He always made a point of telling her their names, but never while they were still alive. Only after their suffering was over. After she'd finished them.

"Connie Smith, Jennifer Denfield, Yvette Wallace, Paula Kettering, Wendy Marino, Julia Telman, Debra Perez, Liana Bergeron, Cathy Quinn, Maris Olietto, Nancy Stein, Michelle Kulhagen, Brianna Martin, Jennifer Denfield...No wait. Jennifer Denfield was Jennifer Two. Jennifer McBride was Jennifer One. Jennifer McBride and...Number Four."

Number Four had been Beth's first.

She didn't know her name.

Possibly, according to some twisted set of rules that he followed, she hadn't earned the right to know it.

But more likely, he hadn't yet discovered that telling her their names was another way to torment her.

It turned them from nameless lumps of frightened flesh into people. People who had had lives and families who loved them, who would mourn them-the same as she did.

Once upon a time, she'd had a mother. Strict and overbearing. Full of rules and disapproval. How will you get a real job without an education? Why don't you reenlist? How will you ever stop drinking if you keep on working in a bar? If you dress like a slut, you'll be treated like a slut. He was married? And you're actually surprised? What goes around, comes around...

Once upon a time, Beth had thought she'd had problems, troubles, pain.

She'd had no idea.

EAST OF SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA.

THURSDAY NIGHT, DECEMBER 8, 2005.

The training op's SNAFU started when Dave called for a break about an hour after they'd entered phase two of Tom Paoletti's plan.

Phase two-for Dave's little team and their hostage-was all about keeping moving, always moving. They allowed themselves only the briefest of respites in the clear desert night.

Lindsey, however, was purposely dragging, slowing them down as a real hostage would. Someone had given her a blanket because the night air had a crisp chill, but she tripped over it more often than not.

Still, it was Sophia who had really needed the chance to stop and catch her breath.

So Dave concocted some reason to go and consult with Decker, leaving Lindsey sitting on a rock, guarded by Tom and Sophia.

Sophia had, indeed, dressed like a commando-wannabe in cammie-print pants and T-shirt, no doubt purchased off the rack from some fashionable department store. The pants fit very nicely, and both they and the shirt had shiny designer labels that glittered, kind of defeating their purpose.

It also didn't help that the print was intended for camouflage in the jungle rather than the desert.

But it was Sophia's bandana, worn biker-style on her head, that truly completed her look. And it was quite a look, especially since she'd arranged her long hair into dozens of skinny braids that hung down her back.

She looked Hollywood ferocious-particularly since the way she wielded her weapon broadcast her lack of skill in using it.

The really funny part of Sophia's appearance was that, while out in the field, Dave had seen enemy combatants dressed just as carefully and holding their weapons just as awkwardly. It was as if they believed that looking like a soldier was more important than, oh, say, training...?

And Sophia had more than the appearance down pat. She'd made them all laugh back in the Quonset hut, before the op got into gear. Clutching that weapon that was almost as big as she was, her eyes had actually sparkled as she'd haughtily informed Tom that she would only answer to her new nickname, Senorita Diablo, which according to her meant, with poetic license, "Devil Woman."

She was totally in character. She'd completely cracked Dave up, but his heart had gone into his throat, too. If he'd had any last doubts, they were now gone. Sophia Ghaffari had definitely decided to return to the world of the living.

Apparently with or without Decker's help.

As for Deck, he'd been intent on keeping his distance, but of course Tom, who was calling all the shots, had divided the Troubleshooter operatives into three cells. He had assigned both Deck and Sophia to the hostage-handling patrol. His final insult had been to name Dave as their team leader.

A command position was the one job Dave vehemently didn't want, not ever. And particularly not now with this particular grouping of operatives.

But Dave had no choice in the matter. Tom had gently pointed out that training ops such as this one were for experimentation. How, he'd asked in his blandly reasonable voice, did Dave know for sure that he didn't want to be a team leader if he never tried being a team leader? And what better time to try than here and now?

So here Dave was with his very first command, in charge of a five-person unit that included that oil and water of Troubleshooters Incorporated, Sophia and Decker.

Dave's first command decision had been to make Decker their point person. Deck would lead their way through the growing darkness, all by himself, way out in front. As far as possible from Sophia.

Dave then assigned Tess the radio-letting her maintain communications with the other two "terrorist" cells led by Sam and Alyssa-although their hardware was ancient and didn't work more often than not.

He, himself, and Sophia, ahem, Senorita Diablo, were in charge of handling the prisoner, leaving Nash at the rear, guarding their six and covering up their trail.

Phase one of Tom's master plan to keep Lindsey out of the SEALs' hands had worked like a dream. Of course it helped that the TS Inc team-with the exception of Lindsey-had spent the past few days exploring this area, both during the day and at night. The SEAL officers leading the opposing team, however, had only a few hours spent studying maps and charts. They were out here for the very first time tonight, as would be the case in most rescue scenarios.

Phase one, part A, involved little more than letting the SEAL scouts find Dave's team-and the hostage. Their SEAL opponents were highly skilled-it didn't take long at all before Tess got a crackly message from Alyssa's team that they'd spotted at least one SEAL who was now following the hostage.

Phase one, part B, was more complicated. It involved a stealthy trek through the hills, filled with backtracking and following their own footsteps, as if they were trying their best-which they were-to cover their trail.

They ended up at an abandoned mine that Decker and Nash had found several days earlier. This area was littered with the ramshackle structures. But this one was special. It had a back door, so to speak. There was more than one way in and out.

Dave's mirthless band had brought the hostage into the mine, meeting up with Alyssa's cell. They'd traded Nash and Tess-who stayed outside, as if guarding the hostage-for who else but Tom Paoletti.

Like that wasn't at all intimidating-having his boss suddenly on his team during his first-ever command. Still, there was no time to bitch and moan. Like a trip to the dentist, this, too, would eventually end. And it would hurt less if they just kept moving.

So Dave's new, smaller, more compact cell took the hostage and boogied out the back door. As did the rest of Alyssa's. Sam's group was already in place, ready to ambush the SEALs who approached the mine to rescue the hostage.

It was going to be a bloodbath. Or at least a virtual one. The weapons both sides were using didn't fire bullets, although they made the same attention-drawing racket of real machine guns. They were, however, just a higher-tech version of laser tag. There were sensors in the uniform jackets they all wore. A hit would render the wearer KIA, and turn a stripe on the sleeves a telling deathly shade of black. His or her weapon would cease to fire, and, according to the rules, that person would sit out the rest of the op, neither moving-unless carried out on teammate's backs-nor speaking.

"What's the word from Alyssa?" Dave now asked Decker, who had taken over Tess's radio duties.

"She says we weren't followed," Deck reported.

The words were barely out of his mouth when a woman's voice shouted. "Tom!" Then a scream that sounded much too real. Was that Sophia or Lindsey? The sound of gunshots exploded, all from just down the trail.

It was hard to say who moved faster. Decker may have gotten there first, but his lead over Dave could have been measured in mere inches. They rounded the corner, neck and neck and...

Sophia was sprawled on the ground. Tom Paoletti was, too. His jacket had a black stripe on the sleeve.

"Shit!" Dave wildly looked around for Lindsey, who was gone. He should have known better than to take a break. His team had been slaughtered, and the hostage had been grabbed.

Like Dave, Decker had his weapon up and ready, but whoever had taken Lindsey wasn't hanging around. "Find the hostage," Dave ordered Deck, who responded by dropping both his weapon and the radio and crouching in the dust next to Sophia?

She hadn't been killed-her sleeves were unchanged. She was on the ground because she was...hurt? Dave went onto his knees beside her, too. "Are you all right?"

"I think I killed Tom." She pushed herself up, reaching for the weapon she'd dropped.

"You killed Tom?" Dave couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice as Decker dragged her weapon closer to her.

Sophia nodded, embarrassed. "Thanks," she told Deck, wincing as she discovered that she'd skinned her knee. It was bleeding through a tear in her pants.

"What happened?" Dave asked.

"Someone pushed her, knocking her off her feet while they snatched the hostage, that's what happened," Decker said. "And when I find them, they're going to die."

"I was sort of asking Sophia," Dave told Deck mildly. "Although I'm sure she appreciates the macho warrior rhetoric. You want to beat your chest for us, too?"

It was possible that Tom, although dead, laughed.

"No one pushed me," Sophia said. "And if you two are going to fight, I'm out of here."

"Find Lindsey," Dave ordered Decker again, as if he were a mentally challenged dog. He took the radio. He had to let Alyssa and Sam know that they'd lost the hostage. They had to start working on a plan to get her back. But, of course, the radio was completely dead. He couldn't keep his frustration from his voice. "What's wrong with this thing?"

"You'll have to go to a higher elevation to get a signal." Decker gathered up his weapon, smoothly pulling himself up in that athletic way he had that made everything he did look graceful. Dave was going to grunt at least twice, elbows and knees awkwardly akimbo, as he hauled himself to his feet.

"Which way did they take her?" Deck asked Sophia.

She shrugged apologetically. "I don't know. That way, I think, from process of elimination." She pointed north. "She was sitting on that rock. I was over here." She pointed nearby. "I heard a noise and I stood up to check it out, and when I turned back, Lindsey was gone." She turned back to Dave. "I didn't hear anyone. It was like...she just vanished."

"And no one pushed you," Deck repeated, as if he didn't quite believe it.

"No one was anywhere near me," she admitted. "I was so surprised that Lindsey was gone. I shouted for Tom-I don't know where he went, either-and I think I took a step backward and tripped. I must've grabbed my gun the wrong way-the only training I've had is with small arms. It started firing and...That's when I must've killed Tom." She looked over at him. "Sorry, sir."

Dave again gave the order to Decker. Maybe third time would be the charm. "Go, now, and track the team that took Lindsey. Sophia and I will get a message to Alyssa, try to recoup the damage that's been done." He got to his feet with only one grunt, holding out his hand to help Sophia up. "We better move, because those gunshots surely drew some attention."

Yet Deck still lingered. "You're sure you're all right?" he asked Sophia, who nodded.

It was only then that he left.

"Come on," Dave said, leading Sophia in the other direction.

It was her turn to hesitate. "Are we really just supposed to leave Tom?"

"We're terrorist scum," Dave pointed out. "We're supposed to remove his gold teeth, strip him of his boots and clothing, and leave him for the bobcats to eat for a midnight snack."

"I'm so sorry," Sophia told Tom again, as Dave pulled her with him down the trail.

"I'm not," Dave grumbled. "It's his fault entirely for making me a team leader."

Shots had been fired.

Jenk had been sent to investigate, along with Izzy, Lopez, Orlikowski, and Gillman.

Izzy found the enemy first. "Tommy's dead," he reported gleefully.

"No way." Danny Gillman couldn't believe it.

"Go see for yourself, Fishboy," Izzy countered. "He's lying by the side of the trail. Black stripe."

"No," Jenk said. There was no time for Gillman to do his doubting Thomas routine. "Iz, did you see Lindsey?"

"No sign of her, M. Which could confirm they left her in that mine."

"What this could confirm is that the mine has a second entrance," Jenk said. It was true that Lindsey hadn't been seen leaving the mine, but what about Sophia, Dave, or Decker? They hadn't been seen leaving it, either.

"I didn't get close enough to hear what they were saying," Izzy continued, "but it looks like they're splitting up. Decker's going one way, Malkoff and Sophia are going another."

"I'll follow Sophia," Danny and Lopez unisoned. What a surprise.

"You think you can keep up with Decker?" Jenk asked Izzy.

"Depends," Izzy said. "Am I going to be dragging your sorry ass with me?"

"Fuck you," Jenk said.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Jenk turned to Johnny O. "Run this info back to Commander Koehl." Their radios were down, which sucked, but was probably intentional. Technology was a gift, a pleasant bonus during those times that all the equipment worked as it should. But they always had to be ready to go without, which was why they could navigate using the stars and start a fire with a pair of sticks. Among other things, like resorting to message runners to communicate.

Orlikowski vanished.

"Follow Dave and Sophia," Jenk told Gillman and Lopez. "Can you do that without tripping over your dicks?"

Izzy answered for them, even though they left just as quickly as Orlikowski had. "Lopez, yes. Gillman, no. But stupidity is contagious, so you just upped our side's body count by two."

"Maybe they'll learn something," Jenk said.

"Maybe." Izzy paused. "When the fuck did we become the wise old-timers?"

"I don't know," Jenk said. But he was lying. He'd started growing up the first time one of his teammates died on an op. His recent trip to A-stan that nearly resulted in his own death was just the frosting. This particular cake had already been baking for some time.

"You ever think about crossing over?" Izzy asked. "You know, going to OCS before you get too old?"

Izzy was actually talking about becoming an officer, going to Officer Candidate School. And Jesus, he was serious.

Or was he? It was hard to tell with Zanella.

Especially when he segued directly into a different topic. "So Sophia Ghaffari," he said. "She has the kids drooling. Doesn't do it for you, though, huh?"

"She's beautiful," Jenk said. "But...I don't know."