How do you know that they are not close by? Escobedo demanded. The idea of physical danger was something hed allowed himself to forget.

I know the location of every enemy group. They are waiting to be extracted by their helicopter support. They do not know that their helicopter has been withdrawn.

How did you manage that? LaTorre wondered aloud.

Please permit me my methods. You hired me for my expertise. You should not be surprised when I demonstrate it.

And now?

Our assault groupnearly two hundred men this timeshould now be approaching the second American group. This ones code name is Team FEATURE, Flix added. Our next question, of course, is which elements of the Cartel leadership are taking advantage of thisor perhaps I should say, which members are working with the Americans, using them for their own ends. As is often the case in such operations, both sides appear to be using the other.

Oh? It was Escobedo this time.

S, jefe. And it should not surprise either of you that I have been able to identify those who have betrayed their comrades. He looked at both men, a thin smile on his lips.

There were only two road guards. Clark was back in the VW Microvan while OMEN raced through the woods to get to the objective. Vega and Len had removed a side window, and now Vega, also in back, held it in place with his hand.

Everybody ready? Clark asked.

Go! Chavez replied.

Here we go. Clark took the last turn in the road and slowed, taking the car right up to the two guards. They took their weapons off sling and assumed a more aggressive stance as he slowed the vehicle. Excuse me, I am lost.

That was Vegas cue to let go of the glass. As it dropped, Chavez and Len came up to their knees and aimed their MP-5s at the guards. Both took bursts in the head without warning, and both fell without a sound. Strangely, the submachine guns sounded awfully loud within the confines of the vehicle.

Nicely done, Clark said. Before proceeding, he lifted his radio.

This is SNAKE. OMEN, report in.

SNAKE, this is OMEN Six. In position. Say again, we are in position.

Roger, stand by. CAESAR, this is SNAKE.

SNAKE, this is CAESAR, ready to copy.

Position check.

We are holding at five miles out.

Roger that, CAESAR, continue to hold at five miles. Be advised we are moving in.

Clark killed the lights and drove the van a hundred yards down the driveway. He selected a spot where the road twisted. Here he stopped the van and maneuvered it to block the road.

Give me one of your frags, he said, stepping out and leaving the keys in the ignition. First he loosened the cotter pin on the grenade. Next he wired the body of the grenade to the door handle and ran another wire from the pin to the accelerator pedal. It took under a minute. The next person who opened that door was in for a nasty surprise. Okay, come on.

Tricky, Mr. Clark, Chavez observed.

Kid, I was a Ninja before it became fashionable. Now shut up and do your jobs. No smile now, no time for banter. It was like the return of his youth, but while that feeling was a welcome one, it would have been more so if his youth had not been spent doing things best unremembered. The pure exhilaration of leading men into battle, however, was something that his memory had not lied about. It was terrible. It was dangerous. It was also something at which he excelled, and knew it. For the moment he was not Mr. Clark. He was, again, The Snake, the man whose footsteps no one had ever heard. It took five minutes to get to their jump-off point.

The NVA were smarter opponents than these. All the security troops were near the house. He took Vegas night scope and counted them, sweeping the grounds to check for strays, but there were none.

OMEN Six, this is SNAKE. Say your position.

We are in the treeline north of the objective.

Toss your strobe to mark your position.

Okay, done.

Clark turned his head and the goggles showed the infrared strobe blinking on the open ground, thirty feet from the treeline. Chavez, listening on the same radio circuit, did the same.

Okay, stand by. CAESAR, this is SNAKE. We are in position on the east side of the objective where the driveway comes through the trees. OMEN is on the north side. We have two good strobes to mark friendly positions. Acknowledge.

Roger, copy, you are in the treeline at the road, east side of the objective. Say again, east of the objective, with OMEN to the north. Copy strobes to mark friendly positions. We are standing by at five miles, PJ replied in his best computer voice.

Roger, come on in. Its show time. I repeat, come on in.

Roger, copy, CAESAR is turning in with hot guns.

OMEN, this is SNAKE. Commence firing, commence firing.

Cortez had them both at a disadvantage, though neither knew the whole reason for it. LaTorre, after all, had talked to Flix the previous day and been told that Escobedo was the traitor in their midst. Because of that, he had his pistol out first.

What is this? Escobedo demanded.

The ambush was very clever, jefe, but I saw through your ploy, Cortez said.

What are you talking about?

Before Cortez could give his preplanned answer, several rifles started firing north of the house. Flix wasnt a total fool. His first reaction was to extinguish the lights in the house. LaTorre still had his gun aimed at Escobedo, and Cortez dashed to the window, a pistol in his hand, to see what was happening. Just as he got there, he realized that he was being foolish, and dropped to his knees, peering around the frame. The house was of block construction and should stop a bullet, he told himself, though the windows certainly would not.

The fire was light and sporadic, just a few people, just an annoyance, and he had people to deal with that. Cortezs own men, assisted by the bodyguards for Escobedo and LaTorre, returned fire at once. Flix watched his men move like soldiers, spreading out into two fire teams, dropping at once into the usual infantry drill of fire and movement. Whatever annoyance this was, theyd soon take care of things. The Cartel bodyguards, as usual, were brave but oafish. Two of them were already down.

Yes, he saw, it was already working. The gunfire from the trees was diminishing. Some bandits, perhaps, whod been late realizing that theyd bitten off more than The sound was like nothing hed ever heard.

Target in sight, Jack heard over the intercom phones. Ryan was looking the wrong way, of course. Though he was standing at a gun, Colonel Johns had not mistaken him for a gunner, not a real one. Sergeant Zimmer was on the right-side gun, the one that corresponded to the pilots seat. Theyd come skimming in so low that Ryan feltknew that he could reach out and touch some treetops. Then the aircraft pivoted. The sound and vibration assaulted Jack through all the protective gear, and the flash that accompanied the sound cast a shadow of the aircraft before Jacks eyes as he looked for other targets.

It looked like a huge, curving tube of yellow neon, Cortezs mind told him. Wherever it touched the ground, dust rose in a great cloud. It swept up and down the field between the house and the trees. Then it stopped after what could have been only a few seconds. Cortez couldnt see anything in the dust, and it took a second to realize that he should have been able to see something, the flashes of his mens rifles at the very least. Then there were flashes, but those were from farther away, in the treeline, and there were more now.

CAESAR: Check fire, check fire!

Roger, the radio replied. Overhead, the horrible noise stopped. Clark hadnt heard it in a very long time. Another sound from his youth, it was as fearful now as it had been then.

Heads up, OMEN, were moving now, SNAKE is moving. Acknowledge.

OMEN, this is Six, cease fire, cease fire! The shooting from the treeline stopped. SNAKE: Go!

Come on! It was stupid to lead them with only a silenced pistol in his hand, Clark knew, but he was in command, and the good commanders led from the front. They covered the two hundred yards to the house in thirty seconds.

Door! Clark said to Vega, who used his AK to blast off the hinges, then kicked it down. Clark dove through low, rolling when he hit, looking and seeing one man in the room. He had an AK, and fired it, but shot high. Clark dropped him with a silenced round in the face, then another as he fell. There was a doorway but no door to the next room. He gestured to Chavez, who tossed a CS grenade into it. They waited for it to go off, then both rushed the room, again diving in low.

There were three men. One, holding a pistol, took a step toward them. Clark and Chavez hit him in the chest and head. The other armed man, kneeling by the window, tried to turn about, but couldnt do it on his knees, and fell onto his side. Chavez was there in an instant, smashing his buttstock onto his forehead. Clark rushed the third man, slamming him against the block wall. Len and Vega came in next, leapfrogging to the final door. That room was empty.

Building is clear! Vega shouted. Hey, I Come on! Clark dragged his man out the front. Chavez did the same, covered by Len. Vega was slow in moving. They didnt know why until they were all outside.

Clark was already on his radio. CAESAR, this is SNAKE. We got em. Lets get the fuck outa here.

Len, Vega said. Look here.

Tony, the sergeant said. The only other survivor from Ninja Hill had been a BANNER man. Len walked over to Escobedo, who was still conscious. Motherfucker! Youre fuckin dead! Len screamed, bringing his gun down.

Stop! Clark yelled at him. That almost didnt work, but Clark knocked him down, which did. Youre a soldier, goddammit, act like one! You and Vegacarry your friend on the chopper.

Team OMEN worked its way across the field. Several men, remarkably enough, werent quite dead yet. That aberration was corrected with single rifle shots. The captain got his men together and counted them off with his finger.

Good work, Clark told him. You got everybody?

Yes!

Okay, heres comes our ride.

The Pave Low swept in from the west this time, and again didnt quite touch the ground. Just like the old days, Clark. A helicopter that touched the ground could set off a mine. Not likely here, but PJ hadnt gotten old enough to be a colonel by overlooking any chances at all. He grabbed Escobedohed gotten a good enough look by now to identify himby the arm and propelled him to the ramp. One of the chopper crew met them there, did his count, and before Clark was sitting down with his charge, the MH-53J was moving up and north. He assigned a soldier to look after Seor Escobedo and went forward.

Sweet Jesus, Ryan thought. Hed counted eight bodies, and theyd just been the ones close to the helicopter. Jack switched off his gun motor and relaxedand really did this time. Relaxation was a relative thing, hed just learned. Being shot at really was worse than flying in the back of a goddamned helicopter. Amazing, he thought. A hand grabbed his shoulder.

We got Cortez and Escobedo alive! Clark shouted at him.

Escobedo? What the hell was he You complaining?

What the hell can we do with him? Jack asked.

Well, I sure as shit couldnt just leave him there, could I?

But what If you want, I can give the bastard a flying lesson. Clark gestured toward the stern ramp. If he learns to fly before he hits the ground, fine. . . .

No, goddammit, thats fucking murder!

Clark grinned at him. That gun next to you is not a negotiating tool, doc.

Okay, people, PJs voice came over the intercom before that conversation went any further. One more stop and we call this one a day.

Fill-ups IT HAD STARTED with the Presidents warning. Admiral Cutter wasnt used to having to make sure his orders had been carried out. In his naval career orders were things that you gave and that other people did, or that you did after being told to do so by others. He placed a call to the Agency and got Ritter and asked the question, the one that had to be an unnecessarily insulting one. Cutter knew that hed already humiliated the man, and that to do so further was not a smart movebut what if the President had been right? That risk called for further action. Ritters reaction was a troubling one. The irritation that should have been in his voice, wasnt. Instead hed spoken like any other government bureaucrat saying that yes, the orders were being carried out, of course. Ritter was a cold, effective son of a bitch, but even that sort had its limits, beyond which emotion comes to the fore; Cutter knew that hed reached and passed that point with the DDO. The anger just hadnt been there, and it ought to have been.

Something is wrong. The National Security Adviser told himself to relax. Something might be wrong. Maybe Ritter was playing mind games. Maybe even hed seen that his course of action was the only proper one, Cutter speculated, and resigned himself to the inevitable. After all, Ritter liked being Deputy Director (Operations). That was his rice bowl, as the government saying went. Even the most important government officials had those. Even they were often uncomfortable with the idea of leaving behind the office and the secretary and the driver and most of all the title that designated them as Important People despite their meager salaries. Like the line from some movie or other, leaving the government meant entering the real world, and in the real world, people expected results to back up position papers and National Intelligence Estimates. How many people stayed in government service because of the security, the benefits, and the insulation from that real world? There were more of those, Cutter was sure, than of the ones who saw themselves as the honest servants of the people.

But even if that were likely, Cutter considered, it was not certain, and some further checking was in order. And so he placed his own call to Hurlburt Field and asked for Wing Operations.

I need to talk to Colonel Johns.

Colonel Johns is off post, sir, and cannot be reached.

I need to know where he is.

I do not have that information, sir.

What do you mean, you dont have that information, Captain? The real wing operations officer was off duty by now, and one of the helicopter pilots had drawn the duty for this evening.

I mean I dont know, sir, the captain replied. He wanted to be a little more insolent in his answer to so stupid a question, but the call had come in on a secure line, and there was no telling who the hell was on the other end.

Who does know?

I dont know that, sir, but I can try to find out.

Was this just some command fuck-up? Cutter asked himself. What if it wasnt?

Are all your MC-130s in place, Captain? Cutter asked.

Three birds are off TDY somewhere or other, sir. Where they are is classifiedI mean, sir, that where our aircraft happen to be is almost always classified. Besides, what with that hurricane chasing around south of here, were getting ready to move a lot of our birds in case it heads this way.

Cutter could have demanded the information right then and there. But that would have meant identifying himself, and even then, he was talking to some twenty-something-year-old junior officer who might just say no because nobody had told him otherwise, and such a junior officer knew that hed never be seriously punished for not taking initiative and doing something hed been told not to doat least not over a telephone line, secure or not. Such a demand would also have called attention to something in a way that he didnt want. . . .

Very well, Cutter said finally and hung up. Then he called Andrews.

The first hint of trouble came from Larson, whose Beech was circling the FEATURE LZ. Juardo, still fighting the pain of his leg wound, was scanning out the side of the aircraft with his low-light goggles.

Hey, man, I got some trucks on the ground down there at three oclock. Like fifteen of em.

Oh, thats just great, the pilot observed, and keyed his microphone.

CLAW, this is LITTLE EYES, over.

LITTLE EYES, this is CLAW, the Combat Talon answered.

Be advised we have possible activity on the ground six klicks southeast of FEATURE. Say again we have trucks on the ground. No personnel are visible at this time. Recommend you warn FEATURE and CAESAR of possible intruders.

Roger, copy.

Christ, I hope theyre slow tonight, Larson said over the intercom. Were going down to take a look.

You say so, man.

Larson extended his flaps and reduced power as much as he dared. There was precious little light, and flying low over mountains at night was not his idea of fun. Juardo looked down with his goggles, but the tree canopy was too heavy.

I dont see anything.

I wonder how long those trucks have been there. . . .

There was a bright flash on the ground, perhaps five hundred meters below the summit. Then there were several more, small ones, like sparklers on the ground. Larson made another call: CLAW, this is LITTLE EYES. We have a possible firefight underway below FEATURE LZ.