Cordero flashed her credentials to the two Boston PD officers operating the boat and told them the last known direction of the vessel they needed to catch.

“It’s all over the radio now,” one of the men said.

“There’s not supposed to be any radio traffic.”

“The way these guys were moving through the harbor, they caught the Coast Guard’s attention. They’re now in pursuit. If you’ll sit down and hold on, we’ll see if we can get you close. It sounds like they’re going to cross our path about a mile from here.”

Cordero nodded, everyone held on, and the Harbor Patrol officers threw the throttles all the way forward.

Their boat was even faster than the fire department’s and it sliced through the choppy harbor. Cordero leaned in close so Harvath could hear her above the roar of the engines and the wind rushing by them.

“If it wasn’t Renner’s,” she said, “whose body did you find down there?”

“I have no idea,” Harvath said. “But I have a feeling Sal made good on his promise.”

“What promise was that?” Ryan yelled.

“Sabatini said he didn’t have anything to do with the bombing tonight. Said it made him angry. He claimed he was going to settle up with who was responsible.”

“Fat chance of that,” McGee replied. “The guy responsible is cinched up back at the hotel with an MP5 pointed at his chest.”

“Then who’s bouncing along the bottom of Boston Harbor right now?”

Ryan had an idea and was about to respond, when a deafening roar overtook them like a tidal wave from behind.

They all spun at once to see a giant Sikorsky MH-60T Coast Guard “JayHawk” helicopter race right above them, headed in the same direction.

“They’ve already got eyes on the target,” one of the Harbor Patrol officers shouted from the pilothouse. “Suspect is wearing a Boston PD raid jacket.”

Ryan got Harvath’s attention and yelled over the engines, “Sabatini?”

Harvath nodded.

When the large, oceangoing cabin cruiser came into view, they counted five other boats in hot pursuit—three from the Boston PD and two from the U.S. Coast Guard, all of which were keeping it lit up with their spotlights. Up on the fly bridge, Harvath could just make out Sal’s Boston PD jacket.

The Sikorsky banked to come around and Harvath saw that its door was open and its interior blacked out. The Coast Guard didn’t goof around and that door hadn’t been left open for the breeze. Though he couldn’t see him, Harvath knew there was a sniper in there.

As soon as the helicopter was in place another round of commands were issued over one of the Coast Guard vessel’s PA systems for the driver of the cabin cruiser to bring his boat to a full and immediate halt.

When the cabin cruiser didn’t respond, two earsplitting cracks that sounded like thunder erupted from the Sikorsky and two heavy .50-caliber rounds were loosed to pierce the boat’s engine blocks.

Within seconds, smoke began to billow from the stern and the boat lost power. It eventually came to an eerie stop and just bobbed up and down on the water. No matter how many commands were given over the PA system to the man on the fly bridge, he refused to move. The boarding teams on their respective vessels made ready while the helicopter with its sniper hovered nearby.

McGee tapped one of the harbor patrolmen on the shoulder and said, “Make sure they know that in addition to the rogue Boston PD detective, we believe there are two accomplices and a hostage on board. The accomplices are very well trained and will be well armed.”

The officer nodded and relayed the information to the other units. For Harvath, Cordero, Ryan, and McGee, it was now a waiting game.

The Coast Guard relayed one last series of instructions to the man on the fly bridge, and when he didn’t respond, the boarding teams were given the green light to launch their assault.

As Harvath watched the teams work, something out of place at the stern caught his eye. Suddenly there was activity over the radio, which the Harbor Patrol officers had turned up the volume on so that Cordero and everyone else could listen in on what was happening.

The man on the fly bridge was dead.

“Dead?” Cordero repeated. “How the hell is that possible?”

The patrolman started to shrug when another message was received. The boarding team had located a survivor. The rest of the vessel was clear.

Harvath stepped into the pilothouse and said to the copilot, “Radio the Coast Guard that we’re coming aboard.” To the officer piloting the boat, he said, “Bring us alongside, now.”

 • • •

When it was explained that Cordero was not only Boston PD but the partner of the rogue cop, they were granted permission to board.

The first person they saw was the survivor, Jonathan Renner. He was sitting in the boat’s salon, wrapped in a blanket.

Harvath approached the man and asked, “Mr. Renner?”

The man looked up and nodded.

“I’m very glad to see you alive, sir. We’re going to get you back to shore and to your family as quickly as possible, okay?”

Renner nodded again, and Harvath walked out of the salon and back onto the deck.

Climbing up to the fly bridge, he joined Cordero along with Ryan and McGee, who were already there.

“It’s not Sal,” the female detective said.

“Who is it, then?” he asked.

“Tom Cushing,” Ryan replied.

“Whoever killed him,” said McGee, “used fishing line to keep him in a seated position. The boat has an autopilot.”

Harvath studied all the blood pooled in the man’s lap and running down his legs. “Somebody gutshot him. Not many more painful ways to go than that.”

“I think we can make an educated guess as to who pulled the trigger,” Cordero stated.

“And with Renner safe downstairs, I think we also can make a pretty well educated guess who I found underwater.”

“Vaccaro,” said Ryan.

Harvath nodded.

“Then where’s Sabatini?”

Harvath led the group down the stairs to the stern of the cabin cruiser. Two of the Coast Guardsmen had already vented the engine compartment and made sure there was no threat of fire.

Leaning over the back of the boat, he pointed at the swim platform, where two nylon tie-down straps were dangling.

“How much do you want to bet that until just a little while ago, there used to be a WaveRunner or a Jet-Ski there?”

Ryan looked at McGee. “We need to warn Wise.”

 • • •

The knock on the hotel door was loud and unsettling. In fact it wasn’t even a knock. It was a pounding.

“Boston Police! Open up!” the voice commanded. “Police! Open the door!”

Not only did Bill Wise have a prisoner secured to a chair and gagged, but the room was also awash in Class 3 weapons and other assorted items like Tasers and recording devices. Without credentials, there was no way he’d be able to explain his way out of this. Police involvement was something they absolutely didn’t need.

What they needed was to get Stark to D.C. as quickly and as quietly as possible so he could tell his story there. That step, though, was now suddenly in jeopardy.

One of the guests or hotel security must have seen or heard something.

As he approached the door, his cell phone back on the desk began ringing, and another thought suddenly gripped him.

“Police!” the voice shouted as the pounding recommenced. “Open up!”

Bill Wise raised his MP5 ready to fire just as the door was kicked in from the outside.

He stumbled backward and landed on his ass in the bathroom. A fraction of a second later, something was tossed into the room and was followed by a blindingly bright light and an overpowering explosion.

CHAPTER 68

Ryan’s cell phone rang just before the Harbor Patrol unit boat reached the dock.