Slowly he got to his hands and knees. At that moment, he felt no pain, although his left shoulder had gone numb.

He didn't see Claire anywhere. The front door jerked open and Jeff Esterhazys head popped out. He delivered a string of expletives, the only profanities Archie had heard from him. The mansion, its lawn, the iron fence that lined the front walk, and the street with its elms, had disappeared into a hole. A plume of black smoke rose over the scene. The van exploded, sending fire cartwheeling into the trees.

"What happened?" demanded Esterhazy in a tone that suggested Archie was responsible.

"Don't know," he said.

The front window was blown in. Inside, he heard Mariel: "Don't touch her," and "Are you okay, Claire?"

A second fireball floated down out of the clouds, lit up the entire landscape for miles, and landed out to the east somewhere with a distant whump. More flames leaped into the sky.

"My God." Esterhazy stepped through the door, let it close behind him, and walked to the edge of the porch. "Look what it's done to the property."

Archie never heard the third one come in.

• • • Point Judith, Rhode Island. 11:30 P.M.

Luke could not account for the sudden uneasiness that settled over the house. It might have been the sense that he was alone, or virtually alone, in town. It might have been the accumulated drama of the evening's events, his concern for the people in the moon ships. It might have been an intensified perception of the sea that crouched only eighty yards from his front door.

The TV was muttering quietly in the living room. Luke had turned it back on and was looking for another snack, planning to stay up late and watch the news reports, knowing he wouldn't sleep no matter what. He'd just put on a fresh pot of coffee when he became aware of a new sound.

He listened, not able to place it, and went back out onto the front porch. The tide had gone out, and that was strange because it was supposed to be coming in. It was so far out that the water line was in darkness.

My God.

He hurried inside, grabbed his keys off the bookcase, thought about what else he should try to salvage, decided there was no time (although he sensed a degree of safety within the house), and sprinted for the car. The engine roared into life on the first try. He threw a U-turn and took off north on 108, past the beaches.

He floored the pedal, wondering how he could have been so complacent, so dumb. His rearview mirror showed neither stars nor sky. It was black back there, and the darkness moved.

He was past eighty-five, faster than he thought the car would go, when it caught him.

3.

Coast Guard Cutter Diligent. 11:32 P.M.

Dilly was in open water, about fourteen nautical miles southeast of Rockaway Inlet, outward bound with lookouts posted fore and aft and on both beams. Captain Bolling had been advised to put at least a hundred twenty feet of water under his keel. They were at ninety now.

His crewmen could not keep their eyes off the luminous cloud that had replaced the Moon. There was an unusual mood on the cutter. Bolling had seen his coasties in difficult situations, had seen them work to rescue the survivors of a yacht swamped by high seas, had seen them face down drug runners at night. This was different: They were quiet, thoughtful, almost intimidated. The usual banter that accompanied forays into risky situations was gone. Tonight they simply manned their stations and kept a weather eye on the sky.

Dilly's messenger appeared at his side, holding out a transmission. Bolling took it, glanced at it, and handed it without comment to Packard. POSIM 06 APPROX 4l°N LAT, 73°W LONG-ETA 140440Z.

"That's right down our stack," said the exec. He exchanged glances with Bolling. "Extra lookouts?" he suggested.

"I think it's time." The captain looked at his radar operator. "Keep on the scope, Ramsey. Anything unusual, anything at all, don't keep it to yourself."

Packard summoned the crew chief and passed the order. A minute later, more coasties with binoculars appeared on deck. "It shouldn't be hard to spot," observed the exec, scanning the skies.

The sea smelled clean and fresh. Bolling loved it out here, away from the greasy odors of the East River and Long Island Sound. If he'd been independently wealthy, he'd have bought a yacht and spent his life at sea. It had been a boyhood dream, and the Coast Guard was as close as he'd been able to come.

"There," said Packard. A long narrow light creased the clouds dead ahead. Coming down. Pieces exploded away from it, and then it was gone, leaving only a few glimmers. "Didn't look like much, Skip." His voice reflected his conviction that he'd known all along they were on a fool's errand.

"If that was it, Dan," said Bolling, "it's running early." He scribbled the time and position of the sighting on a message sheet and sent it to the radio room for transmission.

The exec's face was blue in the subdued light of the bridge. A second streak trailed across the sky and winked out. The water was dead black. "They look like ordinary shooting stars to me," he said.

"I hope so." Boiling keyed the radio room. "What are you hearing?" he asked Herb Bitzberger, the operator.

"Nothing out of the way, Skipper," Bitzberger said. "The ships are talking to one another, but it's the usual kind of chatter."

"Anything from Breakwater?" Breakwater was Coast Guard Activities Command, New York.

"Negative, sir. They're quiet."

Bolling could see the lights of freighters strung out along the horizon.

"Coming up on a hundred feet, sir," said the helmsman.

"Very well," said Packard. "Steady on course. Reduce speed to one-quarter."

The boat settled into the water and the throb of the twin engines subsided. Bolling and Packard had agreed that the best course of action, once they were safely on station, was to assume there would be a major emergency, and to preserve fuel while simultaneously maintaining some headway. This was to prevent being capsized should a wave appear at short notice. Neither of the two had any experience with tsunamis. Nor did anyone else they knew. But Bolling had done some research. The books said there was nothing to fear in deep water. Tsunamis are barely noticeable until they move into coastal areas or shallows, where the water tends to bunch up. Of course, Diligent wasn't exactly in deep water.

Another glowing track appeared in the sky. Coming their way. It got big, got bigger, and finally exploded and rained fire onto the sea. "Some of those hit the water," said the exec.

Bolling didn't think so. It was hard at night to know where anything was.

Fresh coffee came up from below. The crewman reported that contact had been reestablished with the moonbus carrying the vice president. "They aren't broadcasting from the bus itself," he explained. "But they say they're tracking them on radar."

Bolling was pleased to hear it. He liked Haskell. But more to the point, he thought that the nation would look bad if it couldn't rescue its number two executive from a disaster they'd seen coming for five days.

Another message came up from the commcenter: