the volcanoes most susceptible to outside tremors. Even a minor seismic disturbance could trigger volcanic activity from Mounts Scaggs and Winkleman, because years of excavating diamonds has removed much of the ancestral deposits containing the gaseous pressure from below. In short, if Dorsett doesn’t stop digging, it’s only a matter of time before his miners uncork the central conduit, releasing an explosion of molten lava.”
“An explosion of molten lava,” Sandecker repeated mechanically. “Dear God, what have we done? Hundreds of lives will be lost.”
“Don’t be in a rush to confess your sins,” said Bakewell seriously. “There are no women and children known to be on Gladiator Island. You’ve already saved the lives of countless families on Oahu from certain extinction. Your action is bound to wake up the White House and State Department to the threat. Sanctions and legal actions against Dorsett Consolidated Mining will occur, I guarantee it. Without your intervention the acoustic plague would have continued, and there is no telling what harbor city the next convergence zone might have intersected.”
“Still ... I might have ordered the reflector shield to divert the sound waves toward an uninhabited landmass,” said Sandecker slowly.
“And watch it surge through another unsuspecting fishing fleet or cruise ship. We all agreed this was the safest path. Give it a rest, Jim, you have no reason to condemn yourself.”
“You mean I have no choice but to live with it.”
“What is Dr. Ames’ estimate of the sound wave’s arrival at Gladiator?” inquired Bakewell, steering Sandecker away from a guilt trip.
Sandecker glanced at his watch. “Twenty-one minutes to impact.”
“There’s still time to warn the inhabitants to evacuate the island.”
“My people in Washington have already tried to alert Dorsett Consolidated Mining management of the potential danger,” said Sandecker. “But under orders from Arthur Dorsett, all communications between his mining operations and the outside have been cut off.”
“It sounds almost as if Dorsett wanted something to happen.”
“He’s taking no chances of interference before his deadline.”
“There is still a possibility no eruption will happen. The sound ray’s energy might dissipate before impact.”
“According to Dr. Ames’ calculations, there’s little chance of that,” said Sandecker. “What is your worst case scenario?”
“Mount Scaggs and Mount Winkleman are described as shield volcanoes, having built gently sloping mounds during their former activity. This class is seldom highly explosive like cinder cones, but Scaggs and Winkleman are not ordinary shield volcanoes. Their last eruption was quite violent. The experts here at the observatory expect explosions around the base or flanks of the mounds that will produce rivers of lava.”
“Can anyone on the island survive such a cataclysm?” asked Sandecker.
“Depends on which side the violence takes place. Al, most no chance if the volcanoes blow out toward the inhabited part of the island on the west.”
“And if they blow to the east?”
“Then the odds of survival should rise slightly, even with repercussions from enough seismic activity to bring down most if not all of the island’s buildings.”
“Is there a danger of the eruption causing tidal waves?”
“Our analysis does not indicate a seismic disturbance with the strength to produce monstrous tidal activity,” explained Bakewell. “Certainly nothing on the magnitude of the Krakatoa holocaust near Java in 1883. The shores of Tasmania, Australia and New Zealand shouldn’t be touched by waves higher thaw one and a half meters.”
“That’s a plus,” Sandecker sighed.
“I’ll get back to you when I know more,” said Bakewell. “Hopefully, I’ve given you the worst, and all news from now on will be good.”
“Thank you, Charlie. I hope so too.”
Sandecker switched off the phone and stood there thoughtfully. Anxiety and foreboding did not show on his face, not a twitch of an eyelid, not even a tightening of the lips, but there was a dread running deep beneath the surface. He did not notice Rudi Gunn approaching him until he felt his shoulder tapped.
“Admiral, there is another call for you. It’s from your office in Washington.”
Sandecker switched on the phone and spoke into it again. “This is Sandecker.”
“Admiral?” came the familiar voice of his longtime secretary, Martha Sherman. Her normally formal tone was nervous with excitement. “Please stand by. I’m going to relay a call to you.”
“Is it important?” he asked irritably. “I’m not in the mood for official business.”
“Believe me, you’ll want to take this call,” she informed him happily. “One moment while I switch you over.”
A pause, then, “Hello,” said Sandecker. “Who’s this?”
“Good morning from Down Under, Admiral. What’s this about you dawdling around blue Hawaii?”
Sandecker was not the kind of man to tremble, but he trembled now and felt as if the deck had fallen from under his feet. “Dirk, good Lord, is it you?”
“What’s left of me,” Pitt replied. “I’m with AI and Maeve Fletcher.”
“I can’t believe you’re all alive,” Sandecker said as if an electrical surge was coursing through his veins.
“AI said to save him a cigar.”
“How is the little devil?”
“Testy because I won’t let him eat.”
“When we learned that you were cast adrift by Arthur Dorsett in the path of a typhoon, I moved heaven and earth to launch a massive search, but the long arm of Dorsett frustrated my rescue efforts. After almost three weeks with no word, we thought you were all dead. Tell me how you survived all this time.”
“A long story,” said Pitt. “I’d rather you brought me up-to-date on the acoustic plague.”
“A story far more involved than yours. I’ll give you the particulars when we meet. Where are the three of you now?”
“We managed to reach Gladiator Island. I’m sitting in Arthur Dorsett’s study as we speak, borrowing his telephone.”
Sandecker went numb with disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“The gospel truth. We’re going to snatch Maeve’s twin boys and make our getaway across the Tasman Sea to Australia.” He said it in such a way as to sound like he was walking down the street to buy a loaf of bread.
Cold fear replaced Sandecker’s earlier anxiety, but it was the shocking fear of helplessness. The news struck with such unexpectedness, such suddenness, that he was incapable of words for several seconds until Pitt’s inquiring voice finally penetrated his shock.
“Are you still there, Admiral?”
“Pitt, listen to me!” demanded Sandecker urgently. “Your lives are in extreme danger! Get off the island!’ Get off now!”
There was a slight pause. “Sorry, sir, I don’t read you—”
“I’ve no time to explain,” Sandecker interrupted. “All I can tell you is a sound ray of incredible intensity will strike Gladiator Island in less than twenty minutes. The impact will set up seismic resonance that is predicted to blow off the volcanoes on opposite ends of the island. If the eruption takes place on the western side, there will be no survivors. You and the others must escape to sea while you still can. Talk no further. I am cutting off all communications.”
Sandecker switched off his phone, capable of nothing but the realization that he had unknowingly and innocently sealed a death warrant on his best friend.
The shocking knowledge struck Pitt like the thrust of a dagger. He stared through a large picture window at the helicopter sitting on the yacht moored to the pier in the lagoon. He estimated the distance at just under a kilometer. Burdened by two young children, he figured they would need a good fifteen minutes to reach the dock. Without means of transportation, a car or a truck, it would be an extremely close timetable. The time for caution had flown as if there had never been such a time. Giordino and Maeve should have found her sons by now. They had to have found them. If not, something must have gone terribly wrong.
He turned his gaze first toward Mount Winkleman, and then swept the saddle of the island, his eyes stopping
