“We get off here—Boca Chica Key,” Kimberly told him, pointing at a sign. “Go to the right as you exit.”

  Flame did as she asked, following the ramp to the right. There was just enough light to see a long dock ahead with several pleasure boats docked.

  “Park anywhere along there.”

  Flame saw an open spot and pulled in. “What now?”

  “We grab Daddy’s boat and sail to Kimberly Key.” She grinned at him. “He named it after me.”

  Flame nodded—Mr. Forrest was certainly capable of that kind of thing. He took a moment to pull his backpack out of the trunk, frowning as he realized something was missing. “Kimberly?” He turned to the girl. “Did you bring a bag?”

  “I have stuff on the island.” Her grin got wider. “And I don’t expect to need much in the way of clothing!”

  Ten minutes later they were on the Forrest’s twenty-foot Stingray en route to a spot already programmed into the GPS.

  “I wonder if we’ll see the Green Flash,” Flame said, eyes on the horizon.

  “What’s a Green Flash?”

  “Your daddy never told you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well,” he said, pointing toward the setting sun, “sometimes, when the conditions are just right, a green spot is visible above the upper rim of the sun for a second or two at sundown.” He looked at the girl. “Key West is famous for them—I’m surprised you haven’t seen it.”

  “I haven’t been down here very often.” She shrugged. “Father planned to use the island for family vacations but he never seems to take a vacation.” She shrugged. “And mom doesn’t like to leave the city without him.”

  “When was the last time you were here?”

  “I spent a week at the Keys last summer.” She glanced in his direction. “I told Dad I needed to study—which was true enough—but I planned to find a nice boy and…”

  “Did you find a boy?”

  “Not on that trip.” She leaned against him. “It worked out that I had to wait for one to find me.”

  They reached the island a few minutes later, and Flame expertly slid the little boat up against a tiny dock before tying it off.

  “House is up that way.” Kimberly pointed past the dock. “Follow me.”

  Flame grabbed his bag and complied, enjoying the sway of her nicely formed butt as they meandered up a twisty path that ended at the back door of a surprisingly large house.

  “I thought you said this was a vacation house.” Flame looked the place over in the dying light. “This looks big enough for a family of twelve!”

  “Dad wanted to make sure we had enough room.” Kimberly reached into a potted plant alongside the back door, pulled out a set of keys. “There are four big suites inside—each with a bed and bathroom.”

  She unlocked the door, flipped on a set of lights and hurried to an alarm console. “Gotta enter the code within thirty seconds or the Coast Guard’ll come knocking on our door.”

  She opened the touch pad, tapped a series of numbers. “Code is 1-9-9-5.” She grinned. “It's the year I was born.”

  “Not very secure.”

  “Doesn’t really matter.” She flipped the pad closed. “There isn’t anyone around here to break in.”

  “I thought you had neighbors.”

  Kimberly snorted. “There are four houses on this island—each set in the middle of their own little patch of sand and trees." She nodded to her right, and continued, "I’ve never even seen the people who own the house closest to us, up there a few hundred yards away.”

  “Is there anyplace to run?”

  The girl grinned. “There’s a nice white sand beach that goes completely around the Key. I ran it last year—three circuits round out to just about ten miles.”

  “Too far for you.”

  “You wish!” She motioned for him to follow her. “I’ll beat you at that distance!”

  I doubt that, Flame thought. But I’ll certainly let her try. He closed the door and followed her through the large living room and down a corridor to what turned out to be the kitchen.

  “Daddy had the house stocked with all the food we’ll need while we’re here.” She opened the large stainless-steel refrigerator. “There’s all kinds of meat and veggies.” She nodded to an outside door. “And there is a really good gas grill on the patio outside.”

  “Very nice.” Flame took a closer look. “I see he included beer for me.” He raised his eyebrow at her. “What are you going to drink?”

  “Bastard!” She pushed him away, smiling—then her eyes softened and she moved into his embrace. “We’re going to have such a nice time, Flame.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed him. “Such a nice time.”

  ***

  The bedroom Kimberly had picked had a wonderful view of the sea. As he knew just how tired she was, Flame refrained from doing anything more than cuddling with her that first night.

  They had plenty of time to do more.

  She fell asleep in moments and Flame, still awake, took some time to contemplate the situation, watching the peacefully sleeping girl next to him and the moonlight dappling the ocean just outside the window. He was surprised how comfortable and happy he felt. I hope this is for real, he told himself. And not just another one of my crazy dreams.

  That thought was in his head as he finally drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Shit! Flame’s eyes opened to a familiar sight. He was back in that Mexican craphole, ankle deep in seawater, M4 heavy in his hands.

  “Don’t worry, pal.” The voice came from his right. “It’s all right,” Manny smiled at him. “Everything is all right.” His friend touched the wall behind him and, to Flame’s surprise, it cracked, allowing a ray of bright sunshine to cut through the gloom. “You made a good decision.” Manny nodded slowly. “Now all you have to do is make the girl happy.” The crack widened and allowed more sunlight inside. “Don’t screw it up, Flame.” He took a step forward and stepped through the open door. “I’ll be watching you.”

  Then he was gone—and Flame was awake, his hand trying to wipe away a stray ray of sunshine that was shining right into his eyes.

  That’s the first time things in that dream ever got brighter, he told himself. Was Manny telling the truth? Are things really going to be all right for me? He turned to the still-slumbering form of Kimberly, studying her as she slept. Most important of all, can I make her happy?

  He knew he was going to try his best.

  Would it be enough?

  ***

  Dana got to the office early the next morning—and was surprised to find the door unlocked.

  “Eric!” She snapped at the man leaning over the computer. “What did I tell you about getting the proper amount of sleep?”

  “Sorry,” he apologized, and gave her an apologetic smile. “Got an idea last night and wanted to check it out as soon as I could.”

  “What idea?”

  “I used the NSA programs we have to infiltrate the Saudi security service.” He turned toward Dana. “They didn’t exactly tell us the entire truth about this Madani Al-Dhakheel guy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, first of all, he wasn’t radicalized by his uncle. He turned several years ago—and they know who really brought him into the fold. They just didn’t want to mention it to us.” Eric looked her in the eye. “Do you remember Najib abn Young-El?”

  “Our Young-El? The one we took down, what, nearly three years ago?”

  “The same.” Eric began to feed data to Dana’s computer. “Seems he and Madani were good friends—went to school together in Riyadh.” He highlighted a few paragraphs. “Before El Young went into the jihad business.”

  “Madani joined him?” Dana nodded. “Interesting.”

  “There’s more.” Another data stream filled her screen. “That tanker we’re looking for—I don’t think it's missing at all. Look at this.”

  A video suddenly appeared on Dana’s computer—grainy and hard to make out.

  “This came from a security camera on a warehouse at the King Abdulaziz Seaport.” He shrugged. “It’s quite a distance from the actual dock so that’s the best image I can manage.”

  “What am I seeing?”

  “You’re seeing the tanker that the Saudis claim is now missing. See the man on the bridge? Best as I can tell, that’s Madani Al-Dhakheel.”

  “So he was on his own ship?” She shrugged. “What does that prove?”

  “He never gets off.” Eric fast-forwarded the video. “He’s still on the bridge when the tanker pushes off and heads for the straits.”

  “Interesting.”

  “There’s more.” Another stream hit Dana’s screen. “Madani posted this rant on the internet the day before his ship left. I ran a translation program—it says that he plans to ‘bring the fire of Allah to the Infidel crusaders.’”

  “Standard stuff.”

  “Dana, he’s got a tanker full of processed oil products—probably gasoline! Think about the kind of fire that could fuel.”

  “Yeah.” Dana nodded slowly. “He could do quite a bit of damage.”

  “Especially if he’s smart enough to use it as a fuel/air bomb.” Bivens held Dana’s eyes. “It would be really easy to do.”

  “So there’s a real danger here.” Dana tapped the table with her index finger. “I wonder how much of this the admiral is aware of and decided to hold back.” Dana picked up her phone and dialed a number. “I think it’s time to find out.” As the phone rang, she turned back to the screen. “Incidentally, did you find any sign of the tanker?”

  “Nothing.” Eric shook his head and pulled up a satellite image. “It has to be under this storm which, I might add, is still heading straight at the United States.”

  “Where will it make landfall?”

  “South Florida—the Keys first then, maybe, Miami.” He shrugged. “They’ll start getting some rain tomorrow evening, then wind, then the whole thing.” He looked at Dana. “Is Flame near there?”

  “Couple of hundred miles north.” She gestured upwards. “Daytona Beach.”

  “He should be okay,” Eric leaned closer to the screen. “The Keys are going to take the worst of it and I don’t think it’ll go much further than Miami…”

  ***

  Back on Kimberly Key, Flame and Kimberly were going on a morning run. He’d been happy to discover that she’d been right about the white sand beach. But, after making one circuit on the soft surface, he’d insisted on running along some of the paths that crisscrossed the island. Always good to know how to get around, he told himself as he passed one of the other homes built into a large patch of vegetation. Never know when that information will come in handy. They passed a second house and came back onto the beach, ready for their third circuit. Flame could just see the second story of a third house that stood on a hill about two hundred yards from the windward tip of the island. Not a great place in a hurricane, Flame thought. I wonder how many times he’s had to replace that roof?

  “The Crawfords live there.” Kimberly followed his gaze toward the hilltop house. “Nice folks. Dad used to have them over for barbecues when he actually came down here.”

  “They must have a great view from that vantage,” Flame said. “Although they have a bit of a walk to get to the water.”

  “They don’t swim or anything.” Kimberly smiled. “My dad does—and he wanted to be able to use the beach at his place.” She was close beside him now, sweat slicking her hair and putting a sexy sheen on her arms and legs. “That’s why he kept his place so close to the water; the others are all afraid of hurricanes.”

  “I can see why.” Flame nodded to a copse of fallen trees that had obviously fallen victim to a storm in the not-too-distant past. “Why isn’t your father worried about storm damage?”

  “He had the house built extra-strong.” They came around a curve and saw the Forrest house in the near distance. “The walls and roof joists are reinforced, the windows are 18mm insulated glass.” She shrugged. “It would take 120 mile per hour winds to make a dent.”

  “Don’t some hurricanes come stronger than that?”

  “We have insurance if anything really bad hits us.” She pulled ahead. “I told you I could make the ten miles!” She glanced over her shoulder. “And now I’m going to beat you to the house!”

  No you’re not, Flame told himself, admiring her attempt before increasing his own pace. He passed her just as they reached the edge of the Forrest property, smiling as she cursed loudly.

  “Next time,” she told him, bending at the waist to get her breath. “I’ll get you next time.”

  “Maybe.” He smiled and scooped her up in his arms. “But right now…”

  They both laughed as he carried her into the house.

  ***

  Dana sighed as she sank into a dingy stall at the bar she and the admiral had agreed upon for their meeting. It is way too early for me to have a drink, she told herself. But the admiral expects me to follow routine, so…

  She was staring at the brown liquid in her glass when Dorrance slid into the seat opposite hers. “What’s so important?” he asked.

  “The missing tanker.” She looked into his eyes. “Just how much do you know about it?”

  “I know it belongs to Madani Al-Dhakheel, nephew of Al-Waleed Bin Talal. I know it sailed from a port in Saudi Arabia about a week ago. I know the Saudis want it back pretty badly.” He picked up his own glass. “And that’s about all I know.”

  He knocked the scotch down, signaled for another.

  “Did you know that Madani was a friend and ally of Najib abn Young-El?”

  “No.” The admiral sighed. “I didn’t.” He looked Dana in the eye. “Had I known, I probably wouldn’t have brought you in on it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Young-El was personal for you—wasn’t he?”

  “He killed my friend, my mentor…”

  “And you got your revenge.” He shook his head, picked up the second drink. “Don’t let it poison you. Young-El is dead—let him go.”

  “Young-El is dead—but Madani wants to continue his jihad.” She caught his eye. “And Madani is on that tanker—promising fiery death to the Infidel Crusaders.”

  “I don’t…”

  “Fire—oil tanker?”

  “Oh.” The admiral nodded slowly. “Do you have any kind of line on the ship?”

  “Bivens thinks it’s hiding under a storm that’s heading for the Southeastern US.”

  “Just like the Japanese carrier fleet did on their way to attack Pearl Harbor.”

  “Any chance of getting a drone under that storm to take a look?” She paused while the waiter brought the admiral's second shot. “It’s too dangerous to try to send in a manned aircraft.”

  The admiral shook his head.

  “Why not? You know what would happen if they manage to detonate even a small oil tanker in the port at Miami or Fort Lauderdale?”

  “I know,” the admiral said, and then knocked back his second drink. “I also know that right now my political masters are too busy fighting over what happened in Libya, which I’m sure they’ll blame on the CIA, and the classification of Boko Haram, which they’ll blame on the NSA, to worry about anything that might turn out to be a real threat.” He sat back, looking at her. “I’m sorry, Dana. If you find out where the tanker is, I might be able to get someone to take a look, otherwise…” He shrugged.

  “I understand, sir.” Dana nodded, pursing her lips. “You’re saying it’s up to me and my team to find the damned thing before the politicals—who won’t do a thing to prevent a disaster—figure out who to blame for whatever mess it makes.”

  She shook her head and stood. “It’s a hell of a way to run a country,” she muttered, leaving the untouched glass on the table behind her as she moved to the door.

  ***

  Flame and Kimberly shared a nice, long, hot shower, his hands carefully lathering her up as he explored her nakedness.

  She’s really pale, he thought as he kissed her throat. I guess that comes from living up in the Northeast. He did see the very beginnings of what might eventually turn into a suntan on her shoulders—and a scattering of freckles across her neck.

  That was as far as his observations went. Kimberly chose that moment to start her own explorations and, soon enough, the two were in the bedroom, consummating the experience.

  She and I fit together so well in so many ways, Flame thought afterwards. It’s as if we were made for each other.

  He snuck a peek at the sleeping form beside him, and then closed his own eyes. Somehow he knew he’d have no dreams today.

  ***

  Flame woke up a few hours later to find Kimberly tracing his tattoos with her fingers.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you.” She pulled her hand back.

  “It’s okay,” he smiled and turned to kiss her. “Really.”

  “I was just looking at all these tattoos.” She touched the big skull on his back. “What do they mean?”

  “They mean a bunch of things,” Flame dropped onto his stomach so she could have a good look at his back. “Lots of navy guys get them.” He stretched a little to make himself comfortable. “The big skull in front of the anchor symbolizes my service in the SEALs…”

  “And the ‘6’?”

  “The team I was in.” He raised himself enough to look into her eyes. “But that’s a secret—never tell anyone.”

  “I won’t.” She caressed the three-dimensional cross at the top of his spine. “This is really nice—the shadows make it kind of pop out…”

  “Mo did that.” Flame’s face softened just a bit. “Just before she got killed in a chopper accident.”

  “You liked her, didn’t you?”

  “More than that.” He rolled over, looked her in the eye. “I cared about her. Nearly as much as I care about you.”