Did the other teams have a Brainiac along for the ride? Rakkim asked. Did Spider already lose one of his kids?

No, Sarah said. This is the first time he’s risked one of his children.

We’re at that point, are we?

We’re that desperate, yes, said Sarah.

Desperate enough that you think I need help? Rakkim shook his head. I don’t need Leo to evaluate this weapons system. I could just blow the fucker up. Problem solved. But you don’t really want me to hotshot it, do you? You want me to bring the weapon back. That’s why the kid’s tagging along. So he can tell me if it’s worth the effort.

No…bringing it back wouldn’t be practical, Sarah said softly. She reached for him but he didn’t respond. You’re not supposed to know about this, Rikki. No one is.

Rakkim waited.

It’s not the system per se that’s important, Sarah said finally. It’s the science behind it. The schematics. The theoretical leaps the former regime did so well. Leo can evaluate the data, but there’s more. Much more. She moistened her lips. Leo…he’s been modified.

Leo inched his way toward Rakkim from the stern, bent forward slightly, hanging on to the railing for support. The rain gear that Vasquez had loaned him was ridiculously small. He flopped beside Rakkim, tucked in his chin as the storm broke, sheets of warm rain slanting across them. The full force wasn’t supposed to hit until tomorrow morning. So much for satellite imaging.

“Is there some rational reason why you’re standing here and not inside the cabin?” shouted Leo, voice cracking. “Are you even capable of forming a rational judgment?”

“Just working on my tan.” Rakkim spread his arms, knees bent, swaying with the rolling of the boat, eyes half closed in the warm rain. “Why don’t you go inside? Vasquez makes good coffee.”

Leo shook his head. Looked even younger somehow. “They don’t like me.”

Rakkim noticed a slight change in the engine vibration, started toward the wheelhouse as Leo called after him.

Vasquez turned away from the wheel as Rakkim reached the top of the ladder. Hector, the first mate, slouched in the corner, rain dripping off him as he sucked on a bottle of beer.

“You’re turning northeast,” said Rakkim. “We at the cutoff point already?”

Vasquez grinned silvery teeth as he cut the running lights. “You have radar too, amigo?”

Rakkim’s itinerary called for Vasquez to take them due east from his village of Laguna Madre, then cut toward the Texas coast and drop them off outside Nuevo Galveston in a small inflatable raft.

“Change of plans,” said Rakkim. “Drop us off just south of Corpus Christi.”

Vasquez peered through the windscreen as the boat shuddered and groaned. “Corpus?” He narrowed his eyes. “Bad idea. Very dangerous currents. Rocks and sandbars-”

“Bery, bery dangerous,” echoed Hector.

“I’ll take the chance,” said Rakkim.

“Hey!” Leo called up from the deck. “I don’t like being left alone out here.”

“We clear, Alejandro?” said Rakkim.

“Gone cost you another five hundred,” said Vasquez.

“Fine.” Rakkim slid down the railing of the ladder, landed with a splash on the deck. He silenced Leo with a raised finger, scrambled silently back up the ladder. Stopped just below the wheelhouse, listening as the wind howled around him.

“Cambio de planes,” Vasquez muttered, giving news of the change of plans to his people onshore, bounty hunters or worse. “Cerdo americano-”

Rakkim launched himself up the last couple of rungs, slammed Vasquez’s head against the wheel. The radiophone fell to the floor as the captain slumped against the com. Rakkim heard the sound of a shotgun being racked, and grabbed the dazed Vasquez.

“Please, señor,” said Hector, pointing the barrel of a sawed-off pump at Rakkim. “Be so kind as to move aside.”

Rakkim held Vasquez closer. A friendly embrace.

“Señor.” Hector’s eyes were the color of mop water. “Por favor.”

Vasquez struggled but Rakkim held him tight. With no one at the wheel, the Esmeralda lurched through the waves, rolling from one side to the other.

“Rakkim?” called Leo.

Hector’s gaze didn’t waver at the interruption. He raised the sawed-off slightly, considering a head shot.

Rakkim pushed Vasquez aside, kicked the shotgun as Hector fired. Splinters from the roof of the wheelhouse drifted down. Ears ringing, Rakkim grabbed the sawed-off, clubbed Hector over the head with it.

“What blew up?” shouted Leo. “Are we on fire?”

“Go sit down, kid.” Rakkim watched Hector fall to the floor, then grabbed Vasquez, pushed him against the wheel. He jabbed the sawed-off against the back of the captain’s fat neck. Hector’s blood dripped off the barrel. “North by northwest, verdad?”

A knot the size of a robin’s egg had formed on Vasquez’s forehead. He blinked as he stood at the wheel, knees shaking.

“Verdad?” repeated Rakkim.

“Verdad.”

“Capitán!” Luis’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Qué pasa?”

“Nada,” said Vasquez. “Nada, vato.” He switched off the intercom.

“You’re a disappointment, Alejandro,” said Rakkim, quickly binding Hector’s wrists and ankles.

“Please, don’t kill me,” said Vasquez. “Business…this is what the business has become.” He breathed heavily, as though he had run a long race and was nearing the finish line. “The Texas Rangers pay hard money for illegals, and my boat needs work…so much work. What is a man to do?”

“A man’s supposed to abide by his word, motherfucker,” said Rakkim.

For the next hour Vasquez steered the boat as best he could, the storm gaining strength behind them while Luis kept busy coaxing the engine back to life. Once Leo poked his head up, saw the situation, and scuttled back below. The Esmeralda rode high on the peaks of the waves, then crashed down into the troughs, repeating the process over and over. Hector lay hog-tied in the corner, blood crusting his face. He rolled from side to side as the boat skidded over the waves, watching Rakkim with fiery eyes. The radiophone blinked constantly with incoming calls that Rakkim didn’t answer.

The boat listed hard to port, timbers groaning as the bottom scraped along a sandbar. Water poured over the gunwales before Vasquez righted it. The captain threw the Esmeralda into reverse, the engines smoking as he finally broke free. “Señor, we get stuck here, the storm will tear us to pieces!”

Rakkim could see the lights of Corpus Christi in the distance. Close enough. “Tell Luis to ready the inflatable.”

Vasquez did as he was told.

Rakkim pointed the sawed-off at the radio/sonar unit, stopped when he saw the agonized look on Vasquez’s face. Had the man begged, made excuses, Rakkim would have blasted it apart. As it was…his pained silence was more persuasive. Rakkim opened the unit up with his knife, cut through the wiring harness, and slit the motherboard. The system could be easily fixed when Vasquez returned to Laguna Madre, but he wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone until then.

“G-gracias,” whispered Vasquez.

Hector spit on Rakkim’s boots. “Puto!”

Rakkim tossed the sawed-off over the side and slid down onto the deck. Slung his small, waterproof sack across one shoulder. He saw Luis and Leo struggling to keep the inflatable from sailing into the wind, the two of them drenched and frightened. The wind made it impossible to talk, so Rakkim simply pushed Leo onto the raft and launched it over the side. They hit the water hard, skidding over the surface, the inflatable tumbling end over end. Twice Rakkim had to grab Leo to prevent him being pulled under, the kid gasping and screaming, swallowing water. It was no big deal. Just a matter of hanging on until the wind and waves drove them to shore. You just had to keep your mouth shut and remember to breathe. Which seemed to be more than Leo could manage. Rakkim hooked one arm around the kid, kept a grip on the inflatable with the other, and let Mother Nature take care of the rest.