"Thirty minutes?" cried a horrified Abdullah.

Rapp shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I could probably come up with some sooner, but that depends on how forthright you are this time."

"I told you the truth," he moaned.

Rapp wound up this time and sent his steel-toe boot crashing into the Saudi's wounded knee. When Abdullah was done screaming, Rapp said, "The others are talking, Waheed. I know for a fact that you lied to me."

"The others...what others?"

"The other two men who came back to the base."

"They know nothing," said Abdullah defiantly. "They were not involved in any of the planning."

"Is that right?" asked Rapp. He dropped down into a squat and grabbed Abdullah's hair. "Would you care to tell me where your friend Mustafa al-Yamani is right now?"

Abdullah's eyes opened wide at the question, but his mouth remained shut.

"This big plan of yours is unraveling," said Rapp. "Those two underlings know a lot more than you think. We know al-Yamani flew to Cuba and then got on a boat for Florida. We're tracing the e-mails that you sent to the cells in America, and the FBI is moving to arrest people right now. This entire thing is falling apart and you're getting left behind." Rapp stood and studied the Saudi for a moment.

"Maybe I should give you more time to think about it. I'll be back in an hour." Rapp started to leave, but before he reached the door Abdullah cried out for him to wait.

"It's not coming into America by plane."

"How is it being transported then?"

"By ship."

"Destined for what port?" Rapp moved to stand over him again.

Abdullah mumbled an unintelligible answer.

"I didn't hear you. What port?"

"I want more morphine first," Abdullah howled.

Rapp put his boot on top of the bad knee and pressed down.

Abdullah began screaming his head off.

Rapp snarled, "I'm not taking my foot off until you tell me what port!"

Abdullah kept screaming.

"What port!" Rapp put almost all of his weight on the bad knee. "What port, Waheed?"

"Charleston! Charleston!" The man's face was covered in sweat and contorted in anguish.

Rapp let up a bit but kept his boot in place. "And when is it due to arrive?"

"Today!"

"You said yesterday when I asked you an hour ago."

"I lied! It's coming today! I swear I'm telling you the truth!"

"What's the name of the ship?"

"I don't know," he screamed with a genuine look of panic on his face.

"Where did it originate from?"

"Karachi!"

"How long ago?"

"Three weeks. Please...oh please...I'm telling you the truth."

Rapp removed his boot, and grabbed a knife from a scabbard on his right thigh. Bending over, he held the knife in front of Abdullah's face and said, "This is your last chance. I'm going to get you some morphine, but if I find out you've lied to me, I'm going to come back, and not only are you not going to get your morphine...I'm going to start lopping off your fingers one by one."

CHARLESTON

The trip out to Sullivan's Island didn't take long. The island marked the northern entrance to Charleston Harbor. They continued past the main gate to historic Fort Moultrie Park and took a left on Station 12th Street. They parked a half block from the water and got out of the car. al-Yamani asked Yacoub to grab the bag from the trunk, and the two of them walked to the beach. Once out of the car's air-conditioned comfort al-Yamani was again reminded of how foreign humidity was to him. Growing up in an arid land had acclimated him to dry heat, not this smothering wet air.

By the time they reached the sand he could feel rivulets of sweat dripping down his back. Yacoub led the way across the light-colored beach. Visibility was good with a quarter moon and not a cloud in the sky. Out to sea on the horizon the sky was beginning to lighten a bit. The sun would be up in about an hour and a half, and if things went according to plan, not long after that the container would be headed north.

Yacoub pointed out into the harbor and said, "That is Fort Sumter. It is almost one point five kilometers from here to there. The boat will pass right between us."

This is no boat,al-Yamani thought to himself.It is a ship. He had been there in Karachi to supervise the packing and loading of the container. Al-Yamani had intentionally chosen the largest vessel he could find. He rationalized that the more containers the ship could carry, the less likely it would be that the Americans would find the lethal one in a random search.

"You can see the channel markers there and there." Yacoub pointed to the red and green lights floating out in the water.

To the right was downtown Charleston. The skyline was nothing stupendous, but al-Yamani knew this was an old city by American standards. The harbor where they had just come from was illuminated by bright flood lights. Even from this vantage al-Yamani could make out the monstrous cranes swinging cargo off the big vessels docked at one of America's busiest ports.

"Here comes a boat now." Yacoub pointed out to sea.

"You mean ship. A boat is little. That is not little." Al-Yamani checked his watch and said, "Binoculars."

Yacoub zipped open the duffel bag and handed the high-powered binoculars over.

Al-Yamani looked through the lenses and found the vessel steaming toward port. It was a container ship. A big one, fully loaded. Beyond it, out to sea, al-Yamani could make out at least two more ships headed in. One of them was his ship, he hoped. A slight breeze blew in from the ocean and it carried with it the sound of engines and churning water.

A minute later the ship passed between their position and Fort Sumter. Al-Yamani read the name on the prow. It was not the ship he was looking for, but he was not surprised. His ship was not due for another ten minutes. He'd checked it on the internet before leaving Cuba. One of their people in Karachi had explained how to do it. Using GPS and transponders, merchant ships were tracked all over the globe. These big container vessels were run by state-of-the-art automated systems that maximized time and fuel efficiency. Barring bad weather or other unforeseen conditions, the arrival time of a vessel at a given port could usually be predicted within minutes.

Al-Yamani grew a bit nervous as the next ship passed and it again wasn't the one he was looking for. There were plenty more lights out on the horizon but he had waited a lifetime for this moment and he didn't want to wait any longer. If the Americans were onto the plan he would know soon enough, for there was no way they would risk letting this cargo enter one of their ports.

The next ship churned its way through the channel, its deck laden with multicolored containers stacked six high over every square foot of the aircraft carrier-sized deck. Its white superstructure was bathed in light and looked like it belonged in the business district of some generic downtown.

Al-Yamani strained to read the barely lit name on the prow and in the faint light he read the first three letters and knew it was the one he was expecting, theMadagascar. Al-Yamani lowered the binoculars and exhaled in relief. His ship had arrived.

He turned to his guide, and with genuine happiness he said, "Ibrahim, this is a great day for us."