SIX HOURS after Shannon and Tanya fell through the tube into the Orinoco River, three large Yevaro logs followed them. The mountain spit them out like torpedoes and they rushed through muddy waters toward the coast. They reached the Orinoco Delta and bobbed out to sea.

A clipper bearing the name Angel of the Sea plucked the first log from the ocean at eight that evening. The log sat snug, among twenty other similar exotic logs bound for the coastal port of Annapolis, twenty miles from Washington, D.C., thirty miles from the CIA headquarters in Langley. Angel of the Sea cut north at a steady forty-knot clip. Barring any unforeseen storms, she would arrive at her destination within thirty hours.

Marlin Watch, bound for Miami, hauled the second log from the waters an hour later. This log contained a silver sphere that consisted of nothing more than a small ball of plutonium. Enough to set off a Geiger counter if one were run along the log’s surface, but otherwise it was harmless.

Two miles behind her, the Lumber Lord stowed the third log in its forward hold and steamed north behind the other two ships. Captain Moses Catura leaned over his map in the pilothouse and spoke to Andrew, who stood beside him.

“Two degrees to port, Andrew. That should compensate for the winds.” He looked up into the darkness ahead and swore under his breath. It was the first time he had taken the freighter north on such short notice, but Ramón had insisted. And for a single log! They must have a million dollars of cocaine packed into the tree.

“All set, Captain,” Andrew said. “We should make good time if the weather holds.”

Moses nodded. “Let’s hope so. I don’t like the feel of this one. The sooner we get these logs off-loaded the better.”

“They’re paying well. More than we make in a year. It’s one log—what could go wrong with a single log?” Andrew referred to the $100,000 they were being paid for the run. In Senegal where his family waited, his share would make him a wealthy man.

“Maybe, Andrew. Did you know that the Coast Guard is larger than South Africa’s entire navy? They’re not friendly to drug runners.”

Andrew chuckled. “We’re not drug runners. We have no idea how that log got on board. We’re stupid sailors.” He turned to face the darkness ahead with the captain. “Besides, this will be our last run. It’s fitting that we make so much on our last run.”

Moses nodded at the thought.

Below him the Yevaro log they had plucked from the water slowly dried. In its belly a silver sphere sat dormant, housing a black ball cradling enough force to vaporize the seven-thousand-ton ship with a single cough.

JAMAL TURNED his back on the busy street and spoke into the phone. “Hello, Abdullah.”

Silence.