Safe from detection, Giordino and Maeve hurried through the opened gate and joined Pitt inside the office. Giordino picked up the guards as if they were straw scarecrows and sat them in chairs around a table facing a row of video monitors. “To anyone walking by,” he said, “it’ll look like they fell asleep during the movie.”
A quick scan of the security system, and Pitt closed down the alarms, while Giordino bound the guards with their own ties and belts. Then Pitt looked at Maeve. “Where’s Ferguson’s quarters?”
“There are two guest houses in a grove of trees behind the manor. He lives in one of them.”
“I don’t suppose you know which one?”
She shrugged. “This is the first time I’ve returned to the island since I ran away to Melbourne and the university. If I remember correctly, he lives in the one nearest the manor.”
“Time to repeat our break-in act,” said Pitt. “Let’s hope we haven’t lost our touch.”
They moved up the driveway at a steady, unhurried pace. They were too weakened from an inadequate diet and the hardships of the past weeks to run. They reached what Maeve believed was the living quarters of Jack Ferguson, superintendent of Dorsett’s mines on Gladiator Island.
The sky was beginning to lighten in the east as they approached the front door. The search was taking too long. With the coming of dawn, their presence would most certainly be discovered. They had to move fast if they wanted to find the boys, reach the yacht and escape in Arthur Dorsett’s private helicopter before the remaining darkness was lost.
There was no stealth this time, no slinking quietly into the house. Pitt walked up to the front door, kicked it in with a splintering crunch and walked inside. A quick look around with the flashlight taken from the guards at the cliff told him all he needed to know. Ferguson lived there all right. There was a stack of mail on a desk that was addressed to him and a calendar with notations. Inside a closet, Pitt found neatly pressed men’s pants and coats.
“Nobody home,” he said. “Jack Ferguson has gone. No sign of suitcases, and half the hangers in the closet are empty.”
“He’s got to be here,” said Maeve in confusion.
“According to dates he’s marked on his calendar, Ferguson is on a tour of your father’s other mining properties”
She stared at the vacant room in futility and growing despair. “My boys are gone. We’re too late. Oh God, we’re too late. They’re dead.”
Pitt put his arm around her. “They’re as alive as you and I”
“But John Merchant—”
Giordino stood in the doorway. “Never trust a man with beady eyes.”
“No sense in wasting time here,” said Pitt, pushing past Giordino. “The boys are in the manor house, always have been, as a matter of fact.”
“You couldn’t have known Merchant was lying,” Maeve challenged Pitt.
He smiled. “Ah, but Merchant didn’t lie. You were the one who said the boys lived with Jack Ferguson in a guesthouse. Merchant merely went along with you. He guessed we were suckers enough to buy it. Well, maybe we did, but only for a second.”
“You knew?”
“It goes without saying that your father wouldn’t harm your sons. He may threaten, but a dime will get you a quarter they’re sequestered in your old room, where they’ve been all along, playing with a room full of toys, courtesy of their old granddad.”
Maeve looked at him in confusion. “He didn’t force them to work in the mines?”
“Probably not. He turned the screws on your maternal instincts to make you think your babies were suffering so he could make you suffer. The dirty bastard wanted you to go to your death believing he would enslave the twins, place them in the care of a sadistic foreman and work them until they died. Face facts. With Boudicca and Deirdre childless, your boys are the only heirs he’s got. With you out of the way, he figured he could raise and mold them into his own image. In your eyes a fate worse than death.”
Maeve looked at Pitt for a long moment, her expression turning from disbelief to understanding, then she shivered. “What kind of fool am I?”
“A great song title,” said Giordino. “I hate to dampen good news, but this time the people of the house are stirring about.” He gestured at lights shining in the windows of the manor house.
“My father always rises before dawn,” said Maeve. “He never allowed my sisters and me to sleep after sunrise.”
“What I wouldn’t give to join them for breakfast,” moaned Giordino.
“Not to sound like an echo chamber,” said Pitt, “but we need a way in without provoking the inhabitants.”
“All rooms of the manor open onto interior verandas except one. Daddy’s study has a side door that leads onto a squash court.”
“What’s a squash court?” inquired Giordino.
“A court where they play squash,” answered Pitt. Then to Maeve “In what direction is your old bedroom?”
“Across the garden and past the swimming pool to the east wing, second door on the right.”
“That’s it then. You two go after the boys.”
“What will you do?”
“Me, I’m going to borrow Daddy’s phone and stick him with a long-distance call.”
The atmosphere on board the Glomar Explorer was relaxed and partylike. The NUMA team and the ship’s personnel that were gathered in the spacious lounge next to the galley celebrated their success in repelling the acoustic plague. Admiral Sandecker and Dr. Ames were sitting opposite each other, sipping champagne poured from a bottle produced by Captain Quick from his private stock for special occasions.
After further consideration, it was decided to reclaim the antenna/reflector from the water and dismantle it again in case Dorsett Consolidated’s disastrous mining operations could not be terminated and it became essential to stop another acoustic convergence in order to save lives. The reflector shield was raised, and the hull below the Moon Pool was sealed off and the sea pumped from its cavernous interior. Within an hour, the historic ship was on its return course to Molokai.
Sandecker heaved himself out of his chair after being informed by the ship’s communications officer that he had an important call from his chief geologist, Charlie Bakewell. He walked to a quiet part of the lounge and pulled a compact satellite phone from his pocket. “Yes, Charlie.”
“I understand congratulations are in order.” Bakewell’s voice came clearly.
“It was a close thing. We barely positioned the ship and dropped the reflector shield before the convergence occurred. Where are you now?”
“I’m here at the Joseph Marmon Volcanic Observatory in Auckland, New Zealand. I have an update for you from their staff of geophysicists. Their most recent analysis of the sound ray energy’s impact cars Gladiator Island isn’t very encouraging.”
“Can they compute the repercussions?”
“I’m sorry to say the predicted magnitude is worse than I originally thought,” answered Bakewell. “The two volcanoes on the island, I’ve since learned, are called Mount Scaggs and Mount Winkleman, after two survivors from the raft of the Gladiator. They’re part of a chain of potentially explosive volcanoes that encircles the Pacific Ocean known as the `Ring of Fire’ and lie not far from a tectonic plate similar to the ones separating the San Andreas Fault in California. Most volcanic activity and earthquakes are caused by a movement of these plates. Studies indicate the volcanoes’ last major activity occurred sometime between 1225 and 1275 A.D., when they erupted simultaneously.”
“As I recall, you said the chances of them erupting from the convergence impact was one in five.”
“After consulting with the experts here at the Marmon Observatory, I’ve lowered the odds to less than even.”
“I can’t believe the sound ray traveling toward the island has the strength to cause a volcanic eruption,” said Sandecker incredulously.
“Not by itself,” replied Bakewell. “But what we neglected to consider was Dorsett’s mining operations making
