Naji steered in a slow, casual way, remaining in a line behind a smaller boat filled with a family.

“Naji,” Faqir whispered.

“Yes?”

“We’re here,” he whispered.

Faqir pointed into the distance at the Statue of Liberty, raising his arm slowly in the air.

Naji reached to a shelf above the console. He removed a small cardboard box and handed it to Faqir.

*   *   *

Calibrisi was seated next to Igor. His jacket and tie were removed, his sleeves were rolled up.

Igor’s fingers flew over the computer keyboard so fast Calibrisi stopped trying to understand how he did it.

By ten o’clock, they had spotted nine suspicious vessels. Polk, Katie, and Tacoma had swept six of them. The other three were checked out by plainclothes FBI agents in sniper boats.

Every passing minute brought with it increasing anxiety. With each possible boat, Calibrisi sensed the anticipation and urgency from the White House, revealed on one of the screens above, revealed in the way Dellenbaugh paced the Situation Room, eager to see if the terrorist had been found.

Igor suddenly elbowed him.

“We got something,” he said, hitting the keyboard. “Coming into the harbor from the Hudson.”

The camera shot down and focused. The passengers were beneath the bimini roof, out of sight line. The boat was green. The photo was so clear that the small gold Hinckley insignia was visible along the side of the boat.

“Bill,” said Calibrisi, “we have something behind you. Putting it on your screen right now.”

“I got it,” said Polk.

Calibrisi looked at the plasma upper left. Greer Ambern was standing on the bridge of the Fort Worth, surrounded by his battle team.

“Greer?”

“I see it, Hector.”

“Where’s the nearest SDV?”

“A couple hundred yards away,” said Ambern. “They’ll be there in less than a minute.”

*   *   *

Faqir placed the cardboard box on the table. He leaned against the table for stability. Carefully, he lifted the top of the box. Reaching inside, he took out a small square device made of stainless steel, with a small red button on top. The detonator.

Faqir looked at Naji.

“Naji,” he said.

Naji’s face was turned away from Faqir as he steered.

“Think quick,” said Faqir.

He tossed the detonator through the air. Naji’s face took on a look of horror as he removed his hands from the wheel then stabbed them out, catching the detonator before it tumbled to the ground.

He held the detonator gently as he studied Faqir’s grinning face.

“What are you doing?” he asked, shocked that Faqir would be so reckless.

“It doesn’t matter now. We’re here. Go ahead. Do you want to press it?”

*   *   *

The SEAL Delivery Vehicle pushed silently through the water, a dozen feet below the surface. There were three SEALs now clutching the submersible. The pilot and copilot sat near the front of the minisub in tiny compartments open to the water. Burns, the combat swimmer, clutched a handle near the rear.

Above, the waterline was chaos. Each boat engine churned the surface of the water, creating eddies that blurred the view. There were so many hulls they seemed to blend together.

Burns listened to his SDV pilot over commo as they steered toward the target boat.

“Captain,” said the pilot, “I need a hard GPS lock on that boat’s position. There are too many boat hulls out here.”

“Roger, that,” said someone on the Fort Worth. “I’m going to take your nav over for a sec.”

On the pilot’s nav screen, illuminated dots, representing the boats directly above the SDV, suddenly started to flash. Then a green circle appeared around one, pulsed three times, and locked on. A bright green target symbol flashed.

“Got it.”

The pilot locked the nav onto the target boat. The SDV hovered beneath it at precisely the same depth and speed. The SDV now moved in conjunction with the target boat, tracking it. The pilot let go of the controls. He and the copilot were now ready to join Burns in the attack.

The pilot turned back to Burns.

Over commo, he asked, “You ready, Burnsy?”

Burns put his free hand to the airtight pocket on his chest, feeling the bulge of his gun, a suppressed Beretta 9mm.

“Affirmative, Captain.”

“Fort Worth,” said the SDV pilot, “on your go.”

“Hold until we get the surface sweep.”

*   *   *

On Polk’s screen, the boat’s location flashed red.

Then the words appeared: 705 feet.

Polk steered toward the target boat. He weaved between vessels, all moving slowly, many distracted by Lady Liberty in the distance. Polk glanced at his watch: 10:28. There were, he knew, four fireworks displays scheduled for the day. The first, he knew, started at 10:30.

As he watched the screen, he heard a sudden yell.

“Watch it!”

Polk looked up just as the bow of the boat grazed a cigarette boat, its engine growling loudly.

“Sorry,” Polk said.

A tall man with a potbelly was behind the wheel. Behind him was a woman, who came running to the side of the boat, looking to see if there was damage.

“If that left a scratch—” the man began.

“It did!” the woman exclaimed. “It left a big black mark, Rudy!”

The man ran to the side of the cigarette boat. Polk put his boat in reverse. As he started to back up, the man grabbed one of the boat’s cleats, holding the vessel against his boat.

“Let go,” said Polk, debating whether to accelerate, fearing that if he did he would bring the man overboard, resulting in his wife screaming.

Before Polk could do anything, the man threw a rope around the cleat.

“I want your insurance,” he yelled.

“What’s going on down there?” asked Calibrisi over commo. “Get to the Hinckley, now.”

Tacoma moved from the back of the boat. He pulled out his combat blade, placed it under the rope, and sliced the line. The cigarette boat owner swung, but Tacoma ducked.

“Go,” he barked to Polk.

Fearing the man might fall in, Tacoma punched him in the mouth, sending him backward, tumbling to the deck.

Katie sat on the transom, ignoring the commotion. Through her monocular, she studied the suspicious vessel, just a hundred feet away now. It was a green Talaria. There was a man steering. He had longish dark hair and was shirtless.

“I think that’s it,” she said over commo. “Hector, I think that’s the boat.”

“I’ll be there in ten seconds,” said Polk.

“No, you won’t,” said Calibrisi. “Greer, get those SEALs up there.”

*   *   *

Burns let go of the handle in the same moment the other two SEALs leapt from their seats. Burns reached the bottom of the Talaria just ahead of his teammates. He placed his hand on a brass handle along the back, removed his flippers, unzipped his weapon pocket, and silently hoisted himself up onto the ski platform at the back of the boat.

The other two men soon joined him. Burns climbed onto the deck.

Burns signaled his teammates using his left hand: my shot.

A door opened. A teenage girl stepped from the cabin, saw Burns, and screamed.

The man behind the wheel turned, then held up his hands.

“Whatever you want,” he whispered, trembling.

A scream abruptly rattled the air. It came from another boat, a sailboat just a few yards away, as a woman saw the three frogmen, all in black, clutching weapons on the Hinckley.

*   *   *

Naji’s head turned as the scream echoed through the throng of boats. He stared, his eyes transfixed, at the three divers, all clad in black.

“Faqir,” he said, pointing to the green yacht a hundred feet away from them.

Faqir quickly registered the men. SEALs or FBI. Then he saw the dark green of the boat’s hull.

They’re here.

“Where is it?” he asked, desperation in his voice.

“What?”