Angus and I loaded the Manta with climbing equipment, flashlights, and extreme weather gear for two, while Mac stocked the sub with food and water. He wanted to add a few guns, only I stopped him. Violence had already gotten our species into enough trouble with our extraterrestrial visitors. The last thing we needed was to end up in a shootout, fighting over an advanced technology we lacked the morality to use.

Jonas had sobered up by his third cup of coffee. After a final trip to the toilet, he climbed into the port cockpit, lowered the acrylic glass over our heads, and signaled to Cyel Reed to flood the chamber.

Mac’s voice came over the radio. “Jonas, can you hear me okay on this frequency?”

“Yes. Are you in place?”

“We’re en route. What’s your ETA?”

“Twenty minutes, using a biologic pattern.”

“Roger that. Angus and I will be ready.”

The keel doors opened, releasing the Manta into a sun-lit emerald sea. “Jonas, what about the Liopleurodon? Should I go active on sonar?”

“It’s probably dead. If you start pinging, that research ship will know we’re down here.” Jonas kept the sub close to the sea floor, our movements and speed intended to mimic those of a giant manta ray.

We were less than two miles from MJ-12’s surface ship when our sonar monitors began to flicker.

“We’re being jammed. Zach, how close are we to that hole?”

“Six thousand feet. And the Tortuga’s sitting over it like a mother hen.”

“Then what we need is a fox. Mac, you ready to ruffle a few feathers?… Mac, can you hear me?”

The radio spat back static, followed by an unnerving quiet that ended with a crunch as the sub’s belly settled upon the silt-covered sea floor.

“Sonuva bitch, our engines just powered off.” Jonas fought the suddenly rigid controls. “Your pals aren’t playing around this time. Everything’s down—including our life-support system.”

The supertanker Tonga pushed its way south through Prydz Bay at a steady eight knots, her starboard flank hugging the eastern face of the Amery Ice Shelf.

Mac stood on her bridge next to my father, both men’s binoculars focused on the surface ship less than three nautical miles away. The Tortuga’s bow was pointed at the Loose Tooth Rift, her starboard flank exposed.

“Captain, any response from the Manta?”

“Nothing but static, Mr. Mackreides.”

“Shut down your engines. Full reverse. Mr. Al Nahyan, you may begin transmitting the message.”

The radio man spoke with an urgent British accent. “Mayday, mayday. This is the United Arab Emirates research tanker Tonga. Our rudder is badly damaged. We cannot navigate. We strongly advise you to move your ship or risk a collision.”