Now, the Zodiac was approaching a wide beach that rose gradually to a ridge of sand dunes. The waves grew higher and closer together, and Mehmet reduced their speed to half. The old Russian sailor had said that the base was underground, near an abandoned scientific station, and they would have to search for telltale air vents. Kaela wiped the water from her sunglasses and squinted toward the grassy hills, but saw no sign of human presence. The countryside was bleak and desolate, and she began to wonder if they had bitten off more than they could chew. The bean counters at U.M. frowned at unproductive expenditures.

“See anything?” Lombardo shouted over the buzz of the outboard.

“No billboards, if that's what you mean.”

“Maybe this isn't the right place.”

“Captain Kemal says this is it, and I have the map from the Russian.”

“How much did you pay that scam artist for the map?”

“One hundred dollars.”

Lombardo looked as if he had sucked on a lemon. “Wonder how many times he's sold the same map.”

Kaela pointed toward land. “That high spot over there looks promising.”

Thut!

Kaela jerked her head back at the weird sound. Then she saw the ragged hole that had opened in the rubberized fabric a foot to the right of her head. She thought one of the many patches on the inflatable's skin had popped off from the beating the Zodiac was taking, and she turned to tell Mehmet - but the Turk had risen from his kneeling position, an odd expression on his face, his hand clutched to his chest. Then he crumpled as if the air had gone out of him and pitched overboard. With no hand to steady the tiller, the boat went broadside and was caught by an incoming wave. The breaker lifted the boat at a sharp angle, then it was caught by another wave and flipped over, spilling the passengers into the sea.

The sky whirled over Kaela's head, then cold water shocked her body. She went under a few feet, and when she came up, sputtering, to the surface, the lights had gone out. She was under the overturned raft. She ducked her head and came up in the open. Lombardo's bald head bobbed up, then Dundee surfaced.

“Are you okay?” she yelled, swimming closer.

Lombardo spit out the remnants of his cigar. “What the hell happened?”

“I think Mehmet was shot.”

“Shot? Are you sure?”

“He grabbed his chest and went over the side.” With Lombardo following, she swam over to the front of the boat. “This is where the first bullet hit a second before the second one got Mehmet.”

“Jeez!” Lombardo said, sticking his finger in the hole.