Free Riptide by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Page B

ready to give a blast of his air horn.
    Then he hesitated. Beyond the silent boat, and beyond the mist-shrouded island, he could make out a deep throbbing sound,
     so low in pitch it was almost beneath the audible spectrum. His hand dropped away as he listened. In a minute, he was certain:
     a boat engine, distant but approaching fast. Hatch scanned the horizon until he picked up a smudge of gray to the south. As
     he watched, he saw a momentary flash as the setting sun hit some article of polished metal on the distant craft.
Probably a Thalassa boat,
he thought,
swinging up from Portland.
    Then, slowly, Hatch saw the smudge separate into two, then three, then six distinct shapes. He waited in disbelief as a veritable
     invasion fleet approached the tiny island. A huge sea barge steamed toward him, its dark red underbelly revealed as bow waves
     pulled back across the waterline. In its wake labored a tug, its bow-net mossy and glistening, a hundred-ton floating crane
     towed behind. Next came a brace of powerboats, sleek and muscular-looking, bristling with electronics. A supply boat followed,
     heavy with cargo and low in the water. From its masthead flew a small flag of white and red. Hatch noticed that the design
     on the flag matched the insignia he’d seen on Neidelman’s portfolio cover, just days before.
    Last came an elegant vessel, large and fantastically equipped. The name CERBERUS was stenciled on its bows in blue letters. Hatch gazed in awe over the gleaming superstructure, the harpoon gun on the foredeck,
     the smoked-glass portholes.
Fifteen-thousand tonner, minimum,
he thought.
    In a kind of silent ballet, the vessels nosed up to the
Griffin.
The larger ships came to a stop on the far side of the fireboat, while the smaller craft came to rest beside the
Plain Jane.
There was a rattling of chains and singing of hawsers as anchors ran out. Gazing at the powerboats straddling his port and
     starboard sides, Hatch could see the occupants staring back. A few smiled and nodded. In the closest boat, Hatch noticed a
     man with iron-gray hair and a plump white face looking at him with an expression of polite interest. He wore a bulky orange
     life preserver over a carefully buttoned suit. Next to him lounged a young man with long greasy hair and a goatee, dressed
     in Bermuda shorts and a flowered shirt. He was eating something out of a white paper wrapper, and he gazed back at Hatch with
     a kind of insolent disinterest.
    The last engine was cut, and a strange, almost spectral silence fell over the gathering. Hatch looked from boat to boat, and
     noticed that everyone’s eyes were gravitating toward the empty deck of the fireboat in the center.
    A minute passed, then two. At last a door in the side of the pilothouse opened and Captain Neidelman emerged. Silently, he
     walked to the edge of the railing and stood, ramrod-straight, gazing out at the company that surrounded him. The setting sun
     gave a burgundy cast to his sunburned face, and kindled his fair, thinning hair into gold. It was amazing, Hatch thought,
     how his slender presence projected out over the water and the circle of boats. As the silence gathered, another man, small
     and wiry, stepped unobtrusively out of the door behind Neidelman and remained standing in the background, hands folded.
    For a long moment, Neidelman remained silent. At last he started to speak, in a voice that was low, almost reverent, yet carried
     easily over the water.
    “We live in an era,” Neidelman began, “when the unknown is known, and most of earth’s mysteries have been solved. We have
     gone to the North Pole, scaled Everest, flown to the Moon. We have broken the bonds of the atom and mapped the abyssal plains
     of the oceans. Those who tackled these mysteries often endangered their lives, squandered their fortunes, and risked everything
     they held dear. A great mystery can only be solved at a high price—sometimes the highest price.”
    He gestured in the