Death Wave

as something visible.

The wave rippled across the Atlantic in six hours; Mount Desert was the northernmost stretch of U.S. coastline not sheltered by the loom of Nova Scotia just over a hundred miles away. On Sand Beach, Brad and Tammy Matheson were sitting on the beach, watching Ryan, their nine-year-old son, building a sand castle between the high and low tide lines. He’d been at it for nearly three hours and had erected a labyrinth of towers and walls that would have done Camelot proud. The tide was coming in now, but Ryan still had perhaps an hour before his edifice faced a serious marine challenge.

The rogue wave caught them all by surprise. It surged up past the high-water mark, a white swirl of foam and froth that kept coming … and coming. It engulfed the sand castle as Ryan squealed, toppled ramparts, washed away walls, and continue climbing the gentle slope of the beach, forcing the Mathesons to scramble to snatch up towels, blankets, clothes, and beach bags.

“Not yet!” Ryan screamed at the implacable elements. “It’s not ready!”

Then the wave receded once more, streaming down the beach and back to the sea, taking the sand castle with it.

EPILOGUE

HOTEL SOL

PUERTO NAOS

TUESDAY, 0910 HOURS LOCAL TIME

Lia, Dean, and Akulinin had gathered at the Hotel Sol after the helicopter had brought them to Puerto Naos the day before. Hours later, they’d been joined by CJ and Castelano. The two had been detained by the authorities, but Rubens’ intervention and a call from the U.S. State Department had gotten them released. Now the five of them were on the patio near the hotel’s swimming pool, the blue waters of the Atlantic crashing against the rocks far below.

“Yeah, so then this Spanish general turns to me,” CJ was telling them, “and he says, ‘Do employees of the U.S. State Department always go about so well armed? It gives me a new respect for your Hillary Clinton.’ ”

They all laughed.

In the background, black smoke continued to stain the morning skies above the Cumbre Vieja.

The nuke had indeed triggered a minor volcanic eruption. The Marines off the Iwo Jima landed the evening before in what was now being called a humanitarian mission, helping to evacuate islanders threatened by the unexpected eruption of the San Martin volcano. The chain of savage concussions from the top of the Cumbre Vieja startled everyone on the island. Today, as San Martin continued to erupt, sending streams of lava down the scar gouged in its western flank by the landslide, hordes of volcanologists were descending on La Palma. Men in silvery reflective suits protecting them from the heat were seen investigating the lava flows, and U.S. Marines helped the local guardia and military move residents out of harm’s way.

Although a final tally was not in, estimates suggested that as many as five people had died when the landslide swept past the tiny village of El Charco on its way to the sea. Three Spanish tourists who’d been at Zamora Beach to the south were still missing as well, but the landslide missed a large banana plantation on the top of the sea cliffs, missed the village of Casas de Remo, missed the enormous luxury Teneguia Princess resort hotel at Fuencaliente, missed Puerto Naos and the Hotel Sol to the north …

For a time, late last night, there was talk of evacuating the entire west coast of the island, but the eruption was already subsiding.

Things could have been a lot worse.

“So where to next?” CJ asked.

“I’m headed stateside,” Akulinin said, grinning. “Masha’s in New York, waiting for me!”

“Tell her hi for me,” Dean said. “

I’m thinking that I might be able to persuade the boss to let us have a couple of days here on La Palma to … you know, wrap up loose ends. Did you know that the nickname for La Palma is La Isla Bonita? The beautiful island. I figure we’re due a bit of vacation time — assuming they don’t find any radioactive contamination up there and decide to evacuate the place.”

“Was there any radiation from the blast?” CJ asked.

“Apparently not,” Dean told her. “Our NEST people have been all over up there, Rubens says, and they haven’t found anything. It was an underground burst, so whatever radioactivity the bomb released was mostly kept underground, and what wasn’t was spread out and buried by the lava. I guess it’s not a problem.”

“Being underground kept down the EMP, too,” Akulinin pointed out. “I thought we were goners when that wiring caught fire from the electromagnetic pulse.”

“Apparently all of that rock blocked most of that as well,” Lia said. It had been close, though. The helicopter’s Navy pilot had just been able to make it to a field above Puerto Naos before the engine died.

“So far as anybody else is concerned,” Dean said, “it was just a natural volcanic eruption — not even as big as the Tenaguia eruption in ’71.” He chuckled. “A tidal wave all of ten inches hit the East Coast. A bit of anticlimax, that.”

“What about the prisoners?” CJ asked.

“Tough call,” Lia told her. “Technically, no American laws were broken, so it will be tough to extradite them. Chatel may face trial in France, since he was misdirecting his company’s assets for personal gain. The State Department may try to put together an indictment, but conspiracy is going to be damned tough to prove.”

“The Marines picked up a few dozen Tangos and Aramco employees fleeing the drill sites,” Dean added. “They’ll probably be shipped back to their own countries, mostly Pakistan and Saudi Arabia. Unless Spain decides to put them on trial.”

“Maybe for trespass and vandalism!” Akulinin suggested, laughing. “The important thing is … we stopped them!”

“The one that worries me,” Lia said, “is Feng.”

“I don’t think he got away, Lia,” Dean told her. “He was either in that helicopter, or he was caught inside the crater by the nuke. We’ll never know for sure, but we do know he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“It’s not that,” Lia said. “It’s the whole Chinese connection. Was Feng working on his own? Or was the Beijing government behind it?”

“Well,” Akulinin said slowly, “we know Feng wasn’t the only PRC officer on this op. Kwok Chung On, in Dushanbe. Remember him?”

“You know,” Dean said, “we just might need to pay a follow-up to those guys in China, to try to find out if Wrath of God was a scam Kwok and Feng dreamed up … or a first strike, an act of war.”

Lia leaned over and slipped her arm around him. “In the meantime, Charlie, I think your idea about a tropical vacation is perfect.”

Together they watched as the rising sun cleared the top of the Cumbre Vieja, filtering through the black smear of volcanic smoke in a dazzling display of light and shifting shadows.