"A testy little devil, aren't we?" said Pitt. "A zealot of the Fourth Empire. Is that it? You can dream about it while you rot in jail."
The sheriff reached down and gripped Pitt's shoulder. "I'll have to let them go free."
Pitt stared up, his green eyes suddenly blazing. "Like hell you will."
"I can't arrest them unless they've committed a crime," Eagan said helplessly.
"I'll press charges," Marquez cut in coldly.
"What charges?"
"Trespassing, claim-jumping, destroying private property, and you can throw in theft for good measure."
"What did they steal?" Eagan asked, puzzled.
"My overhead lighting system," Marquez replied indignantly, pointing down at the electrical cord binding the divers. "They've snatched it from my mine."
Pitt placed a hand on Eagan's shoulder. "Sheriff, we're also talking attempted murder here. I think it might be wise if you held them in custody for a few days, at least until a preliminary investigation can make an identification and perhaps uncover evidence of their intentions."
"Come on, Jim," said Marquez, "you can at least keep them under lock and key while you interrogate them."
"I doubt whether I'll get much out of this lot."
"I agree," said Giordino, running a small brush through his curly hair. "They don't look like happy campers."
"There's something going on here that goes far beyond San Miguel County." Pitt peeled off his dry suit and began dressing in his street clothing. "It won't hurt to cover your bases."
Eagan looked thoughtful. "All right, I'll send a report to the Colorado Investigation Agency--"
The sheriff broke off as every head turned and stared up the tunnel. A man was shouting and running toward them as if chased by demons. A few seconds later, they could see that it was one of Eagan's deputies. He staggered to a halt and leaned over until his head was even with his hips, panting for breath, exhausted after running from the hotel wine cellar.
"What is it, Charlie?" Eagan pressed. "Spit it out!"
"The bodies. . ." Charlie the deputy gasped. "The bodies in the morgue!"
Eagan took Charlie by the shoulders and gently raised him upright. "What about the bodies?"
"They're missing."
"What are you talking about?"
"The coroner says they've disappeared. Somebody snatched them from the morgue."
Pitt looked at Eagan for a long moment of silence, then said quietly, "If I were you, Sheriff, I'd send copies of your report to the FBI and the Justice Department. This thing goes far deeper than any of us imagined."
IN THE FOOTPRINTS OF THE ANCIENTS
March 27, 2001
Okuma Bay, Antarctica
Captain Daniel Gillespie stood on the huge glass-enclosed bridge of the Polar Storm and stared through tinted-lens binoculars at the ice that was building around the eight-thousand-ton research icebreaker's hull. Lean as an aspen tree and prone to moments of anxiety, he studied the ice while plotting a course in his mind for the easiest passage to take the Polar Storm. The autumn ice had formed early in the Ross Sea. In some places, it was already two feet thick, with ridges rising to three.
The ship trembled under his feet as its great bulbous bow rammed the ice and then heaved up and over the white surface. Then the weight of the forward part of the ship crushed the pack into piano-size portions that tore at the paint on the hull as they groaned and scraped against the steel plates until they were chopped to small chunks by the ship's huge twelve-foot propellers and were left bobbing in the ship's wake. The process was repeated until they reached a part of the sea a few miles off the continent where the ice pack had been slow to thicken.
The Polar Storm incorporated the capabilities of both an icebreaker and a research vessel. By most maritime standards, she was an old ship, having been launched twenty years earlier, in 1981. She was also considered small alongside most icebreakers. She had an 8,000-ton displacement, a length of 145