The man turned, swiftly exiting through the revolving doors.

Zack quickened his pace, rushing through the doors. The man jumped into the very cab that Zack had ridden in from the airport.

The cab sped off.

The man turned, locking eyes with Zack once more, as the cab disappeared around the bend in the palm-tree-lined Silosa Road.

Victor Yang Loon’s taxi

Sentosa Island, Singapore

12:47 p.m.

Victor glanced in the rearview mirror at the white-suited passenger.

“What’s your rush, my friend?”

“I have a flight to catch.”

“What time is your flight?”

The man checked his watch. “Ninety minutes.”

“Which airline?”

“Saudi Air.”

“Don’t you have any luggage?”

“No luggage,” the man said.

Odd.

“You are my third passenger today from the Rasa Sentosa to the airport with no baggage.”

No response.

“What is it with the Royal Saudi Airlines?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You are my third Saudi passenger today going to the airport with no bags. Not many day commuters on Royal Saudi Airlines.” Victor swung the cab around the last traffic circle on Sentosa Island. They approached the causeway bridge leading to the Singaporean mainland.

“What makes you think I am Saudi?”

“You are flying Royal Saudi Airlines. I assumed-”

“-lots of people fly Royal Saudi Airlines. I am Kuwaiti.”

“Ah…my apologies…”

“Does Singapore make it a crime to have no luggage, my friend?”

The cab crossed the causeway. Victor veered onto the East Coast Parkway.

“No crime, my friend. Just wondering.”

They headed east. Victor thought something was strange about this fellow.

“You know, my friend”-the man donned dark shades-“I was thinking of bringing my wife and children back to Singapore for a holiday. We have plenty of time before my flight. Please stop at East Coast Park so that I might get out for a moment and shoot a few pictures for my family. I will reward you handsomely.”

Why did this seem odd? But if the man was going to pay him… “Of course.”

They sped around the East Coast Parkway, crossed Marina Bay, then sped past Marina City Park on the right. Crossing another bridge, they entered the area of East Coast Park.

“Turn here,” the passenger ordered.

Victor took exit 12, the Fort Road-East Coast Park exit. They passed Marine Cove, Kite Runners, and Raintree Cove on the right.

“Turn here,” the passenger ordered, as they came upon the C-4 parking lot, just a few hundred yards from the water. Victor swung the car to the right. A few cars were parked in the lot, but not a soul was in sight.

“Park here.”

Victor found an empty space and threw the cab in neutral.

A powerful hand clamped his nose and mouth from behind. Another gripped his Adam’s apple, yanking his head against the headrest. Victor squirmed, but the man’s overpowering grip clinched harder against his throat.

“Mmmmmmm.”

“You talk too much, my friend.”

Victor flailed, reaching for the man’s hair. Nothing. Heaving, pushing, Victor twisted. Turned. Squirmed.

The man’s powerful fingers dug into his esophagus.

Coughing.

Gagging.

“Perhaps life would have served you better had you learned to keep your mouth shut.”

Wheezing.

Choking.

Water streamed from Victor’s eyes, trickling down his cheeks.

The windshield.

The dashboard.

The cabbie’s vision blurred. Thoughts flashed by of his wife and two teenage daughters. His arms fell limp.

Then a gasp…yes, a sharp intake of air…the hand was gone! Victor widened his eyes.

A sharp blade slashed his throat. His world spun. Warm blood gushed from his mouth and throat.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh…” The faint sound of his attacker shushed Victor to sleep.

Then…

Blackness.

Rasa Sentosa Resort

Sentosa Island, Singapore

1:15 p.m.

Wearing a pair of dark blue swim trunks and a light blue-and-white North Carolina Tar Heels T-shirt, Zack stepped from the lobby into the warm afternoon. Two aqua-colored pools with outdoor verandas and thatched huts sparkled between the palm trees just outside the Rasa Sentosa.

Zack slipped on his Oakleys. The polarized lenses gave everything an extra glow under the bright sunshine. He took in the sight and walked toward the pool closest to the white sands of Silosa Beach.

He sat in a white lounge chair facing the water. Dozens of beachgoers were sunbathing and splashing in the gentle surf. Beyond that, two oil tankers were moored low in the water perhaps a quarter of a mile offshore. Beyond the tankers, boats and ships of all sizes and types crisscrossed in both directions.

Two Royal Navy frigates flying the British naval ensign and Union Jack steamed to the east. The frigates made Zack long for his days as staff judge advocate aboard the supercarrier USS Ronald Reagan, where he served before they sent him to Australia.

His cell phone vibrated. He felt around the pocket of his swim trunks, fished out the phone, and flipped it open.

“Commander Brewer.”

“Zack?” The voice set his chest pounding like a battering ram. “Where are you?”

“At the hotel, out by the pool. Are you at the airport?”

“I’m in the lobby of the hotel.”

“You’re in the lobby? Why didn’t you call me from the airport?”

“You know I like surprises,” Diane said.

“I’ll be right there.”

“No, just stay there,” she said. “I’ll come out. I can’t check in yet and they’re holding my bags. Maybe you could order us a drink?”

“Sangria?”

“You remembered.”

“How can I forget?”

“Be right there. Can’t wait to see you.”

“You too.”

Can’t wait to see you. He pulled himself up and headed over to one of the Kon Tiki huts. “I need one lemonade and a sangria for my lady friend.”

BOOM!

Screams erupted from the beach.

Zack whipped around to see panicking swimmers scrambling out of the water. Sunbathers pointed out to sea. An orange fireball billowed from the front of the ship. It was the tanker!

BOOM!

Another explosion. Fire engulfed the second tanker.

Zack watched in horror. It was like the World Trade Center on water.

BOOM!

Screams now came from the hotel as shattering glass smashed against concrete.

Zack turned. Flames and smoke billowed through gaping, jagged holes in the glass of the hotel lobby.

“Diane!”

He sprinted to the burning hotel, passing coughing staffers and guests who were stumbling outside.

Zack stepped into the lobby. Flames lapped up silk draperies near the left wall.

The smoke-filled lobby was already like an oven on low heat. Guests gasped and choked, stepping over themselves, frantically grasping for the outside. Others lay on the floor moaning. Some were motionless. Sunlight poured into the lobby through open areas, but the smoke was thickening, making it difficult to breathe. Sirens from the harbor police blared.

“Diane!” The crackling flames absorbed Zack’s scream.

“Everybody out!” a voice blared over a megaphone. “Get out now!” the voice announced in English, then switched to Mandarin.

“Diane!” Zack put his face into his T-shirt, plunging through the smoke.

“Out! Out!”

Pockets of warm air shrank under thickening smoke. Images grew opaque.

His hands found a counter. Squinting, he realized he had found the front desk. A woman was on the floor behind it. Zack crawled over the counter, bent over, and pulled the woman’s arms over his shoulder.

As the heat sapped his strength, he lifted the woman onto his back. She gave him no help. Only dead weight. He laid her down on the floor, then repositioned her body and lifted her, cradling her in his arms.

She coughed.

Good. At least she was alive.

He stumbled through the mix of smoke and air toward the light streaming in from where the revolving doors stood just an hour earlier.