Hannah pulled off the jacket that Kirov had draped across her while she was sleeping. It was still dark outside save for a sliver of orange on the eastern horizon. She quickly looked up at the rearview monitor, which now displayed a green-tinted "night-vision" mode.

"Don't worry, LISA is safe and sound. I've been keeping an eye on her." Kirov throttled down the engine and idled through the water. "Okay, this is about where we need to be. It's your show now."

Hannah glanced at the sea around them. The seas were calm, and there wasn't a light to be seen anywhere. "Let's get on that winch and raise LISA four feet. That will give us access to the top hatch."

"Aye aye."

While Kirov moved to the stern and activated the power winch, Hannah slipped on the jacket and zipped up. As chilly as it was on the water's surface, she knew it would be much colder a mile and a half below.

Kirov stepped onto LISA's upper hull and rotated the wheel lock until he could pull open its narrow hatch. "Ladies first?"

"Ladies only."

He stiffened. "What are you talking about? I'm going with you."

"The hell you are."

"It's a two-man craft. I'm not going to stay up here while you-"

"Yes, you are. As brilliantly designed as LISA may be, things can and do go wrong. I never dive without a support team on the surface."

"I'm your support team?"

"Unless you think you can pilot LISA better than I can."

"You know I can't."

"Hello, support team."

"Shit."

Hannah reached into the pod, pulled out a four-foot rod, and handed it to Kirov. "This is an amplified underwater telescoping antenna. Attach it to the side of the boat and extend it all the way down. If you connect it to the boat's main radio, we should be able to keep in touch most of the way down."

"Will I be able to see?"

"Nope. For that we'd need a mile and a half of fiber-optic cable. I give great description, though."

"Terrific."

"Give me a few minutes to power up and run diagnostics. After that, you can disengage the winch."

"I'm not happy about this, Hannah."

"And I wouldn't be happy if something went wrong, and I didn't have a support team to rescue me." Hannah settled into the righthand pilot seat, flipped the power switches, and initiated the diagnostic routine. While she waited, she listened to the familiar purr of LISA coming to life. The last time she was in there, Conner was her point man on the surface, making sure the company engineers didn't suddenly change the test conditions. He'd always been there to watch her back.

But Kirov was here. Kirov would watch.

After the "all clear" lights appeared, Hannah looked outside to see that Kirov had successfully mounted the underwater antenna. She gave him the thumbs-up.

He picked up the radio microphone and spoke into it. "Last chance for a little companionship."

She slipped on her headset and angled the microphone over her mouth. "Just close the damned hatch."

He slammed the hatch shut and locked it.

As she buckled herself in, she heard him releasing the winch hook. After a few moments, LISA was free in the water and slowly dipping beneath the waves.

Kirov's voice came over the radio a few seconds later. "Support team to LISA, do you read?"

"Loud and clear, support team. I'm glad you've finally accepted your place in the world."

"I didn't say that. I just wanted to feed your ego. What's your depth?"

She checked the readout. "Eighty-five feet and falling free."

"ETA?"

"About ninety minutes. Know any good drinking songs?"

"Too many. I take requests, you know."

"Maybe I'll save them for the trip back up."

"As you wish. Support team out."

Hannah settled back in the bucket seat and felt her body relax for the first time in days. Why did this experience always bring her so much peace? Many people went nuts in those tiny pods, but she always found serenity once the surface sounds faded, and the last traces of sunlight disappeared. The ocean was hers.

She checked the onboard CD player. Howard Hanson's Second Symphony, which for some reason was a favorite of researchers on deep dives. Dark and foreboding, but ultimately triumphant. Why not? She hit play and let the orchestra take her to the ocean floor.

Eighty minutes later, traces of sediment floated in front of her running lights. She spoke into the microphone. "Kirov, can you read?"

No answer.

"Kirov?

"Yes, my dear. Nice to hear from you. I thought you'd fallen asleep down there."

"I was starting to think the same about you. I'm glad the underwater antenna is working so well. We usually need a lifeline to communicate with someone this far down. I'm nearing the floor."

"Do you see anything?"

"Not yet. Sonar shows me about sixty feet from the bottom. I'm about to hit the high beams."

Hannah turned on the high-wattage navigation lights, which cast an intense aura of illumination around LISA's hull. After a few moments, she saw waves of silt on the ocean floor, almost like tiny sand dunes.

"I've arrived. I'm about a quarter of a mile north-northwest of the target site."

"Keep your eyes open. We don't know how precise their coordinates are. If it was dropped from the surface, it could have drifted."

"Tell me about it." She thought of the two halves of the Titanic, which went under at the same spot but ended up almost a mile apart on the bottom. "I'm going in."

She gripped the control stick and piloted LISA six feet over the ocean floor, moving slowly so as not to kick up too much silt. "Visibility's good. I'm nearing the target zone. Still no sign of anything unusual."

Christ, he hated this, Kirov thought.

He knew what it was like down there. He wanted to be in that pod with her.

No, he wanted to be in that pod instead of her.

Okay, keep his voice calm and casual. She didn't need to know he was in a panic. Support meant emotional as well as physical and mental. She was alone down there and doing her job. If even a hint of the terror he was feeling crept into his demeanor, then that claustrophobic pod could seem like a coffin to her.

"Do you see anything?"

"I'll tell you when I do. Don't be impatient. Wait. I see something. I'm moving in for a closer look."

Kirov was so focused on Hannah's voice from the radio that the sound of his satellite phone ringing startled him. It was in the cabin connected to its charger/antenna unit.

Should he answer or let it ring? He strode into the cabin to check the ID box.

Eugenia.

THIRTEEN

Hannah's eyes narrowed on the four large red canisters. Clustered together on the ocean floor, they measured four feet long and twelve inches in diameter. To her surprise, they rested precisely where the video file had indicated they would be. Either they had been placed there by a sub, or there was a built-in beacon that had relayed precise GPS coordinates after the canisters settled to the bottom.

Hannah slipped her hands into the glovelike controllers that operated the mechanical hands outside the pod. She flexed her fingers and watched the steel fingers outside mimic every movement. Although she had specified the device in many of her designs, she never ceased to be amazed by the finely articulated robotic hands. Television news stories often gave her the credit for the hand probes, but she took great pains to give proper credit to their brilliant young designer, a kinesiology professor from Cornell.

"Hannah, stop. Don't go any closer!" Kirov's voice was tense.

Hannah froze. "Why?"

"I just heard from Eugenia. Pavski may have wanted us to have that satchel."

"What?"