Still maintaining his grin, Ridley stepped over to the rail and stared with flat eyes at the bubbles coming to the surface. “Someone taking a swim, Miss Mechadi?”

“If you’re so curious, jump in and see for yourself.” Carina could feel her temper getting away from her but couldn’t help it.

“I got a better idea,” Ridley said. He picked the microphone off the deck, clicked it on, and talked to Austin.

Ridley’s grin grew even wider when he saw increased bubble activity on the surface. His hand unclipped a hand grenade on his belt and hefted it like a baseball pitcher ready to make a throw. Carina tried to snatch the microphone, but Ridley backhanded her across the mouth with a blow that drew blood. The other men laughed at Ridley’s violent response, and didn’t see the turquoise flicker of movement in the sea until it was too late.

The submersible shot toward the surface like a breaching whale. The front bumper slammed into the powerboat with the force of a battering ram.

The speedboat rose up at a crazy angle. The man at the wheel let out a startled yelp as he was catapulted into the air with his arms flailing. He hit the water, went down several feet, and struggled back to the surface, yelling for someone to help him. His weapon slipped from his hands.

THE SUBMERSIBLE had bounced backward after ramming the speedboat, and Zavala fought to keep the sub under control.

Austin saw legs thrashing in a cloud of foam at the surface. An object was falling through the water. He launched himself out of the cockpit and grabbed the plummeting machine pistol.

He lowered himself back into the cockpit and jerked his thumb toward the surface.

RIDLEY WAS a professional soldier. Quickly getting over his surprise, he pointed at the figure in the water

“Get that idiot!” he barked.

His men slung their weapons on their shoulders and threw a ring-shaped life preserver to their comrade. Ridley clutched the grenade in his hand, ready to drop it over the side like an improvised depth charge. He was probing the water with his cold eyes when he heard what sounded like a car horn. He whipped his head around.

“Jeezus!” he gasped.

A turquoise Corvette convertible with a bashed-in bumper was skimming across the water toward Mustapha’s boat, Zavala at the wheel. Austin rested the machine pistol on the windshield frame and let off a few bursts, deliberately aiming high.

Ridley’s men slipped their weapons off their shoulders, dropped them onto the deck, and threw their hands in the air, leaving the man in the water to fend for himself. Ridley slowly brought his hands up.