She was about to tell him to stop, when he placed his hands under her buttocks, lifted her hips off the bed, and put his mouth on her.
He was expert and gentle, bringing her to three shuddering climaxes in fifteen minutes, until she lay breathless and dizzy. “Please, darling, please,” she murmured. “I want you inside me.”
Gently lowering his weight on her, he cradled her head and in one fluid motion slid himself into her. She groaned and lifted her knees. He lay still on her, stroking her face. She panicked. Why wasn’t he moving? By now Herb would have been rutting away. And then she realized: He was waiting for her, waiting until she was ready.
Oh sweet God, this was how it was supposed to be….
They made love three more times that evening, and she found herself doing and saying and feeling things she never imagined possible. He was a perfect lover, strong, gentle, and patient.
After the last time, they lay quietly together. She felt a thousand things at once: glowing, satiated, sexy… but most of all, woman. She basked in it. She felt the tears welling in her eyes.
Fayyad could feel her tears trickling onto his chest. This often happened, tears following lovemaking, and for him it had always meant one thing: She was his.
This time, however, he felt an unsettling mix of fear and contentment. Judith felt wonderful in his arms. This one was different from the others.
He kissed her forehead. “Judith? Have I hurt you?”
“Oh, no, darling, God no. I’ve never been happier.”
“I’m glad,” he said. Oh, Allah, what have I done?
“What are you saying?” Azhar asked. “You don’t believe he can do the job?”
Al-Baz considered his answer. He knew Fayyad’s ways. In the pursuit of his goal he became the perfect lover, and in so doing fell in love himself. Perhaps this was the case with the Smith woman. No, he decided, there had been genuine rage in the man’s voice.
“Perhaps,” answered al-Baz. “At best, he is growing soft.”
“Then we must increase the pressure. No, better still, put someone else in command.”
“Who, though? Who could…” The answer suddenly occurred to al-Baz; one glance at Azhar told him they were thinking alike. “Shall I make the arrangements?”
Azhar nodded. “Quickly.”
17
Two hours after midnight, Tanner and Cahil lay hidden in the undergrowth watching the shipyard through binoculars. Earlier, dark clouds had rolled over the Inland Sea, and now a cold rain was falling. Fog horns drifted across the water.
That morning, they had rented the dive gear and old skiff from a Mugi shop owner. Just after sunset, they left the shop, drove up the coast to the Anan peninsula, where they parked on a deserted fire road. From there they carried the skiff to the opposite shore and waited for nightfall.
Ideally, their minimum equipment loadout for this kind of penetration would have included an SDV (swimmer delivery vehicle), night-vision equipment, H&K MP-5 assault rifles, and a pair of LAR V bubbleless rebreather tanks. But they had neither the time nor the resources for such a wish list. Tanner’s greatest concern was their bubble trail, but the rain would take care of that, cloaking their approach and rendering the patrol boat’s searchlights almost useless.
The weather also brought a downside. The water temperature was sixty-five degrees, not numbingly cold, but still thirty-three degrees below their core body temperatures. Barring any glitches, they would be in the water less than three hours, but even in full wet suits, the cold would immediately begin to sap their bodies of heat and energy.
To reduce this risk, they planned to take the skiff part of the way, cutting the distance to the sea fence by two miles — or about an hour’s swim in the crosscurrent. Once at the gate, they could remain submerged for an hour before having to turn back.
Tanner watched the patrol boats finish their tour of the fence and return back through the gate. “Okay, they’re through.”
Cahil nodded and set the bezel on his watch. “Shall we?”
“Let’s get wet.”
An hour and ten minutes later, Tanner checked his watch and wrist compass, then gave the buddy line two jerks. Cahil swam out of the darkness to join him. Twenty-five feet above, the water’s surface bubbled with rain.
They put their masks together for a face check. In the green glow of their watches, Bear was grinning broadly; Briggs felt the same. This is what they did best. Despite the absolute blackness, the water felt safe. It was a world without edges, where up/down/left/right could become meaningless unless you kept a grip on your mind. Tanner had seen otherwise hard, unflappable veterans panic in such conditions. Without its everyday reference points, the human mind begins to feed on itself, magnifying fears and sowing doubts. Until they were moving again, he and Bear would stay in constant physical contact.
You okay? Tanner mouthed.
Cahil nodded and gave a thumbs-up. You?
Tanner nodded back. He gestured ahead, made a clam-shell with his hands, then pointed to himself: Checking the sea fence. He returned in thirty seconds and gave a thumbs-up. They were in position.
Now they waited.
It wasn’t long before they heard the muffled whine of propellers approaching the sea gate. The sound faded and was replaced by the chugging of engines. Garbled voices called to one another, followed by a metallic clank as the latches were released. A moment later, Tanner felt a surge as the gate swung outward.
Knowing it would remain open only long enough to let the boats through, he and Cahil had decided against trying to dash through. That left piggybacking. A trip to a local glazier had provided the necessary tools.
Once the boats exited the gate and peeled away to their respective fence lines, spotlights came to life, knifing through the water and illuminating the boat’s hulls. With Cahil following, Tanner finned toward the nearest boat.
Each armed with a pair of glazier’s tongs — dual suction cups on U-shaped handles — they swam hard until they were alongside the hull. Tanner mounted his tongs along the keel line, while at his feet, Cahil did the same, then scooted forward, locking Tanner’s legs against the hull. The illuminated fence skimmed by Tanner’s head.
After another five minutes, the boat turned back and headed for the gate. Tanner heard the latches clank open, followed by the groan of steel. The boat surged forward, then stopped. Flashlight beams tracked along the waterline, then clicked off, and the boat started forward again.
Three hundred yards into the cover, Tanner felt a squeeze on his calf. Ian was disengaging. Tanner waited a few seconds, then dropped away. They joined up, and Tanner checked the compass: Dock 12 was about a quarter mile away, bearing 282. They started swimming.
The hanger door loomed before them. Tanner touched it: heavy-gauge steel. He jerked his thumb downward. They finned to the seabed, clicked on their penlights, and groped until they found the door’s lower lip. Here Tanner found the break he’d been betting on: The shipyard’s designers had failed to seat the hangar doors on a concrete foundation.
Using garden trowels, they started digging.
When the hole was large enough, Tanner wriggled under the door, then turned left and swam until his fingers touched concrete. He finned upward and broke the surface under the pier. Cahil came up a moment later.