He thought of the woman briefly, like a distant memory now. No, you can’t change what I am, Tanya. And I am a killer. It’s what I do. I kill. I do not die. There has been enough dying. Dying is for fools.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

LUMBER LOADING dock D on the southern tip of Miami Harbor received the order to close six hours after the director drafted the recommendation. Three of those hours had been spent chasing down the proper naval authorities, who were evidently indisposed at a convention in Las Vegas. It had taken the port authorities another two hours to implement the orders. In sum total, the ports along the southern tip of Miami closed their doors to business eight hours after the decision had been made to do so.

Not bad for a monolithic bureaucracy. Too slow, considering the stated operational goals of Homeland Security.

During the last two hours of operation at loading dock D, a large converted fishing vessel bearing the name Marlin Watch unloaded the last of her cargo and pulled back out to sea for its return voyage to Panama. No one paid much attention to the unmilled Yevaro log set among the others. It was, after all, just a log.

Thirty minutes after it had been unloaded from the ship, the mid-size log was put aboard an eighteen-wheeled lumber rig with six other imports and transported to the Hayward Lumberyard on the outskirts of Miami proper.

Six hours later, an eighteen-wheel International rumbled into the yard, loaded the log, and left without filing any paperwork.

Farther north a clipper named Angel of the Sea moved steadily up the northeastern coastline of the United States.

Farther south, just entering U.S. waters, another ship, a larger one called the Lumber Lord, steamed up Florida’s eastern coastline.

“HOW MANY?” Abdullah demanded, dropping his empty glass on the desk.

“Eighteen. The men passed the perimeter security line at the base of the cliffs three minutes ago, three groups in single file.”

Abdullah whirled around and slammed his fist onto the desk. “They don’t believe me? They’re attacking?” He glared at the wall map. “Eighteen men, single file—they are professional soldiers. How long until they reach us?”

“An hour, if they move quickly. An hour and a half if they are careful,” Ramón responded.

So then, they were coming for him. Eight years of waiting and now it was happening. The Americans weren’t taking him seriously.

He shuddered, as if a nerve had been touched in his back. But then a nerve had been touched by the heat that rose through his spine. Maybe it was better this way. They would have their guard down and the blasts would rock their smug little world. Even if they did bring him down in the process, they would still feel a little heat.