Riptide

calibrate them manually, using a palmtop computer. Then he can download the information into the computer's registry. It's a nuisance, but there's nothing else for it.'

'A nuisance?' Wopner said. 'A major pain in the ass is more like it.'

'Most of the crew would give half their shares to be along on the first penetration,' St. John said.

'Penetrate this,' Wopner muttered as he turned away. Bonterre giggled.

Neidelman turned to the historian. 'Tell Dr. Hatch about the sentence you just deciphered from the second half of the journal.'

St. John cleared his throat self-importantly. 'It's not a sentence, really,' he said. 'More of a sentence fragment: Ye who luste after the key to the, some word or other, Pitt shall find....'

Hatch looked at the Captain in amazement. 'So there is a secret key to the Water Pit.'

Neidelman smiled, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. 'It's almost eight,' he said. 'Assemble your gear and let's get started.'

Hatch returned to his office for his medical field kit, then met up with the group as they were trekking up the rise of the island toward Orthanc. 'Merde, it's cold,' Bonterre said, blowing on her hands and hugging herself. 'What kind of a summer morning do you call this?'

'A summer morning in Maine,' Hatch replied. 'Enjoy it. The air will put hair on your chest.'

'That is something I have little need of, monsieur le docteur.' She jogged ahead, trying to keep warm, and as Hatch followed he realized that he, too, was shivering slightly; whether from the cold or the anticipation of the coming descent he wasn't sure. The tattered edge of a front had at last begun to cast a long shadow across the island, swiftly followed by ranks of piling thunderheads.

As he reached the crest of the island, Hatch could see the tall form of Orthanc, bundles of multicolored cable streaming from its dark underbelly down into the maw of the Water Pit. Only it was no longer the Water Pit: Now it was drained, accessible, its innermost secrets waiting to be plumbed.

Hatch shivered again and moved forward. From this vantage point, he could see the gray crescent of the cofferdam, tracing an arc into the sea around the southern end of the island. It was a bizarre sight. On the far side of the cofferdam lay the dark blue expanse of ocean, disappearing into the perpetual veiling mist; on the closer side, the stony seabed lay exposed almost obscenely, scattered with pools of stagnant water. Here and there on the dry ocean floor, Hatch could see markers placed in rocky outcroppings: the flood tunnel entrances, tagged for later examination and analysis. On the beach beside the cofferdam there were several piles of rusted junk, waterlogged wood, and other debris grappled up from the depths of the Pit, cleared for their expedition.

Streeter and his crew were standing at the staging area beside the mouth of the Pit, pulling up some cables, dropping others. Approaching, Hatch saw what looked like the end of a massive ladder peering over the top of the Pit. The siderails of the ladder were made from thick gleaming tubes of metal, with two sets of rubber-covered rungs in between. Hatch knew it had taken the team much of the night to bolt the sections together and work them down, maneuvering past invisible obstacles and the remaining snarls of junk caught on the bracing timbers that crisscrossed the shaft.

'That's what I call a ladder on steroids,' he said, whistling.

'It's more than a ladder,' Neidelman replied. 'It's a ladder array. Those tubular siderails are made from a titanium alloy. It'll serve as the backbone for the Pit's support structure. In time, we'll build a radiating web of titanium struts from the array, which will brace the walls and timbers and keep the Pit stable while we dig. And we'll attach a platform lift to the ladder, like an elevator.'

He pointed toward the ladder struts. 'Each tube is wired with fiber-optic, coax, and electrical cable, and every rung has a kick light. Eventually, every part of the structure will be computer controlled, from the servos to the monitoring cameras. But so far, friend Wopner has not been entirely successful in bringing the installation under remote control. Hence, his invitation to join us.' He tapped the upper works with one foot. 'Built to Thalassa specifications at a cost of nearly two hundred thousand dollars.'

Wopner, overhearing, came over with a grin. 'Hey, Captain,' he said. 'I know where you can pick up some really nice $600 toilet seats, too.'

Neidelman smiled. 'Glad to see your mood improving, Mr. Wopner. Let's get geared up.'

He turned to the group. 'Our most important task today is to attach these piezoelectric stress sensors into the cribbing and shoring beams of the Pit.' He pulled one from his pack and handed it around. It was a small strip of metal, with a computer chip in its center, sealed in hard, clear plastic. At each end, sticking out at right angles, was a half-inch tack. 'Just tap or press it into the wood. Mr. Wopner will calibrate and register it into his palmtop database.'

While Neidelman talked, a technician approached Hatch and helped him shrug into a harness. Then the man handed him a helmet and showed him how to use the intercom and halogen headlamp. Next, he was handed a satchel containing a quantity of the piezoelectric sensors.

As he arranged his medical kit, Hatch saw Neidelman motioning him toward the railing. He stepped forward, and the Captain spoke into the mike attached to his helmet. 'Magnusen, restore power to the array.'

As Hatch watched, a string of lights snapped on along the ladder, illuminating in a brilliant yellow light the entire ghastly length of the Water Pit. The triple row of glowing struts descended into the earth like some pathway to hell.

For the first time, Hatch could see just what the Pit looked like. It was a ragged square, perhaps ten feet across, cribbed on all four sides with heavy logs, which were notched and mortised into massive vertical beams at each corner. Every ten feet, the shaft was crisscrossed by four smaller beams that met in the middle of the Pit, evidently bracing the sides and preventing them from collapsing inward. Hatch was struck by how overengineered the Pit seemed to be: It was as if Macallan had built it to last a millennium, instead of the few years it would take for Ockham to return and retrieve his treasure.

Staring down the descending rows of lights, Hatch finally realized, in his gut, just how deep the Pit was. The lights seemed to stretch toward a pinpoint of darkness, so far below that the rails of the ladder almost converged in the murky depths. The Pit was alive, rustling with the sounds of ticking, dripping, and creaking, along with indeterminate whispers and moans.