The twelve stepped down into the Gahjaes through hatches on their upper decks, giving each boat an infiltration team of four. Their Chinese marine night camouflage was lightweight, with patterns of black and gray. The loose-fitting jackets left room for them to wear their body armor without restricted movement. They wore ballistic helmets, balaclavas, and flip-down night-vision goggles.

The men were all armed to the teeth. They carried the TP9s they had used to take the Stalwart. They carried Glock 19 Gen4 handguns with flashlights and laser sights. They all had pouches filled with smoke and explosive throwables. Most carried People’s Liberation Army–issue QJZ-39 lightweight heavy machine guns, several had brought Beretta 40 mm projectile launchers, and one man in each team bore a Hawk Type 97 semiautomatic combat shotgun, manufactured in China like the machine guns.

Jochi lowered himself aboard the second boat, Niu the third. Grigor waited until the rest were inside and then slipped into the first boat in line. He had the same uniform and gear as the others. Additionally, he carried the dagger Jochi had prepared for him, its blade coated with tetrodotoxin—one of the most lethal poisons known to man. Three milligrams were enough to freeze the muscles that controlled the breathing reflex.

The launch took under ten minutes. With the Gahjaes fully crewed, one of the boat bay operators used a touch screen to open a hatch above the water’s surface. Another touch of his panel and two robotic side brackets locked round the first boat, one on each side of its hull. Articulated like human arms, they moved the boat down the ramp’s keel rollers to the hatch, then gently prodded it into the harbor water.

It slid down beneath the surface and disappeared, followed by the second boat, and then the third.

They turned out of the channel into deep water, following the curve of the island, bearing northeast toward the cove at Kono Beach.

The nine people around the conference table in leather chairs included the entire Net Force contingent, Captain Harper, and a pair of his aides: a lieutenant named Kara Lee and a lieutenant JG named Matt Baylor. A refreshments room had been set up down the hall with coffee, tea, bottled water, muffins, sliced mango and pineapples, and the station cook’s vaunted musubi.

Carmody took about twenty minutes to bring Harper’s group up to snuff. They mostly listened, asking very few questions. It was about two in the morning when he finished.

“So we’re trying to find out what happened to Grigor Malkira, and we’re trying to find out what might be aboard that container ship,” Harper said. “And its purpose.”

“Boiling it all down, yeah,” Carmody said.

“One thing,” Harper said. “How could he have gotten past airport security at this end?”