As he rounded the corner into the research sector, Stamper caught sight of them: maybe five or six scientists, running toward him. They were wild-eyed, clothes and lab coats in disarray. One of them, a middle-aged woman, was crying softly. Their leader-a tall, thin man with curly blond hair-was half drenched in water.

About fifty feet down the corridor beyond them, the watertight hatch had been sealed.

Stamper stepped forward as the group came running up. "Gordon Stamper, team leader," he said in his most authoritative voice. "What's the problem?"

"We've got to get out of here-all of us!" the tall man said breathlessly. The woman's cries increased in volume.

"Just what, exactly, has-"

"There's no time to explain!" the man interrupted. His voice was high and uneven, perched on the edge of hysteria. "We've dogged all the hatches we could, but the pressure's just too great. They won't hold, they'll go any second-"

"Just a minute," Stamper said. "Get a grip on yourself, settle down, and tell us what's happened."

The man turned to the rest of the scientists. "You get up to deck nine, quick as you can."

The panicked group needed no further encouragement. Without another word they ran past the rescue party and disappeared down the hall, heading for the stairwell.

Stamper watched them flee, an impassive expression on his face. Then he turned back to the blond man. "Let's hear it."

The man swallowed, made a visible effort to master himself. "I was in the corridor outside the Seismo-Acoustic Sonar Lab. I had an end-of-shift meeting, and I was just verifying which conference room before heading down to deck seven. There was this…" His voice faltered, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "This huge explosion. It knocked me to the ground. When I got up, I saw…a wall of water, flooding the Environmental Control spaces at the end of the corridor. There was blood in the water, body parts. Lots of body parts."

He swallowed again. "A colleague and I ran to the outer Environmental Control hatch, dogged it shut. Then we retreated down the hall, checking the labs and gathering anyone we could find. Just as we were leaving, the hatch we'd shut blew open, water started pouring in, and the research labs started to flood. We dogged the inner hatches of the research sector as we fell back. But the pressure's just too great, they're going to go any moment, and-"

Suddenly, his voice was drowned out by a terrific boom from the spaces up ahead.

The scientist started, gave a small cry of terror. "You see! There goes the hatch! We have to get out, get out now!" And he turned and fled in the direction of the rear stairwell.

Stamper watched his retreat. Then, very deliberately, he clicked his microphone into life once again. "Stamper to Rescue One."

"Rescue One, your signal is five by five."

"Be advised we have intercepted personnel retreating from the Research sector. They have retreated up stairwell bravo two. Intel obtained from deck eight indicates a large-scale breach in the vicinity of Environmental Control."

There was a pause. "Will you repeat that last, please? Over."

"A large-scale breach. Recommend you seal off this entire grid section and send down containment crews to repair the breach and secure the deck."

Another pause. "Have you verified this yourself?"

"No."

"Please perform a visual and give us a sit rep. Over."

"Roger and out." Shit.

Stamper stared down the corridor, in the direction of the dogged hatch. He wasn't nervous, not exactly; he'd performed this drill so many times it was hard for it to seem anything but routine, even now. Yet there was something about the terror that had radiated from the group of scientists, something about the naked fear in the blond man's eyes…

He turned to his team. "Let's go."

But even as his words died away, he became aware of another sound, coming from the research spaces ahead: a low groaning, gurgling, rushing unlike anything he'd ever heard before. It spiked in volume abruptly and the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end.

Almost without realizing it, he took an involuntary step backward.

"Stamper?" one of the rescue crew said behind them.

And then, with an almost animal squeal, the dogs securing the hatch ahead of them flew out of their housings, one after the other, with reports like pistol shots. The hatch popped from its housing like a champagne cork. And a living mass of water boiled toward them.

For an instant, Stamper just stared, frozen with shock and horror.

It was terrifying, the way it came at them with single-minded, predatory hunger. It ate up everything in its path with a rushing, hissing, sucking noise. Stamper had no idea water could make that kind of a sound. And it was a horrible color, a slippery reddish black, with spumes of blood-colored froth throwing off a misty spindrift. Its violence was appalling. Things bobbed in the water, chairs and lab tables and instruments and computers and other matter he did not care to look at. The smell filled his nostrils: a chill, salty, coppery odor that-with its promise of great inky depths-was somehow even more frightening than sight alone…

…And then the spell was broken and he was scrambling backward, falling over himself and the rest of the team, slipping and cursing and staggering in a mad rush to gain the stairwell and escape the horror rushing up behind them.

His radio was squawking but he paid no attention. There was a sharp clang directly behind as one of the rescue crew slammed and dogged the hatch leading to the rear hallway. Stamper didn't even bother to look around. They could shut half a dozen hatches if they wanted to; in the end it would make no difference. Because now it was all too clear to him there was no way in hell that the breach was going to be sealed-or that deck 8 was ever going to be secured.

52

Crane ran down the corridors of deck 6 as quickly as he dared. At each intersection, he slowed; once past it, he broke into a jog again. The halls were quiet: he encountered a maintenance worker trundling a cart, two scientists murmuring to each other in low tones. Whatever loud noise had shaken the Facility so severely just minutes before seemed to be causing little alarm. The warning sirens had been silenced, and there was no anxiety in the faces he passed.

Ahead lay the cul-de-sac that housed the Maritime Applied Physics lab. He paused outside the door, glanced back down the corridor: still deserted. The lab itself seemed silent. He opened the door and quickly slid inside.

Hui Ping was standing beside the lab table. "Where have you been?" she asked. "I was sure something happened to you. And then that explosion just now…"

"I'm sorry, Hui, I was held up. How's it been here?"

"Quiet. Until a minute ago." She gave him a mirthless smile. "Actually, the time wasn't really wasted. While waiting, I think I deciphered that first signal, the one coming from beneath the Moho. And when you see-"

"There's no time for that. We've got to get out of here, and fast. The security cameras will have picked me up by now."

"Security cameras? What's happened?"

"Korolis has happened. He's taken command of the Facility."

"What about Spartan?"

"God only knows what's happened to him. It gets worse: Korolis is insisting the digging proceed on schedule. He seems obsessed with it, even manned Marble Three himself. I think the illness is beginning to affect him, too. When I tried to stop him, he had me arrested."

"What?"

"I managed to get away before I was thrown in the brig. But we have to get to deck twelve. I've mobilized some of the top scientists-they're gathering in the conference center there. I intend to explain everything to them: the dig, Asher's discoveries, Korolis-everything. We have to get word up to the surface, get the attention of people who can put a stop to all this madness-"