As he waited for the full assault, tiny fish nibbled at his toes, drawn by the blood of his abraded feet. He kicked them away.
Then he remembered the story Karen had told him about the construction of Darong Island. A sea tunnel connected the lake to the sea beyond the reef, she’d said, allowing fish to enter. He looked back; the breakwater lay only thirty yards away. A tough swim, but not impossible.
He heard the scuffle of stone.
Of the two risks, he knew which was the less dicey.
He dropped his rifle and, tugging the backpack over both shoulders, slid into the lake. Its bottom fell away steeply. He tread water for a few breaths, taking deep lungfuls of air. Usually, he could hold his breath for up to five minutes, but this was going to be a long dark swim.
With a final deep breath, he dove down into the depths. The fresh wound in his ear burned in the saltwater, but at least the pain kept him focused.
His hands reached the silty bottom. Curling around, he searched the edges of the artificial lake, struggling to find the sea tunnel opening. He swam first along the section facing the breakwater, believing this the most likely place. It quickly proved true: his arm disappeared down the throat of a stone tunnel.
Fixing its location in his mind, he rose to the surface and refreshed his lungs with rapid, deep inhalations. As he readied himself, he listened. It sounded like the jet skis were leaving. But the sounds echoed strangely around the lake. He couldn’t be sure, especially with so many. Then closer, he heard whispers, arguing, and the rattle of loose rocks, the word “bomb.” That was enough for him.
He dove with a clean scissor kick and reached the entrance to the tunnel. Not pausing, he ducked into the coral-encrusted hole and pulled and propelled himself down the chute, using hands and toes. There was nothing to see. Scooting blindly, his legs and arms were scraped and cut by the sharp coral. But he no longer felt the pain. He pushed past it, concentrating on one thing—moving forward.
As he wiggled and kicked, his lungs began to ache.
He ignored this pain, too.
Reaching forward, his hand touched stone. A moment of panic clutched him. He frantically reached out with both palms. A wall of stone blocked his way forward. He struggled, gasping out a bit of air, before he forced himself to calm down. Panic was a diver’s worst enemy.
He searched the walls on either side and realized the way opened to the right. It was simply a blind turn in the tunnel. He reached it and pulled himself around the corner.
Though relieved, he was also concerned. How long and torturous was this tunnel? Darong Island lay only thirty yards from the edge of the reef, but if the passage twisted and turned, how long did he really have to swim?
By now he was running out of air. The hours of exertion were taking their toll. His limbs demanded more oxygen. Small specks of light began to dance across his vision. Ghost lights of oxygen deprivation.
Jack increased his pace, refusing to let panic rule him. He moved quickly but methodically. The passage made two more turns.
His lungs began to spasm. He knew that eventually reflexes would quickly kick in and make him gasp. But blind, with no idea how far he had yet to traverse, he had no choice but to squeeze past his animal instincts.
Jack’s head began to pound. Lights swirled in multicolor spectrums.
Knowing he was close to drowning, he slowly exhaled a bit of air from his lungs. This gave his body a false sense that he was about to breathe. His lungs relaxed. The trick bought him a bit more time.
He kicked onward, periodically blowing out a bit more air.
But eventually this last ruse failed him. His lungs were almost empty. His body screamed for oxygen.
Jack strained to see, searching for some clue to how far he had to travel. But darkness lay all around him. There was no sign of an end to the tunnel.
He knew he was lost.
His arms scrabbled but he had no strength. His fingers dug at the rock.
Then a flicker of light appeared far ahead. Was it real? Or was he hallucinating, close to death?
Either way, he forced his leaden limbs to move.
He heard a muffled explosion behind him, the noise reverberating through his bones. He glanced over his shoulder just as the shock wave struck him. He was shoved roughly by a surge of water, tumbled in the tide, bumping along the walls. Water surged up his nose. With the last of his air, he choked it back out. Blindly, he pawed around him. It took him a second to realize walls no longer surrounded him.
He was out of the tunnel!
Jack crawled toward the surface. Air, all he needed was one breath.
He stared up and saw starlight…and a moon!
Kicking, writhing, he fought upward. His fingers broke the surface just as his lungs gave out and spasmed, sucking saltwater through his nose and mouth. He choked and gasped. His body wracked as it sought to expel the water.
Then his hair was grabbed and his head pulled out of the water. Into air, into light. Jack looked up. The moon had come down to the sea. A circle so bright. He twisted around…or was flung around.
“Get that light out of his face!”
Voices surrounded him. Familiar voices. The voices of the dead.
He saw a dark visage bent over him. It was an old friend, come to take him away. He reached numbly up as darkness again swept over him. In his head, he whispered his friend’s name: Charlie…
11:05 P.M.
“Is he going to be okay?” Lisa asked.
Charlie hauled Jack’s limp body into the pontoon boat. “You’re the doctor, you tell me.” He rolled Jack over, pulled off the water-logged backpack, and pumped a wash of saltwater from his drowned chest. Jack coughed and vomited out more.
“He’s breathing, at least.” Lisa bent over Jack’s form. “But we need to get him back to the Deep Fathom. He’ll need oxygen.”
The motor revved as Robert, at the stern, gunned the engine and spun the launch toward the waiting ship. The Fathom lay not far across the bay. Two other police cutters patrolled back and forth along the edge of the ruins.
Earlier, Charlie had spent half the evening trying to convince the local authorities to aid him in his search for Jack and the others. No one had listened, insisting he wait until morning. Then a frantic call had come in from Professor Nakano, relating an attack upon their party at Nan Madol. Now motivated, the police had converged on the location, arriving with the Fathom to find the place already deserted.
Apparently, Spangler’s assault team had been tipped off, for just as they entered the bay, a large blast blew apart one of Nan Madol’s tiny islets. Already in the Fathom’s launch, Charlie had aimed for the site, knowing there must be a reason for the explosion.