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unseen man shouted a warning from the guest cabin. I raised my gun but hesitated as I saw a bald man come out of my bedroom. He held a bulky flashlight—at least I thought it was a flashlight. It had a small yellow plastic box, a handgrip and a shiny reflector and glass lens.
    “Lay on the floor!” I shouted.
    The bald man wore corduroy pants and work boots. He had a smudged tattoo of a dagger on the forearm of the hand holding the flashlight. It was a prison tattoo, likely inked long ago. He stared at my gun, hating it but not intimidated by it.
    “If you insist,” I said, aiming the Browning at his forehead, deciding I’d like him better with a hole in it.
    A second man appeared out of the guest cabin. He wore a shiny silver jacket and had to be the whitest person I’d ever seen, including all Canadians and Russians. There wasn’t a hint of a tan on his skin, and his hair was so blond it was platinum.
    “Do it,” he said.
    For a second, I thought he meant me, that I should shoot his friend.
    Then the bald man’s thumb moved on the plastic handle of the flashlight. A switch clicked and a whomp sound came from the small plastic box. The reflector flashed brighter than the sun. The exploding light felt as if someone smashed a hammer against each of my eyes. It surprised me, shocked me, and I cried out in agony as I stumbled backward.
    Reflexively, I fired my Browning. In the confined spaces, the shots rang out loudly, hurting my ears. The smell of cordite bit my nostrils. I kept pulling the trigger, moving my aim into what seemed like the right locations. Soon the gun no longer bucked in my hand—I was out of ammo.
    Purple spots exploded against the lids of my closed eyes. My head throbbed and nausea threatened. I couldn’t hear a thing. With my head down, I crawled toward them. My stomach heaved then, but I clenched my teeth. That only made the pain worse. Whoever had sent them had given the bald man a device specifically designed to deal with me. That was bad.
    My hands roved over a prone body. It twitched convulsively. I shouted and lunged onto him, clutching his throat, squeezing as hard as I could. Then I realized blood flowed against my elbows, the ones on his chest. Some of my bullets had struck. Despite the gruesomeness of it, I crawled over him, feeling with my hands until I found the ultra-flashlight.
    I flicked the switch and the whomp sound occurred again. The intensity against my eyelids stopped and I sagged with relief. This thing must have a super-battery.
    I listened, but couldn’t hear the second man, the one with the shiny jacket.
    Tentatively, I opened my eyes. Splotches made it impossible to see anything. Had they blinded me permanently?
    I kept moving around, searching, until I found the second man. He’d stumbled back into the guest cabin, or he’d fallen back into it. With my hands, I explored his torso and then his neck and head. I grunted and pulled my hands away. He lacked pieces of his face. I’d shot him at least twice in the head.
    Shop experts had trained me to fire blind, using memory and sound to guide me. Realizing I wasn’t in immediate danger, I propped myself against a bulkhead and waited. Others outside might have heard the gunfire. If police showed up—
    I climbed to my feet and experimentally opened my eyes. Between various splotches, I saw dim images. My eyesight was returning.
    “Thank you, God,” I murmured. The idea of being blind—I shook my head. That made me groan, and I clutched my aching head.
    I never wanted to face one of those flashlights again. I think I’d rather have taken a bullet in the leg or arm.
    I slid down to my butt, put my head between my knees and tried to think this through. Who were these two? They must have been searching for Kay’s box. It was in my bedroom, so they must have found it. Why hadn’t they taken it from Kay before she reached me? Why wait until she’d left it here? Were these two with Polarity Magnetics?
    I tried my eyes