Goren took one look at Timkowski, then grabbed him under the arms and dragged him out of the water and onto dry land in a few mighty strides. I splashed behind, trying not to throw up as I retrieved my flashlight from my jacket pocket and shone it onto Timkowski so that Goren could see his injuries better, long fingers expertly probing Timkowski's throat and face, checking for a pulse on the uninjured side of his neck, then darting upwards to examine his head.

"His injuries aren't fatal… no major blood vessels severed… but he's been stunned," Goren announced abruptly after a few seconds. "He's got a good chance if we try resuss now. You do compressions." I swiftly dropped to my knees beside Timkowski's chest; Goren had already clamped his mouth over Timkowski's, and efficiently blown twice. I could see Timkowski's ribs rise and fall in front of me, and just off to the side, something winked. I stared at it, and, without thinking, reached for the flashlight.

"You need to do the compressions now." Goren's voice was urgent.

"Hold on. What's this?" I found where I'd propped the flashlight on a rock, and shone it at Timkowski's body, at the junction of arm and chest where I'd seen the brief wink of light as Timkowski's chest moved. Glinting evilly up at me was a one-inch section of knife blade. The rest was buried in his armpit, the dark knife handle almost hidden in the folds of his fatigues. I would have screamed, but I was now a long way past being shocked and heading fast towards numb panic.

Goren quickly examined the wound, and swore. "Hold off on the compressions – it's blocking the cut now, but if we jostle him, it might start bleeding, sever the brachial artery." We looked at each other for a brief moment of mutual what do we do now? confusion, then Timkowski resolved the problem for us by reviving enough to turn his head and throw up half a gallon of seawater, narrowly missing my boots. He coughed and spluttered; Goren held his shoulders, trying to keep him as still as possible. I tried to reassure him. "You're okay, you're okay, we found you, try not to move, you have a bad cut to your neck and your arm is injured." He was trying to paw at his face, I held down his injured arm. He stared at us with pain-crazed eyes, then lay back on the rock, groaning softly and holding his good hand to the gaping cut on his lower jaw. Whilst we watched, he lapsed back into unconsciousness. Goren quickly held a hand over his mouth to check for breathing, but we could both see his chest rise and fall. "He's out cold… pain, loss of blood...he's going into shock."

I risked a quick feel round the edges of the wound, my smaller fingers managing to get in between the knife and Timkowski's body. "I don't feel anything gushing out, just a little blood."

"What the fuck happened here?"

I jumped about a foot in the air, and Goren was also startled; we looked up as one to see Smith staring down at us and his fallen colleague with a frozen, horrified expression. Instinctively, his hand had gone to his waist, and as I watched he drew his gun, predator's eyes glancing around us.

Goren filled him in quickly. "Ms Tovitz found him floating face-down in the sea; he's unconscious and in shock, and he inhaled some water. He was attacked by someone with a knife. His throat's not too badly damaged – it's a flesh wound – but the knife in his arm will need very careful removal."

"Never mind that, who the fuck did this?"

"Looks like our terrorists weren't as dead as we thought. One guy must have survived the crash," I ventured, and pointed to the unconscious passenger by the start of the cliff path. Both pairs of eyes turned to me; Smith's furious, Goren's intent and thoughtful. Goren quickly examined the unconscious man, quickly confirming that his lifejacket had the airline's logo on it. He was definitely a passenger, but if he'd survived, maybe Shorokogat and company had done, too.

"Right." Smith's voice was tense and coldly furious, and I shivered at the sound of it. "You two stay here with him. I'll get back up to Whitefield and bring help."

"Take her with you; she'll be safer up there. And watch out for Davenport, he's on his way down with two medics."

Smith shook his head. "Okay, but she stays here. I'm not being responsible for a civilian if I encounter the person who did this on my way up." He forestalled any further argument by sprinting away and up the path. He soon vanished into the gloom. Night was beginning to fall with a vengeance; soon it would be pitch black. We dragged Timkowski beside the unconscious passenger. We'd never get them both up the path without help.

Goren had drawn his gun, and I deeply and sincerely wished I had one too. I had some firearms training, but neither Whitefield nor I had expected I'd need a weapon on a surveillance operation like this. He motioned for me to join him. He was sitting on a flat rock with his back protected by another rock behind it, giving him a good view over the surrounding area. It was probably as safe a position as we could find, so I dropped down beside him. This would have had its attractions, except that I was too wet, cold and scared to think about them.

I wondered if it made me a weak female to be grateful for the fact that I was currently sat next to a six-foot-four ex-soldier with a gun. Then I told myself not to be so stupid. We were stuck on an isolated beach at night in a howling storm with a murderer running around, one of us injured, an unconscious innocent passenger to protect, and our other colleague gone to get help. I should be grateful for all the help I could get, because I was so far out of my depth the fish had lights on their noses.

I shuffled a bit closer to Goren, who was… hmmm. Who was obviously trying not to be distracted by Timkowski's injuries. He was glancing around in an irregular pattern – trying not to be predictable, I realise – but every so often his eyes would flicker over Timkowski's injuries, as though there was something there which bothered him.

I studied them myself for as long as I could, then the nausea started and I had to look away. But there was something weird going on here.

"Can I ask a question?"

"Uh-huh." I was getting I'd rather you didn't vibes here, but I had to say something to take my mind off things. It was that or start freaking out.

"If someone tried cutting his throat and realised they hadn't done it properly, why didn't they just finish the job on his throat instead of sticking the knife under his arm?"

A pause. "That is a good question." Goren handed me the gun and scrambled down beside Timkowski. "Keep watch for a few minutes." Huh? I knew one end of a gun from another, but I was nowhere near qualified to guard the three of us. He was already probing the edges of Timkowski's injured throat; I swiftly looked away and starting doing my best impression of someone trying to keep watch for a murderer, my eyes glancing around us, looking for movement. Goren was doing something weird. I risked a few quick glances, using peripheral vision. He was holding a pen in his hand (he must have had it in his inside jacket pocket) and making cuts in the air in front of him, striking upwards at various angles. He's trying to duplicate the attacker's movements, I realised.

"Uh, I don't know what I'm doing, here, and there's a killer running around somewhere," I ventured, cautiously. He ignored me, then turned, suddenly.

"No. There isn't. Or… there is, but he's not down here."

"I'm sorry?" I was beginning to feel very, very frightened, and Goren was not helping any.

"Timkowski was attacked by two people when he was out of our sight, behind those rocks," Goren said, pointing. He was almost dancing on the spot, head shifting from side to side. He was still making mock-cuts in the air in front of him. "One of them… I think one of them wasn't attacking him so much as defending themselves. They were fighting and the other person struck upwards, maybe trying to block a punch or a grab… Timkowski didn't draw his gun…" he suddenly dipped down, checked that Timkowski's gun was still in its holster, and examined his arm. I risked a downwards glance; there was a shallow cut in the fabric of his jacket sleeve.

"He was holding a knife; it caught on Timkowski's sleeve, then continued upwards – that's why that cut is at such an odd angle; you cut across if you're trying to kill, but this goes upward and it's deeper further down the cut and shallower at the top. Whoever did it pulled away from him, they weren't experienced at using a knife, they were shocked at the cut, at the blood."

"Who knocked him out?" I asked, trying to follow along.

"Hmm…" Goren tipped his head on one side. "The second attacker obviously knew what they were doing; most people wouldn't think to strike into the major blood vessels inside the arm, it's a professional's attack. Don't know without asking him, but if the first attacker pulled away from him, I don't think he stuck around to knock Timkowski out. I think he ran, then someone else took advantage of Timkowski being disorientated by the pain, stabbed him, knocked him out and dumped him in the water."

"Nasty. So, two people? Two totally different people, if one of them ran and the other one tried to finish the job?"

"Two totally different people…" Goren's voice trailed off and his face became very serious. I felt a sudden pang of fear. Goren looked at Timkowski again. I followed his eyes to the lump on Timkowski's forehead and suddenly realised what it meant.

"Whoever knocked Timkowski out was standing in front of him, if the lump's on the front of his head, right?" I asked, hoping like hell I was wrong.

"Yes. It was someone he knew, who surprised him, who he wasn't expecting to attack him… He hasn't drawn his gun."

We looked at each other. I could see dawning realisation in Goren's eyes. I could feel only rising sickness in myself.

"Timkowski was attacked by someone he knew, who got close enough to knock him out without him putting up more of a fight – he's not got any other defensive injuries," Goren stated, and I finished the sentence with him. "It was one of us." And not just any one of us. Goren & I had been together the whole time when whoever attacked Timkowski had done it and Davenport and Whitefield were back up at the surveillance building.

"Smith," I said, very calmly, because if I let myself start screaming and panicking I'd never stop. We were stuck in a death-trap, and the only way back to safety had just been blocked off by the man who'd nearly killed our colleague, who was even now heading back up towards our other two colleagues, who knew nothing about any of this.

I realised with horrible clarity that although he was apparently trying to cover up the killing, the obvious thing for Smith to do after he'd killed the first attacker (Shorokogat? Shirkirov?) would be to come back and kill all four of us, myself, Goren, Timkowski and the innocent passenger. He could then say that we'd been killed by Timkowski's first attacker, thus covering himself and having prevented any possibility that we could share what we'd just worked out with anyone else. He'd have to, I realised. If Goren was right, and I was sure he was, then Smith had to kill us, because he couldn't guarantee that Timkowski hadn't told us what really happened.

I still had no idea why Smith was doing this… then an even more horrifying thought occurred to me. Davenport was on his way down the path to us with two medics, and none of them had a clue what was going on. They'd meet either Smith or the first attacker on the way.

I think we both realised that at the same time, because Goren suddenly groped inside Timkowski's jacket for the radio. As I looked around frantically, expecting Smith to appear out of the darkness at any minute, he pulled it out and tried several times to contact the surveillance building. Suddenly, Whitefield's voice squawked out of it, very quietly – Goren must have turned it down to avoid alerting Smith. The quality was atrocious, and I wondered for a nightmare second whether the battery had gone. I could just make out Whitefield's voice saying: "Goren, Timkowski, if you're listening and you can hear me, don't try to call for a few minutes. There's something wrong with the equipment, one of the components short-circuited… fzzzt…. can't pick up any calls… Davenport's on his way to you… I'm going to switch this off so I can fix it…" The radio cut out.

"Fuck." It was the only appropriate word for the situation. "Smith must have sabotaged it before he set off…"

"Can Whitefield fix it?" Goren asked me urgently.

"Yes, he knows about radio equipment and he's got the Army up there anyway, he can probably fix it quite quickly, but that's not going to do Davenport or the others any good. He'll meet Smith plus whoever the other attacker was on the way down to us."

We looked at each other again. I could see that Goren was doing some very rapid thinking, and I hated to interrupt, but I had to ask. "Who was the first attacker?"

Goren frowned, then an idea occurred to him. He looked down at Timkowski, and his expression became very intense, as if he were steeling himself to do something unpleasant.

"Hold his shoulders, and don't let him move."

I did as I was told, not without misgivings. Goren reached down, and pressed his thumb hard into a point a few inches down from Timkowski's wrist. There must be some major nerve endings there, because Timkowski's eyes opened wide, and he took a deep breath in, hissing in agony. I did my utmost to prevent him moving and knocking the knife, whilst beside him, the other passenger remained unconscious. Another life we were responsible for.

"Sorry. I need to know, who attacked you?" Timkowski was still wheezing. I forced myself to stay calm, trusting that Goren had a good reason for what he was doing. He still hadn't removed his thumb from Timkowski's arm. "Who attacked you?" he asked again. Timkowski took another deep breath…

"Don't know for sure… think I recognized him… was a kid, quite small, maybe fourteen or something… could be Shorokogat's son, maybe, thought he looked familiar…" Timkowski broke off, the pain of talking with his injured jaw obviously too great. I filled in the remainder of the story for myself. Shorokogat's son had survived the storm and presumably the sinking of his father's boat, and managed to get to shore somehow… and the first thing he sees is a US soldier. Given what his father had been involved in doing just before the storm blew up, he'd panicked and tried to run. Timkowski had tried to catch him, and from there my imagination filled in images of the two of them struggling, the kid - Alexei Shorokogat, I remember suddenly - trying to defend himself, slashing Timkowski by accident, running away, Smith happening on the scene, Timkowski thinking that rescue had arrived…

"Did Smith knock you out?" Goren asked, intent now, dark eyes fiery with determination.

Timkowski managed a weak nod. "Yeah… guess he must be cleaning house…"

Goren tipped his head on one side again, then nodded himself. "Smith's involved in Shorokogat's activities, isn't he?"

"Yeah… that's why he tried to stop it going ahead… also told Shorokogat so you didn't pick up anything useful from surveillance… didn't expect her to get the accent…" Timkowski looked set to pass out again; Goren dug his thumb in again, just a fraction of a centimetre. Timkowski hissed again; I still felt sorry for him, but it was now tinged with a fair degree of anger. He wasn't the nice guy I'd thought he was, or maybe he was, but just took orders from Smith unquestioningly. Nevertheless, if he'd blown the whistle the four of us plus Davenport, Shorokogat's son and the two medics wouldn't now be running the risk of getting shot by Smith.

"What's in it for him?"

"Some people in the CIA… when we knew they would both be here… wanted to speak to Shorokogat & Shirkirov privately… then dispose of them privately… couldn't risk having what they know in the open. It's not official… just a few agents… needed fast results, broke the rules to get them. Smith's up to his neck. He was Shorokogat's contact, looked the other way about… trafficking, drugs… in return for information…. S'why the two of us made sure we came on this … keep an eye on things… make sure Smith's buddies were kept informed of what was happening… you'd never have got Shorokogat on trial, he knows too much…didn't expect him to bring the kid, stupid of us... the kid knows about it, Shorokogat takes him everywhere..."

"So, Shorokogat's son is a potential embarrassment to some of the CIA… and to Smith personally, he tried killing you…"

"Yeah… I know too much. He's gone rogue, taking the opportunity to clean house…"

Goren's face went dark. "He needs to kill every potential witness to get away with it… he's gone after Shorokogat's son, but he'll come back for us." He rose to his feet and made to set off up the path. I jumped up and set off after him.

Smith had been right about one thing; wherever Goren happened to be was almost certainly the safest place for me too. The thought of staying down on the beach with Timkowski bleeding at my feet and an unconscious man beside him, waiting to see who came for us, who would survive… no, my blood turned to ice. I could not do that.

"Hey…" Timkowski wheezed from behind us. Goren stopped, turned round, and dropped to his knees beside Timkowski. He felt around inside the man's jacket, drew his gun, and placed it in Timkowski's hand. I glanced around us, looking around to see if Smith was anywhere in sight. When I looked back, Goren had risen to his feet and drawn his gun.

"We'll get help for the two of you as soon as we can, but if I don't catch Smith he'll come back and finish the job. Hang in there." Goren set off again with me dogging his footsteps. He stopped. "Maybe you should stay here too."

"I'm no match for Smith, with or without a gun, and I can't do anything for Timkowski or this guy. They need urgent medical help, and the only way they'll get that is if one of us makes it back up to the top. If Smith kills you and comes back for me, I don't stand a chance. I am not staying here; I'll hide somewhere if we find Smith and you need to be alone or whatever, or maybe run for help or something, but please don't leave me here." I was trying desperately not to think about the fact I was volunteering to run towards a killer, but if it was a choice between acting and waiting around to see what happened, I'd take action any day.

Goren looked at me with an unreadable expression, then shrugged. "You do what I say, when I say it, and don't argue." I nodded vigorously, and followed him up the path, wishing with every step that I had a gun. We scrambled up the cliff blind, not risking a flashlight. Goren moved amazingly silently for someone his size carrying a gun in one hand; I was lighter than he and didn't need to worry so much about dislodging stray rocks. We got nearly halfway up, almost to the small clearing I'd noticed earlier, then Goren froze. Suddenly he grabbed my arm and pulled me behind the large rocks I'd seen earlier. We listened cautiously to the unmistakable sounds of a struggle going on in front of us. Goren glanced cautiously round the rock, then hissed "Stay there!" at me, and hurled himself out into the clearing, yelling "Put the gun down, NOW! PUT IT DOWN!"

Very, very cautiously, I peered out from behind the rock. From somewhere out over the sea, a flash of lightning lit up the whole scene. I saw Smith in the middle of the clearing, raising his arm and taking aim at a small, cowering man… boy, I realised … in front of him. Behind Smith, lying curled and motionless on the ground, was a familiar figure with a pool of blood around his head, and further behind him, two others. My heart plummeted into my boots. As I watched, horrified, Smith swung his arm up and round, took aim at Goren and fired.