"Team one, execute." He closed his eyes, expecting the lone shot that would signal the rescue attempt.

The man in front of him laughed. He reached into the boat, pulled the seated man to his feet, and helped him over the gunnels of the boat.

Everett pulled his weapon and pointed it at the man. Will and Ryan followed suit. The effect of having three guns on him seemed lost on the large man, who looked at the three Event Group security men but continued to assist the second man to shore.

"Perhaps you better signal the HRT unit again, Captain."

Everett knew that although the man stated his faction didn't play games, he was being toyed with nonetheless. He lowered his weapon.

A whistle sounded in the fog from behind them. Then, from high above them, something whistled down from the top of the lighthouse. It smacked into the sand at Everett's feet. He stepped back when he saw it was upper torso body armor. He knew it to be the style he had seen the HRT suiting up with earlier.

Ryan turned around when a noise sounded behind him. Immediately, several red dots sprinkled his bulletproof vest. As he looked up, he saw black shapes coming through the swirling fog, and each carried a laser-sighted weapon. Some were aimed at Ryan, but the bulk were centered on Mendenhall and Everett's backs.

"Captain, we have company."

Without turning around, Everett placed his nine-millimeter into his waistband and pulled the coat over it, knowing they themselves had been ambushed instead of the other way around. He heard the sound of the fourteen ground members of the HRT unit as fifty men in black wet-suits pushed them roughly from the fog.

"Disappointing, but expected, Captain." The man looked around as the fog started to lift around them. "The FBI unit are all intact. A little embarrassed, maybe, but that will pass eventually."

"You didn't really expect us to treat whoever you are as honorable people, did you? Your actions against helpless vessels and shore installations don't speak well for you."

"We understand you were under orders from your president, Captain. We knew he wouldn't chance losing Dr. Compton. As for the attacks, those were acts of war, sir; you of all people should know the difference. Now, you have played out a losing hand with your deceptive actions regarding the FBI."

"The president was acting in the best interest of the country, and would--"

"However," the man said, cutting Everett's point off. "We will still keep our end of the bargain and release your Group member, to once again show good faith. Do not disappoint my captain again, or the American people will suffer beyond measure. Please, I implore you; have Dr. Compton, and any member of his department he wishes to accompany him, at McCarran airport in Las Vegas in three days. His transport will be at charter gate five at ten A.M. Heed this warning, Captain."

Suddenly the man released the hostage and returned to his boat. He and it backed away silently into the fog until once more the mist enveloped them.

The hooded man collapsed to his knees into the water; the small breakers started lapping at his thighs. Carl turned quickly and saw the wetsuited assault team had also vanished. The HRT unit was still there, still tied, and kneeling in the sand.

Everett turned and ran to the water to help the unknown person to his feet. Carl could feel the bulk under the black coverall and knew it to be a man. The hostage had a black hood on his head, and seemed weak as he struggled to stay upright. Everett hustled the man to the black limousine, removed the hood, and without looking any further, shoved him quickly into the backseat, telling the driver, Staff Sergeant Rodriguez, to watch him. He then turned and ran to assist the agents.

As Everett was cutting the plastic wire-tie off one of them, he turned and looked back at the fog-shrouded sea. With the exception of the breakers, all was quiet.

As he turned back to the task of releasing the agents, Everett heard a loud explosion of water. When he turned toward the sound, his eyes widened. He saw the topmost section of a submarine's stern fins sinking beneath the waves through the swirling remnants of fog. He straightened as he saw the three-story-high, sharklike rudders vanish, and then watched in awe as the amazing craft displaced several thousand tons of water on its way back out to sea.

"That son of bitch must have been in place long before we arrived." Ryan didn't look up as he freed the last of the agents, and didn't see the nightmare vision Everett had seen even as another giant surge of water pushed up on shore.

Everett stood and started for the car when he saw a small man in an FBI windbreaker come toward him. At his side was the sniper from the lighthouse. He recognized the agent in charge.

"I wasn't briefed on just who you people are, but your little meeting was compromised, and it had to come from your end. These people knew we would be here. Can you explain that?" The agent made the mistake of grabbing Carl's arm.

Ryan and Mendenhall reacted immediately, pulling the agent away before the captain had a chance to react. They had seen Carl confronted before, and knew that sometimes he acted first and then thought about a situation later.

"Get your hands off of me. I want an answer," the agent said, looking from Will to Ryan.

"Look, we don't know if the meet was compromised; they may have just had the game rigged from the beginning. They set this spot up, not us," Ryan said as he held the agent back.

"Fucking amateurs," the man said as he shook off Ryan's hands and then turned toward his men.

"He's right; someone told them that the FBI would be here." Everett tried to calm himself. He knew the agent in charge was only mad because his hostage rescue team had been placed in harm's way and left out to dry, just because someone on the Group's end couldn't keep their mouth shut.

"Whoever it is that's screwing with us almost cost the lives of a lot of people tonight," Mendenhall said as he watched the angry FBI unit start to assemble and make their way off the beach.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Everett said as he looked one last time back out into the Atlantic, where the vision of what couldn't have been cornered his thoughts.

The three men walked to the limousine and saw that Sergeant Rodriguez was kneeling on the backseat with the door open.

"How's our guest, Sergeant?" Mendenhall asked as they approached.

Rodriguez stepped back out of the car and looked at the three men, shaking his head.

"You're not going to fucking believe this," he said, looking from face to face as he moved out of their way.

Inside the limo, the dome lights were on. A big man sat reposed in the backseat with his head back and his face turned away from them. As Everett stepped up to the open door, he leaned down and touched the man on the leg.

"How are you doing?"

The man slowly turned his head. Everett, who was standing on the balls of his feet, lost his balance as he recognized the face immediately. He had a six-week growth of beard and looked pale in the false light of the car, and his eyes were heavily bloodshot, but Everett would have known this man anywhere, in any condition.

"I'll be damned, you tough-to-kill son of a bitch!"

Ryan and Mendenhall exchanged a look as Everett straightened and then pulled the man from the car and hugged him.

"Jack!"

Carl pushed Colonel Jack Collins at arm's length as Ryan and Mendenhall joined him in a dreamlike sequence that none of them could possibly have ever imagined.

Jack blinked his eyes and tried to focus on the faces in front of him. His hair, although combed straight back, was longer than Collins had ever worn it, but the eyes--those were still the same as they bore first into Everett's and then roamed to Ryan and Will. His lips moved, but no words came.