"I can shoot you both now. Take your pick."
Merchant said no more and offered no resistance as he and the girl were bound with the bed sheets, torn into strips, and unceremoniously dumped into the closet. Giordino moved half the furniture in the bedroom against the door to keep it from being forced open from the inside.
"We've got what we came for," said Pitt. "Let's be on our way to the old homestead."
"You said I could raid the refrigerator," protested Giordino. "My stomach is going through rejection pains."
"No time for that now," said Pitt. "You can gorge later."
Giordino shook his head sorrowfully as he stuffed Merchant's nine-millimeter automatic inside his belt.
"Why do I feel as though there's a conspiracy afoot to deplete my body sugar?"
Seven o'clock in the morning. A blue sky, unlimited visibility and a sea with low swells rolling like silent demons toward unseen shores where they would crash and die. It was a normal day like most days in the tropical waters off the Hawaiian Islands, warm with more than a trace of humidity and a light breeze, generally referred to as the trade winds. It was a Saturday, a day when the beaches at Waikiki and the windward side of the island were slowly coming alive with early birds awake for an early morning dip.
Soon they would be followed by thousands of local residents and vacationers looking forward to leisurely hours of swimming in surf subdued by offshore reefs, and sunbathing on heated sand later in the day.
Lulled by the relaxing atmosphere, none were remotely aware that this might be their last day on earth.
The Glomar Explorer, only one of her big twin screws driving under full power, pushed steadily toward the site of the deadly acoustic convergence, the sound waves already hurtling through the sea from the four sources. She should have been running a good half hour late, but Chief Engineer Toft had pushed his crew to and beyond the edge of exhaustion. He cursed and pleaded with the engine that strained against its mounts, bound to the only operating shaft, and coaxed another half knot out of it. He swore to get the ship to its meeting with destiny with time to spare, and by God he was doing it.
Up on the starboard wing of the bridge, Sandecker peered through binoculars at a commercial version of the Navy's SH-60B Sea Hawk helicopter, with NUMA markings, as it approached the ship from bow-on, circled once and dropped on the big ship's stern landing pad, Two men hurried from the aircraft and entered the aft superstructure. A minute later, they joined Sandecker on the bridge.
"Did the drop go well?" Sandecker asked anxiously.
Dr. Sanford Adgate Ames nodded with a slight smile. "Four arrays of remote acoustical sensing instruments have been deployed under the surface at the required locations thirty kilometers distant from the convergence zone."
"We laid them directly in the four estimated paths of the sound channels," added Gunn, who had made the flight with Ames.
They're set to measure the final approach and intensity of the sound?" Sandecker asked.
Ames nodded. "The telemetry data from the underwater modems will be relayed by their surface flotation satellite link to the onboard processor and analyst terminal here on board the Explorer. The system works similarly to submarine acoustic locating programs."
"Fortunately, we have a weather and current window working in our favor," said Gunn. "All things considered, the sound waves should come together as predicted."
"Warning time?"
"Sound travels underwater at an average of fifteen hundred meters per second," replied Ames. "I figure twenty seconds from when the sound waves pass the modems until they strike the reflector dish under the ship."
"Twenty seconds," Sandecker repeated. "Damned little time to mentally prepare for the unknown."
"Since no one without some kind of protection has survived to describe the full intensity of the convergence, my best estimate of its duration before it is totally deflected toward Gladiator Island is approximately four and a half minutes. Anyone on board the ship who does not reach the dampened shelter will surely die horribly."
Sandecker turned and gestured at the vivid green mountains of Oahu, only fifteen kilometers distant.
"Will any effects reach the people on shore?"
"They might feel a brief but sharp pain inside their heads, but no permanent harm should come to them."
Sandecker stared out the bridge windows at the huge mass of machinery soaring skyward in the middle of the ship. Infinite miles of cable and hydraulic lines ranged over the deck from the derrick and cranes. Teams of men and women, sitting and standing on platforms suspended in the air like those used by skyscraper window cleaners, worked at reconnecting the seemingly unending number of links on the enormous reflector shield. The giant derrick held the main frame of the shield, while the surrounding cranes lifted the smaller numbered pieces into their slots where they were then joined. Thanks to Rudi Gunn's foresight in cleaning and oiling the connectors, all parts fit quickly and smoothly. The operation was going like clockwork. Only two more parts were left to install.