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and scars to prove it. He had even lost his left hand during one mission, replaced with a prosthetic one. As he sat, Gray could still hear the barking bellow of Monk’s laugh…or the quiet intensity of his voice, revealing the man’s genius-level I.Q., disciplined in forensic medicine and science.
    How could someone so large and vital be gone? Without a trace?
    The phone finally clicked in his ear. “Captain Ron Trypol,” a stern voice answered.
    “Captain, it’s Gray Pierce.”
    “Ah, Commander. Good. I had hoped to reach you this afternoon. I don’t have much time before my next meeting.”
    Gray already heard the dire overtones. “Captain?”
    “I’ll get to the point. I’ve been ordered to call off the search.”
    “What?”
    “We were able to recover twenty-two bodies. Dental records show none of them to be your man.”
    “Only twenty-two?” Even by conservative estimates, that was only a small fraction of the dead.
    “I know, Commander. But recovery efforts were already hampered by the extreme depths and pressures. The entire bottom of the lagoon is riddled with caverns and lava tubes, many extending miles in tangled mazes.”
    “Still, with—”
    “Commander.” The man’s tone was firm. “We lost a diver two days ago. A good man with a family and two children.”

    Gray closed his eyes, knowing the ache of that loss.
    “To search the caves only risks more men. And for what?”
    Gray remained silent.
    “Commander Pierce, I assume you haven’t heard any more word. No further cryptic messages?”
    Gray sighed.
    To gain the captain’s cooperation, he had related the one message he had received…or possibly received. It had occurred weeks after Monk had vanished. Following the events that occurred at the island, the only piece of his friend to be salvaged had been his prosthetic hand, a state-of-the-art piece of biotechnology built by DARPA engineers, which included a built-in wireless radio interface. While transporting the disembodied hand to Monk’s funeral, the prosthetic fingers had begun to tap out a weak S.O.S. It had lasted only a few seconds—and only Gray had heard it. Then it had gone silent. Technicians had examined the hand and concluded it was most likely a mere glitch. The hand’s digital log showed no incoming signal. It was just a malfunction. Nothing more. An electrical ghost-in-the-machine.
    Still, Gray had refused to give up—even as week after week passed.
    “Commander?” Trypol said.
    “No,” Gray admitted sullenly. “There’s been no further word.”
    Trypol paused, then spoke more slowly. “Then perhaps it’s time to lay this to rest, Commander. For everyone’s sake.” His voice softened at the edges. “And what about Kat? Your man’s wife. What does she have to say about all this?”
    It was a sore point. Gray wished he’d never mentioned it to her. But how could he not? Monk was her husband; they had a little girl together, Penelope. Still, maybe it had been the wrong thing to do. Kat had listened to Gray’s story with a stoic expression. She stood in her black funeral dress, ramrod straight, her eyes sunken with grief. She knew it was a thin lifeline, only a frail hope. She had glanced to Penelope in the car seat of the black limousine, then back to Gray. She didn’t say a word, only shook her head once. She could not grasp that lifeline. She could not survive losing Monk a second time. It would destroy her when she was already this fragile. Andshe had Penelope to consider, her own piece of Monk. True flesh and blood. Not some phantom hope.
    He had understood. So he had continued his investigation on his own. He had not spoken to Kat since that day. It was a silent, mutual pact between them. She did not want to hear from him until the matter was resolved one way or the other. Gray’s mother, though, spent several afternoons with Kat and the baby. His mother knew nothing about the S.O.S., but she had sensed that something was wrong with Kat.
    Haunted,