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the
corvus
. This is a battle scene from two thousand years ago all but frozen in time.”
    Kurt marveled at the discovery. “How did they sink like this?”
    “The stress of the collision probably cracked their hulls,” Joe guessed. The Romans must have been unable to release the
corvus
as their ships foundered. They went down arm in arm, linked together for all eternity.”
    “Which means we’re both right,” Kurt said. “Guess you won’t be paying me that dollar after all.”
    “A dollar?” This came from Michelle. “You two have been going on and on about this bet for a month all over one measly dollar?”
    “It’s really more about bragging rights,” Kurt said.
    “Plus, he keeps docking my pay,” Joe said. “So that’s all I can afford to wager.”
    “You’re both incorrigible,” she said.
    Kurt would have agreed with that statement proudly, but he didn’t get the chance because a different voice came through the intercom system and interrupted him.
    A readout on the helmet-mounted display confirmed the transmission was coming in from the
Sea Dragon
up on the surface. A little padlocked symbol with his name and Joe’s beside it told Kurt the call was being patched through to them only.
    “Kurt, this is Gary,” the voice said. “You and Zavala reading me okay?”
    Gary Reynolds was the
Sea Dragon
’s skipper.
    “Loud and clear,” Kurt said. “I see you’ve got us on a private channel. Is something wrong?”
    “Afraid so. We’ve picked up a distress call. And I’m not sure how to respond.”
    “Why is that?” Kurt asked.
    “Because the call isn’t coming from a vessel,” Reynolds said. “It’s coming from Lampedusa.”
    “From the island?”
    Lampedusa was a small island with a population of five thousand. It was Italian territory, but was actually closer to Libya than to the southern tip of Sicily. The
Sea Dragon
had docked there for one night each week, picking up supplies and refueling, before heading back out to hold station over the wreck site. Even now, there were five members of NUMA onshore, handling the logistics and cataloging the artifacts recovered from the dig.
    Joe asked the obvious question: “Why would someone on an island feel the need to broadcast a distress call on a marine channel?”
    “No idea,” Reynolds said. “The guys in the radio room were sharp enough to flip on the recorder when they realized what they were hearing. We’ve listened to it several times. It’s a little garbled, but it definitely came from Lampedusa.”
    “Can you play it for us?”
    “Thought you’d never ask,” Reynolds said. “Stand by.”
    After a delay of several seconds, Kurt heard the hum of static and a bit of feedback before a voice could be heard speaking. Kurt couldn’t make out the first dozen words or so, but then the signal cleared and the voice became stronger. It was a woman’s voice. A woman who sounded calm and yet in great need at the same time.
    She spoke in Italian for twenty seconds and then switched to English.
    “. . . I say again, this is Dr. Renata Ambrosini . . . We have been attacked . . . Now trapped in the hospital . . . desperately need assistance . . . We are sealed in and our oxygen is running low. Please respond.”
    A few seconds of static followed and then the message repeated.
    “Any traffic on the emergency bands?” Joe asked.
    “Nothing,” Reynolds said. “But out of an abundance of caution, I put in a call to the logistics team. No one’s picking up.”
    “That’s odd,” Joe said. “Someone is supposed to be manning the radio at all times while we’re out here.”
    Kurt agreed. “Call someone else,” he suggested to Reynolds. “There’s an Italian Coast Guard station in the harbor. See if you can raise the commandant there.”
    “Already tried it,” Reynolds said. “Tried the satellite phone too, just in case the radios were being affected by something. In fact, I’ve dialed every number I can find for