“Thank you, Haj,” Ibrahim replied, breathing in relief. “Go with God.”

“And you as well,” the man said, drawing a pistol. “Go with God.”

Kurt Schwenke watched the body tumble over the side, slid the silenced pistol into the rear waistband of his pants, then walked to where a ladder dangled over the side. As he climbed down, one of the boats came alongside. It was tough getting from a moving ship to a small boat but Kurt had no particular problems. He kicked outwards and landed on one of the seats of the boat, then settled into place.

“Do we have it?” he asked.

“Souhi has it on sonar,” Sayid Al-Yemani replied, powering up and turning, the boat splashing up and over the waves then crashing down in a shower of spray. “Allah’s beard! I am still having problems with these, Haji. Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Kurt, AKA Sabah Arif, replied, wiping at his face. “You will have much time to learn.”

The boat turned away from the waves and powered up more, jumping over them now so that Kurt had to put on the safety belts. It was only about a quarter mile, though, to the place where the container had gone over the side.

“There,” the driver said, powering down and pointing to the sonar screen. “It went deep, though. Now it is on its way up.”

Kurt nodded and watched the sonar contact rising. The water in the area was nearly two thousand feet deep, so the massive plate had a ways to descend. The coil of cable on the container was supposed to play out evenly, never letting the container get too deep, until the plate hit bottom.

The container was hanging, now, between about seventy-five meters and a hundred. Deep. Possibly too deep. But even as he watched, the numbers began to drop. Sixty meters. Fifty. It leveled off at twenty and stayed there, steady.