Slaton’s gun was suppressed for sound, but the guards were trained and so they knew they were under attack. Using his long fins, Slaton spun left and settled his sight on the Whaler. One of the guards was tall and obvious, and Slaton traded shots with the man. A round from his MP7 found home as the water to his right exploded. Uncomfortably close.

Then he heard shouting. “There! In the water!”

More shouts from the sinking yacht. The kidon submerged.

*   *   *

With strong kicks Slaton swam straight under the Whaler, the boat’s dark outline clear in the dancing orange reflections. He popped up this time on the shore side, his MP7 ready and new angles of fire already fixed in his head. But he could not shoot indiscriminately. With the optic he positively identified a guard at the bow, fired and watched him go overboard when hit. Hamedi’s protection was now down to two—but they began learning. They fell to the deck and disappeared, leaving Slaton no shot. Rounds suddenly exploded all around him, the water churning like a blender. He snap-sighted on a figure near the stern of the yacht, but before he could fire his MP7 jerked to one side. Slaton felt stinging pain in his scalp and saw that his gun sight was gone, nothing but the jagged metal bracket remaining. He answered with a quick, unsighted double, and his target twisted but stayed on his feet. Slaton fired again from twenty yards and finished the job.

He submerged again knowing time was short. It was time to get close.

It was time to take Hamedi.

*   *   *

Behrouz was scrambling on the deck of the Whaler when a foot caught him in the face. He looked up and saw Hamedi backing away.

“The Israelis!” the scientist screamed. “They are after me again! Don’t you see that?”

Behrouz didn’t know what to think. The Israelis were attacking. But what of the words he’d heard slip from Hamedi’s mouth only minutes ago? There was no time to think about it. He screamed at the white-uniformed crewman at the little boat’s helm. “Get us out of here!” Behrouz pointed his handgun at the man to leave no room for questions.

The crewman’s eyes went wide—wider than they already were with bodies and mayhem all around. He cranked the outboard motor and it came to life, and from a kneeling position the man put the motor into gear and slammed the throttle forward. There was a roar from the back of the boat but nothing happened. They went nowhere.

“What is wrong?” Hamedi shouted.

“I don’t know,” the helmsman said. “We must be hung up on something. Maybe a line.”

Bravely, the man lifted his head above the gunnel and looked over the side. Then he moved aft and looked over the stern.

“The propeller is gone!” he shouted.

*   *   *