"They don't know where we are."

Danny looked toward the western sh.o.r.e. It was under a mile away. Both he and Boston could swim that distance, but maybe not Sorina.

And the water would be very, very cold.

"Worse case, that's a life raft up there," said Boston, pointing to a rigid-sided inflatable raft lashed to the side of the superstructure a deck above them. "Or should we take that thing there?"

"That thing" was a lifeboat, which would have to be swung out on its davits. The raft would be easier and less noticeable.

d.a.m.n, Danny thought.

d.a.m.n. Who the h.e.l.l gave us away?

A searchlight from the patrol boat cut across the waves, heading toward the hull of the tanker. Danny motioned for the others to move behind the superstructure, where they couldn't be seen. He kept his post, watching the searchlight move in a slow arc back and forth across the water, cursing to himself and considering his next move.

He'd use the tanker as a shield. Would the patrol boat come up alongside? Or would it put down its own boats to board them?

Not very long ago he had worked with a Navy boarding team. Danny tried to remember their procedures. They'd used only one boat, but they had air support to watch in case anyone tried to run away.

The patrol boat continued toward them, its search beam growing stronger. There must be a place to hide inside the ship, he thought. But what sense would that make if the crew was ready to give them up?

Sorina stood near the rail, her expression as stoic as ever.

"How well do you swim?" Danny asked her.

She shook her head.

"You understand the words?"

"I understand," she told him. "I cannot swim."

The searchlight arced upward, sweeping the bow and then the superstructure.

"All right, get the raft," Danny told Boston. "See if there's some sort of rope with it, something we can use to lower her."

"This is part of your plan?" asked Sorina.

"We're ad-libbing."

Boston climbed up over the catwalk above them, examining the raft and how it was held to the ship.

"Don't throw it over yet," Danny told him. "Wait until I tell you."

He trotted aft, planning-once the patrol boat closed in, it would be harder to see them going over.

The boat's searchlight caught the corner of his eye as he cleared the end of the superstructure. It seemed brighter than any light he'd ever seen, a star exploding in his face.

The searchlight swung upward. Danny thought for a moment that it had somehow caught Boston working on the raft, but of course he was out of view. The light moved to the north, toward another ship.

The patrol boat was headed toward that ship, not theirs.

Danny watched for another minute, making sure.

"All right. We don't need the raft," he yelled to Boston. "Not yet, anyway."

THE TANKER MOVED MORE SLOWLY THAN THE MATE HAD predicted, and it was nearly an hour before they got close enough to the city to see its lights. The Blue Mosque sat on a hill at the tip of the oldest quarter, glowing yellow in the distance, spotlights illuminating its dome and minarets.

A long string of ships sat in the water to the east of the mosque, some resting before moving northward or to the west, others waiting to unload cargo at the docks, which were out of sight beyond the jutting land. A train poked along the sh.o.r.e, heading in the direction of the sultan's palace and the ruins beyond, ferrying workers to their late night jobs and returning others home.

The Indian mate appeared from inside the ship, popping out on deck as if sprung there.

"Time," he said loudly. "Time. You must go."

Boston climbed up and undid the raft, lowering it from a pulley set on the stanchion.

"You are taking our raft?" asked the mate.

"You didn't expect us to swim, did you?" asked Boston.

"Our raft."

Danny stepped over to the mate. "Is this a problem?"

"Yes."

"How much?" said Danny.

"Big."

"That wasn't what I mean." He reached into his pocket and took out a roll of American bills. Quickly, he peeled off five hundred dollar bills and gave them to the mate. "That makes it a small problem, right?"

The man looked embarra.s.sed. "No, big problem. You cannot have the raft. It belongs to the ship. Big trouble if you take it."

The mate tried to give the money back but Danny wouldn't take it. Finally he dropped the bills and they scattered over the deck.

Boston had already gotten the raft into the water. Sorina Viorica was standing nearby, watching the bills flutter away in the wind but saying nothing.

"No-you cannot. No."

"I'm taking the raft," Danny told him.

The mate shook his head.

Enough, thought Danny. He pulled out his pistol.

The Indian moved back, shocked.

"I'm sorry, but I'm taking the raft," Danny told him. "There is no F-ing way we're swimming. Sorina, Boston-go."

The Romanian took hold of one of the ropes and climbed over the rail. Boston followed. The Indian mate continued to stare at Danny, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Thanks for your help," Danny told him, reaching over and grabbing the line. "We appreciate it."

He tucked the pistol into his belt and started down. He hadn't had a chance to put his gloves back on, and the wet rope cut into his palms. After a few feet he considered dropping but stuck with it, hands burning. He felt a hand on his leg and lowered himself into the raft, which bobbed beneath his weight but remained afloat.

"Did you shoot him?" asked Sorina as Danny settled in.

"No, I didn't shoot him."

"You cannot corrupt everyone," she told him.

"I didn't want to corrupt him. I just didn't want you to freeze to death in the water."

Boston started the small outboard at the stern of the raft. The high-pitched sound was so loud, the sides of Danny's head began to vibrate.

Istanbul straddled the Bosporus, its eastern and western precincts connected by bridges and ferries. The train station where they were headed was on the eastern bank. Boston circled to the north, crossing behind the tanker and then heading toward the sh.o.r.e. But as they approached, blue lights appeared on the highway above the water. A police car flashed southward. A moment later another one came north, then pulled off the road almost directly opposite them.

Boston cut the engine. "What do you think, Cap?"

It was unlikely that they were waiting for them, but Danny didn't want to take any chances.

"Let's land on the other side," he said.

"You got it, Cap."

Boston spun the boat around, starting out slowly and then picking up speed. A large cruise ship sat docked to the north on Danny's right as they came across, its deck and cabins a yellow glow against the pale black of the night.

"Bring it into that marina?" Boston asked, leaning forward and shouting in Danny's ear.

"No. Somebody might be watching in there. Go up the sh.o.r.eline a bit, to my right. That way." Danny pointed.

"Probably have some sort of security near that cruise ship."

"Don't get that close. The marina will probably have somebody there too. We want to be in the middle."

Boston found a clump of rocks near what looked like an abandoned field, but that Danny realized was a park when they were about five yards from sh.o.r.e. Despite the cold, a pair of teenage lovers huddled together on one of the benches, oblivious not only to the boat but to the rest of the world.

Sorina hopped out as the raft began to slide sideways back toward the water. Danny jumped out behind her, trotting forward and grabbing her arm.

"I'm not running away," she said. Though she kept her voice soft, she managed to make it sound like a hawk's warning hiss.

"I didn't think you were," Danny told her.

"You don't have to lie, Captain. It doesn't suit you."

Boston, ruck over his back, joined them. By now the two teenagers had broken their embrace and stared at them as they walked past.

"We have to get across," said Danny. "There's a bridge this way."

They began walking, Sorina and Danny in the lead, Boston trailing nonchalantly, the pack over his shoulder. The area mixed small apartment buildings with cl.u.s.ters of commercial buildings in between. They picked their way uphill, following a side street that veered away from their destination, then found themselves in a tangle of streets that were so narrow they would barely rate as alleys back home. A taxi pa.s.sed on the boulevard just as they reached it. Danny started to hail it, then remembered he hadn't gotten any local money yet. It was too late anyway-the driver was already past.

"This way," he said, pointing to the left.

He checked his watch. It was 2105-five minutes past nine. They were supposed to call at 2130.

A block later he spotted a bank. Stoner had given him a credit card to use for a cash advance or whatever incidentals he needed; Danny slipped his hand into his pocket to make sure it was still there.

"Let's see if there's an ATM," he told the others, nudging Sorina toward the street.

Sorina hesitated.

"They have cameras in the machines," she said. "I don't want to get close."

"Right." He hadn't thought of that. "You stay here with Boston."

Inside the bank's vestibule, he slid the card into the machine and began punching the PIN number. Just as he hit Enter he realized he'd used his PIN, not the one Stoner had given him. He cursed himself, then waited for the machine to tell him he had made a mistake.

The screen stayed blank. It seemed to have eaten his card.

Be patient, he told himself, stifling the urge to punch the machine. Just be patient.

Finally the card spit out. Ignoring the Turkish words on the screen, since he had no idea what they said, Danny put the card back into the machine and typed the right PIN. A few seconds later a screen came up, again in Turkish, asking how much money he wanted.

Fortunately, the numbers were familiar. He pressed the largest denomination: a thousand liras.

Boston and Sorina started walking as soon as they saw him come out. Danny trotted to catch up. He suddenly felt cold-the vestibule had been heated.

"Look for a taxi," he told Boston when he got close. "We're behind on time."

Aboard EB-52 Johnson,

over northeastern Romania

2120.

ZEN BANKED THE FLIGHTHAWK NORTHWARD, SKIRTING THE Moldovan border by less than ten feet. There was no way to gauge where the line would have been on the ground, much less in the air, and he knew that the Moldovan air defense radar couldn't spot the Flighthawk if it flew right in front of the dish. But Colonel Bastian would know, and the mission tapes would reveal the incursion. And that's what counted.