Riptide

whipped white, the riptide carrying the line of foam as far as the horizon.

A thunderous clang from above spun him around. Freed from its foundations, Orthanc was twisting around, folding in on it-self.

'To the dock!' Hatch shouted.

He grabbed Bonterre and they ran, supporting Clay between them, down the muddy trail toward Island One. Hatch glanced back to see the observation tower plunging downward, punching through the staging platform on its way into the Pit. Then the crash of a freight train gusted up from below, followed by a roar of water and a strange crackling sound: the snapping of countless wooden timbers as they pulled away from the loosening walls. A cloud of mist and water, mingled with yellow vapors and atomized mud, shot from the Pit and billowed into the night sky.

They moved as quickly as they could down the maze of trails to the deserted Base Camp and the dock beyond. The pier, sheltered by the lee of the island, was battered but intact. At its end, the launch from the Cerberus bobbed crazily in the waves.

In a moment they were aboard. Hatch felt for the key, turned it, and heard himself shout out loud as the engine roared to life. He flicked on the bilge pump and heard its reassuring gurgle.

They cast off and headed out into the storm. 'We'll take the Griffin!' Hatch said, aiming for Neidelman's command boat, still stubbornly riding its anchors out beyond the reefs. 'The tide's turned. We'll be going before the wind.'

Bonterre nodded, hugging her sweater around her. 'With a following sea and tide. Good luck, for a change.'

They came alongside the Griffin and Hatch secured the launch, keeping it steady in the pitching surf while Bonterre helped Clay on board. As Hatch clambered up behind and ran to the pilothouse, lightning tore a jagged path over the island. He watched in horror as an entire section of the cofferdam collapsed. A great wall of water lunged through, pale against the dark sky as it enveloped the southern shore of the island in a mantle of white.

Bonterre brought in the anchors as Hatch primed the engines. He glanced toward the rear of the pilothouse, saw the bank of complex controls, and decided not to bother; he'd find his way back by dead reckoning. His eyes fell on the large maple table and he was irresistibly reminded of the last time he'd sat at it. Kerry Wopner, Rankin, Magnusen, Streeter, Neidelman . . . now all gone.

His gaze turned to Woody Clay. The minister sat in his chair, gaunt and wraithlike. He returned the gaze, nodding silently.

'All is secure,' Bonterre said as she burst into the pilothouse, closing the wooden door behind her.

As Hatch eased the boat out of the lee, a great explosion sounded behind them, and a concussive wave rattled the rain-flecked sweep of windows. The heaving sea suddenly turned crimson. Hatch goosed the throttle, moving quickly away from the island.

'Mon dieu,' Bonterre breathed.

Hatch looked over his shoulder in time to see the second fuel tank explode into a mushroom of fire that punched up through the low-lying fog, lighting the sky above the entire island and enveloping the buildings of Base Camp in a cloud of smoke and ruin.

Bonterre quietly slipped a hand into his.

A third roar came, this time seemingly from the bowels of the island itself. They watched, awestruck, as the entire surface of the island shuddered and liquefied, sending up vast plumes and waterspouts to violate the night sky. Burning gasoline spread a furious glow across the water until the waves themselves were on fire, breaking over the rocks and leaving the reef aflame.

And then, as quickly as it started, it was over. The island folded in on itself with a wrenching boom as the last section of the cofferdam gave way. The sea rushed into the open wound and met itself in the middle, rising in a great geyser whose top disappeared into the mist, falling back in a sluggish brown curtain. In a moment, all that was left was a great boiling patch of sea, worrying a cluster of jagged rocks. Plumes of dirty steam rose into the restless air.

'Ye who luste after the key to the Treasure Pitt,' Bonterre murmured, 'shall find instead the key to the next world, and your carcase shall rot close to the Hell where your soule hath gone.'

'Yes,' Clay said in a weak voice.

'It was a meteorite, you know,' Bonterre added.

'And the fifth angel sounded,' Clay whispered, 'and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth: and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit.'

Hatch glanced at the dying minister, afraid to speak, and was surprised to see Clay smiling, his sunken eyes luminous. Hatch looked away.

'I forgive you,' Clay said. 'And I believe I need to ask your forgiveness, as well.'

Hatch could only nod.

The minister closed his dark eyes. 'I think I'll rest now,' he murmured.

Hatch looked back at the remains of Ragged Island. The fog was rapidly closing in again, enveloping the destruction in a gentle mist. He stared for a long moment.

Then he turned away and aimed the prow of the boat toward Stormhaven harbor.

Chapter 63

The North Coast Really Company had its offices in a small yellow cape across the square from the Stormhaven Gazette. Hatch sat at a desk in the front window, drinking weak coffee and staring idly at a bulletin board littered with photographs of properties. Under the headline 'Great Fixer-Upper,' he saw what could only be the old Haigler place: broken-backed and listing gently, but still quaint. '$129,500 steals it,' he read off the card. 'Built 1872. Four acres, oil heat, 3 bedrooms, 1