It was simple multiplication. The Gahjaes could travel nearly sixty miles an hour at the land rate. About thirty submerged. And thirty was slower than he preferred. But what they lost in velocity would be gained in stealth.

Grigor didn’t want to stick around the ship. All along he had thought himself well ahead of the people investigating the Stalwart. But he’d also thought Musil would come to the bungalow alone. He had prepared for the eventuality that he wouldn’t as a precaution. But only as a precaution.

He had been wrong about Musil, misjudged him, very possibly taken him too lightly. The truth, though, was that he was more concerned about the madman who had crashed through the bungalow’s window. Literally crashed his plan. Although, the truth was there was no planning for someone like that. No fooling himself about him. Grigor had seen the look in his eyes. It told him who he was dealing with. He would find his way here before too long. Which meant he had to move quickly to outpace him.

“I want to wash up,” he said. “Change into fresh clothes. Get something to eat. Can you arrange it?”

“Yes. I’ll see to everything.”

Grigor nodded. “Also, I need some first aid supplies.”

“Are you all right?”

“I have a cut,” Grigor said. “It’s nothing.”

Jochi eyed him a moment.

“The crew cabins are on the other side of the bulkhead,” he said and nodded aft. “You can use mine for privacy.”

He turned and walked along the line of fast boats toward the steel bulkhead door. Grigor followed, his side pulsing, the taste of copper on his tongue. With Jochi’s back to him, he wiped his arm across his mouth and gave it a secretive glance.

There was blood on it.

20

April 19–20, 2024
Hawaii

The Falcon descended into Kalaeloa Airport shortly before one in the morning. The tower had directed DeBattista to an extension situated at the far southwestern edge of the island and reserved for the Fourteenth District Coast Guard. The fleet of aircraft on the tarmac, all white with orange bands, consisted of several Ocean Sentry medium-range patrol planes, a long-range sub-chaser, a Lockheed HC-130H search and rescue aircraft, an MH-65 Dolphin helicopter, a Hercules transport and some amphibious water jumpers.

Three JLTVs were waiting near the runway with their lights on, a group of men and women in blue uniforms standing outside them. Carmody climbed down the ladder ahead of the others, looked around for the one with five stripes on his insignia, and saw him approach with his arm extended.

“I’m Captain Aaron Harper,” he said. “Welcome to Oahu. Hell of a sweet plane you’ve got there.”

Carmody shook his hand.

“Beats flying coach,” he said. “You and your people look plenty awake for this hour.”