“Last time I saw them, they didn’t look suicidal.”

That seemed to get Conte’s and Andersson’s attention, and they exchanged glances.

Tess said, “All we’re asking for is a quick ride to New York Harbor. When we get there, Detective Corey and I will transfer to an NYPD Harbor unit or a Coast Guard cutter, and your unit can return to your area of operation.”

Kalish was silent, then asked, “How do you know you won’t get to the scene at the time it happens?”

“John and I are willing to take that risk, and we’d like to ask your officers if they are also willing.”

I had to admit that Tess was handling this well. Plus, she had balls, and Kalish appreciated balls.

Kalish stayed silent again, then said, “Okay… lay it out and have Conte call me back.”

Tess hung up and handed the cell phone back to Conte, who asked us, “What the hell is going on?”

I replied, without bullshit, “We believe there’s a ten-kiloton suitcase nuke onboard The Hana.”

Conte had no reply to that. Andersson stared at me.

I continued, “I believe it’s set to detonate at either eight forty-six A.M. or nine oh-three A.M., and you understand why. But I could be wrong about the times.”

Conte nodded, and so did Andersson.

I briefed them on the highlights of what we knew, though the background wasn’t as important to them as the words “suitcase nuke,” “New York Harbor,” and “8:46 A.M.” Or “9:03 A.M.” Or earlier, if Petrov was spooked.

Conte and Andersson listened, then Andersson asked, “Are you sure about this?”

Tess replied, “Not sure, but… almost sure.”

Conte said, “Holy shit.” He stared through the windshield. “Holy shit.”

Neither Tess nor I said anything, and we let them process all this.

Finally, Nikola Andersson turned in her seat and asked Tess and me, “Why do you want to go there?”

I replied, “I don’t actually want to go there. But I need to be there.” I explained, “This guy Petrov is my responsibility tonight.”

Tess added, “And my organization is partly responsible for letting these people into the country.”

Conte pointed out, “The Suffolk County Police Marine Bureau didn’t let them in.” He looked at his partner, and Andersson said, “If you’re just looking for a one-way ride, I think we can do that.” She asked Conte, “Okay?”

He hesitated, then said, “Okay.”

I felt obligated to remind them, “We could be sailing into a mushroom cloud.”

Conte replied, “Understood.” He added, “We won’t hang around after we transfer you to another unit.”

“Fair enough.”

Before he even called Kalish, Pete Conte began to come around.

Well, I thought, be careful what you wish for, especially if you have a death wish. Actually, I didn’t, but I do have an ego problem, and I was pissed at being marginalized by those pompous asses at 26 Fed. Screw them and their quiet end. Also, of course, I was doing my duty and protecting my country. It’s not all about me. Well, maybe it is.

I looked at Tess, who was looking at me. I said to her, “I should have let you know what I wanted to do.”

“Believe me, I figured that out long before I got on this boat.”

Am I that obvious? While I was thinking about that, Conte called Kalish on his cell phone and reported, “Heading west.”

“Copy.” Kalish asked, “Anything further?”

“Negative.”

“Godspeed.”

So that was it.

We headed west toward New York City, making fifty knots, and the SAFE boat practically flew over the water.

The fog was thinning, and I spotted two other Suffolk County Marine Bureau vessels and one helicopter as we continued toward New York Harbor.

The radar showed other craft in the vicinity, including the long line of commercial shipping on the Fairway heading to Ambrose Buoy. I noticed that the blips on the radar were not moving, so apparently shipping had been halted.

I got a text on my cell phone and read Kate’s message: Conference went overtime, then we all went to late dinner. I’m beat, phone off, going to bed. Speak tomorrow. Love, K.

Okay, so she was still in D.C., which was good. And I’d be able to speak to her in the morning. Maybe.

I did recall, however, that my message to her said it was important that she call me. And she didn’t seem curious about why I was using someone else’s cell phone. I guess she was really tired.

Marital ignorance is bliss, but willful ignorance is just stupid. Detectives want to know things, but unfortunately I wasn’t having much luck today locating either my surveillance target or my wife. In fact, this was turning out to be one of those days where I couldn’t find my ass with both hands.

Tess asked me, “Who was that?”

“My wife.” I added, “She’s staying in D.C. tonight.”

“Good.” She said, “I should call Buck. To let him know where I am.”

“If you let him know where you are, you won’t be here much longer, and neither will I.”

Tess was catching on to the Corey way of doing things, and she nodded, then said, “If he wants to talk to me, he’ll call.”

“Correct.” Same with my wife.

I considered sending Kate a return text, or calling her hotel room, but I had more pressing issues than an AWOL wife. I’d settle this in the morning. If there was one.

Conte set a course that brought us closer to the south shore of Long Island where the fog had dissipated and the ocean was calmer. We were maintaining fifty knots and Conte said we’d be at the Verrazano Bridge in less than ninety minutes.

I stared out at the western horizon. I said to Conte, “If you see a flash of bright light—”

“We turn around and go home.”

“Correct.”

Within half an hour we were in the operational area of the Nassau County Police Marine Bureau, and I could see their units on the radar running search patterns. I spotted the navigation beacon on the Jones Beach tower about three miles away, then the lights of the city of Long Beach stretching along the coast.

We crossed an imaginary line and entered New York City’s borough of Queens, and in the distance across Jamaica Bay I could see aircraft taking off and landing at Kennedy Airport. I was surprised that Washington hadn’t halted inbound air traffic, as they had done on 9/11, but apparently the threat, in their minds, wasn’t as clear or imminent as it was in mine. There is always something lost in translation between the men and women in the field and those in the capital. In any case, I was glad that Kate wasn’t flying in tonight.

Ten minutes later we were off the coast of Brooklyn and I spotted Brighton Beach, where I’d thought this surveillance was going to end this morning. I saw the lights of Coney Island and the landmark twenty-five-story-high parachute tower, where I used to scare the crap out of myself as a kid. A few minutes later we turned northwest into Gravesend Bay, and there in front of us was the illuminated Verrazano Bridge spanning The Narrows between Brooklyn and Staten Island—the entrance to New York Harbor.

I could also see at least a dozen watercraft between us and the bridge, and Conte reduced his speed, then checked his radar screen and told us there were Coast Guard cutters and NYPD Harbor units all around us. Also, we could see and hear helicopters overhead.

It was obvious that there were enough boats at the entrance to the harbor to accomplish the mission, and we all knew that our SAFE boat was not going to add much to the effort. But we also understood that there were times when just showing up was enough.

Conte reduced his speed again and asked me, “You want to transfer to a unit here, or in the harbor?”

“The harbor.”

He looked at Andersson, then said, “Okay.”

We passed under the mile-long Verrazano Bridge and entered Upper New York Bay. We were now in the blast zone.

The fog was patchy in the bay and sat in clumps like gray islands. I didn’t see any other watercraft nearby, but helicopters circled overhead.