If Tom did, they were both dead. He kept his own weapon on the Merchant. "You drop your gun, asshole, or your boss checks out. And the next bullet's yours, I promise you that."

"Lieutenant Paoletti, please step a little to your right." That was Locke's cool voice. Locke, who was in the church tower with a sniper rifle and the best aim in the U.S. Navy.

Tom stepped right.

He felt the shot whizzing past his cheek, heard it crack, and T2 crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

"Mallory!" David's cry was anguished. Of course, he didn't know. He couldn't see, could only hear the sound of the gunshot.

Mallory was sprayed with blood, but she didn't faint, didn't fall. She scooped up T2's weapon before it even had time to bounce. She held it in both hands, like Tom, aimed directly at the Merchant, also like Tom. Only she aimed the barrel lower, much lower than the man's forehead.

"Tell David I'm still alive."

But David was already in the doorway. "Mallory."

"He called me Mallory," she said to Tom. "Did you hear that?" She was crying, covered with tears and snot and blood, but she didn't waver. "David, go back and help Jazz. I'm all right."

He was crying, too. "I just . . . God, I love you and I thought-"

Mal smiled. "I know. Go."

"Both of you go," Tom ordered them. "Get out of here. Now."

Mallory shook her head. "No, I think I'll back you up a little longer. You don't look very good, Tom."

"Yeah, but I'm the one with the gun." He looked at the Merchant. Both of the Merchants. Double fuck, indeed. He fought his dizziness. "Tell me where the second bomb is."

The Merchant's gaze shifted. Just a little. Just enough. Out to the harbor.

And with a blazing revelation, Tom knew. As he gazed into the son of a bitch's eyes, he knew the whole plan. He knew how this asshole's mind worked. The bomb was on the fourth floor, not to do the most structural damage, but rather to act as a shepherding device to push the crowd away from the hotel.

Away from the hotel and down toward the marina.

Where all those little boats were sitting, all in a row. The Merchant had to set only one bomb in one boat, and the rest would blow sky-high, like a chain of firecrackers, one right after another. The entire marina would go up into the biggest terrorist explosion in U.S. history, and anyone within hundreds of yards would go with it.

The Merchant looked up at the blueness of the sky. And then, without warning, he rushed Tom's gun.

But Tom didn't need warning. He knew this man too well, knew he'd choose death over capture.

He squeezed the trigger of his weapon and ended the Merchant's too-long life.

"Locke, Joe, Charles!" Tom's voice rang clearly over Charles's headset. "The second bomb's on a boat, possibly underwater, under the hull, where you won't even be able to see it."

Charles could see Alyssa already running across the lawn from the Congregational church. Joe, too, was already down the stairs that led to the boat slips.

But even though Charles's legs weren't moving as quickly, his brain was doing just fine. He pushed open the door of the harbormaster's office and appropriated the guest register, checking the names of all the boats that were currently docked in the visitor slips. It was premium real estate, those visitor slips, bringing a hefty amount of income into the marina, making it possible for regular folks to dock a boat there without having to quadruple mortgage their houses.

He used his finger to go down the list and . . .

There was nothing that jumped out at him. No boat named Merchant's Prize or something equally obvious.

But there was one thing that caught his eye. The Sea Breeze. At the start of the week, it had been docked in slot A-3. But halfway through, it got moved over to B-7. Now, that was odd, because as far as convenience and ease, A-3 was a better slot. However, as far as blowing up things went, B-7 was smack in the middle of the marina.

"Alyssa, Joe, check B-7," he said over his radio headset.

But just to be safe, he took all the spare copies of all the keys that were hanging on the harbormaster's wall.

Dottie, who worked behind the counter, stood up. "Mr. Ashton, what are you . . . ?"

"Stealing all the visitors' boats," he told her crossly. "What do you think I'm doing?"

Navigating the stairs with his walker wasn't happening, so he tossed the damn thing to the bottom, and went down like a little kid, on the seat of his pants.

Joe searched the inside of the Sea Breeze. And there it was. A bomb. In the head. The timer read seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds, exactly three minutes behind the bomb in the hotel.

Alyssa Locke was right behind him, and she tossed him her radio and headset and dove headfirst into the murky waters of the harbor. She came up coughing, grabbed a lungful of air, and went back down.

He could see Charles, making his way down the steep ramp that led to the B slips.

Alyssa came up, gasping. "He's right. Tom's right. This thing's rigged to blow. The entire hull is wired with explosives."

"There's a bomb in the john, too," Joe told her.

She reached a hand up, and he helped haul her onto the deck. She was heavy for such a little thing. Or maybe he was just getting too old for this.

"It's probably the timer," she said, slicking her hair back from her face and going to take a look. "Yeah. See how this wire runs down here and over the side. But this one's rigged with a failsafe-we cut this wire, and this smaller bomb blows. Which will set off the other bomb."

She put her headset and radio back on. "L.T., are you there? We've located our second bomb, and we're in serious trouble."

"I've got at least two more minutes to go before I neutralize this bomb," Jazz's voice came back. "No way can I get down there and take care of that one, too."

"I'm on my way," Tom said.

Charles tossed his walker into the recessed deck of the boat, then swung himself on board. It wasn't graceful, but it got the job done. "Alyssa," he said. "Dearest. Jump back into the water and see if the bomb is attached to the inboard motor."

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"You're not going to make me do it, are you?"

She took off her radio again and, with a hard look at Charles, she went over the side.

"What are you thinking?" Joe asked.

Alyssa came back up, sputtering and coughing. "It's not connected-at least not as far as I can tell."

Cybele. Charles was thinking about Cybele.

"I have the Sea Breeze's key," he told his oldest friend.

He could see understanding in Joe's eyes. "I'll come with you."

"Why should we both go?" he said as gently as he could.

"No one's going anywhere." Tom's voice rang over their headsets. "Just wait for me to get down there."

"I got it," Jazz's voice was thick with relief. "Timer's stopped running, L.T."

Joe swung himself down below. "This timer's still going. Four minutes and counting."

"Is someone going to help me out of the water and back onto that boat?" Alyssa called.

They were out of time. If Charles was going to do this, he had to do it now.

"Kelly, you made me proud this morning," he said into his microphone. "I love you. I'm glad you found Tom, glad you recognized what you found."

Joe had tears in his eyes. "I'm coming with you," he said again.

"You can't," Charles said, and for the first time in nearly six decades, he embraced his best friend. "Tell the truth to that writer-that Cybele was the real hero of Baldwin's Bridge."

He'd caught Joe completely off guard with his embrace, and when he finally pulled back, he was able to push his friend neatly over the side and into the water.

Charles started the motor with a roar, and the boat didn't blow up. That was good.

"Daddy, I love you!" Kelly had gotten herself to a headset with a microphone.

"I know," he told her. "That's the one thing I never doubted ever in my life, Kelly. You loved me, and Cybele loved me. It was more than I deserved."

He backed out of the slip, and he could see Alyssa and Joe, still there in the water.

He could see Joe's face, Joe's eyes, Joe's anguish.

And Charles touched his right ear, giving Joe his sign.

He was ready to go.

Tom turned to see Kelly running toward him across the lawn.

Out in the harbor, Charles had opened up the throttle, breaking all the posted speed limits as he headed for the open sea, moving quickly out of radio range.

Kelly slowed, her chest heaving as she cried.

Tom reached for her, and she went into his arms.

Down on the dock, Locke helped Joe out of the water.

In the hotel, Jazz sat with Starrett, eyes closed as he waited for the ambulance.

Mallory and David stood at the window, watching the Sea Breeze grow smaller and smaller.

And there, on the deck of that boat, Charles finally knew. He finally understood why Cybele gave her life for him and for Joe and for the Fighting Fifty-fifth.

And he finally forgave her.

She had been in pain, and weary of life. It wasn't that she didn't love him, because she did, oh, he knew that she did. But unless she'd acted when she had, Charles would have sacrificed himself to save her. And then, once again, Cybele would have been left with her heart turned to ashes. She loved him so much that she didn't want to live without him.

She was an amazing woman. She saw in him a hero, and when he was with her, he was one.

Charles aimed the bow of the boat toward the distant horizon, at peace with himself for the first time in years, knowing that he'd managed, one last time before he died, to once again become the man that Cybele Desjardins had loved.

On the lawn between the Baldwin's Bridge Hotel and the marina, near the statue honoring the men who gave their lives in the Second World War, Tom held Kelly close.

On the dock, a bedraggled Joe saluted the far-off boat as beside him, Lt. Alyssa Locke bowed her head.

The explosion was distant, but still loud enough to make everyone in the harbor and on the hotel lawn look up and out to sea.

For several seconds, there was a hush. A moment of silence.

But then life resumed.

Laughter.

Children shouting.

An ice cream truck approached, its bell ringing.

Tom stood there with Kelly for a good long time, letting her look into the faces of the many people whose lives her father had saved that day.

Chapter 22.

15 August TOM LEFT THE debriefing in Washington with just enough time to catch the tail end of the ceremony honoring the Fifty-fifth.

The celebration had gone on as scheduled-with heightened security, and with nearly everyone in attendance unaware of the previous day's drama.

The United States' government's counterterrorist policies included keeping attempted terrorist attacks low profile. Since terrorists tended to be after media coverage even in failed missions, it was U.S. policy to try to give them none.

But Tom didn't care if no one ever knew-no one except for Adm. Chip Crowley. And Rear Admiral Tucker, who ground out a not very sincere-sounding apology to Tom in front of Crowley's staff.

As Tom watched from the edge of the crowd, Kelly took the stage to graciously accept a special medal from the French, British, and U.S. governments for her father's part in the war.

The ceremony ended shortly after that.