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for your kindness,” Akram said, his eyes diverted to show humility. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
    “Nope. Nothing at …” The American’s voice trailed off. “What … what’s going on?”
    “Sir?”
    “Out there, boy, look!” The man pointed to the ocean. The offensive gesture was lost on Akram when he turned to see the ocean rapidly retreating from shore. “Don’t tell me that’s normal.” The man lumbered to his feet.
    “I have never seen such a thing,” Akram said, his eyes wide. “The ocean is leaving.”
    Slowly he and the American began to walk toward the tide line. Looking up and down the beach, Akram could see that other guests and employees, compelled by curiosity, were doing the same. The beach itself was unique, being the longest unbroken strand on the planet, but this was something before unseen.
    “Look at this, will ya,” the guest offered. “Fish and crab for the taking.”
    Akram had noticed it too. The now exposed ocean bottom was littered with crabs and other crustaceans. Fish flopped on the wet sand, slowly suffocating in a blanket of air.
    “What do you suppose did this?” asked the pudgy man.
    Akram shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I should tell my manager—”
    “Wait! Do you hear something?”
    Tilting his head slightly as if to line up his ears for better reception, Akram closed his eyes and listened. “Yes—a roar, a rumble.” He opened his eyes and looked at the guest. The man’s face was drained of all color, his mouth slack, and his eyes wide. Again he pointed out to sea, and then he crossed himself.
    “Hail, Mary, full of grace …” the man began. He crossed himself again.
    Akram turned to see what had so terrified the man. “Allah, have mercy,” was all he could say.

    80 kilometers SE of Bhubaneswar, India
Altitude: 2,200 meters
    The Cessna Skylane RG airplane bounced slightly as it passed through a thermal. The pilot, an East Indian named Rajiv Kapur, paid no notice to the bump—his mind was elsewhere. Below him the deep blue of the Bay of Bengal was turning a shade lighter as the plane flew over the shallower waters of the continental shelf. Above him the sky was a crystalline blue. It was a beautiful day for flying and even a more beautiful day to be home celebrating the birthday of his five-year-old daughter, Jaya. Normally, Rajiv would be happy to chart a leisurely course back to Bhubaneswar and then to his home in the town of Puri outside the city, but not today. He wanted nothing more than to be with his wife and child.
    He checked his airspeed again: 156 knots—75 percent power, just what it should be. The craft was capable of over 160 knots, but that was pushing the engine harder than necessary, especially on a substantially long flight like the one he was taking from the Andaman Islands 735 miles behind him.
    A devout family man, Rajiv was proud of the daughter his wife had given him. Jaya had stolen his heart, as had countless daughters across the world done to their fathers. He soon learned that his little girl knew the secret passages to her father’s soul. Jaya knew those avenues well and could melt her normally stern father with a simple glance and a flash from her obsidian eyes. She could manipulate him like no other, and Rajiv loved it. As he flew, his mind filled with the image of his little girl: smooth, brown skin, coal-black hair, shiny eyes, and a bright smile that beamed. She could laugh in such a contagious way that a roomful of adults would find themselves giggling like children.
    Rajiv arched his back to stretch out the kinks of three and a half hours at the plane’s controls. He shifted in his seat and checked his navigation indicators. Not that he needed to. He had been making flights like this one for over ten years. He often bragged that he could fly to the Andaman Islands blindfolded as well as to any airport on the eastern coast of India. Still, he was a cautious pilot. Caution mixed with