Showtime...

Adam snatched the binoculars and stood up. He focused on Badaki's HQ.

Two men had exited the ground-floor side door and had come out to the sidewalk. They took furtive glances up and down the roadway before jogging south for one block, then turning to disappear up a side street.

Adam lowered the glasses and furrowed his brow, stared down at Vendetta's deck, concentrating.

He hadn't got a good look at their faces, the distance was too great, but those two guys somehow seemed familiar. He figured they must be a couple of Badaki's henchmen. But where had he seen them before?

It irked Adam that he had not spotted them entering the building, and had not detected any activity in the room, last night or this morning. Must of missed them. Too bad he couldn't have stationed himself closer.

Adam looked back at the third-storey of the building.

Something was in the window! He raised the glasses and zoomed-in. What the hell? Some guy peeking over the window sill? He looked like Kilroy for chrissakes.

But it wasn't Kilroy. Even at this considerable distance, Adam instinctively knew who it was. He'd seen this person only in photographs. But the despicable face had long-ago been branded onto Adam's frontal lobe. He pronounced with venom, "Badaki."

He set the binoculars aside and stared, motionless. He could feel Badaki glowering back, equally motionless, as though he were waiting for Adam... daring him.

This was Adam's opportunity. Though it was not how he'd planned it. He had hoped to gain Badaki's trust, get close to him, and then identify himself, and Cole, before killing him. But this was a gift of fate and lucky timing. Mahmoud must have informed Badaki of their escape from the compound and now Badaki meant to handle their demise personally. That must be why he had sent his men away; there could be no other explanation. And evidently, and luckily, Badaki must not have noticed Ava's departure from Vendetta earlier. Hard to believe; she'd been standing right under his nose for fucksakes. Fate and timing: unpredictable conspirators.

Adam felt a strange roiling of emotions rising up from his gut. It racked his lungs and made his heart tremble. There was fear and anger, anticipation and excitement.

Despite the heat of the sun, a chill breeze seemed to whisper across Adam's shoulders. Gooseflesh formed down the length of his arms. After all this time Cole's death was about to be avenged. Adam's fingers curled and his hands became white-knuckled fists. He experienced a vivid sensation of Badaki's neck being throttled in his grip.

And still, Badaki glared back implacably from his distant perch.

The crackle of gunfire echoing from somewhere on the west side of town broke Adam's trance. He jerked his head and looked in that direction. He could see nothing and there were no more shots. But it reminded him the quiet was deceptive: Aden remained a dangerous tinder box. And Ava had been out there for hours. Maybe she was alone... and maybe in danger.

Adam hurried aft, went below decks.

As he returned topside, Adam unwrapped a package that had remained untouched for two years. He'd stuffed it deep in the rear-most storage locker. It consisted of old sail-cloth folded round a large-sized Ziploc bag that contained a bulky oil-cloth.

Adam removed the oil-cloth from the bag. He flopped back the edges of the cloth. He took the 9mm Browning handgun into his fist, dropped the cloth on the banquette with the other packaging. He'd vowed to keep the weapon hidden until this time. It had belonged to his father. Adam had never fired it, and he had no intention of firing it today.

He popped the magazine and set the gun down. He thumbed-out the first three rounds from the magazine; examined the shell casings and projectiles. He re-inserted them, checking the spring action. He pushed the magazine back into the Browning, jacked a round into the chamber and flipped the safety ON. All the mechanical action was silky and cool smooth. He pulled up the back of his polo shirt and tucked the gun into the waistband of his chinos.

Adam turned and peered over the cabin top. Badaki was still there doing the moronic Kilroy impersonation. Time to go to work.

Watching him march down the long pier toward Old Town, nobody would've guessed Adam had been shot in the leg a few days' previous. The wound would be tender, and under normal circumstances he would be limping carefully in order to mitigate the pain. Adam was treading in his boots with long, purposeful strides.

He followed Ava's path through the fish market, over the long causeway to the waterfront avenue. He crossed the street to the building that housed Badaki's office. But Adam did not pause beneath the oriel window as she had. And at no time did he check to see whether Badaki was still observing from above. He entered at the ground floor, drew the Browning from his waistband, slid the safety to OFF and began the climb up the stairs.

If Badaki was armed, or had others with him, Adam would use the gun. But he had no intention of shooting Badaki. He wanted to squeeze the foul breath out of him with his bare hands. He wanted to watch the life fade from his evil eyes while he told Badaki why he was going straight to Hell.

There was one door on the third floor. Adam quickened his pace when he reached the top of the stairs. The door looked new, robust; he couldn't go through it foot-first in the manner he'd done at Aaron Abel's place; this time he'd hafta' put a shoulder to it. And this time he knew Badaki, and whatever, was waiting for him on the other side. It was all or nothing, one more time.