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Looks kind of strange, hard edges like cast metal. Just sitting there on the horizon, maybe forty miles dead ahead ."

    " Roger, Navy oh-nine-three ," the Kennedy controller said. " Close to ten miles and orbit the fix. Better give us the cameras on this from now on ."

    " Cameras already rolling. I'm getting a hard echo off this thing. It's big, all right. It tops out at about fifteen thousand, six miles wide. It looks like a mountain standing on its nose. What's holding it up ?"

    "I've got him on the HR screen, sir," a junior technician called. "He's at thirty miles, closing fast."

    "Say, Kennedy, I'm getting some turbulence now," the Neptune pilot said calmly. "I'm making a pass east of the bogie. This thing is big. I never saw anything like this. It's opaque. It looks like it's spinning. Trailing streamers. The sea looks kind of funny under it. Black shadow, and . . ." There was a five-second pause. "There's a hole down there. A whirlpool. My God, I . . ."

    "Navy oh-nine-three," Kennedy came in as the voice hesitated. "Repeat that last transmission."

    "I'm down to five thousand, fifteen miles out. The thing's standing up over me like an umbrella. I'm holding about a twenty-degree crab. Winds are getting rough. I can hear it now, roaring . . ."

    "All right, sheer off, Ken, get out of that turbulence—"

    "There's a boat down there, some kind of boat! She's got her lights on. Looks like about a thirty-footer. She's got her stern to the twister. She's . . . my God, the damned thing's got her! She's going in!"

    "Ken, get out of there!"

    "There's three people aboard, I can see them!" the pilot was shouting now.

    "All right, Navy oh-nine-three," another voice spoke harshly. "Report course change, and put some snap into it!"

    "I'm . . . I'm making my pass now, north of it, five miles from contact. That boat—"

    "Never mind the boat! Pick up a heading of oh-nine-oh and put some distance between you and this thing!"

    "Turbulence is bad. She's fighting me. . ."

    "Go to full gate, Ken! Get the hell out of there!"

    "She's not reacting to control, Kennedy! She's . . . God! I'm getting knocked around . . . it'll tear her apart . . .!"

    "Mr. Hoffa!" the technician called. "The Navy's plane's headed right into it!"

    "Ken! Try riding with it! Don't fight it, let it take you around, build up airspeed, and try to edge out!"

    "Roger, Kennedy," the pilot said. His voice was flat, emotionless now, against a background howl. "Tell the next guy to stay way back, twenty miles at least. It's like a magnet. I'm riding it like a merry-goround. It's like a black well, two miles off my starboard wingtip. The noise—I guess you can hear it. I'm indicating four-fifty, but I'd say my ground speed is a couple hundred over that—"

    "Ken, try a left turn, about five degrees—"

    "I'm in a tight crab, no joy, Kennedy. The boat's coming under me again. It's right on the edge of the drop. It—it's breaking up. Ripped wide open. It's gone. Lucky at that. Fast. I'm getting the turbulence again. It's dark in here. I've got my nav lights on. It looks like black glass. Buffeting's bad now; can't take much of this . . . she . . ."

    "Ken! Ken! Come in, Ken!"

    "It merged," the technician said in a choked voice. "The plane flew right into it!"

    4

    The sound of the tires of the armored vehicle changed tone as it started across the metal-grid surface of the lift span of the Boca Ciega bridge. As they did, Grayle arched his back, putting pressure against the steel bar across his chest. For an instant it held firm; then it yielded, bent like sun-warmed wax. One end sprang free of the latch mechanism. At the sound, both guards tensed, their heads jerking around in time to see Grayle come to his feet, tense his forearms, and bend the chrome-steel rod between his wrists into a U, grip it with both hands, and with a quick twist snap it apart. The one called Randy made a strangled sound and clawed at the gun at his hip.