FBI Special Agent Dawna Shepherd leaned on the railing of the Queen of Scandinavia's topmost deck and glared at the Norwegian coast. July sun glinted off saltwater and seagulls argued over the thrum of four engines as the ferry plowed between a long, windswept island and the scenic shore. Morose, Dawna inhaled coconut-scented suntan oil overlaid by diesel exhaust fumes and tried to relax her taut shoulder muscles. Why was she feeling so twitchy?

She was supposed to be herding eighteen East European police officers through an on-board conference, but she'd left them congregated at the open-air Sky Bar where most were enjoying a late afternoon smoke break. She'd climbed one deck higher to avoid conversation while she tried to pinpoint what was setting off her b.s. detector.

When she spotted Armenian cop Alek Talatinian peering at her from the top of the stairs, she knew her time for thinking was up. Threading his way through half clad ferry passengers sunning themselves, he bounced with each stride and the strong sea breeze was ruffling his shaggy salt-and-pepper hair into an Einstein-do. Clearly, he was bursting to tell her something. Like the other participating cops, he was a graduate of the eight-week leadership training course offered by the FBI-sponsored International Law Enforcement Academy, the ILEA, in Budapest. Dawna had been his class coordinator, and she'd seen him single-handedly resolve the mock bank robbery that was a standard part of the course. Man was sharp—and excitable.

She put her concerns on hold and returned to the only task she'd been given by the conference leader: keep the participants focused on the training topic.

Alek was in his mid forties—at least five years older than Dawna and definitely five inches shorter than her six foot three. And he was very pleased with himself.

"You cannot fool me," he crowed. "I know you what you are planning."

"Of course you do." Dawna relaxed with her back against the railing to avoid towering over the hirsute Armenian and tilted the brim of her ball cap to give him a clear view of her lips as she spoke slow, non-Texas English. "The conference agenda states precisely what will happen during the modules tonight and tomorrow morning before we dock in Newcastle."

"Dawna, Dawna, Dawna." Alek was shaking his head. "You underestimate me. I see how the conference structure fails to support the official conference goal."

Had he spotted the same anomalies she had? "Spell it out for me," she said, folding her arms.

"Supposedly we are here to jointly address the problem of illegal migration from China to the United Kingdom."

"And we just had two three-hour lectures giving us all the facts," Dawna reminded him. The morning and afternoon sessions with teams from Europol and Scotland Yard had emphasized that after the U.S. hammered shut the preferred harbors in America, the number of Chinese entering British ports illegally had skyrocketed. Fujian province alone sent a hundred thousand souls abroad every year. A United Kingdom destination was now half the price of one in the U.S. When the illegals were inside British borders, they disappeared into what had become the largest Chinese community in Europe.

ILEA partners U.K. and Europol had jointly proposed the two-day conference to educate and brainstorm with law enforcement officers from countries transited by the Chinese. They'd supplied the simultaneous English-to-Russian translator and the PowerPoint programs in English and Cyrillic. And they'd also chosen to hold the event on board a ferry, insisting this venue would demonstrate the smugglers' favorite means of bringing the illegals into Britain. Dawna repeated the party line. "Cooperation among you ILEA grads is key to addressing the problem."

"But cooperation in this group is impossible!" Alek blew air across his lips, a splutter of disbelief. "We Armenians have been at odds with the Georgians and the Azerbaijanis since the beginning of the last century. We can't work with them. And the cease-fire between the Russians and Georgians may fail at any moment. Perhaps Ukrainians and Moldovans share a common interest in stopping the traffic in women from their countries, but that puts them in direct conflict with the Russians. We will accomplish nothing together."

Dawna agreed with Alek. She was about to say so, but he barreled on without a pause. "I think your reason for choosing us is because we all understand Russian. You need a common language since you plan to drag us from our sleep tonight and force us to deal with one of your famous simulations. Tell me I've guessed correctly."

Dawna shook her head. "Can't do that. I have no instructions to yank anyone out of bed. Look, you make a good point about the participant mix. I wasn't personally involved in the selection, but maybe the organizers decided it was time to encourage you to cooperate. So don't read too much into the Russian-speaking thing. You're attending a senior alumni conference. We don't typically include the type of hands-on training exercise you experienced in Budapest. And certainly not at night, disturbing fifteen hundred civilian passengers who'd be sure to get in our way." She could see that Alek wasn't convinced. "Something else bothering you?"

"The route is wrong," Alek replied promptly. "If you were serious about educating us on this issue, we would follow the same path used to move the illegals. We would embark from Calais or Amsterdam and experience first-hand what the British authorities are dealing with. Instead, you distract us with spectacular views from every conference center window today. Tonight, we will be at your mercy in the middle of the North Sea. And the timing—so soon after the summer solstice, we will have light enough for whatever midnight drama you stage." He lifted his chin. "I, for one, am doing what you trained us to do. Preparing my own plan to preempt yours."

"On the basis of such weak evidence?" Dawna managed a convincing laugh. "Wrong mix and wrong route?"

Alek folded his arms to match hers. "How about the fact that those rockers speak American English?"