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continued,
     “let’s make sure that we’re not dealing with a tsunami here. You’re doing the usual?”
    “Other than figuring out a name for my seamount,”Reggie said, “I’m working with the NEIC to pinpoint the quake more precisely. I’m also scanning the ANSS database to check
     our readings against theirs.” They had a direct feed from the Advanced National Seismic System, the data source for the NEIC
     estimations.
    Kai nodded in appreciation for how fast Reggie moved. “Good work. After Christmas Island, our next tide reading won’t be until
     the wave reaches Johnston Island.”
    Then Kai remembered something.
    “Hey, isn’t the
Miller Freeman
testing a new DART buoy about a thousand kilometers southeast of here?” The NOAA research vessel was responsible for maintaining
     all of PTWC’s oceangoing equipment.
    Reggie tapped on his computer. “Yeah, they started setting it up two days ago. They should be there for another week.” He
     overlaid the ship’s location on the earthquake map. Before the Asian tsunami, there were only six operational DART buoys,
     but now new ones were coming online every few months, one of the few positive outcomes of the Southeast Asian disaster. The
     buoy they were currently testing was intended for the coastline of Russia.
    “Is the buoy active? This might be a good test for them. At their location, they should be getting a wave reading just about
     the same time Johnston Island does.”
    “I’ll call NOAA and have them radio the ship to be ready.”
    “What do you need from me?”
    The buzzer for the front gate sounded.
    “You need to handle the tour group,” Reggie said, pointing toward the reception area.
    “Looks like it’s showtime. Come find me when we get the tide readings from Christmas Island.”
    Kai pressed the button to open the gate, then quickly assembled his presentation materials. It looked like it was going to
     be a busy day after all.

SEVEN
    9:23 a.m
.
    H arold Franklin seethed quietly as the catamaran cruised through the water three miles west of Christmas Island. He had been
     looking forward to this vacation for months, primarily because of the island’s world-renowned bonefishing. Standing in the
     surf, casting a line, and hauling in some bonefish—that was why he was here. Not to sit on some boat with seven other people
     he didn’t know. Besides, he hated snorkeling. “How long are we going to be out here?” Harold said.
    His wife, Gina, who was sunning on the canvas stretched between the catamaran’s hulls and nursing a piña colada, narrowed
     her eyes at him. “Listen, buddy, I let you plan this trip because you said we could spend some time doing things other than
     fishing. I’m not sitting in the hotel room every day by myself while you’re down at the beach. I should have talked you into
     going to Hawaii. At least there they have shopping and a decent cup of coffee.”
    “But come on. Snorkeling? Do you really need me here for this?”
    “At the hotel, they said this is the best reef in the area. And I don’t know anyone else here, so I don’t want to hear another
     word about it. You’ll get to fish plenty this week.”
    “If we’re going snorkeling, then I wish we’d get it over with.”
    “The captain said he got a report of some whales out here. Don’t you want to see them?”
    “Whales live underwater. We won’t see anything.” It had taken Harold and Gina six hours to get from Sacramento to Honolulu,
     then another three hours on the one weekly flight that traveled the thirteen hundred miles due south to Christmas Island.
     He didn’t come all that way to watch a bump in the ocean. Harold looked up at the azure sky.
    “At least it’s not raining,” he said. Just as they had set sail, they had heard a huge boom, like a gigantic thunderclap.
     But there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky, so the cruise left as scheduled.
    “Have a drink,” Gina said. “Get comfortable like everyone