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subconsciously reminded him of renderings he had seen of Satan.
    As Malloy stood there wondering if had gone crazy, he was unaware that he was under the gaze of those same jade eyes. Barnes had stepped into the doorway of an office building where he could watch Malloy. He held a cell phone to his ear, and he was laughing.
    â€œI just wanted you to know that your plan went off like clockwork. The city is in total breakdown.”
    â€œThat’s great,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “Look, we’ve got to talk. It’s important.”
    â€œNot now. Come out to the lighthouse, so I can thank you in person.”
    He tucked the phone in his pocket and gazed out at Times Square. A young man had thrown a brick through the front window of the Disney store. Others followed his example, and within minutes the sidewalks were littered with broken glass. A car was set on fire, sending black billowing smoke toward the heavens. The acrid stench of burning plastic and fabric filled the air. A guerrilla band was marching down the street, playing the theme from Bridge on the River Kwai. The music could barely be heard over the cacophony of honking car horns.
    Barnes gazed at the scene with a beatific smile on his satanic face.
    â€œChaos,” he murmured like a monk chanting his mantra. “Sweet, sweet chaos.”

4
    T HE DECK LIGHTS were ablaze when the NUMA car carrying Austin and Zavala pulled up to the dock at Norfolk. Austin climbed the gangway with a jaunty step. He was happy to be going back to sea, and excited about sailing on the research vessel Peter Throckmorton , one of the newest ships in the NUMA fleet. He owed the mysterious Dr. Adler a debt for inviting him on the search expedition.
    The 275-foot ship was named after one of the early pioneers in nautical archaeology. Throckmorton had proven that archaeological methods could work underwater, spurring a whole era of discovery. The ship was a seagoing workhorse. It was designed with versatility in mind, and its remote sensing equipment could just as easily explore an underwater city as a field of hypothermal ocean vents.
    Like most research vessels, the Throckmorton was a seagoing platform from which scientists could launch vehicles and probes to carry out their experiments. Sprouting from the fantail and foredeck were the booms and cranes that could be used to deploy the various undersea probes and submersibles the ship carried. Power winches were located on the port and starboard sides.
    One of the ship’s officers greeted the NUMA men at the top of the gangway.
    â€œCaptain Cabral welcomes you aboard the Throckmorton and wishes you a pleasant trip.”
    Austin knew the captain, Tony Cabral, from other NUMA expeditions, and looked forward to seeing him again.
    â€œPlease thank the captain, and tell him we’re pleased to be sailing under his command.”
    With the brief formalities over, a crewman escorted them to their comfortable cabins. They dropped off their duffel bags and went to find Adler. At the suggestion of the crewman, they looked for him in the vessel’s survey control center.
    The center was a spacious semidark room on the main deck. The walls were lined with banks of monitors that served as the eyes and ears for the ship’s remote sensing gear. When a probe was launched, the information it gathered was transmitted to the center for analysis. With the ship still in port, the room was deserted except for a man who sat at a table pecking away at a computer keyboard.
    â€œDr. Adler?” Kurt said.
    The man looked up from his keyboard and smiled. “Yes. And you must be the folks from NUMA?”
    Austin and Zavala introduced themselves and shook hands with Adler.
    The wave scientist was a rumpled, big-boned man who had the physique of a lumberjack and a mop of shaggy, silver hair that looked like Spanish moss growing on an old oak. His upper lip was adorned by a crooked mustache that looked