He nodded. "The only way to get to the bottom of this was to see it through, so I allowed them to gain closer access to me. Besides, I knew you would want this laptop for Max Shoggi."

She understood the unspoken words. Play with the devil's minions to get to the devil himself. Pierre used the strategy so he could find out who was secretly infiltrating his network. Her organization had employed the same tactic, going after Max Shoggi the past couple of years, slowly squeezing off his well of weapons. Working with a special operations group, T. had spent time underground for two years, and had finally canceled Mad Max's main man, Cash Ibrahim, a few months ago. Then, within her special position in New York, she had frozen the arms dealer's bank accounts, effectively cornering Maximilian Shoggi into desperately looking for something big to replenish his depleted cash flow.

Something like a laptop with a secret high-tech formula would attract his foreign clients. T.'s role in that operation completed, it was Marlena's turn to enter the picture. She would obtain the missing laptop and dangle it as bait to Mad Max. Everything was going smoothly, what with her letting him trail her all the way to D.C. He was even at Pierre's function, making sure he was in line to buy what Marlena Maxwell had to offer. Everything was just fine and dandy, until-she sighed-until she had unwittingly made Gorman jealous of Stash. And because of her, she didn't know where Stash was, or what had happened to him.

She wondered when T. was going to show up. Knowing her, she would send a crew ahead to scout the situation, perhaps disguised as a pa.s.sing fishing boat. Gorman's boat had been anch.o.r.ed there long enough for her location to be pinpointed, so it shouldn't be too long now. She weighed the probabilities of when things might start to happen-before Max Shoggi's arrival, or after. She hoped for the latter. She had conveyed to T. a coded message that she hoped made it clear that the operation was still in progress. If the scouts appeared too soon, they might frighten the arms dealer away.

No time to worry. In the distance the lights of an approaching boat twinkled. One of the men spoke into his walkie-talkie. The grinding stop of an engine. A flurry of activity. She took in a deep breath.

Lena. Steve silently called to the figure standing in the spotlight. From his position, she looked unharmed. He frowned. She and du Scheum were speaking quietly, no sign of antagonism between them as they watched the other vessel. Once in a while, one of those burly guards communicated with a walkie-talkie. How was du Scheum part of this?

Steve checked out the guards through a mini scope, taking in their weapons. When one of the men again said something into his walkie-talkie, he noticed this time that the guy glanced upward toward the spotlight, an unconscious response to the person on the other side.

Steve pointed in that direction, and Hawk nodded his understanding, that someone over there was watching the people illuminated by the beam. Hawk crawled closer to him and indicated three fingers, telling him that the thermal imager showed three observers. He signaled for Steve's decision-pointing at the different options. Upward at the observers. Back toward Marlena and du Scheum, with their guards. Ambush. Or hold.

Steve's gut reaction was to immediately save Marlena, get her out of the way. His instinct told him that the person in charge was one of the three hidden observers, but if he went for Marlena's kidnapper, she was in danger of being surrounded by the guards and whoever was coming over from the other boat, effectively stopping his plans. On the other hand, if he took down her guards where she was now, someone up there would just use them as target practice.

Looming up silently behind them, Dirk and Cuc.u.mber slithered next to them. They communicated silently, making sure everything was in order. Reaching a decision, Steve consulted Hawk with finger and hand signals. His cousin nodded in agreement, and the team set their watches. Parting ways, they merged with the shadows of the boat.

One target down. Up the stairwell. Two down. Steve reached the top. He sheathed away his bloodied Bowie, adjusted the safety on his weapon. Voices drifted toward him.

"Don't let her out of your sight. She's very good at what she does, and I don't want anything to go wrong. Make sure the deal is done. The moment Maximilian Shoggi gets off, out of sight, I want her and du Scheum eliminated. Her first. Don't give her a chance to move, do you hear?"

Steve heard the soft acknowledgment from a walkie-talkie. He backed off, then turned away from the doorway. No time. His heart was thumping somewhere in his belly. Someone out there had just received orders to kill Lena. And he wasn't out there. He wasn't anywhere close to her. Suddenly the same stairs he had just climbed seemed to have too many steps.

Chapter Twenty-three.

M arlena smiled at Mad Max Shoggi. She let him kiss her hand. She told him she forgave him for trying to scare her with those threatening phone calls, and that she was glad he'd won the bidding war for the item in the end. After all, he was missing his suave right-hand man, Cash Ibrahim, and he wasn't used to dealing with such minor details as middlemen. She omitted the fact that he had T. to thank for the loss of his man Ibrahim a few months ago; that was another story.

Gorman had promised to release Stash after she had finished transacting this piece of business for him. Of course, she didn't believe he would actually keep his word, but she did know that he wanted the transfer of the laptop to be successful. Someone like Gorman didn't like being duped because he prided himself on being the master of double-cross.

She had intrigued him because of her own deceptive exploits. She felt his desire that had now changed into a perverse delight in pitting himself against her skill. There was nothing funny about having her life snuffed out while her opponent played cat-and-mouse with her, and Marlena didn't intend to walk around in this maze waiting to be rescued.

Once upon a time she had stood beside Pierre du Scheum and watched him negotiate deals with tough opponents, who had gone away trying to figure out how a man who talked with poetic softness defeated them. Relatively speaking, she had learned at the knee of a master, and it was surreal to have him return the favor tonight. He stood by and observed. With his international background, he was the a.s.surance to people like Max Shoggi that there was nothing nefarious with the deal at hand.

Gorman understood this, and that was why Pierre was there with her. But he didn't know that she and Pierre had a history that went way back, that they had their own body language and signals. So she had the advantage there. But would she have time? The moment Max Shoggi returned to his boat, Gorman had no further use for her.

She handed the suitcase full of money to one of the guards. At the last moment, she let go before he could reach for it. His body came in front of hers as he reflexively bent to pick it up.

In those few seconds Marlena's mind barely registered the unmistakable blossoming red on the taller man's chest, as he fell forward, before her trained body jumped into action. That bullet had been meant for her. Instantaneously she turned and shoved Pierre into the other guard. Pierre didn't even make a sound, just tangled with the bigger man.

Diving onto the deck next to the downed guard, she reached for the automatic weapon he had dropped when he was shot. There was no sound as her executioner fired another shot at her, hitting the dead guard next to her again. It went in with a sickening implosive thud; the body jerked violently, pushing the weapon farther away. Marlena went after it again. Another bullet thumped into the body. Her fingers curled around the handle. Pain shot up her arm. She cursed.

The air exploded in a roar of showering gla.s.s. Someone had shot at the spotlight, plunging everything into semidarkness. Still half lying on the deck, Marlena blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the sudden change. She found her fingers curled around the trigger of the weapon, but she hadn't fired off a shot.

Whoever was shooting at her must also adjust to the sudden darkness. This was her chance to get cover. Using one arm to push up, she rose to her knees. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the glint of metal. Pierre. She swerved and pulled the trigger.

"Run for cover!" she yelled to Pierre as dark figures suddenly materialized from several different directions. Running herself, she reached into her right pocket. A figure jumped out in front. Before she could shoot, someone leaped into her from the right, and she fell down again. To her disgust, she couldn't keep her a.s.sailant from using the momentum to roll them like bowling b.a.l.l.s across the deck. Whoever it was knew exactly where to stop, because they ended up behind a pillar, with her trapped under a muscular body.

Her breath knocked out of her, Marlena looked up at the man still on top of her, and saw the glint of familiar dark eyes in the camouflaged face. She forgot to breathe. Stash!

She grabbed him by the hair, pulled his face down. His mouth was hard and warm. Salty. And he dared to put his tongue into her mouth. Only when she went for his throat did he release her. "You're not Stash," she accused.

"No, ma'am," the stranger said, and rolled over, out of her grasp.

"'c.u.mber! Take out anyone who comes down. We have a sniper out there." Steve didn't wait for Cuc.u.mber's response as he ran past the large man toward the stern.

"Not easy with that beam on, Steve," Cuc.u.mber called after him.

Steve didn't reply. He remembered all the positions of those on board the boat shown by the thermal imager. He would bet anything that the sniper was the figure at the top to the right, on the leeward side of the boat.

From his angle he saw Marlena fall down with the guard, and fear lent him even more speed. "Cover me!" he said to Dirk.

"I'm covering Hawk. Leave the girl to him, Steve. Get the sniper. The spotlight's going to kill them out there."

Steve glanced up toward the high beam and watched it explode like mini fireworks, blinding him for a second. There was a momentary silence as everyone seemed frozen by the unexpected darkness. Blinking and adjusting his eyes to the deck lights, Steve turned and started to climb the steel ladder, heading for the sniper from behind.

h.e.l.l was breaking loose below him, the loud popping echoing upward from the live exchange of weapons. The sniper had used a silencer, but Hawk and the others were now involved in their own battle. Steve kept looking up, even as his mind kept seeing Marlena stumbling down over and over. He knew that Hawk would get to her, no matter what.

His target had his back to him, hunched over the railings on the protective side of the boat, away from the light wind, motionless as he followed the action below him. Steve silently thanked whoever had shot out the spotlight. From up there, Hawk and everyone else would have been easy pickings for the sniper. The man lifted the weapon, sighting someone below.

Cutting loose one of the ropes that were part of the brails, Steve swung onto the landing with a soft thud and rolled, weapon ready. The man turned with one practiced move and had his semiautomatic pointing at Steve. Steve stared at the man, who unblinkingly returned his glare. They were deadlocked, weapons pointing at each other.

"You're not surprised," the man said.

"You gave yourself away with those kills," Steve told him. "Both dead with the same precise shot in the middle of the forehead. Both just before they were caught. I knew you would have a military background. A simple Triple I background check confirmed my suspicions."

"He always did underestimate you," the man said quietly, the shadows hiding his expression, "but it's not my job to tell the boss what to think and how to do his business."

"I know you and Gorman went way back, but why did you agree to kill for him?"

"He saved my daughter's life, and I owed him. He called in the favor."

"Don't do this," Steve warned as he flexed his finger on the trigger. "You've already killed two other people for him. Isn't that enough payback?" There was a pause as he pressed on, "I know about his saving your life in a war. This isn't a life-and-death situation, and you aren't saving his life now. Come on, man. I don't know about his helping your daughter, but he even had you kill his half brother. Is that the kind of favor you thought you were paying back?"

"His half brother?"

Steve knew he had a chance now. "Yes. Cunningham is Gorman's half brother. That's how he had so much influence in and out of NRL, how he knew about the laptop, how he planned with his half brother until Gorman decided that he was expendable. I don't have time to talk about this, Birman. Put down the d.a.m.n weapon!"

"I can kill you," Birman said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but you won't live to jump for joy," Steve replied coldly. "And, by the way, I have backup just behind you."

"You're bluffing." Birman's voice was taut with confidence. "I turn around and what? You're going to shoot me in the back?"

"One of us is," agreed Steve, "if you want to really test the theory. Right, Cam?"

"s.h.i.t, how did you see me, man?" Cam's voice rose from the narrow catwalk about six feet below.

Steve gave a grim smile, but his eyes never left his target. A weapon was still aimed at him, after all. "Your teeth, man. Every time you chew that gum of yours, your teeth show. What do you say, Birman? Weapons down, and let this finish between Gorman and me."

"He'll never let you take him alive," Birman said.

"Then you needn't worry about dying for him," countered Steve. "Either way, I'm not going to let you take out Marlena."

"You'll die for her," Birman stated rhetorically, lowering his weapon a few inches.

Steve kept his weapon up. A marksman was a marksman, after all. "Yes."

"Funny how many men would die for that woman. Pierre du Scheum stood to her left throughout the whole evening, blocking my view most of the time. I thought it was coincidence but now I'm not so sure. Funny what you'd do for people you love."

"Drop the weapon," Steve ordered softly.

His heart thudded as he waited for Birman's decision. It had been a while since he had faced danger head-on, but his grip on his weapon was still steady, his mind in that special place, separated from emotions. He understood that the other man was weighing the same thing. Over a year out of combat action. Long enough to lose the reflex and state of mind of a soldier.

He didn't think. Just reacted. The glint of Birman's ring caught the light as his fingers moved. Steve fired his weapon without any hesitation, and the other man crumpled.

"Not a SEAL, man, never a SEAL," Steve told the injured man as he stood over him. "Not a STAR Force SEAL. We're a standing and ready force, and we're always prepared."

He crouched down. It was never easy to fire a weapon at a fellow human being, but Birman had made the choice when he could have surrendered. Steve felt regret, but no pity. The man had murdered two people for money and would have killed Marlena, too.

"He's all yours, Cam. I'm heading down."

"Ten-four." Cam climbed up from the catwalk. "I'll take care of things up here now. Is he dead?"

"Not yet."

"How did you know he was going to fire at you?"

"You don't wear a wedding ring when you're in the sniper business. In this case, it's you who's gone rusty, Birman."

Before Steve stood up, the sniper pulled at his arm, groaning as he did so. Their eyes met. He gave the same nod he always did, then closed his eyes. Steve studied him grimly for one more second. Then, he got up and pulled on the metal hook that extended a retractable wire from his nylon belt. He nodded at Cam before strapping it to the rope to rappel down to the deck.

d.a.m.n du Scheum! If he hadn't listened to du Scheum's plan to use Marlena, he wouldn't be here now, without his ability to see everything around him. But that d.a.m.n Frenchman had convinced him that he needed Marlena to negotiate the item since she had already made it known at that function that she had it. Without her the authenticity of the laptop would be questioned. That made sense then, and he had followed du Scheum's advice. He had known that the man was trying to negotiate Marlena's freedom, but he had thought he was in control, that he would show them who finally needed whom.

Now he was standing there like Napoleon watching his Waterloo, hearing the reverberations of gunshots down on the deck. He had an idea who was out there. How did that sailor locate his boat? He clenched one hand, crushing the cigarette he was smoking, barely noticing the sting as the tip of it burned his palm.

He watched as the man responsible for his downfall fell out of nowhere like a spider dropping from the ceiling, hanging by a seemingly invisible thread, shooting and not missing. How could his men miss him? He could see him as clear as the dawn breaking, and his stupid crew seemed to be shooting at nothing. There couldn't be that many intruders on board, could there? From the amount of firepower being used, it sounded like a dozen men. Surely his own well-trained crew could contain a dozen men.

With sudden fury, he turned on his captain and first mate. "We are in the middle of the ocean. How could twelve men get on board and you two not know about it?"

As expected, they didn't have any answer. He struck the first mate, then flexed his arm. He hadn't used violence in a long time. He left that to his minions.

"We have another boat approaching, sir. What are your orders?" The captain was nervous, sweat popping out on his forehead. He looked as if he'd rather be somewhere else.

Drawing out his 9mm from inside his jacket, he pointed it at the captain. "Start the engine and head toward that boat at high speed." When the man hesitated, he c.o.c.ked the weapon. "Ram it. Or you die."

He backed up, kicked the cabin door shut, and locked it. When the captain still didn't make a move, he pointed the weapon at the first mate and pulled the trigger. The man screamed. The captain went pale and started the boat.

"Speed it up!" he ordered, looking at the horizon, at the oncoming boat. Here was something he could see. "Napoleon never backed down." He lit his last cigarette.

Whoever this man was, he'd chosen the perfect spot for cover. They were just inside the doghouse, the protective construction over the entrance from deck level to below decks. This way they could see whether anyone was coming up from behind them. The shooting was sporadic, as if Gorman's crew was confused. She wondered how many there were on board.

"Where's Stash?" Marlena demanded, between bursts of gunfire. She kept glancing at the man a few feet from her. He had Stash's build, maybe a bit stockier, but with the camouflaged streaks on his face, he could easily have been Stash. "And who are you?"

The man emptied his cartridge in one direction, then turned around, his back against the thick canvas on the side of the doghouse. "Your turn," he said, pulling out a cartridge to reload. His eyes gleamed at her in the dark. "Unless all you want to do is kiss."

The guy even talked like him! Marlena took position, firing in the direction where bullets were coming at them. "Where's Stash?" she yelled again, getting impatient. She needed to know that he was safe, before she went after Gorman. "Is he all right?"

He peered to the left and fired his reloaded weapon. There was a howl of pain. "Right now, we have a more immediate problem, lady. Like an unknown number of shooters after us."

"Seven," Marlena informed him. "Five, actually, now that you got one. I took out one before that."

He slanted her a glance again. "Wait here while I get rid of them." When she glared at him, he shrugged and tossed her his weapon. He pulled out two others from behind him. The man obviously thought he was Rambo. He asked, "How fast can you run? Are you as good at dodging bullets as I am at kissing?"

He was trying to scare her. Marlena gave the stranger a mocking grin. "Kissing isn't my only talent," she a.s.sured him, then moved to his side. "There are two behind that stanchion, the other three are to your right. I'll take them out first. They're using semis and we can count the reload patterns, whatever-your-name-is."

This close to him, she could see the corner of his lips quirking. He nodded and said, "Besides kissing, Steve must be giving you sailing lessons, too."

Did he say lessons? Marlena emptied her cartridge, blasting one of the decorative railings to pieces. "Before I kill you, you had better tell me where Stash is and who you are."

The man c.o.c.ked his head. Their counterpart in this shootout was returning fire, so Marlena waited as she watched him mentally count the number of shots coming from each weapon. He lifted his heavier weapon to his shoulder and said to her, "On the count of thirteen, those two will reload and we go after them. Ready?" When she nodded, he said, "I'm Steve McMillan, too, by the way. So you kissed the right guy."

Marlena frowned. Two Steves? She didn't have time to deal with this right now; he had started counting. She yelled at him before they headed out of the doghouse, "But you aren't Kisser of the Millennium Steve, SEAL boy."

Gunshots and the cranking sound of chains and cables drowned out his answer. She didn't wait for him as she disposed of the two men behind the stanchion. Mr. Other Steve had better be taking care of the other three because he was on his own. The boat was moving, so that cranking sound must be the anchor cable being hoisted, and she knew exactly where Gorman was.

There were rubber-suited men everywhere! Or at least it seemed like it, because every time she turned at the sound of gunfire, there were Gorman's crewmen being rounded up like cattle. She was pretty sure they were SEAL commandos now. Only they would look this good in rubber. That big one over there looked like he could take down the whole crew himself. Well, let them handle these guys. She wanted Gorman for herself.

To her relief, the big intimidating guy seemed to know her and stepped aside, allowing her to pa.s.s. She was afraid that he would shoot her. Well, T. must have briefed these guys.

That imposing cabin door was nothing against the firepower that Mr. Other Steve had given her. It took only one shot. The kickback almost had her on her a.s.s. She didn't have time to admire the destructive beauty of her handiwork, but instead peered in, expecting return fire. Sure enough, she quickly retreated when she saw Gorman. The bullet whizzed past her, hitting the wall harmlessly.

"Give it up, Gorman," she called, putting one hand in her jacket pocket. "It's just you and me now. Isn't that what you want?"

There was a loud spray of bullets and a crash from inside. She muttered a short curse and peered in again. Someone had smashed through one of the windows and landed on top of the other occupant. Gorman wasn't paying any attention to her as he seemed determined to jam the steering wheel a certain way. Here was her chance. She ran at her captor. He turned, gun in hand. She raised hers. Someone pulled her by the ankle, tripping her, and Gorman's shot missed by a couple of feet. She pounded a fist on the floor in frustration. d.a.m.n it. She would have gotten Gorman first, the idiot.

She clenched her hand around the special ballpoint pen in her hand and yelled, "I don't want him dead, you idiot. He has one of my men."

She looked up to see Mr. Other Steve wrestling with Gorman, who was no match for this kind of tussle. She had the satisfaction of seeing her enemy getting the daylights punched out of him. There was a painful-sounding crack to the jaw. Gorman pa.s.sed out.