The third diver remained back thirty-five feet from the cabin cruiser as cover for the other two. He had his high-tech spear gun at the ready.

“Roll up on the tail board when the swell drops it back into the water. I’ll follow you on the next rise,” one man said to the other.

The two black suited divers quietly shimmied up on the transom’s teak platform just above the boat’s water line. They removed the small pony bottles they had been breathing from, along with their fins. They velcro’d the dive gear to the stainless steel ring on the back of the transom.

From special water proof bags came two semi-auto firearms with silencers screwed on to the barrels. Their hip holsters held shiny stainless steel U.S. Diver fighting knives, authentic right down to the individual serial numbers on the base of the blades. They crept silently over the back of the cabin cruiser and along the aft deck.

One of the passengers exited a moment later from the enclosed cabin for a smoke.

The lead diver clamped his hand over the man’s mouth like a vise, as the sharp pointed edge of the knife sank up to the serrated cuts on the top of the blade. The limp body was dumped quietly onto the deck where blood ran freely from the fatal wound. The other two occupants of the boat were not as lucky to die so easily.

The retired FBI agent put up the greatest resistance when he pulled out his forty caliber pistol. A bullet to the head ended his life immediately, but only after he got off two shots that went wild and missed his attacker.

The engineer smacked one of the divers in the head with a beer bottle which broke over his polyurethane hooded dive suit. Moments later the grizzled engineer was in the open, up on deck. The third diver, who was floating in the water twenty feet from the boat, took aim and fired.

The barbed alloy spear shot through the engineer’s right shoulder and lodged firmly in the fiberglass bulkhead behind. Seized by excruciating pain, he could only watch as blood pulsed out of his upper chest. He glanced down to see his friend Donnie already dead.

The lead diver stepped out on the open deck, “I’m gonna’ do you a favor,” he said to the impaled engineer. He grabbed the man’s arm and slashed through the brachial artery with the razor sharp dive knife. Rich red blood shot out of the engineer’s arm with every beat of his heart.

“With any luck maybe you’ll bleed to death before you drown.”

Two minutes passed, and the divers quietly stepped back over the deck that was now awash with blood to the rear transom where they donned their equipment. As they slid into the water, the small stains of blood on their Henderson dive suits dissipated into the salty ocean.

The cabin cruiser rapidly took on water from the hole that had been punched through to the bottom of the fiberglass hull. In a few minutes it would disappear beneath the waves and drop five hundred feet to the bottom of the bay.

The engineer was still alive, pinned to the bulkhead of the little pleasure craft as it sank lower into the water. His future was measured in mere seconds.

The gurgling air escaping from the sinking sport boat was evident aboard the sub in the sonar operator’s headset.

“She’s going down sir,” the sonar man reported.

“Radio, where are the divers?” he asked.

“The divers are on the surface, flashing us now sir,”

Once in the water, one diver keyed a tiny, waterproof, three-watt, ELF – extremely low frequency – radio to signal the sub that they were on the way back. His radio emitted a weak signal that was designed for close in work. The low radio frequency would not penetrate the seawater beyond a few hundred yards.

In response, the sub flashed a faint UV light from the extended periscope for a halfsecond so the three divers could obtain their bearings and swim in the direction of the submerged ship. When they reached the black, parkerized buoy floating in the water above the sub, they dove down.

Six minutes later the aft deck chamber housing began to drain as the three divers removed their gear.

“Chamber, report!” the captain said into the intercom.

“ Three down, one to go skipper.”

A well organized terrorist group strikes at the heart of the U.S.Winter Olympics. Using a stolen high-tech experimental VTOL stealth aircraft, the group slips past the incredibly tight security net thrown over the games, and stage a daring airborne delivery of an atomic weapon while under fire from a Secret Service sniper team and a Blackhawk combat helicopter. The platoon of highly motivated terrorists, hold an entire city at the razors edge of nuclear destruction. Enter FBI agent Dale Fox, and a lone fire captain with an unorthodox hobby, who together, become a thorn in the side of the terrorists well executed plans.