“We’re not talking about a nuclear warhead in this case, however, Mr. Rincon.”

“No. I believe this Scud is equipped with a quantity of cesium-137, a radioactive isotope used in radiology for medical and industrial purposes. Packed into the warhead with some dynamite, upon detonation it will disperse and cause a widespread epidemic of radiation poisoning. It’s got a half-life of thirty years. Yes, it will kill you. Eventually.”

“How much did these terrorists of yours buy, Mr. Rincon?”

“Fifty kilos.”

Ops carried the one and blurted out, “Jesus Christ! That’s like a hundred and ten pounds!”

“Yes. Which leaves room in the warhead for eighteen hundred pounds of dynamite.”

“There are two hundred and forty thousand people in Anchorage,” Sara said into the stunned silence. “Also Elmendorf Air Force Base, and Fort Richardson. Also the port of Anchorage, through which is shipped most of what the state of Alaska eats, wears, and drives, which would include Eielson Air Force Base outside Fairbanks and our own base in Kodiak.”

She let that sink in, and deliberately met Chief Mark Edelen’s frowning gaze. “I believe Mr. Rincon is right in his assessment of this situation. I believe that the Star of Bali is carrying a group of terrorists armed with a Scud missile armed with a WMD, and that their target is Anchorage.”

Ostlund stirred. “The master told us that their next port of call is Seward, Alaska.”

“Which is less than a hundred air miles from Anchorage. Mr. Rincon says the Scud’s range is just under two hundred miles. All they have to do is put it into the air over Anchorage and light it off.”

“Captain,” Chief Edelen said respectfully but firmly, “I still say we should head for Dutch Harbor. These people on board the Agafia almost took out our entire bridge crew. They did take out all our comm systems. I doubt that the ones on board the Star of Bali will be less well armed. We don’t help their prospective target by getting ourselves killed.”

“Noted, Chief. Anybody else got anything to add?”

Ostlund looked around the table. “XO?”

“Yes?”

“Are we the only ones who know?”

Sara looked at Hugh. He raised his shoulders and spread his hands. “Yes, Ensign. I believe we are.”

Ostlund swallowed hard. “Then we have to stop them.”

Sara took a deep breath, let it out. “Agreed.”

The chief stirred, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“All right,” she said, pushing back from the table and getting to her feet. They followed suit. “I want every ounce of speed you can get out of the engines, EG*. Ops, keep working on getting us some way to talk to shore over a secure line. I would just love to be able to call up an F-15 out of Elmendorf and paint a target on these guys. Failing that, Mr. Ostlund, we’re minus our helo and our law enforcement officer, not to mention our gunnery officer. We’re going to need a plan if we decide to board her. You up for that?”

“You bet I am, ma’am.”

“Then get on it. Dismissed, gentlemen. Suppo? Hold up a minute.”

Warrant officer George Kale said, “Ma’am.”

“Give us a minute, will you, Mr. Rincon?” Sara said.

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

“What have you done with the captain, and Seaman Razo?”

He shifted uncomfortably. Pappy Kale didn’t talk a lot. “We cleaned out one of the freezers. Put them in there in plastic bags.”

She nodded. “How’s the crew doing?”

The supply officer, perhaps because of his habitual silence, heard more from and about the crew than the rest of the officers put together. He met her eyes steadily. “They’re okay, ma’am. They’re pretty shook up, but they’re behind you. They know what happened to the captain and Seaman Razo, they want these guys, and they’re ready to do whatever it takes to make that happen. You can count on them, ma’am.”

JANUARY

“HI,” LILAH SAID.

“Hey,” Kyle said. “I was just going to call. How are the kids?”

“Ask them yourself.” Lilah put first Gloria and then Eli on the phone with their father. They told him all about the sea otter they had seen out the window of their hotel room every morning.

“How are you, babe?” Kyle said when Lilah got back on the phone.

“Bored. Lonely. Horny.”

He laughed. “I miss you, too.”

“I’m waiting for the but.”

Kyle took a deep breath, let it out. “Sara’s cutter is missing.” His wife said nothing. “Lilah?”

“How can a two-hundred-and-eighty-four-foot Coast Guard cutter go missing?”

“It’s been out of communications with District for over a full day now.”

“Did it sink?”

“They don’t know.”

They listened to each other think for a while. “Does Sara’s missing cutter have anything to do with why we’re here instead of there?” Kyle took longer to answer this time. “Kyle?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Kyle said. “But I’m afraid so. Hugh-”

“Hugh’s here?”

“No. He’s not here.” Kyle lent a slight emphasis to the last word.

“Oh,” Lilah said on a note of discovery. “Oh no, Kyle, no.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. “Stay there for a few more days, okay, honey?”

“We’ll stay here,” Lilah said.

She hung up and stared out the window at Resurrection Bay, a deep fjord walled in by steep, snow-covered mountains. She was not blind to the beauty, but she couldn’t help but wonder what lay buried beneath its wind-whipped surface.

She very much hoped that Kyle’s two best friends weren’t.

The phone rang and she snatched it up, hoping it was her reprieve from purgatory. “Kyle?”

No, instead it was a preternaturally perky young woman who chirped brightly, “No, ma’am, this is Kenai Fjords Tours. Is this Mrs. Lilah Chase?”

“It is,” Lilah said, voice dull with disappointment.

“We’re calling to confirm your Resurrection Bay excursion, one adult, two children, departing at noon on January nineteenth.”

Four interminable days from now. “Yes, that is correct.”

“You’ll want to check in at our office down in the marina half an hour prior to departure. A hot lunch will be included with your tour.”

“Yes, I know. We’ve sailed with you before.” Twice in the past week, she thought. Stuck here much longer and they’d have to start repeating cruises.

“That’s fine, then, ma’am, thank you so much, and we’ll look forward to seeing you on the nineteenth.”

She replaced the receiver and fought a sudden and irrational up-welling of tears. “Come on, kids, let’s hit the beach.”

JANUARY 19 GULF OF ALASKA

THEY WERE UNDER WAY again. From overheard conversations they deduced that the fuel filters on the freighter’s one engine had clogged up, leaving them adrift for almost forty-eight hours. Fang bore a grudging respect for Smith, who had maintained his own calm and order among the men during that time.

But in truth there had been little danger of the Star of Bali’s crew calling anyone for help. In the schedule-driven world of maritime shipping all that mattered was getting the goods to market on time. The last thing any shipowner wanted was a boarding by the U.S. Coast Guard, which would cause significant delay and who knew how many citations for safety and security violations requiring expensive legal action later on. The hired hands that captained most oceangoing vessels nowadays were well aware of this, and they would do everything in their power to avoid the official attention of authorities on shore.

Fang listened to the engine, which it seemed to him was still running a little rougher than it had before it quit. It was running, however, which was preferable to the alternative. The two days adrift had not been enjoyable, with the ship at the mercy of the heavy seas.