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Outside the circular salon window swam a great white shark, its soulless eyes peering into the illuminated interior of the sub-marine boat. If Phileas Fogg noticed the predatory fish, he gave no sign.

“Monsieur Fogg,” Nemo said, arriving at a decision, “my Nautilus can travel faster than even a warship such as the Invincible. By journeying beneath the waves, we are not at the mercy of winds or weather. We can increase the power of our engines and cross the Atlantic within days.” He stood. “I know I have inconvenienced you terribly, sir . . . and I have committed a great many other crimes, for which I must atone in my own way.” He held out his hand. “I can offer restitution in your case, however, provided you grant me assurance that you keep the existence of my sub-marine boat a secret and not reveal how you returned to England.” He squared his shoulders. “If you agree to these things, I will provide you passage to London in time to win your wager.”

Fogg’s narrow face brightened for just a moment, then he nodded at Captain Nemo. “You leave me no choice, sir. I agree to your terms. Anything, in order to get back on schedule.”

iii

In misty weather and calm seas, the Nautilus cruised along the surface of the Atlantic. As the vessel cut a bright wake across the waves, Nemo stood outside, taking in the fresh air and cool dampness. He listened to the quiet ripples of the armored boat’s passage and stared into the distance . . . just thinking.

Entering the English Channel, they passed the northern coast of France. Being so close to continental Europe and his homeland reminded Nemo of his days in Nantes and Paris. Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to Caroline, how very close they had grown, and how he had given it all up.

If only he’d returned to her immediately after discovering the destruction of Rurapente. He had been consumed with anger and vengeance, cruising the seas on his quest to stop war, like Sisyphus rolling his stone endlessly uphill. What had it gained him, when he could have returned to a beautiful woman instead? He had been scarred and changed after the Crimean War, and he had turned his back on happiness, forsaking love for revenge.

For a man who’d been brave enough to fight the greatest battles and confront the deadliest adversaries, why was he afraid to face Caroline and ask her to accept him as he was?

Even before the war, if only he’d had the courage to remain in Paris for a year -- a mere twelve months -- he and Caroline could have been married long ago. A smile of bitter irony twisted his lips. He had truly believed that waiting for one year in Paris until he could hold her again would have been unbearable torture. Instead, he’d gone to the Crimea, been captured by an evil caliph, and been forced to work for ten years. Oh, if only he had stayed in France!

But if he had remained, Nemo would never have known Auda, or played with his son Jules. Despite the tragedy, Nemo would not have been willing to surrender those memories for any sum. . . .

Phileas Fogg joined him outside in the fog. In silence, they watched the approaching white cliffs of Dover, ready to round the point to the Thames estuary. The lanky Englishman had spent most of the journey in his enclosed cabin, attending to his journal, displaying no interest in the Nautilus. Nemo was glad to have his privacy, yet could not understand this man’s apathy toward new things. Fogg had traveled around the world, but had shown little curiosity about the wonders of the Earth even as he’d passed through them.

Now, though, Phileas Fogg wore a pained expression and looked at the captain, as if he had distractedly eaten too many prunes at breakfast. He brushed down an offending loose whisker in his narrow mustache. Something troubled the traveler, but Nemo waited for the gangly man to speak. Finally, Fogg cleared his throat. “Captain Nemo, I am concerned as to how I may cope with your demands.”

“Have I been unreasonable in any way?” Nemo raised his dark eyebrows.

Fogg reached into his salvaged coat and withdrew a bound volume wrapped