O’Shay climbed out of the hatch, retching from the chlorine. He dove after Bell, his face a mask of hatred. “I’ll kill you.”

The Holland’s propeller dragged him into its spinning blades. The river current whisked his torso past Bell. The gangster’s head raced after it, glaring at the detective, until the river yanked it under.

The Holland submarine rolled quite suddenly on its side and slid beneath the waves. Isaac Bell thought he was next. He battled to stay afloat, but he was weakened by cold and rendered breathless by the poison gas. A wave curled over him, and his mind suddenly filled with his memory of the day he met Marion and the floor had trembled beneath his feet. His eyes were playing tricks on him. Her thick, lustrous hair was piled atop her head. One long, narrow strand fell nearly to her waist. She looked dainty but strong as a willow, and she was reaching for him.

She gripped his hand. He tightened his own grip and pulled himself to the surface. He looked up into the grinning face of a bearded sailor.

THE NEXT ISAAC BELL KNEW, he was sprawled on his back in the bottom of a wooden boat. Beside him lay Captain Lowell Falconer. The Hero of Santiago looked as beat-up as Bell felt, but his eyes were bright.

“You’ll be O.K., Bell. They’re taking us into sick bay.”

It hurt to talk and was hard to breathe. His throat was burning. “Better warn the salvage boys that the Holland has a live Wheeler Mark 14 still in its tube.”

“Still in its tube, thanks to you.”

The launch bumped against a dock.

“What are those lights?” asked Bell. The sky was white with them.

“Hull 44 is going to double shifts.”

“Good.”

“ ‘Good’?” Lowell Falconer echoed. “The most you can say for yourself is ‘good’?”

Isaac Bell thought hard. Then he grinned. “Sorry about your yacht.”

ON DISTANT SERVICE

ON DISTANT SERVICE

TEN YEARS LATER

NORTH SEA, GERMAN COAST

FOG BLINDED THE GERMAN SOLDIERS HUNTING THE American spy.

Oozing from the Friesland peat bogs into the morning air, it crowded under the trees and covered the flat ground. It was supposed to last until the sun burned it off midmorning. But it grew thin early when a salt wind from the North Sea roamed ashore. Isaac Bell saw the daylight penetrate, revealing fields crisscrossed by ditches, trees stationed along fence lines, and in the distance a boathouse by a canal. A boat would come in handy now.

Bell saw his own face on a wanted poster nailed to the boathouse.