A whine of hydraulics joined us in the darkness as the wings retracted, sending the Barracuda barrel-rolling down an embankment.

There was nothing to grab hold of, just dizzying darkness and painful bumps and an elbow to the head that drew stars. With a jarring thud, we stopped, the sub landing right side-up.

Ben and I moaned as we disentangled ourselves in the narrow cockpit. Crawling over his dashboard, I dropped into my leather chair and closed my eyes against the vertigo and a nauseating drop in blood sugar. Feeling for my personal storage area, I removed a bottle of water and a bag of trail mix and ate.

“Zach, use your night glasses. See if you can find the river.”

“We’re in the river,” Ming said, groggily. “The water is gone.”

I searched for the night-vision goggles, put them on, and stared out of the bow at the alien landscape. We were in a gully as wide as a city block, its depths tapering down two stories. The surging rapids had been replaced by a three-foot-deep trough of water, interrupted by patches of volcanic rock and mud.

“Ming’s right, Ben. We’re in the river, but the water’s gone.”

“Gone? How? Where did it go?”

“Vostok has tides,” Ming reminded us. “We left on a full moon. Perhaps we are experiencing the effects of— ”

“Come on, Ming. Full moons don’t cause a fifty-foot drop between high tide and low tide. Tell her, Zach!”

Ben was losing it.

So was I.

My eyes locked on the LED instrument panel before me, hoping to steady the vertigo.

“Zach, what’s your external pressure reading?”

I glanced at the gauge, blinking several times. “This can’t be right. The gauge must have broken when we flipped. I’ve got 228 psi. What could be causing it?”

“It must be it,” Ming muttered.

Ben turned around, suddenly animated. “I knew it! I knew you were MJ-12.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Captain.”

“The hell you don’t. Why don’t you tell Dr. Wallace what’s causing this magnetic interference? After all, that is why we’re here.”

“What’s he talking about, Ming?”

“Nothing. It is simply a theory.”

“A theory… really?”

“Ben, take it easy.”

“No. No, I want to hear about this theory—the theory that funded this expedition. Isn’t that right, Dr. Liao?”

“Ignore him, Zachary. My sponsors funded this historic mission to advance science.”

“Your sponsors, of course. Tell us about your sponsors. Agricola Industries, for instance. Why would a private Canadian firm specializing in tar sand technology invest over half a million dollars in an exploratory mission of a subglacial lake? Doesn’t make much sense until you do a little digging and learn that Agricola was bought out two years ago by ITT. Have you ever heard about ITT, Zach?”

“Why don’t you tell me after we figure a way out of this mess?”