"Look. Give me forty-eight hours, okay? Long enough to check out Khalid's ship and his house." He glanced over at her. "What is it?"

Tally had her chin resting on her hands and she shook her head as she stared at the email on the screen. "He's dead. Abu-Bakr is dead. I imagine we'll be wrapping up here soon and heading back to Montreal.

She looked up at him, and for a moment he thought her eyes were saying that she was sorry.

"No... d.a.m.n!" He dropped his knife and fork with a clatter and went over to read Wisebaum's email. "You know... f.u.c.k it. I didn't see that message. Was out trying to put that f.u.c.king brick on the boat, wasn't I? Lock the door. If I'm not back by dawn, call Derek and tell him whatever you like. It won't matter then."

38.

The mist had thickened to a soupy fog, as Mac had hoped, m.u.f.fling the crash of waves against the rock wall of the marina and reducing visibility to a few metres. Ice in the upper atmosphere had created a halo around the moon. The night had cooled considerably, which helped clear his head. Better still, the marina was almost deserted. Most people had stayed indoors, and the few who had ventured out in the cool conditions had retreated inside. Mac crouched down in some thick foliage at the start of the seawall. Now all he had to do was wait until the fog was thick enough.

An hour pa.s.sed. Two. He closed his eyes, trying to relieve the headache. When he opened them again, the lights on the deck of the Princess Aliya had been switched off, leaving only a few spotlights at key places. He glanced at his watch: 12:04 a.m. Time to move. This might be his one and only chance.

He stood up and stretched his cramped legs and tightened the straps of his ankle sheath, checking that the knife was secure, then put his daypack on his back and hurried along the walkway toward the yacht. The moist, salty air condensed like sweat on his face. The Princess Aliya loomed up ahead through the mist. He crept behind the pallets and containers that cluttered the dock as he searched for the best place to sneak aboard.

To protect the vessel from b.u.mping against the dock were several giant foam fenders, each about the size of a VW Beetle. Satisfied there was n.o.body in sight, he ran and jumped onto one of them, grabbing a rope to stop from bouncing into the water. He swung his leg up, but the glossy white hull was slippery and he lost his footing. Using the strength of a rock-climber, he hauled himself up the fender rope until he eventually managed to swing over the rail onto the lower deck.

He quickly surveyed the surroundings. Listened. Just the sound of the water lapping against the hull and the low throbbing of the ship's auxiliary engine. Standing on fibregla.s.s privacy shutters, he stretched up towards the rail on the deck above. Just out of reach. He jumped, grasping the lip and pulling his body up onto the next deck.

Above him came a new sound of music and female laughter. The women's quarters, he a.s.sumed. There should be no other men here. Crawling below the windows, he peered through a crack in the shutters. The three Khalid women he'd seen earlier in the day were dressed in colourful harem costumes, and Sheriti was leading the other two in a belly dance routine. There was no sign of any other girls. He a.s.sumed any captive women would be locked up, probably down in the cargo hold well away from Khalid's other women. He needed to find a way inside.

He wiped the moisture off his forehead and moved back towards the stem, where the barrels holding the life rafts were located. Unclipping the clamps on one of the barrels, he took off the daypack and activated the GPS before concealing it inside. Provided they didn't routinely check the life rafts or replace them, the GPS should remain undiscovered.

As he closed the barrel, he heard male voices coming up the stairs. Move! He s.n.a.t.c.hed the daypack and raced forward until he found a steel beam he could squeeze behind. s.h.i.t! He'd forgotten to secure the clamps! He held his breath. His pulse was pounding in his neck. If they noticed the clamps were undone they might find the GPS and then he'd be f.u.c.ked. The men came closer, then stopped. It sounded like there were two of them. They'd stopped to peer in the window, as he had done. After a few moments they knocked. Light streamed out onto the deck as the door opened. Music blared out and the misty air swirled.

A woman giggled and spoke above the noise. "Ah, Seth, just in time! You and a.s.sad can watch the performance we have planned for His Highness!"

"Of course we would like to watch," Seth replied.

More giggling, and a moment later the door closed, plunging the deck into darkness again.

It occurred to Mac that possibly Seth may have been disguised under the burqa at the Madinat earlier in the day, which would mean that the other man, a.s.sad, may have been the one who had knocked him out. Had they seen his photos? It didn't seem as though they had arranged any additional security on the Princess Aliya. But then, if the relationship with Sheriti was a secret, they wouldn't be able to explain why they were meeting like that.

He needed to get down into the hold, where the plans of the vessel had shown him Sophia and Danni might be being held. Nothing would stop him now. He took his knife from its sheath. If Ziad would only make an appearance.

He hurried back and secured the clamps. Keeping low, he crept down the stairs. Three crewmembers were standing at the rail smoking. Retreating back up, he went around starboard and swung over the rail, dropping the short distance onto the privacy shutters, then climbing down until he could jump onto the lower deck.

He hurried to the bulkhead door. It was locked. He swore under his breath. Now he'd have to wait until one of the crew came along. Then, as he looked around for a place to hide, he realised the door was not actually locked. The handle had a double locking system designed to prevent accidental opening, similar to the rear door of a truck. He flipped the safety and the handle turned.

Inside, another flight of stairs led down to a pa.s.sage on the level of the cargo hold. The rumbling of the engine grew louder as he raced forward, trying to remember the plans he had studied. He was looking for the door that would take him to where the secure cabins, as the plan had called them, were located. Prison cells. He came up to two doors of polished timber, one leading forward that would take him to the main cargo hold, the other towards the port side and the cells. Both were locked. d.a.m.n! He would have to wait for someone with keys. Halfway along the pa.s.sage was a closet with cleaning gear and a fire extinguisher. He waited in the darkness.

He didn't have to wait long.

After a few minutes he heard the bulkhead door open and close. Two voices. As they came closer, Mac suddenly opened the door and slammed the fire extinguisher into the first man's face. He fell to the floor, lay still. The second man, confused for a moment, began to reach for his weapon. Mac swung the extinguisher again and this man also collapsed.

Mac took the keys he found in the first man's pocket and ran to what he hoped was the correct door. He tried several keys until one unlocked it. Inside was another corridor with a series of doors on either side. Each had a light switch on the outside, and a small window panel that allowed one to check inside the cells. He switched on the light in the first cell.

Empty.

They were all empty and clean. No personal items, nothing. He leaned his head against his forearm as he tried to decide what to do. There was nothing in the cells except bunk beds, a toilet and basin. Nothing to show that anyone had been imprisoned here. Yet he felt in his gut that Sophia had been here. The Princess Aliya was a modern-day slave ship, of that he was sure. He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to scream out his sense of helplessness. He fought to slow his breathing and wiped the sweat off his face with his arm.

He would find Ziad and force him to reveal where they'd taken Sophia.

He stepped over the two unmoving crewmen and tentatively opened the bulkhead door. Hurrying to the side, he climbed over the rail. He reached up and grasped the rail of the deck above. But as he pulled himself up, his hands lost grip on the moist steel and he fell. He slammed onto a fender and bounced off into the water.

39.

Recovering from the shock, Mac surfaced and swam away under cover of the fog, until he spotted a ladder up to the dock well clear of the Princess Aliya. The plunge made him feel invigorated, even more determined. He would get changed and come back, this time for Ziad. There was a chance the two unconscious men would not be discovered for some hours, possibly not until morning.

As he headed towards the hotel, he heard voices. Security, maybe. He crouched out of sight among bushes. Two heavily built men appeared out of the smoky fog dragging a woman and small boy. The two men were Slavic, with greasy black hair. Bulges in their leather coats suggested concealed pistols.

"Hurry!" the taller of the men growled.

The child lost his footing and the smaller man belted him on the b.u.t.tocks, yelling at him to get up. He got to his feet, whimpering, and the bully smacked him again. Mac tensed, but didn't move. This was not the time to get involved.

"Please don't hurt him, he's exhausted," the woman pleaded. She spoke with a cultured English accent, though Mac thought she looked Thai or Malaysian.

"Move it, kobylka, or I'll punch the kid out!" the shorter one said. He looked like a rhinoceros, with hunched shoulders, small black eyes and huge nose.

"Where... where are you taking us?"

"You'll see," said Tall One. "We're going to have some fun." He laughed hoa.r.s.ely and squeezed her b.u.t.tocks. She gasped and jumped forward to avoid his groping.

"It will be the cruise of your life!" Rhino said. "A cruise of pleasure and pain. Pleasure for us, pain for you. And the boy. Your husband will be made to watch," he said, a crooked grin on the leathery face. "He'll have his eyes, but by then he won't have his tongue, his ears, his nose, his fingers and toes. And guess what; you and the kid get to watch us cut them off!"

Mac knew something about the Russian Mafia. They operated on the basis of fear, using threats and physical violence to instil terror. These two were deliberately scaring the woman and her child. But why?

Both men laughed. They were almost level with him when the woman panicked. She grabbed her son, trying to pull him from Rhino. Tall One punched her in the face and she staggered off the path, falling almost into Mac's arms.

Mac cursed. He had no pistol and no other option. If he hesitated he'd be dead. Sizing the thugs up, he sprang out in front of them, muscles taut from the adrenalin rushing through his body. "Vlad, that's no way to treat a woman," he said, deadpan.

As the other men paused while their brains kicked in, he slammed his fist into Tall One's throat. Clutching his larynx, he fell to the ground gagging, struggling for air. Pivoting on his heel, Mac's shin bone powered into Rhino's groin, crushing his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es like pa.s.sion fruit. He collapsed without a sound, his pistol clattering onto the path.

Still fighting for breath, Tall One got to his feet, drew his weapon and fired, just as Mac threw his knife. A flash of hot air stung his neck as he rolled off the path, grabbing Rhino's pistol. The knife embedded itself into Tall One's thigh. He grunted in pain, and moved to grab the woman, but she struck out, scratching his face. He swung a backhand and she fell again, this time not moving.

"b.i.t.c.h!" He aimed his pistol at the child, who was curled into a ball, hands covering his face.

Mac fired twice. Tall One fell onto the gra.s.s beside the path. Rhino was still unconscious. n.o.body else in sight. Mac ran over and checked Tall One. Eyes were open. f.u.c.k! He pulled the corpse further into the bougainvillea and rolled Rhino after.

Then it occurred to him that Rhino could identify him. He aimed the pistol at the back of Rhino's head and began to squeeze. He eased off. What would Tally think? She'd be justified in condemning him as a cold-blooded killer.

But then he thought of Sophia. And Cynthia. People who took kids from their families were the sc.u.m of the earth. He squeezed the trigger all the way. Twice. He felt no remorse. No more than if they had been Taliban in the 'Stan. He threw the pistol and the knife out into the marina and scooped water up, throwing it on the woman's face. After a second dousing she regained consciousness. "You okay?" he said, helping her up.

She groaned and gingerly touched where the thug had hit her. Surprising, Mac thought, that the skin wasn't broken. "I... I think so." She looked around. "My son!" She ran to the boy, squatted down, and put her arms around him. He tucked his head between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, whimpering.

"Any more of them?" he asked her.

"Two. Only two. Where are they?"

"Nowhere," he replied, pointing at the shadows.

"Oh... Thank you! They were going to kill us!" she said, looking at his face for the first time.

"Come on, we have to get out of here." He went to pick up the boy but he clung desperately to his mother.

"I can manage," she said. "Wait. The short one has our pa.s.sports."

Mac found the doc.u.ments, and they hurried along the path to his hotel.

40.

Tally paced the room, picking at her nails as she waited for the LEXITIVE program to decipher the emails she'd downloaded from Ziad's computer. The nail thing was a habit she'd developed after her parents' death, something she did when she was anxious or didn't feel in control. The screen was flashing millions of Arabic characters past like a scene from The Matrix. A few minutes earlier she'd made a call to Benita, who sounded a little better, so that was one less worry. But there was no way she could relax knowing that Mac was out in the murky darkness trying to sneak aboard the Princess Aliya. He could be lying face down in the water, or in the hold of the vessel being tortured, but there was nothing she could do except wait.

She felt some personal responsibility for prodding him into action as Derek had instructed her. He'd taken the lure and now he was acting outside the sanctioned operation.

Just as they'd expected him to.

In truth, it was Khalid who had always been the target. Abu-Bakr had been the diversion. How convenient it was that Abu-Bakr had died. So convenient, that for a brief moment Tally had wondered whether Derek might have had something to do with it. But no, they didn't need the old man dead, their planning had been on the basis of him being alive. Regardless, with Abu-Bakr dead they could openly target Khalid without Mac being suspicious about why they were targeting the same person who had abducted Sophia. This was the very reason the Director had identified Mac as the ideal replacement for Austin.

All was going to plan. Still, she was terrified about what might happen to Mac on board the Princess Aliya. During his CIA posting to Qatar some years back, Derek had come across Khalid, and had told her that he was ruthless, obsessed with his own interests and his ambition to destroy Saudi Arabia. A smart, very dangerous enemy. Potentially another Bin Laden.

Mac hadn't asked the obvious question: if it was Abu-Bakr they were targeting, why did they need a GPS on board the Princess Aliya? Derek had figured that it would be useful for Mac to cause Khalid some irritation. A little pressure that hinted at the possibility of a greater threat.

On the other hand, if Sophia and Danni were aboard, there could be major problems. Khalid might panic and they could lose their chance of obtaining the canisters. By rights, she should have been on the phone to Derek as soon as Mac walked out the door. But despite her initial misgivings, there was something about Mac's stubborn determination to find the kidnapped girls that she admired. So she'd hesitated. Now it seemed the longer she waited, the more difficult it was to make the call.

Make the call, girl.

No. Just a little longer.

She had to do something. Her watch read nearly 1:30 a.m. Perhaps she should go down to the marina and check. On second thoughts, better not. Derek would definitely not approve of that. Glancing down at her fingernails, she gave an exasperated grunt and headed into the bathroom. She had a cool shower and washed her hair.

Where are you, Mac?

After the shower, Tally sat down at the computer in her bathrobe, a towel wrapped around her wet hair. The screen had stopped flashing. All the emails had been deciphered and translated into English. With a growing excitement she opened the first email. It was addressed to The Frenchman, wanting to know if the dates for the next shipment were convenient and demanding a prompt reply. She chuckled. Ziad would be waiting a long while for any response from him. She clicked on the next most recent email. It was from someone using the name Rockfire, and read: Please advise latest on recovery of special cargo. Also, we are informed that following death, of Prince Abu-Bakr, a blood type AB negative donor has become available. We have a recipient requiring liver. Please advise fee and timetable for transplant operation.

f.u.c.k! She grabbed her cell phone and dialled.

"Wisebaum."

His voice sounded like it was distant, and she could hear a humming sound in the background.

"Can you talk?"

"Yeah. Just driving home. What's our loose cannon up to?"

"Doing just what you wanted. Doesn't suspect a thing. Derek, I think I may have something about the canisters."

A brief pause. "Careful what you say, Tal. I'll head back to the office if you think it's big enough."

She read him the email. It was cryptic enough to be meaningless to people not knowing the context.

"Christ! We know Rockfire is Al Qaeda. Seems they're going to sell the canisters to Al Qaeda, just as we feared. Forward all the emails and I'll double check the translation in Montreal. You've got forty-eight hours to pull what you can from the Princess Aliya network, then I want you and hubby to fly to Andaran and check it out. That might be where he's storing the canisters. Khalid's got a construction project going there. But our satellite only pa.s.ses over briefly once every twenty-four hours. Tell Mac the Abu-Bakr project has become the Khalid project and that I've ordered you to try and penetrate Khalid's network down there."

Before she could respond there was a click from behind her. She pressed the panic b.u.t.ton, locking the computers.

"Tally!" came a breathless voice from the door. "I need you! Now!"

"Okay. Gotta go, Derek." She disconnected and swivelled around in her chair. "Mac! Thank G.o.d! I was... Oh, you're soaking wet!"

An Asian girl-no, a young woman, followed him inside, carrying a child. What did he think he was doing bringing strangers here? She pulled her bathrobe together and shot him a please explain look.

Mac turned to the woman. "Take a seat for a moment, uh...?"

"Mai." The voice was almost a whisper. Mai sat on the edge of the sofa, the child's head on her lap, and stroked his hair. "And this is my son, George." Her shoulders slumped and she started to tremble. She looked small and fragile, was clearly terrified. Although she had Asian features, she spoke with a cultured English accent. Born in the UK, perhaps?

Tally grabbed a sheet off the bed and quickly covered the computers, glaring at Mac for bringing this stranger into her control centre.

"Could you maybe get some blankets, please?" Mac said. "They're probably on the verge of shock."

"Shock is from loss of blood. Are they bleeding?"

Mac leaned towards her, whispered: "No, but they're f.u.c.king s.h.i.t-scared. I need some help here, okay?"

Tally fetched a blanket from the closet and draped it over them.