She was, quite obviously, still steamed from whatever she and Izzy had been discussing.

"My feet are cold," she told him curtly, and he put down his weapon so he could throw another log onto the fire.

But Gillman stopped him. "Will you please just move her closer? I'm dying here."

Their jackets were cold-weather versions of the cammie-print BDUs they'd worn during their last exercise in California. There were sensors in them that would register their status as living or dead, and they were required not only to keep them on, but to keep them zipped. This was a definite problem for Dan Gillman, who must've been descended from Himalayan Sherpas or maybe Eskimos. The man was never cold.

"Switch with Lopez," Decker ordered, as Dave gestured for Tracy to stand up.

As Gillman clattered out the door into what for him must have been the refreshing coolness of the subzero evening, Dave leaned closer to Tracy. "The door to the left of the fireplace is unlocked. When I give you the signal, go straight behind the cabin-toward the road." A rescue team would be back there, but there was no way to tell her that as Gillman's footsteps faded.

Because Dave knew that Decker had very good ears, too.

Tracy's eyes were wide as Dave moved her chair closer to the fire. "Sit," he ordered, and she sat.

A squad of SEALs, led by Lieutenant Jacquette, was getting ready to approach the cabin where the hostage-Tracy-was being held.

Lindsey's team-led by Commander Koehl himself-was on the verge of moving into another position at the rear of the cabin.

They'd all dug in a little deeper a few minutes ago, when Izzy and then Lopez and Gillman had come out for an evening stroll. Both the SEALs and Koehl's team were well out of range, but they all still kept their heads down.

It wasn't long, though, before all three "terrorists" went back inside, the cabin buttoned tightly shut again.

"Lindsey, got a sec?"

It was, of course, Mark Jenkins. She'd been avoiding him successfully all day, ever since his attempt at playing pop psychologist outside the motel.

"No," she told him now, "and neither do you."

It was ridiculously close to go-time, and he glanced over his shoulder at Lieutenant Jacquette, who was having one last conversation with Tom and Koehl.

"Look," Jenk said, "I just wanted to-"

"You need to go," Lindsey said.

"-see if you maybe wanted to come home with me for Christmas," he finished, then dashed off to join his squad.

Lindsey stood there, staring after him. What on earth...?

"Linds."

She looked up to see Alyssa Locke gesturing at her. Great, caught with her thumb up her butt by Tom's second-in-command.

They were on the move, so Lindsey shouldered her weapon and followed, focusing all of her thoughts and energy on the task at hand.

She could not think about Mark Jenkins-or his invitation home for Christmas. Instead, she took it and compartmentalized it. It was what she'd trained herself to do-to push unwanted thoughts and feelings away and focus only on the problem she was currently facing.

If there was one thing she was very good at, it was compartmentalizing.

With all distractions locked away, Lindsey became the night, breathing with it, moving silently, soundlessly.

Shots were fired. Two separate bursts from an automatic weapon.

She dropped to the ground along with the rest of her team, which was probably unnecessary, considering those gunshots came from inside that cabin.

Crazy Dave Malkoff went postal.

He swung his weapon around and blew Decker, their Red Cell leader, away. Just rat-a-tat-tat.

"I heard Decker talking to Tracy," Dave shouted as he did it. "He's a plant, a mole. He's working for the enemy!"

Tracy made squeaking sounds, mittens up over her ears. She'd probably never heard a weapon being fired at such close range before, and Izzy found himself standing stupidly in front of her. Like he was going to protect her from the pretend bullets or something.

Although chances were that, even if he did save her life, she'd be pissed off at him for getting too close to her in the process.

"What are you looking at?" Dave was screaming at Gillman, like some kind of serious sociopath. "Are you working with him?"

"No," the fishboy said, but damned if Dave didn't just, blam, shoot him, too.

Izzy looked at Lopez, who looked over at Izzy. Both of their weapons were up and trained on Dave's back. Not that he seemed to care, but he did put his arms up, his weapon now loosely held in one hand.

Izzy knew exactly what Lopez was thinking. They'd just lost two-fifths of their team. They could pull their triggers and make it three-fifths.

Danny, meanwhile, was making WTF noises, despite being dead.

"Yeah," Dave said, much calmer now. "I knew you weren't working with him. I just don't like you, Dan."

Decker was already sitting down, his back against the wall, his eyes closed, and Gillman went to join him, making a big show of unfastening his jacket, taking it off, and tossing it onto the floor at Tracy's feet.

"At least I don't have to worry about heatstroke anymore," he said, as she gratefully wrapped it around her ankles.

"You boys make up your mind yet about whether or not to shoot me?" Dave asked Izzy and Lopez, "or would you rather listen to my plan for winning this whole thing first?"

"I don't understand what's happening," Tracy said.

"Silence," Dave ordered, turning to glance at her but being careful not to turn too far.

Izzy shook his head. This was pathetic. "Dude, you know what's really not going to happen? Us winning. What, are you gonna drag Tracy to Canada or something stupid like that? It's freezing out there. We're seriously outnumbered, and she's completely unskilled-"

"I'm now moving, gentlemen," Dave said as he did just that, heading away from them, "toward my rucksack by the front door."

Izzy exchanged a glance with Lopez again. Was Dave trying to sound like some James Bondian villain on purpose, or had a screw really come loose? They both shifted automatically, keeping him in their fauxkill zones.

Although knowing Tommy Paoletti, this was probably just another one of his mind games. Provide the rescue squad with intel on the five tangos who'd kidnapped a hostage, and then make sure the tangos self-reduced their ranks, providing confusion and an opportunity for the good guys to kill said hostage by accident.

"I'm putting down my weapon," Dave said, again narrating his action, "so I can reach into my bag and show you-"

Someone's cell phone rang.

It was Decker's. It was joined by someone else's-probably Dave's. And then, simultaneously, Izzy's, Lopez's, and Gillman's radios chirped.

And just like that, the game was over. No doubt about it, SEAL Team Sixteen was going wheels up.

Lights went on. Training equipment was piled on the floor. SEALs who had, moments before, been sneaking up on the cabin now Avon-ladied right up to the front door.

There was no word on where Team Sixteen was going. If they were going to be briefed, it would happen on the plane. Still, from the furrow that Izzy had seen in Commander Koehl's forehead this morning, it seemed likely Team Sixteen was heading to either A-stan or Iraq.

Izzy turned to Tracy, to say-what? I just wanted you to know that if something happens to me over there, I will die with a smile on my face, thanks to you. Nah, probably not the way to go. Besides, he was bulletproof. Death was not an option. He should probably just say, I really am sorry, and I hope your life works out just the way you want it to. And then ride off into the sunset.

So to speak, considering the sun had set hours ago.

But none of it mattered, because Tracy was gone, her chair empty.

Izzy went outside to wave to her from afar, to let her know that it was safe to go back in and sit next to the fire, where she wouldn't have to worry about running into him again for a good long time.

Everyone who didn't have to rush down to the airport in Manchester-as in Tommy's team-was gathering in the cabin.

The plan was to get the SEALs on the road as quickly as possible. They didn't even have to pick up their stuff from the motel-they'd planned for that in advance, loading all their duffels and gear into one of the trucks.

Nevertheless, Jenk risked the senior chief's wrath by looking for Lindsey after he'd put both his training weapon and his jacket onto the piles on the cabin floor.

She was standing by the fireplace, talking to Dave.

"Excuse me," Jenk said. "May I have a moment with Lindsey?"

She didn't give Dave a chance to depart. "You hate me." She just jumped right into the conversation that would have happened earlier, had Jenk not had to run away. "Why would you ask me to come home with you for Christmas when you hate me?"

Dave gave him an oh really? look as he drifted out of earshot.

"I don't hate you," Jenk said. "I'm upset with you. I'm angry. I'm very angry, yeah, but I don't hate you."

"So you figure, what, you'll bring me home for Festivus?" she asked.

Jenk shook his head. "I don't know what that is."

"Of course you don't," she said. "You don't watch much TV." Like that was a bad thing.

"I just don't want you to be alone for Christmas," he told her.

Lindsey just looked at him. Silent. Unsmiling. He had no idea what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He took it as a good sign that she didn't whatever him or try to make a joke.

"It's not meant as some kind of trick," he felt compelled to explain. "Like, I'm still secretly in love with you or something, so I invite you home to meet my folks, with hopes of brainwashing you into..." Jenk rolled his eyes. "I just figured that by Christmas the anger I'm feeling will be down to a dull mad, and I'll be able to handle the idea of being your friend again. I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, and bottom line, I don't want to lose you, either."

"I hate that you're so nice," she finally said. "Can't you be more...awful?"

"What, just never talk to you again? I considered it, but...I like you. I think you're really messed up, but I still like you."

"You like me just the way I am, huh?" she said. "That's from Bridget Jones's Diary."

"Yeah, I know," Jenk said. "I actually saw that one. And no. I don't like you just the way you are. I think you need, I don't know, a mental tune-up, or a reality check or something. I know you didn't purposely set out to hurt me, but I wish you would open your eyes and see how you're sabotaging yourself. But what can I do?"

"Jenkins!" The shout came from outside.

"Shit," he said. "I gotta go." He held out his hand, because friends shook when they said good-bye.

Lindsey took his hand, her fingers cold. "Mark, I-"

"Jenkins. Have you seen Tracy?" Izzy nearly barreled into them-perfectly terrible timing, because Lindsey was clearly about to say something heartfelt for a change and maybe even accept his Christmas invitation.

"No," Jenk said as, crap, she pulled her hand away.

"Linds?" Izzy asked.

"I haven't seen her either. Sorry."

"Okay," Izzy said, "this is starting to freak me out. She's gone. She's not in here, she's not in the yard, she's not by the trucks. Unless she's hiding from me, because, she's, like, embarrassed about last night-" He looked at Jenk. "You know, about ralphing on me? Dude, do me a favor and just take a quick look around."

Jenk had one, maybe two minutes left to let Lindsey tell him whatever it was that she was going to tell him, but instead he was going to go chasing after Tracy? The irony of that was not lost on him.

"She's got her cell phone with her," Lindsey pointed out. "I'll just call her." She opened her own phone. "What's her number?" She looked at Jenk.

He, of course, knew Tracy's number by heart-another strike against him. He rattled it off, and she dialed, holding the phone to her ear.

"Come on, pick it up," Izzy muttered.

Lindsey shook her head. "I'm going right to voice mail. Tracy, this is Lindsey. I'm betting your phone is set on silent. When you get this message, call me. Right away." She hung up.

"Shit," Izzy said.

But then, over on the other side of the room, a phone let out a voice mail beep.

Okay, that probably wasn't a good thing.

Izzy loped over, kicking aside Dave's knapsack and some other equipment. He bent down and held it up-the phone he'd found was bright pink. And if there was still any doubt that it was Tracy's, he opened it, hit a few buttons, and Lindsey's phone rang.

"I hit redial," he said into it, as she answered. "I guess she doesn't have her phone with her."

"I guess not," Lindsey agreed, hanging up. "But that's gotta mean she can't be too far." She looked at Jenk, as over in the corner Izzy flagged down Dave Malkoff. "Why don't you go check by the trucks. And take Izzy, because if she is avoiding him, then she'll surely come back in here once he leaves. For obvious reasons." She gestured toward the fire.

Jenk hesitated, and she misunderstood. "Before you go getting all jealous," she continued, "I really doubt she's hiding from Izzy for any reason other than the puking incident. I was with her all night, and although she railed against men in general and Lyle in particular, she didn't mention Izzy once."

"I'm not jealous," he said.

"What are you, crazy?" Izzy exclaimed from across the room. "Damnit, Dave!"

"Lindsey," Dave called, stepping over the pile of jackets, "you were in Commander Koehl's team, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah?"