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said.
    “Spread out as much as you can, but stay in comm range,” Price said. “Head for the island. Barnard, you’re supposed to be the intelligence officer. Do you know anything about these depth charges?”
    “The ultrasound blast will stun you up to about ninety feet,” Barnard said. “Outside of that it’ll rattle your teeth, but you’ll be okay.”
    “And inside of that?” Price asked.
    “If you’re within sixty feet, you’ll be knocked out cold,” Barnard said.
    “What about thirty feet?” Price asked.
    “The shock wave will probably stop your heart,” Barnard said.
    “They’re right on our tail,” the Tsar said. He sounded panicky.
    “What do we do?” Wilton asked.
    Chisnall raised his head above the level of the deck. It was clear. The stern was lined with equipment lockers but nothing large enough to conceal a person. On the right side of the deck was an inflatable boat, a Zodiac, on a short slipway for easy launching.
    He slid onto the deck and crawled behind the Zodiac. Only then did he raise himself up and peer forward. He didn’t have his night-vision mask, but he didn’t need it. The deck was well lit by fluorescent tubes mounted on the superstructure above him. A large window at the top opened onto the bridge, and he could see someone moving around inside.
    He eased past the Zodiac, toward an open door. Inside, he could see some of the Demon Team. Three of them were consciousbut looked dazed, sitting cross-legged, leaning against a wall. Their hands were locked to their necks in a neckcuff, a type of Bzadian handcuff. Two others were lying on the floor, but their hands also were cuffed, which gave him some hope that they were still alive. One of them was bleeding from the ear. Varmint was missing.
    He waited outside, listening for a guard. There had to be a guard. He couldn’t wait long. At any moment someone could decide to walk back to the stern, or someone up on the bridge could look down.
    At any moment the boat could reach the Angel Team.
    He was unarmed. His weapons were stored in the equipment pod towed behind Monster’s DPV. But there was no time, so there was no choice. He moved forward, sliding his feet across the wet deck to minimize noise. When he reached the door, he stopped again to listen and, hearing nothing, risked a quick glance inside. An internal flight of stairs led up to the bridge. There was an open door at the bottom of the stairs, and he could clearly hear the crew talking, discussing some new sonar contacts.
    The Angels
.
    Just the sound of the Bzadian tongue sent a cold chill down his spine. Hearing it made everything much more real. He really was once again behind enemy lines, walking a very precarious tightrope. Chisnall slipped into the cabin and shut the door at the bottom of the stairs. The voices from the bridge became an indistinct murmur. Good. The door was soundproof.
    He ran over to the first of the Demons and kneeled beside him. Dazed eyes stared up at him. Chisnall had never seen the effects of an ultrasound blast at close range. It wasn’t pretty. Blood trickled from the Demon’s nose. His name was Miscreant, Chisnall thought, although all the Demons seemed to look the same—skinny, hard-faced, and with a shaved head. Miscreant had an even scrawnier look about him, which was how Chisnall recognized him. The next two Demons, Yobbo and Hooligan, seemed equally dazed and confused.
    Chisnall examined Miscreant’s neckcuff. A flexible plastic collar with two wrist loops fastened at the back of the neck. Struggling or pulling on the wrist loops only tightened the collar, choking the prisoner until he or she relaxed. The locking mechanism was a simple one, requiring a key-tube to be pushed into a hole at the back of the neck. Chisnall didn’t have a key-tube. He could probably get the Demons over the side of the boat, but even conscious they would drown with their hands locked to their necks.
    “Stop what you are doing,” a voice said, slow and