Polar Shift

'We're picking them up on radar again,' the operator said.

'Captain,' the radio operator said a second later. 'I'm getting a transmission from the Franklin.'

Cabral took the microphone. 'This is Captain Cabral of the NUMA ship Throckmorton. We have received your Mayday. What is your current status?'

'This is the Franklin's captain. We're okay now, but the ship was almost sucked into a big hole in the sea. Damnedest thing I've ever seen.'

'Anyone injured?'

'Some bumps and bruises, but we're dealing with them.'

Austin borrowed the microphone. 'This is Kurt Austin. I've got a couple of friends aboard your ship. Could you tell me how Paul and Gamay Trout are doing?'

There was a heavy silence, and at first it seemed that the radio transmission had again been cut short. Then the voice came on. 'I'm sorry to tell you this. They were making a plankton survey in the Zodiac inflatable when the whirlpool pulled them in. We tried to go to their aid, and that's when we got in trouble.'

'Did you actually see them in the whirlpool?'

'We were pretty busy, and the visibility is practically nil.'

'How close are you to the whirlpool now?'

'We're about a mile away. We don't dare get any closer. The currents flowing around that thing are still pretty strong. What do you want us to do?'

'Stay as close as you're able. We're coming over to take a look.'

'Will do. Good luck.'

'Thanks,' Austin said, turning to Cabral. 'Pete, I'd like to borrow the ship's helicopter. How soon can you have it ready to fly?'

Cabral was aware of Kurt's reputation at NUMA. He knew that despite Austin's easy smile and casual manner, this self-assured man with the battering ram shoulders and pale hair could handle whatever weirdness was going on. Cabral was a seasoned mariner, but the developing situation was beyond his ken. He would keep the ship going and let Austin deal with the rest.

'It's all fueled and ready to go. I'll tell the crew to meet you there.' He picked up the intercom microphone.

Austin suggested that the NUMA ship stay at its present course and speed. Then he and Zavala raced down to the helicopter pad on the main deck, stopping first at the ship's supply room for a few items. The deck crew had the engine warming up in the McDonnell Douglas light utility helicopter. They climbed into the cockpit and buckled up. The rotors thrashed the air and the chopper lifted off the deck, then scudded low over the water.

Austin scanned the sea through a pair of binoculars. After the helicopter had been in the air for several minutes, he spotted the antennae and then the superstructure of the NOAA ship. It was near a circle of dark ocean that dwarfed the ship in size. The whirlpool seemed to have stopped growing, but he had to admire the gutsiness of those on the Franklin for staying close to the maelstrom.

Zavala moved the helicopter a couple of hundred feet higher, keeping the aircraft on a straight-line course headed directly for the vortex. As they drew nearer, he said:

'It looks like a volcano caldera.'

Austin nodded. There were some volcanic similarities, mainly having to do with the funnel shape of the hole, and the mist issuing from it. The steamy exhalation was the source of the haze that covered much of the ocean.

The slick, black sides of the funnel glimpsed through gaps in the steam cloud were far smoother than those of any volcano Austin had ever seen. Nothing of the image transmitted from the satellite could convey the simple awfulness of the phenomenon. It looked like a big, festering puncture wound in the sea.

'How big do you figure this pothole to be?' Austin said.

'Too damned big!' Zavala measured with his eye. 'But, to be precise, I'd say it's about two miles across.'

'That's my estimate too,' Austin said. 'From the angle of the sides, it could go down all the way to the ocean bottom. Hard to tell, with the swirling mists. Can we get closer?'

Zavala obliged, until they were directly above the whirlpool. From this vantage point, the gyre looked like an immense, steam-filled cone. The chopper hovered a couple of hundred feet above the vortex, but they were still unable to see deep inside of it.

'What now?' Zavala said.

'We can go in, but we might not come out.'

'What's your point?' Zavala said.

'I'm giving you an option. From the looks of that mess below us, we may already be too late to do anything for our pals. You may be risking your life for nothing.'

A grin crossed Zavala's dark face. 'Like I said, what's your point?'

Austin would have been surprised at any other answer. There was no way either one of them would have deserted their friends. He jerked his thumb downward. Zavala nodded and worked the controls. The helicopter started its descent into the black heart of the maelstrom.

10

The infernal noise was the worst part of the descent into the abyss.

The Trouts could clamp their eyes shut to avoid having to look into the deep, whirling pit, but it was impossible to block out the deafening waves of sound that battered them with no interruption. Every molecule in their bodies seemed to be vibrating from the aural onslaught. The sound took away their last small comfort: the ability to talk. They communicated with gestures and hand squeezes.

The crashing waters at the base of the vortex produced a rolling thunder, as if a hundred lightning storms were in progress. The clamor was amplified by the megaphone shape of the whirlpool. Even more terrifying were the loud snorts and chortles that came from the bottom, as if the Zodiac were being drawn into the hungry maw of a giant pig.

The Zodiac and its two passengers had slipped about two-thirds of the way down the steep sides of the funnel. As the cone narrowed in diameter, the speed of the whirling current increased until the inflatable boat spun around like a scrap of lettuce headed down the kitchen drain.

The lower the boat descended, the darker the stygian atmosphere around them became. The thick mists being churned up at the bottom of the whirlpool had thickened and further cut down the meager sunlight from the surface. Both Trouts were suffering from vertigo induced by the constant spinning. The moisture-soaked air would have been hard to breathe even without the choking exhalations from the pit: a foul combination of brine, fish, dead things and muck that smelled like the inside of a fisherman's boot.

The boat had remained at the same slanting attitude with its bottom parallel to the side of the vortex. Gamay and Paul sat side by side, so close they seemed to be joined at the hip. They were holding on to the boat's safety line, and to each other. They were numb with exhaustion from riding in a half-standing, half-sitting position, with their bodies angled and feet wedged under the lower pontoon. Moisture had seeped in around their rain gear, soaking their clothes, and the cold added to their misery.

At their accelerating rate of descent, it was clear that their suffering would end soon. They were minutes away from plunging into the thickest part of the billowing mists. Gamay glanced upward for one last look at the sun. She blinked, unable to believe her eyes.

A man was dangling above the Zodiac. He was silhouetted against the dull sunlight, and she couldn't make out his face, but there was no mistaking the broad shoulders.

Kurt Austin.

He hung from a line attached to the helicopter. He'd been waving his arm and shouting himself hoarse, but the noise from the whirlpool had drowned out his voice as well as the sound of the whirling rotors.

Camay dug her elbow into Paul's side. He managed a grim smile when he followed her pointing finger with his