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The small, safe waves grow into swells that expand higher and wider. I have no control over them. They climb above me, an enormous weight of water gathered together. How high are the new waves? My estimate is three hundred feet. And climbing.

The battleship lurches wildly from the unbridled power of the ocean. My battleship turns and tilts beneath my feet. With growing fear, I watch the wave reach its zenith—and then fall back toward the earth… toward me. Yes, then it happens—this war-tested twelve-thousand-ton pile of strength capsizes completely.

I am now underwater. And I am now fighting for my life.

CHAPTER 107

HERE IS WHAT I discover about drowning.

There is no top nor bottom to the depth of the water. It isnotlike being in a huge fish tank. Not at all. Instead, I am wildly, absurdly, insanely suspended in an infinite amount of water.

The water grabs me, chews me, tosses, and hurts me. I fall in and out of consciousness, and, of course, I try, in my conscious moments, to find a solution, a personal solution, a powerful solution, frankly, the kind of very special solution that might belong only to me, Lamont Cranston, the Shadow.

An eel. That’s it. Lean and skinny and leathery. A transformation, but a foolish one. As an eel I am overpowered by the strength of the waves. I feel as if I am swimming on my own, but I quickly realize that I am the aquatic equivalent of a feather in a storm.

A swordfish. Not an easy order to fill. So many pieces, the body strength to fight the currents, and then the sword.But what good is the sword? Why force the effort to transform into a swordfish, when there are no predators to combat, no twisted trees and branches to cut through?

“Sloppy thinking,” Grandma Jessica might gently warn.

“Slothful consideration,” Dache would angrily charge.

Meanwhile this useless swordfish feels himself rising. I cannot discern in which direction the surface lies, but my shakily controlled fish body feels the surge upward. Perhaps I’ll become a shark, so I can be covered with denticles, small V-shaped attachments to my skin that should create a smoother swim, a faster speed, a salvation. But no, I realize that the shark is another stupid choice. Even creatures of the sea are at its mercy when it rages with unnatural strength.

I flail. I fail. I return to my human shape. Perhaps an even more reckless decision than becoming a shark.

My first event as a returned and once strong man is to pass out. It happens within seconds. My shoulders and legs begin to ache, then burn. My lungs sting with every gulp of salty water. I push mightily forward one last time, gulping for air, and my hands find purchase on a piece of the battleship. Thankful for a moment’s rest, I close my eyes.

I understand that I am nearly dead, half-drowned, an only partially alive thing. It seems, at first, that everything is unchanged: I am still immersed in a horrible churning ocean that pitches me wherever and whenever it cares to.

I become aware that I will not last much longer. I have forced my lungs to supersize, which gained me preciousseconds when I was forced beneath the water, but even so, my body is exhausted. I have forced my arms and legs to push way beyond their natural strength, but I am, very simply, prepared for the end.

A whale? A catfish? An octopus? A nautical magical horse? A swimming dinosaur?Do something, you fool, Lamont.

Ambrose or Khan or Townsend or a consortium of all three are literally destroying the world at this very moment, and—oh, useless powers, return, save me!—I am a flailing, fading piece of nothing in an ocean’s hell.

I am about to fall once again into an unconscious state. If I lose my grip on the floating piece of the battleship, I will surely sink beneath the waves and die.

Suddenly, the amazing electrodes that are stored in all human brains—yours and mine—make a last, great effort to remain alive. The survival instinct is so great in every single one of us that in this moment, the great accumulation of useless or useful knowledge inside my brain is accessed, and it comes to me.

ThePakicetus.I suddenly remember thePakicetus.

Yes, thePakicetus,the wolf-sized, four-legged, prehistoric ancestor of the whale.

When did I ever hear of this incredible nimble monster? What book did I read? Who taught me about this extraordinary animal?

I struggle to re-create the image in my mind, then shape-shift into this ancient phenomenon. If I am creatinga goofy hybrid in my brain, the transformation will fail, but a significant quiver through my limp human body teases me into believing I might be on my way. The legs, the snout, the strength, they invade me. It is happening.

I am thePakicetus.

CHAPTER 108

“IT’S JUST LIKE a horror film,” says Margo.

“It’s worse than a horror film,” says Maddy, as she quickly turns her head away from the giant computer screen.

The team has set up a satellite monitoring system to track the movements and progress of Lamont’s treacherous adventure in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. They see it all, and they see it with a clarity that is both a blessing and a curse.

When the destructive powers from the skies explode into the sea below, the assembled group instinctively reach out and hold one another tightly. Margo looks down to the floor and shakes with fear. Bando cowers between her legs. Even Jericho is cursing and gasping. Burbank, Tapper, and Hawkeye stare, transfixed. Maddy steels herself and stays fixed on the terror she’s watching.