Twenty minutes later, Pitt and Sandecker were in a secondary area of the Situation Room, a smaller section no larger than an average household den. A single large monitor and three smaller ones were set into a wall. Two rows of comfortable chairs completed the kit. All in all, it felt like an upscale home theater.

True to Sandecker’s word, some of the best coffee Pitt could remember was ready and waiting. He sipped it as a technician from the communications crew finished the setup and stepped out.

Pitt sat front and center, Sandecker took a seat beside him.

Seconds later, an incoming signal was locked, and the stubble-covered face of Kurt Austin appeared on the screen.

“Two-way link established,” the tech’s voice said over the intercom. “You can see and hear them, they can see and hear you.”

“Thanks, Oliver,” the Vice President said.

On-screen, Austin straightened. “Mr. Vice President?” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you on this call.”

“Would you have shaved if you’d known?”

“If they’d loan me something sharper than a butter knife, absolutely.”

Sandecker flashed a smile. “Not to worry. By the way, the good people of Pickett’s Island send you their best. We recently swore them in as United States citizens. They’ve chosen to keep the island as it is, for the most part, with one notable exception. They’ve renamed the cove where they found you. It’s now called Austin’s Bay.”

“Sounds terrific,” Kurt said. “Hope I live to see it again.”

Pitt spoke next. “You’ve been on vacation for less than a week, Kurt. So far, you’ve managed to destroy a world-famous landmark, got yourself and Joe Zavala tangled up in a matter of Australian national security, and, apparently, landed yourselves in the hospital. I’m starting to worry about your definition of recreation.”

“I shouldn’t have involved Joe,” Kurt admitted.

“Probably shouldn’t have involved yourself,” Pitt corrected. “On the other hand, you’ve saved lives. That has a tendency to even things up.”

Kurt nodded. “In case it hasn’t totally balanced out, the head of the ASIO’s counterterrorism unit has asked for some additional assistance.”

Kurt went on to explain the events of the past two days, the existing situation and the perceived threat. He finished up by describing what he knew about zero-point energy and laying out Bradshaw’s request.

As Pitt listened, he found the story almost too incredible to believe, but he’d learned long ago that ignoring what seemed impossible usually meant dealing with it face-to-face at some later date. He noticed Sandecker, sitting tight-lipped and appearing less surprised by what Kurt was saying.

“The immediate danger affects Australia,” Kurt finished. “But according to Bradshaw, Thero’s letter indicates that Australia will suffer first and that other countries will feel his wrath in the future.”

“So you want to search for him,” Pitt said. “Any idea where to look?”

“Based on the contraband mining equipment and some other facts, the ASIO believes the next phase of Thero’s work would be conducted offshore, either at a submerged facility or on the Antarctic shelf.”

Pitt nodded thoughtfully. “That’s an awful lot of space. You’re talking hundreds of thousands of square miles. We have to find some way to narrow down the search area.”

“According to Bradshaw, Ms. Anderson’s been working on some type of detector,” Kurt said. “She believes the initial earthquake was caused by the prototype device in the flooded mine but that the larger device Thero is building will require several calibration tests before he can use it at full strength. Those tests could bring some danger, and cause some havoc, but, if she’s right, they’ll give us a way to hone in on the weapon site.”

A grunt came from Sandecker’s direction. Pitt glanced at his old friend. “Does that mean something to you, Mr. Vice President?”

Sandecker sat back in his seat and began stroking the neatly trimmed Vandyke beard on his chin. After a moment, he sat straight up and leaned forward. His face was fixed, his eyes unblinking. He was the very picture of a commander who made instant and authoritative decisions.

“What I’m about to tell you men is confidential,” he said. “Top secret, in fact. The NSA has developed a special kind of remote sensing array. It’s designed to locate nuclear explosions through the neutrino bursts and gamma rays they produce. The new detectors are far more sensitive than our satellite-based systems when it comes to studying underground nuclear tests and blasts. There are twenty-four of them located at various military bases around the world. For reasons unknown, several of them received an anomalous signal at 0735 GMT a month ago, immediately prior to the earthquake in Australia.”

“Which stations?” Pitt asked.

“Cape Town, Alice Springs, and Diego Garcia, with the strongest signal coming in at Alice Springs.”

“Can we get access to that data?” Pitt asked.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Sandecker replied.

“It sounds like it could be connected,” Kurt said. “Might help us narrow down the search zone.”

Pitt agreed. “What do you need to take your next step, Kurt?”

“I’ll need a few ships,” Kurt said, “as many as you can spare. We’d like to set up a picket line and listen for anything louder than a peep. And I’ll need some technical help. Paul and Gamay Trout should fit the bill, if you can pull them in. Also, I’m forwarding a list of high-tech equipment that Ms. Anderson has requested. If you can ship it to Perth, that would be great. We’ll arrive there in a couple of days.”

“A couple of days?” Pitt repeated. “Perth is no more than three hours from Alice Springs by air.”

“I know,” Kurt said, “but we’re not traveling by air. Joe and I have to escort Ms. Anderson. And she’s deathly afraid of flying. So, apparently, we’ll be traveling by train.”

Pitt would have preferred to send a jet for them, but it would take several days to get the ships and equipment in place anyway. “Understood,” he said. “Plan on shoving off the minute you arrive at the dock.”

“We’ll be ready,” Kurt said.

He signed off, and Dirk Pitt considered the task ahead of them. Pinpointing an experiment in the vast expanse of the Great Southern Ocean would not be an easy task even for a small fleet of high-tech vessels.

He turned back to Sandecker. “Do these neutrino detectors of yours have a directional-sensing component?”

“To some extent,” Sandecker admitted, “but not in a pinpoint-accurate kind of way, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Pitt’s gears were turning. “Any chance we could have them tuned to look for these waves? In case our friends do exactly what Kurt is suggesting but that this sensor Kurt’s scientist friend is building doesn’t pick them up?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Even if it’s a vague directional vector, three stations receiving a signal means we should be able to cross-reference and triangulate. That’ll help us narrow down the target zone.”

Sandecker grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The NUMA vessel Gemini was a rakishly designed, hundred-and-fifty-foot vessel. In profile, she looked like a bulked-up yacht, thicker and heavier, designed to carry instruments and ROVs and a crew of scientists packed into tiny cabins.

At the moment, Gemini was moving due west, as the crew tested a new type of sonar designed to penetrate the seafloor.

With a walkie-talkie in his hand, Paul Trout moved to the very front of the forward deck. He leaned over the railing and gazed downward. Just aft of where the ship’s bow met the water, an eleven-foot triangular flange stuck out from the side of the hull. This protrusion, along with an identical one on the port side, gave the ship’s bow an odd shape, like the head of a stingray, and the crew had nicknamed it the Skate.