Good enough for what it is: a brainless pulp thriller. Of course, given that the back of the book describes it as "[a:Michael Crichton|5194|Michael Crichton|http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1189723729p2/5194.jpg] meets [a:Clive Cussler|18411|Clive Cussler|http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1225620641p2/18411.jpg]," I wasn't really expecting high literature.

By the time I was 25 pages in, I'd made it through a black character written in the stereotypically racist dialect of the time ("Yassuh! Dat's true!"), only to find an American Indian character written the same way ("Him heap big coward."). While I realize it was common at the time, it's a little too out-of-step with today for me to bother continuing reading.