Carmody ran on. He heard another explosive blast from the beach, then the chop of heavy machine guns. Harper was doing his dance with the Gahjaes out on the water.

Another few yards now. Carmody had nearly reached the station when the pair he’d seen on its west side squirted around the angle of the wall, firing away with their rifles. But Schultz tossed a grenade, and it banged and they spilled to the ground.

Carmody glanced over to his right, at the far end of the building. He hadn’t been able to see whether there were men on that side. But he figured there would be and estimated he only had a couple of seconds.

“Dix.” He tapped his goggles with two fingers, pointing to his eyes, then motioned to the right with his rifle. Dixon nodded, and they waited.

He’d guessed correctly. Two more guys in camouflage came hooking around the corner. Carmody could see one of them about to lob something. He and Dixon opened fire, aiming high, above any possible body armor. A spray of bullets disintegrated their heads.

Then they were at the back door, Dixon beside him on the right, Schultz and Musil sprinting up on his left through the acrid nitrite smoke of the grenade.

Carmody looked at the door. It hung partway open. The lock plate had been chewed up by what he guessed was a shotgun round.

He signaled again. Schultz crowded against the building wall on the opposite side of the entry, Musil close behind him. On his side it was Dixon and himself.

Schultz tossed a flashbang through the door. It popped loudly inside the building. A second later Musil ran in with his rifle outthrust. Schultz followed, then Dixon.

Carmody was stepping through behind the others when he heard something behind him. Footsteps. Rapid, scuffling, more than one set.

He spun around, looking toward the east end of the building.

Two men were racing away from the facility. Probably they’d left through a side door. But how they got out didn’t matter. They were out. Running across the lot toward the low, rocky slope climbing up to the two-lane.

One was tall, bulky, built like an ox. He recognized the other at once. The thin, long arms. The legs like stalks.

Malkira.

Carmody gave Dixon a heads up over the RoIP, told him to take over for him, and hurried off after them.

On board the Ghost, Harper was thinking the Gahjae’s crew had taken his bait hook, line and sinker. Their torpedoes were right on course. But they couldn’t hurt what they couldn’t hit. High off the water on its wing struts, his craft was hovering well above the fish as they shot ineffectually through its cushion of foam into the darkness.

Meanwhile, the Gahjae had throttled back in the water to release them. Making it eminently vulnerable to his own torpedoes.