The propeller, in fact, had been removed forty minutes earlier and was now resting on the bottom of Lake Geneva. The crewman, befuddled by the missing prop but growing more confident, leaned in for a closer look. He never saw the gloved hand come out of the water.

Slaton got a fistful of uniform collar, braced against the boat’s hull, and pulled the sailor over his shoulder and into the lake. Having removed his scuba rig, he vaulted over the stern with the Glock ready. He was breaching the point of least freeboard, the most vulnerable position to defend, so he expected Hamedi’s two remaining men to have their weapons already trained in his direction. He only saw one, and much closer than expected. Only an arm’s length away.

In an instantaneous decision, Slaton shifted his momentum and threw himself on the man.

He crashed in hard, but his hand struck something and the Glock flew from his grip. The man was big, but he was flat on his back. Slaton lashed an elbow to the head that slowed the Iranian, but he kept fighting—the determination of an old soldier who’d battled for his life before. They grappled and locked arms, heading for a stalemate that was not in Slaton’s favor. He sensed something under his free hand, and recognized by feel what it was. Working a hand free, he pulled the anchor line until he had enough slack, then managed to loop it around the man’s neck. One handed, he had little leverage, but then he caught a break—his adversary panicked.

The big Iranian put both hands to his throat and tried to pry the rope away. That was all Slaton needed. He didn’t pull, but twisted, tightening the noose in a powerful grip. The Iranian struggled fiercely, but that only used more oxygen and made his life that much shorter. In less than a minute it was over.

But a minute was far too long.

Slaton rolled away and saw the boat’s last two occupants. Ibrahim Hamedi was backed against the starboard side. Across the beam, down on one knee, was Farzad Behrouz.

Slaton’s Glock was in his hand.

Chapter 52

FIFTY-TWO

Slaton went still, the only option when looking down the barrel of a 9mm.

Behrouz said, “Almost, Jew. You almost did it.”

Slaton said nothing, and the Iranian’s eyes seemed to narrow with suspicion. He thought Behrouz might be having a flashback, remembering his face from yesterday’s encounter in the elevator. But then Slaton was taken completely by surprise.

Hamedi kicked out a leg, perhaps to get his balance in the rocking boat, and for some unfathomable reason Behrouz took it as a threat. He shifted the gun and pointed it at the scientist. Only a few feet away, Hamedi backed against the fiberglass hull, fear etched into his broad face.