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off in a few minutes, hed wake up, and it would be just another sweltering day in North Miami. All this would evaporate and hed be back to the old grind, trying to decide on a new research position. That had to be the answer. Because it wasnt possible he was descending to an ancient, long-hidden city or that he was about to become a participant in the most complex and important archaeological excavation of all time.
     
    Dr. Crane?
     
    At the sound of Richardsons voice, Crane roused himself abruptly.
     
    Were nearing the Facility, Richardson said.
     
    Already?
     
    Yes, sir.
     
    Crane glanced quickly out the porthole. At two miles down, the ocean was an intense silty black the exterior lights could barely penetrate. And yet there was a strange, ethereal glow that came against all logic from below, rather than above. He leaned closer, glanced downward, and caught his breath.
     
    There, perhaps a hundred feet below them, lay a huge metallic dome, its perimeter buried in the sea floor. About halfway down its side, an open, circular tunnel about six feet across led inward, like the mouth of a funnel; otherwise, the surface was smooth and without blemish. There were no markings or insignia of any kind. It looked exactly like the crown of a gigantic silver marble, peeping up from a bed of sand. A bathyscaphe identical to the one he was in sat tethered to an escape hatch on the far side. At the domes summit, a small forest of sensors and communications gear sprouted around a bulky object shaped like an inverted teacup. From all over the domes surface, a thousand tiny lights winked up at him like jewels, flickering in and out in the deep ocean currents.
     
    Hidden beneath this protective dome was Deep Storm: a cutting-edge city of technological marvels. And somewhere beneath Deep Storm as ancient as the recovery Facility was new lay the unknown mystery and promise of Atlantis.
     
    Staring, entranced, Crane realized he was grinning like an idiot. He glanced over at Richardson. The petty officer was watching him and grinning, too.
     
    Welcome to Deep Storm, sir, he said.
     
     
    Chapter 4
     
    Kevin Lindengood had worked everything out with fanatical attention. He knew the game was potentially dangerous maybe even very dangerous. But it was a game about preparation and control. He was well prepared, and he was in complete control. And that was why there was nothing to worry about.
     
    He leaned over the hood of his beat-up Taurus, watching the Biscayne Boulevard traffic pass by. This gas station was on one of Miamis busiest thoroughfares. You couldnt ask for a more public place. And a public place meant safety.
     
    He loitered by the air pump, hose in hand, pretending to check the tires. It was a hot day, well over ninety, but Lindengood welcomed the heat. On the Storm King oil platform, hed had enough ice and snow to last several lifetimes. Hicks and his damn iPod, Wherry and his swaggeringthere was no way in hell he wanted to go back to that life. And if he played his cards right today, he wouldnt have to.
     
    As he straightened up from the front passenger tire, a black sedan pulled into the station and parked in the service area, a dozen feet away. With a thrill that was half excitement and half fear, Lindengood saw his contact get out of the drivers seat. The man was wearing the clothes he had insisted on for the meeting: tank top and swimming trunks. No chance to conceal a weapon of any kind.
     
    He glanced at his watch. Seven oclock: the man had arrived precisely on time.
     
    Preparation and control.
     
    Now the man was walking toward him. In prior meetings, hed said his name was Wallace, but had never volunteered a last name. Lindengood was fairly certain even Wallace was an alias. He was thin, with a swimmers physique. He wore thick tortoiseshell glasses and limped slightly as he walked, as if one leg was a bit shorter than the other. Lindengood had never seen the man in a tank top before, and he couldnt help but