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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?”
    â€œNo 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.”
    â€œCan you play it for us?”
    â€œThought 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.
    â€œ. . . 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.
    â€œAny traffic on the emergency bands?” Joe asked.
    â€œNothing,” Reynolds said. “But out of an abundance of caution, I put in a call to the logistics team. No one’s picking up.”
    â€œThat’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.”
    â€œAlready 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 Lampedusa, including the local police station and the joint we ordered pizza from the first night we docked there.
No one is answering.
I’m not trying to sound like an alarmist, but for one reason or another that whole island has gone dark.”
    Kurt wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, yet the woman had used the word
attack
. “Contact the Italian authorities in Palermo,” he said. “A distress call is a distress call, even if it doesn’t come from a ship. Tell them we’re going to see what we can do to help.”
    â€œFigured you’d want to go that route,” Reynolds said. “I checked the dive tables. Joe and Michelle can surface with you. Everyone else will have to go in the tank.”
    Kurt expected as much. He broke the news to the rest of theteam. They quickly put their tools down, switched off the lights and began a very slow ascent, meeting up with the decompression tank, as it was lowered down on cables, in which they were hauled to the surface in pressurized safety.
    Kurt, Joe and Michelle had made their way to the surface in the powered hard suits and Kurt was pulling off his gear when Reynolds gave them more bad news. Not a word had come from Lampedusa. Nor were there any military or Coast Guard units within a hundred miles of the island.
    â€œThey’re fueling up a couple helicopters out of Sicily, but they won’t be airborne for at least thirty minutes. And it’s an hour’s flying time from Sicily once they’re airborne.”
    â€œWe could be on the beach, finishing dessert and ordering a nightcap by then,” Joe said.
    â€œWhich is why they’re asking us to take a look,” Reynolds explained. “Apparently, we’re the closest thing to an official government presence in the area. Even if our government is on the other side of the Atlantic.”
    â€œGood,” Kurt said. “For once, we don’t have to beg for permission or ignore