Fragment

4:35 P.M.

As the Trident bobbed at anchor in the cove, surrounded by the echoing sounds of waves from the sheer rock walls, Cynthea paced the aft deck like a caged animal.

She could not take being this close to the story of the century without being able to document it. If she didn’t do something about it soon, she would go mad.

The others weren’t exactly overjoyed about being quarantined, or imprisoned, on the Trident, either.

The Navy was kind enough to bring them supplies, including current magazines and DVDs, but they were strictly prohibited from going ashore.

Approximately two hours after the last episode of SeaLife had aired, the U.S. government had officially ordered them not to move from, land on, or transmit any communication from Henders Island.

Her show was officially and irrevocably canceled. Cynthea seethed at their assumption of authority, which out here had no basis other than the big guns they used to back it up. She had to hand it to the Navy, though. They had certainly outdone any network executive in the power-play department.

Zero stretched out on a deck lounge, soaking up some rays on his long, lean runner’s body, his eyelids closed.

Cynthea stalked around him as she spoke, wondering occasionally if he was even listening to her.

“You have GOT to get on that island, Zero! An hour of footage is worth more than enough to retire on for both of us. Are you listening to me, asshole?”

Zero popped an eye open at her. “Yup.”

“Well?”

“No way am I going back there,” Zero said. He closed his eye.

“I can get on that island.” Dante, the ship’s assistant cook, had been loitering on the outskirts of their conversation.

Born in Palo Alto, California, Dante had learned to climb in the High Sierras, conquering El Capitan solo at the age of nineteen. On one team climb, when he was sixteen, he had been struck twice by lightning while sleeping suspended 1,200 feet up between a cliff and the granite pinnacle of Lost Arrow in a rainstorm. The wet lines he was suspended on had partially grounded the lightning strike, but he had still spent three weeks in a hospital bed before he could walk again.

Dante pointed at the crevasse. “I could climb right up that crack, where no one could ever see me.”

Zero opened and closed one eye. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.”

“I saw the footage! What attacked you came from below, on the ground. I could climb right up the cliff inside that crack, all the way to the top.”

Zero sat up. “That’s an eight-hundred-foot ascent. Are you nuts, kid?”

“What do you say?” Dante said to Cynthea. “Want me to do it?”

Zero glared at the producer and the light flickered and went out in her eyes. “No. No, that sounds too dangerous.” She gritted her teeth and glared back at Zero. “But there must be some way. Zero, come on, baby! If you figure out a safer way, I guarantee I’ll make you the happiest man on Earth. The deal I could make for us…”

Zero leaned back and closed his eyes again. “I’m listening.”

“I can take a camera with me,” Dante said.

Cynthea turned toward him, grinning. “That’s-”

“Cynthea,” Zero growled.

“-too darn dangerous, Dante. Thanks for offering, though, sweetheart! You’re my hero today!”

Cynthea turned to stare longingly at the giant cracked wall of the island surrounding them in the cove. “God damn it! What am I going to do?” She glanced at Zero, who was apparently sleeping again. “Shit! And Nell wouldn’t even take my camcorder with her, that freaking little scientist snob!”

Zero chuckled.

“So what’s it going to take, Zero? Come on! Get me some footage of this island!”

“I’m still listening.” Zero flopped over to lie on his stomach as Dante stalked off, steaming.

Cynthea glared again at the crack in the island. For millions of years, the battered wall of Henders Island had defeated tsunamis, ice floes, and all passersby. Defeating her would not be so easy.