Kung Chong raised a pair of binoculars with one hand and peered at the passengers huddled in the dual cockpits. "I believe we have an unforeseen problem, Lo Han."

"We've had nothing but problems for the past twelve hours. What is it now?"

"I can't be certain, but it appears the occupants of the boat are immigrants."

"Impossible, the only aliens brought ashore are either confined, on their way inland or dead."

"I could be mistaken."

"Let's hope you are," said Lo Han. "Can you fly close enough to identify their nationality?" asked Lo Han.

"For what purpose? For me to eliminate the devil responsible for the destruction of Qin Shang's yacht and the infiltration into the alien holding cells, those who are with him must die too. What difference if they are Chinese or American?"

"You are right, Kung Chong," acknowledged Lo Han. "Do whatever you must to protect the enterprise."

"I shall give orders to launch the attack."

"Be certain there are no spectators in the vicinity."

"The river is clear of recreational craft, and the shorelines are empty of people."

"Very well, but keep a sharp eye. We cannot afford eyewitnesses."

"As you command," said Kung Chong. "But time is running out. If we do not destroy the boat and those in it within the next few minutes, all opportunity will be lost."

"Why didn't he fire?" asked Julia, squinting against the glare from the morning sun on the surface of the river.

"A hitch in their assassination plans. They thought I worked alone. He's reporting to his boss that I'm loaded to the gunwales with passengers."

"How far to Grapevine Bay?"

"A good twelve or thirteen miles."

"Can't we pull onto shore and take cover in the trees and rocks?"

"Not a practical idea," he said. "All they'd have to do is land in the nearest clearing and hunt us down. The river is our only chance, slim as it is. You and the others keep your heads down. Let them wonder where I picked up a load of passengers. If they're looking closely they'll spot the folds on your eyelids and realize you're not the descendants of European ancestry on a picnic."

The venerable Chris-Craft covered another two miles of river before the lead ultralight dipped low over the river and increased speed, its nose aimed menacingly at the runabout. "No more peaceful intentions," said Pitt calmly. "He means business this time. How good are you with a handgun?"

"My qualifying scores on the range are higher than most of the male agents I know," she said as matter-of-factly as if she was describing her latest hairdo.

He took the bundle from under his seat, unwrapped the towel and handed her his old automatic pistol. "Ever shoot a Colt forty-five?"

"No," she answered. "When required, most of us at INS pack a Beretta forty-caliber automatic."