“Quickly now,” Ridgeway urged as he helped Rebecca to her feet.

She followed Ridgeway uncertainly through the galley and into the main cabin.

“You’d better crawl under that table,” Ridgeway said, pointing to the massive teak slab that afforded the cabin’s only ballistic protection.

As soon as she was safely under the table, Ridgeway spun and made for the after cabin. The hatch there would afford him a clear shot at anyone on deck.

Seth had barely started toward the after cabin when the roof once again exploded inward with another burst of automatic weapons fire. Ridgeway fell to the floor and crouched in the darkened passageway.

Slugs continued to slam through the deck. Through one of the many ragged bullet holes above him Ridgeway saw what he thought was the figure of a man. He sighted along the barrel of his Smith & Wesson and began to squeeze, when suddenly he heard a muffled cry of pain from Rebecca. Ridgeway glanced under the table. She had not pulled her right leg completely underneath the heavy teak slab. A dark red stain spread across her trousers.

Ridgeway fired upward and then clambered over to her side. Behind him, an answering burst of slugs stitched a tight Crosshatch in the foam beneath the fire extinguisher. Ridgeway raised the leaf of the teak table and gently shifted Rebecca’s leg until it was entirely shielded.

“Don’t worry,” Ridgeway said. “We’ll get you out of this and to a hospital.” Ridgeway started to crawl out from under the table when a furious blast of slugs shredded the carpeting less than an inch from his face.

“Damnit!” Ridgeway shouted, “that’s fucking enough!” He rolled out from under the table and fired three quick shots. One of the bullets evidently found its mark… a long shriek of pain cut through the roaring of the storm.

Wearily Rebecca pushed herself up cm one elbow. She craned her neck and looked at Ridgeway. Her pants leg was now soaked with blood.

“Mr. Ridgeway—”

“Quiet!” he snapped. Getting to his feet he cautiously mounted the steps to the companionway. In one swift movement he cleared away the debris and, with a single shot remaining in his gun, stepped warily out onto the deck. Directly in front of him lay a dead man, two bloodred eyes staring up from a yellow rain suit. On the bow of the boat, thirty feet away, lay another corpse, also in a yellow slicker. Ridgeway heard the slam of a car door and pivoted around to spot two more rain-suited figures running from a dark sedan parked next to the rest rooms.

Feeling the knot in his gut ratchet tighter, Ridgeway barreled down the companionway into the main cabin and bent over Rebecca.

“We’ve got to get out of here… more coming.” She took hold of Ridgeway’s hand and crawled painfully out from under the table.

“But… how?” Rebecca stuttered. “I can’t swim… there’s only one way off the dock.”

“My tender,” Ridgeway said. “Skiff with an outboard.” Making their way onto the deck, Ridgeway guided the limping Rebecca to the dock finger that ran alongside the Valkyrie. There, nuzzled into the space between the finger and the Valkyrie’s stern section, was a small white fiberglass skiff. Ignoring the shouts behind him, Seth fell to his knees, and pulled the skiff closer to the dock. So engrossed was he in his task that he did not hear the muted reports of silenced weapons.