Savages

104

Chon screws the silencer onto the pistol

Puts it into the wetbag

Zips the bag up tight.

Beyond the harbor the lights of the San Diego skyline reflect on the smooth black bay.

A layer of color painted on the water.

A Photoshop trick.

Life imitating (graphic) art.

Chon blackens his face, ties the bag’s lanyard to his wrist, and checks the Ka-Bar strapped to his right leg.

Lowers himself into the water.

Soundlessly.

MOS.

It’s a short distance to the boat but he has to do most of it underwater so as not to be seen as he passes the other sailboats moored in the harbor. All the training the navy paid for and put him through and didn’t use he uses now.

Glides just under the surface, makes barely a ripple.

A water snake.

A sea otter.

He comes up twice to check his position, see the boat’s mooring lamps.

Behind curtains, a light on in the cabin.

Twenty yards from the boat he angles to the left, toward the aft. Swims to the ladder and holds on to a rung as he opens the bag and takes out the pistol.

One clip—nine rounds.

Nine oughta do it.

He climbs on board.