“Did he find anything?”

  “No.” Bivens shook his head. “The Bin Laden shops are a fad, nothing more.” He looked at Dana. “I told him to get back here as soon as he could—that we have a more pressing problem.”

  “Good.” She nodded a quick agreement. “How long for him to get home?”

  “On his way now, should arrive late tonight,” Bivens shrugged. “Best flight we could find.”

  “It’ll have to do.” Dana bit into her lower lip. “Start looking for flights to Miami—we might have to get down there in a hurry.”

  “How many seats?”

  “See if you can get four.” She shrugged as he raised an eyebrow. “I found a little extra help.”

  “How about Flame?”

  “Call him, fill him in on what’s going on with this tanker thing.” She shook her head. “Tell him that he might have to cut his vacation short.”

  ***

  “Sit tight,” Kimberly held up a hand—one that Flame could barely see. “There’s an automatic switch to a generator that should…”

  The lights suddenly came on—dim at first, then growing stronger by the second.

  “There!” She smiled. “Daddy once told me that there’s enough natural gas in the tanks to keep the power up for thirty-six hours.”

  “This storm may last longer than that.” Flame looked around the room. “We’ll turn everything off when we go to bed.” He grinned at his companion. “We don’t really need lights then, do we?”

  “I guess not,” her smile answered his. “Although there’s still a tattoo or two that I don’t really understand…”

  “We don’t need lights for that.” Flame touched her hand. “Just fingers.”

  “Okay.” Kimberly turned back to her dinner. “We’ll eat, check the weather and then turn the generator off.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Flame nodded. “A better one than a lot of my old commanding officers ever came up with.”

  It turned out that part of the plan was impossible—the television, once turned on, showed nothing but static.

  “Cable must be down.” Flame shrugged. “Means they lost power further up the line.” He checked his cell phone. “Cell towers are dead too.”

  “This landline is out too,” Kimberly said as she hung up the phone. “I guess we’re cut off.” She dropped onto the couch alongside Flame. “Just the two of us.”

  “I wonder how we’ll survive.” He pulled her close, and nibbled at her earlobe. “Any ideas?”

  “A few.” Kimberly planted a big kiss on his lips. “Let’s—what’s the term—batten down the hatches and go to bed.”

  “I like the way you think.” Flame smiled. “Where’s the cut-off for the generator?”

  A moment later, the lights were out again. This time, both Flame and Kimberly had flashlights in hand. They followed the twin beams to the bedroom…

  ***

  Madani Al-Dhakheel’s stomach had finally subsided enough to allow him to fall into an uneasy sleep. He dreamt of the glory that he would find when his plan brought fire and death to the infidels—and the reward that would await him in paradise afterward.

  It was a good dream, one that he was thoroughly enjoying—until it was abruptly terminated by his body being tossed from the bunk across the room and against the bulkhead.

  What in the name of Allah? Madani pushed himself off the floor, surprised that it wasn’t moving beneath him. We’ve stopped! But how…

  He pulled his shoes on, tucked his shirt into his pants, and left his room. Men—crewmen—were moving up and down the passageways in something akin to panic. He tried to stop one—but the man just pushed him away and fled.

  Something has happened! Madani rushed forward, climbed the ladder that he knew led to the ship’s bridge. Something bad! He pushed the door open—and found utter chaos.

  “You!” The captain turned to glare at him. “This is your fault! No radar, you said, the Americans can trace it, you said!” He gestured toward the big forward window, which, Madani noted, had a long crack across it. “We have gone aground! Hit some island that we couldn’t see in the dark of the storm!”

  “We hit something?”

  “We hit an island, you idiot!” The captain grabbed Madani by the edges of his robe. “One of the Florida Keys, I think!”

  “Can we get off?” Madani still didn’t quite understand the man’s reaction. “Can we get free?”

  “I don’t know.” The man calmed himself. “I won’t know until I find out just how much damage there is to the hull.” He shook his head. “Even then it will depend on how high the tide…”

  “How long until you can get us back on our way?”

  “I told you…” The man raised his hands. “I do not know! Maybe not at all…”

  “We cannot fail now! We are so close!”

  “If you had allowed me to do my job…” The captain glared at Madani. “But no! You are so afraid of the Americans that you allowed this to happen!”

  “I am afraid of no one.” Madani’s face twisted. “No one, do you hear?”

  “Fool!” The captain shook his head. “Words do not prove courage, only…”

  A gunshot suddenly rang out—then another.

  “You have failed, Captain.” Madani watched the man’s eyes go wide—then dark. “You have failed me, you have failed the jihad.” He stepped back as the man’s body slipped to the floor. “And now you pay the price of failure.” Madani stepped over the growing pool of blood to the bridge telephone.

  “Ghufar!” He waited while the other man was brought to the line below decks. “The captain has betrayed us! We are caught on an island somewhere south of the Florida coast.” He waited for his underling to come to grips with the situation. Abdul-Ghafur had waged jihad in many lands—he would not panic now.

  And he did not. “What would you have us do, Amir?”

  “First, make sure we are safe. As soon as the storm subsides enough to allow it, find out if this is an inhabited island—if it is, kill anyone who might cause trouble.”

  “It shall be done.”

  “Leave me two men to oversee the crew.” Madani remembered those figures in the corridors who had treated him so rudely. “They have to get us afloat.”

  “As you say.”

  “Do it, my friend.” Madani looked out the window at the still raging storm. “Do it quickly.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Flame drifted into that familiar dream. He was back in the watery room in Mexico, the darkness now broken by a crack in the wall that allowed the sun to brighten the room.

  I wonder who’s going to talk to me this time, he asked himself. Mo would not, he believed, be back again anytime soon. It’ll be either Manny or Re-Pete.

  It was both, but neither uttered a single word. Instead, almost in unison, they signaled for silence and cupped an ear, urging Flame to listen closely.

  He did—and instantly woke.

  “What’s wrong?” Flame’s movement on the bed woke Kimberly as well.

  “Quiet!” Flame pulled on his shorts and grabbed his flashlight. “Something’s wrong—wait here until I find out for sure what it is.”

  “Not a chance!” Kimberly pulled on her own shorts. “I’m going with you!”

  In darkness, they crept to the window. Flame could see that the storm was still roiling the sea around them—but the rain had let up and there was almost no wind. We’re between bands of the storm, he thought. I wonder how long that will last…

  He scanned the area on the seaward side of the house and noticed one thing immediately. The stingray is gone, he shook his head as he noted the splintered wood barely attached to the shore. So is about half of the dock…

  They weren’t going to be able to leave that way.

  Okay. He pursed his lips. Was I hearing things or…

  The sound came again, loud in the sudden calm. A sound that was far too familiar to Flame.

  The clatter of an AK-47 on full automatic.

  “Crap!” Flame slid the window shut and hurried the girl back into the bedroom. “Get some clothes on!” He slid his feet into his worn sneakers. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  ***

  “There it is!” Bivens had arrived at the office extra early that morning—beating Dana by fifteen minutes or so. “It’s run aground on that little island.”

  “Where is it?” Dana leaned forward, trying to get oriented. “Can you pinpoint it on a map?”

  “Somewhere in the Florida Keys—that much is certain.” Bivens began working his computer, searching for the needed information. “A small island…”

  “How are you able to see it?” Dana was bringing up maps on her own system. “I thought it was under a storm?”

  “It still is.” Bivens nodded to the screen. “But it’s not moving now—and the storm is. There are bands of clouds and rainfall—almost like the eyes of a hurricane. One of them is just passing overhead…”

  “The boat is in this clear band?”

  “Not for much longer.” Bivens zoomed back showing a larger view. “It’ll be under this big band of clouds and rain within the hour—the winds there are stronger than they were in the bands that have already passed over!”

  “Let’s get a good fix before that happens.” Dana bit her lip. “We don’t want to lose track of that thing again!”

  “I agree.” Bivens’ fingers danced over the keyboard. “The island is privately owned,” he said, entering another set of keystrokes. “Says it’s called Kimberly Key.”

  “Kimberly?” Dana’s eyes came up. “It couldn’t be…”

  “Flame’s Kimberly?” Bivens nodded once. “Yeah, her father is down as one of the island’s owners.”

  “Damn.” Dana stared at the screen. “That means…”

  “It means that Flame might just be stuck in the middle of something big that he knows nothing about.” Bivens turned to Dana. “What do we do?”

  “There’s nothing we can do right now.” She shook her head. “For the moment, it’s all up to Flame.”

  ***

  Flame rushed Kimberly as she pulled on pants and shoes. When she was ready, he grabbed an empty pillowcase and led her to the kitchen where he grabbed a couple of steak knives from the cutlery drawer and dropped them into the bag. He would have preferred something more solid but the Forrest’s knife block was filled with ceramic blades—and they were no good in a fight.

  “How about this?” Kimberly asked, holding up a tiny butane torch—the kind used on crème brûlée and other pastries.

  “Sure,” Flame said, as he took a quick look around. “I wish there was a shovel…”

  “Outside.” She pointed to the back door. “Gardening shed.”

  “Let’s go.”

  The gardening shed held several useful items, including a trowel and a bent-tipped and slightly rusty machete.

  “Flame.” Kimberly stopped him as he turned. “What is it about that sound that has you so worked up?”

  “That clattering noise?” He tossed the trowel into the bag, holding onto the machete. “It’s the sound of an AK-47 firing on full automatic.”

  “Someone’s shooting?”

  “More than one someone.” Flame took her hand and led her away from the house. “I heard shots from more than one location.”

  “We should call the police!”

  “How?” He turned south, searching for the copse of fallen trees he had seen on his runs. “No communication, remember?”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to get you under some heavy cover.” He spotted the pile of trees and headed in their direction. “And then I’m going to scout around a little—find out what we’re dealing with.”

  “Do you have your gun?”

  “No.” He shook his head ruefully. “I left it in the car.”

  “Oh.” She followed him to the copse, watched as he scooped sand and loam from the edge of the treefall. “Flame?”

  “Yeah?” He was half-under the trees now, pushing wet sand up and packing it to the sides.

  “You won’t leave me, will you?”

  “I have to leave to have a look…”

  “That’s not what I mean.” She remembered the tattoos on his back. “You won’t leave me the way Re-Pete and Mo left you, will you?”

  “No honey.” Flame crawled out, folded her in his arms. “I won’t leave you that way.” He led her to the scooped out entrance. “Now get in there as far as you can and wait for me.” He watched her wriggle under the trees, smiling as he realized just how sexy she looked doing it. “Keep this.” He passed her the bag, keeping one of the knives and the machete. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I’m never careful.” He smiled at the look on her face. “Just cautious.”

  Then he was off, moving down the beach at a run.

  ***

  “There are five houses on this island, sir.” Abdul-Ghafur stood before Madani on the bridge of the grounded tanker. “Three were occupied.” He shrugged. “My men took care of those inside.”

  “Good.”

  “One of my scouts thinks that there might have been people in a fourth house—but they are gone now.”

  “Evacuated before the storm.” Madani shrugged. “A sensible thing to do.”

  “There was fresh food…”

  “Do not worry, my friend.” He patted the other man on the shoulder. “We have twelve of the fiercest fighters in Islam—each of them trained in the arts of war by Al Qaeda—led by one of the most experienced of the prophet’s followers.” He smiled. “There is no one in the world who could possibly best us.”

  “As you say.” Ghafur stepped forward, looked out of the big window. “The rest of the storm will strike soon—the winds will be bad.”

  “But, I am told, the tide that follows the storm will be very high,” Madani raised his hands. “More than high enough to float us off this rock and allow us to fulfill our destiny.”

  Ghafur nodded. “Is there any damage that might cause us difficulty?”

  “None reported so far.” He gestured toward the ship’s telephone system. “The crew is still checking.”

  “I will post my men in positions where they can guard the ship,” Ghafur looked at his leader. “I will have to put at least two of them outside—in the open.”

  “Give them what protection from the wind you can manage,” Madani pursed his lips. “It wouldn’t do to lose fighters now.”

  “I will make it so.” He bobbed his head toward the radar. “Any sign of our cover ships?”

  “I have the radar turned off.” Madani’s face was stern. “It is too dangerous otherwise.”

  “As you say.” Ghafur nodded and left the bridge, gesturing to his men as he did so. He only had a few minutes to prepare secure positions for them before the storm struck again.

  ***

  It took Flame only a few moments to reach the Crawford house—the one nearest the Forrest place. As he expected, the back door had been kicked in. Now we’ll see if they’re taking hostages. He pushed the door open…

  There were two bodies in the kitchen, both shot numerous times.

  Nope. He shook his head as he looked them over. No hostages.

  The dead people were both elderly. This was their retirement home. Flame would have liked to cover the two horrified faces—but realized that he couldn’t.The jihadis may come back here, he looked down at the sprawled figure. They can’t find anything changed.

  Stepping over the bodies, carefully avoiding the blood puddle around them, Flame entered the living room. He was hoping to find something he could use as a weapon—maybe a shotgun or a rifle…

  No such luck. The elderly Mr. Crawford had not been a sportsman and, if he’d been in the military, had kept no souvenirs.

  Flame did find an expensive set of binoculars and, hanging them around his neck, took a moment to climb onto the roof of the now-deserted house to have a long look around.

  Lights over there, he noted, orienting himself. Windward beach I think. He brought the binoculars to his eyes, had a long look…

  That’s a tanker of some kind, he shook his head. Not as big as the Maersk Alabama. Flame hadn’t been involved in that action, but he’d read the reports and knew that the SEALs had done a fantastic job keeping the ship's captain safe.

  He let the binoculars drop. They must have run aground. But why would they kill the people in the houses? He shook his head. There was no way to know precisely what the bastards were up to—and he didn’t have to know. I just have to stop them from killing anyone else. He thought of the girl hiding under the broken trees. Especially her!

  He peered at the ship again. The work lights hanging down the sides gave him enough light to see what was happening. They’re setting up defensive positions. He glanced at the sky. Must be worried about the rest of the storm. He nodded. Good. That’ll give me a small advantage, he grinned. Better than nothing at all!

  Flame allowed the binoculars to drop down on their strap as he slowly climbed down from the roof. He’d have to go back to Kimberly, tell her what he was planning to do. And hope she has the good sense to just stay put! He had seen too many movies where the heroine tries to ‘help’ and screws up the whole operation.

  Kimberly’s smarter than that. He told himself. At least I think she’s smarter than that!

  He trotted up the beach, the wind strengthening as he went.

  ***

  “…The tanker is aground in the Florida Keys?” The admiral shook his head attempting to make sense of that information. “You’ve seen it?”

  “Eric found it on a satellite image during a break in storm bands.” Dana nodded positively. “It’s there, all right.”

  “Have you told your clients?”

  “The Saudis want it taken care of—they don’t care how, they just don’t want to have to explain how another of their royals became radicalized enough to try to kill a bunch of Americans.”