitt announced finally.

"I believe you're right," said Knight. "The Greeks and Romans used them

to transport wine and olive oil. They've been recovered all over the

bottom of the Mediterranean."

"What's one doing in the Greenland Sea?" Giordino asked no one in

particular. "There, to the left of the picture, we've picked up a

second."

Then a cluster of three drifted under the cameras, followed by five more

running in a ragged line from southeast to northwest.

Knight turned to Pitt, "You're the shipwreck expert. How do you'read

it?"

A good ten seconds passed before Pitt replied. Then at last he did, his

voice was distant, as though it came from someone in the next

compartment.

"My guess is they lead toward an ancient shipwreck the history books say

isn't supposed to be here."

Rubin would have traded his soul to abandon the impossible task, remove

hands slick with sweat from the control rolumn, close tired eyes and

accept death, but his sense of responsibility to the flight crew and

passengers drove him on.

Never in his wildest nightmares did he see himself in such a crazy

predicament. One wrong physical movement, a slight error in judgment

and fifty people would find a deep, unknown grave in the sea. Not fair,

he cried in his mind over and over. Not fair.