MONTAUK POINT,
LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK

Carl Everett stood just inside of the parking area of one of the most famous lighthouses in the United States. Jason Ryan and Will Mendenhall stood on either side of him, waiting for the mysterious rendezvous to take place. Behind them sat a stretch limousine with its motor off and headlights on. They had been at the point for thirty minutes watching as the fog became thicker each passing moment they waited. The only sound that was audible through the thickening mist was the seaboard dinghies with their forlorn toll.

“Goddamn FBI, how can they plan for an entity they know absolutely nothing about?” Everett mumbled, his eyes never leaving the shoreline.

“Director Compton should have acted without presidential knowledge,” Ryan said, looking to his right at the closest FBI HRT member laying low underneath the cover of a large bush. Hostage Rescue out of Quantico had been called in for the ambush, and several of them were half-buried in the rough and rocky sands of the point.

Everett turned, chanced a look at the naval lieutenant, and sniffed.

“Some people like to go by the book, Mr. Ryan, even if you don’t.”

“I’ve known Compton to toss that book away from time to time,” Ryan countered.

Everett didn’t respond to the challenge. He just pursed his lips and then turned up his coat collar.

Mendenhall looked at his watch, then turned around and looked at the limousine that was minus one important element inside its interior: Director Compton. He also tried his best to peer through the swirling fog beyond, feeling uncomfortable. Absentmindedly he rubbed the scratch on his arm, wondering if he was going to get some sort of infection from that old man’s ring this afternoon.

“Okay, what’s on your mind, Will?” Carl asked, noticing it was the tenth time Mendenhall had turned to look to the rear.

“I can’t shake this feeling that someone is out there, behind us. I’ve had it ever since we got here.”

“There are people behind us; it’s the FBI, and they have one hell of a lot of guns,” Ryan said.

“I’m beginning to think Jack taught you something after all, Lieutenant. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I have the same feeling.” Carl turned and looked at Jason Ryan. “And it’s not the FBI. Whoever it is, is far better at hiding than they are.”

Ryan turned and looked at Mendenhall, who raised his brows as if to say I told you.

“Well,” Ryan said, also looking at his watch, “our ecoterrorists are officially late—it’s now oh-two-hundred and—”

Suddenly a larger-than-normal breaker crashed onto the beach and rocks, hard enough that seawater washed over into the parking lot and covered their feet. The sea retreated, and the breakers went back to their normal surge.

“You guys are navy boys. Is that normal? Like, was it a tidal surge, or maybe a rogue wave or something?” Mendenhall asked as he shook water off his shoes.

“You’ve been watching far too much Discovery Channel, Will,” Everett said as he watched the fog in front of him, knowing they were no longer waiting for their company.

Everett reached behind him and placed both hands underneath the back of his nylon coat. He felt the nine-millimeter automatic, chambered a round, clicked off the safety, then brought his hands free of his coat. Ryan and Mendenhall mimicked his action.

Carl switched on the voice-activated microphone attached to his wristwatch.

“All units and positions, we have movement out at sea. Stand by. We don’t know anything definite with this fog, so hold station.”

The fog eddied and swirled around them. Carl chanced a glance at the limousine parked fifteen feet away. The fog should have been sufficient to cover the fact that Niles Compton was over two thousand miles away in Nevada.

“Ahoy the beach!”

The voice came from a loudspeaker. Everett couldn’t track it because of the denseness of the fog.

“All units, we have voice contact only. Remain in place,” Everett said. He took three steps toward the water, puting one hand behind him to stay Ryan and Mendenhall. “Ahoy the boat. I am Captain Everett, United States Navy. Identify yourself.”

“Advance to the water’s edge with Dr. Niles Compton, please.”

Everett turned and looked back at Jason and Will for a moment, then turned back toward the fog-shrouded sea.

“That’s not the way this game is going to be played. Dr. Compton keeps his station behind me until such a time as I’m satisfied with the situation and his safety.”

“I assure you, Captain, we do not play games. Nonetheless, upon your word as a United States naval officer, we will approach the beach.”

Everett hoped the FBI special agent in charge heard the response from their guests. Carl could feel the fifteen weapons of the hidden agents ready to open up.

The sound of water being pushed aside came to his ears as he finally caught sight of the boat that had lain offshore. It was like a Zodiac rubber craft, but far larger. As it approached, he could see only two figures inside. It grounded almost noiselessly onto the rocks, narrowly missing two large boulders that jutted out from the shore. Everett heard no engine sounds, so that meant they were using a form of propulsion that was silenced to a large degree. A large man quickly stepped easily over the gunnels of the Zodiac and stood looking at the three men.

“Captain, I am here to exchange one of your people for Dr. Compton. Would you present him, please?”

The captain saw the man was wearing a coverall, not unlike those worn by military personnel in the Event Group complex. There were patches arrayed on the long sleeve and shoulder and some sort of rank was evident on his collar, but that was as far as his vision would allow.

“The name of your vessel, sir,” Everett called out.

The man lowered his head and then shook it. “That is not for me to answer, Captain, but suffice it to say you will learn all there is to learn upon Dr. Compton’s return to your complex under the desert.”

“I guess they’re well informed,” Ryan whispered to Mendenhall.

“Now, Dr. Compton, please, Captain.”

Everett knew he had to make his play. The sniper in the lighthouse would take the man standing next to the boat, hopefully wounding him, and a two-man team in the water would take the hostage. There was only one man, so taking a prisoner was no longer an option. He felt as if he were betraying a trust, but a presidential order had been given, and no matter the distaste, it was now his duty. He raised his wrist to his mouth.

“Team one, execute.” He closed his eyes, expecting the lone shot that would signal the rescue attempt.

The man in front of him laughed. He reached into the boat, pulled the seated man to his feet, and helped him over the gunnels of the boat.

Everett pulled his weapon and pointed it at the man. Will and Ryan followed suit. The effect of having three guns on him seemed lost on the large man, who looked at the three Event Group security men but continued to assist the second man to shore.

“Perhaps you better signal the HRT unit again, Captain.”

Everett knew that although the man stated his faction didn’t play games, he was being toyed with nonetheless. He lowered his weapon.

A whistle sounded in the fog from behind them. Then, from high above them, something whistled down from the top of the lighthouse. It smacked into the sand at Everett’s feet. He stepped back when he saw it was upper torso body armor. He knew it to be the style he had seen the HRT suiting up with earlier.

Ryan turned around when a noise sounded behind him. Immediately, several red dots sprinkled his bulletproof vest. As he looked up, he saw black shapes coming through the swirling fog, and each carried a laser-sighted weapon. Some were aimed at Ryan, but the bulk were centered on Mendenhall and Everett’s backs.

“Captain, we have company.”

Without turning around, Everett placed his nine-millimeter into his waistband and pulled the coat over it, knowing they themselves had been ambushed instead of the other way around. He heard the sound of the fourteen ground members of the HRT unit as fifty men in black wet-suits pushed them roughly from the fog.

“Disappointing, but expected, Captain.” The man looked around as the fog started to lift around them. “The FBI unit are all intact. A little embarrassed, maybe, but that will pass eventually.”

“You didn’t really expect us to treat whoever you are as honorable people, did you? Your actions against helpless vessels and shore installations don’t speak well for you.”

“We understand you were under orders from your president, Captain. We knew he wouldn’t chance losing Dr. Compton. As for the attacks, those were acts of war, sir; you of all people should know the difference. Now, you have played out a losing hand with your deceptive actions regarding the FBI.”

“The president was acting in the best interest of the country, and would—”

“However,” the man said, cutting Everett’s point off. “We will still keep our end of the bargain and release your Group member, to once again show good faith. Do not disappoint my captain again, or the American people will suffer beyond measure. Please, I implore you; have Dr. Compton, and any member of his department he wishes to accompany him, at McCarran airport in Las Vegas in three days. His transport will be at charter gate five at ten A.M. Heed this warning, Captain.”

Suddenly the man released the hostage and returned to his boat. He and it backed away silently into the fog until once more the mist enveloped them.

The hooded man collapsed to his knees into the water; the small breakers started lapping at his thighs. Carl turned quickly and saw the wetsuited assault team had also vanished. The HRT unit was still there, still tied, and kneeling in the sand.

Everett turned and ran to the water to help the unknown person to his feet. Carl could feel the bulk under the black coverall and knew it to be a man. The hostage had a black hood on his head, and seemed weak as he struggled to stay upright. Everett hustled the man to the black limousine, removed the hood, and without looking any further, shoved him quickly into the backseat, telling the driver, Staff Sergeant Rodriguez, to watch him. He then turned and ran to assist the agents.

As Everett was cutting the plastic wire-tie off one of them, he turned and looked back at the fog-shrouded sea. With the exception of the breakers, all was quiet.

As he turned back to the task of releasing the agents, Everett heard a loud explosion of water. When he turned toward the sound, his eyes widened. He saw the topmost section of a submarine’s stern fins sinking beneath the waves through the swirling remnants of fog. He straightened as he saw the three-story-high, sharklike rudders vanish, and then watched in awe as the amazing craft displaced several thousand tons of water on its way back out to sea.

“That son of bitch must have been in place long before we arrived.” Ryan didn’t look up as he freed the last of the agents, and didn’t see the nightmare vision Everett had seen even as another giant surge of water pushed up on shore.

Everett stood and started for the car when he saw a small man in an FBI windbreaker come toward him. At his side was the sniper from the lighthouse. He recognized the agent in charge.

“I wasn’t briefed on just who you people are, but your little meeting was compromised, and it had to come from your end. These people knew we would be here. Can you explain that?” The agent made the mistake of grabbing Carl’s arm.

Ryan and Mendenhall reacted immediately, pulling the agent away before the captain had a chance to react. They had seen Carl confronted before, and knew that sometimes he acted first and then thought about a situation later.

“Get your hands off of me. I want an answer,” the agent said, looking from Will to Ryan.

“Look, we don’t know if the meet was compromised; they may have just had the game rigged from the beginning. They set this spot up, not us,” Ryan said as he held the agent back.

“Fucking amateurs,” the man said as he shook off Ryan’s hands and then turned toward his men.

“He’s right; someone told them that the FBI would be here.” Everett tried to calm himself. He knew the agent in charge was only mad because his hostage rescue team had been placed in harm’s way and left out to dry, just because someone on the Group’s end couldn’t keep their mouth shut.

“Whoever it is that’s screwing with us almost cost the lives of a lot of people tonight,” Mendenhall said as he watched the angry FBI unit start to assemble and make their way off the beach.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Everett said as he looked one last time back out into the Atlantic, where the vision of what couldn’t have been cornered his thoughts.

The three men walked to the limousine and saw that Sergeant Rodriguez was kneeling on the backseat with the door open.

“How’s our guest, Sergeant?” Mendenhall asked as they approached.

Rodriguez stepped back out of the car and looked at the three men, shaking his head.

“You’re not going to fucking believe this,” he said, looking from face to face as he moved out of their way.

Inside the limo, the dome lights were on. A big man sat reposed in the backseat with his head back and his face turned away from them. As Everett stepped up to the open door, he leaned down and touched the man on the leg.

“How are you doing?”

The man slowly turned his head. Everett, who was standing on the balls of his feet, lost his balance as he recognized the face immediately. He had a six-week growth of beard and looked pale in the false light of the car, and his eyes were heavily bloodshot, but Everett would have known this man anywhere, in any condition.

“I’ll be damned, you tough-to-kill son of a bitch!”

Ryan and Mendenhall exchanged a look as Everett straightened and then pulled the man from the car and hugged him.

“Jack!”

Carl pushed Colonel Jack Collins at arm’s length as Ryan and Mendenhall joined him in a dreamlike sequence that none of them could possibly have ever imagined.

Jack blinked his eyes and tried to focus on the faces in front of him. His hair, although combed straight back, was longer than Collins had ever worn it, but the eyes—those were still the same as they bore first into Everett’s and then roamed to Ryan and Will. His lips moved, but no words came.

“Jack!” Carl said, giving Collins’s shoulders a small shake until his eyes refocused on the captain’s.

“The sea,” Jack mumbled as his eyes locked with Carl’s, and then the gaze changed and his head looked around him. “They said I was dead.” He suddenly looked back at Everett.

“How in the hell is he here?” Will asked, swallowing.

“Goddamn, those people must have been there.” Everett turned and looked at Mendenhall. “They must have saved him, pulled him from the water,” Everett answered, laughing for the first time in weeks. “Oh no, you’re not dead, Jack, you’re going home.” He tried to turn the colonel toward the open door when Jack pulled his arm free and stared at Everett.

“The sea,” he said again, closing his eyes and swaying as Carl reached out and steadied him. Jack opened his eyes when his dizziness passed and focused on the three men once more. His eyes darted back to Everett and narrowed. “Mr…. Everett.”

“That’s right, Jack. Will and Jason are here, too.”

Jack’s eyes went to the two men standing beside the captain.

“Will, Ryan … I tried to hold on … and I did …”

“Hold on to what, Colonel?” Mendenhall asked, feeling creepy about this whole thing. It was like conversing with a ghost at the very least.

Jack took a step back until he fell into the limo’s rear seat and hung his head. It looked as though he was trying hard to remember something. He slowly looked up at the expectant faces.

“Sarah.” That single name coming from his mouth explained all. The three officers exchanged a look. “She’s dead, someone shot her?” he asked, looking like his world was gone, as if he had failed her.

Everett knelt by the open door and placed a hand on Collins’s leg. He tried to smile but failed.

“Let’s go home, buddy. We need to explain a few things to you.”