Hicks looked back at him and said, “Skeeter.”

Skeeter walked to al-’Aqran, brought his fist hard against the man’s temple, and then covered the newly unconscious man with the tarp.

Scott looked at Khadi and saw she had turned pale. “Khadi, you okay?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. Just go on,” she replied, staring down at the floor.

“Those were some pretty harsh words Riley read,” Hicks said. “They must be working him over pretty good.”

“No doubt, because Riley has to know the way those words could come back in the future to bite him and the government. I’m betting this isn’t the only copy of that tape,” Kasay said.

Scott was shaking his head. “No, that doesn’t sound like Riley. It would take more than some cutting and beating to get him to say those things.”

“They aren’t just cutting and beating. Did you see the swelling around his nipples? They’re using a generator on him too,” Hicks pointed out.

“Still-and back me up on this, Skeet and Kim-we’ve seen Riley in some pretty messed-up situations in Afghanistan. He’s used to getting hurt and playing hurt.”

“There’s hurt, and then there’s tortured. It’s a big difference, Weatherman. Trust me, I know.”

“I hear you; I hear you. It’s just… I don’t know. Riley always seems so in control. He always seems to have a plan. He always moves with a purpose-”

“A purpose!” Kim Li called out. “That’s it! Put the tape back on.”

Scott rewound the tape partway and then hit Play. “Watch Riley’s right thumb,” Li said. “See that twitching?”

“Yeah, random twitching is typical during physical duress,” Hicks replied.

“Wait a second,” Scott jumped in, “that’s no random twitching. Short, short, short; short, long-didn’t you SEALs ever have to learn Morse code?”

“Actually, we sort of prided ourselves on our post-1940s technology.”

Scott ignored Hicks and moved closer to the monitor. “It’s hard to see because it’s so slight. Kim, Skeet, check me on this. Long, short-that’s N. Short, long-that’s A. Short, long, long, short-a P-‘Nap.’ Then an A… and an S. Then an A… D… E.”

The tape went to snow.

“‘Nap as a de…’-a de-what?” Scott said. Nap-to sleep-sleeping like a de-mon, a De-nverite, a de-ranged man… No, none of that makes sense. C’mon, think! What if it’s not “nap”? Or maybe it’s not even English!

“Hey, guys, work with me on this,” Scott poured out in a rush. “Maybe Riley knew they’d be watching him, so he signaled in a language other than English.”

Khadi tried to get his attention, but he waved her off.

“‘Apas’… ‘aden’… ‘enapa’… ‘pasa’… That’s it! ‘Pasa!’ He used Spanish! And he must be repeating the message; the video starts and ends in the middle of the cycle. Okay, pasa means ‘it happens’; de is ‘of’; but what is na? ‘It happens of-?’”

“Hey, John Nash.” Hicks’s voice interrupted his concentration. “I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s not ‘Pasa de na.’ He was signaling ‘Pasadena.’ So much for your beautiful mind.”

The rest of the team all burst out laughing while Scott, red-faced, looked around for a table to crawl under.

“So, Pasadena,” Hicks said, reining the group in. “Is there a Pasadena anywhere around here?”

“Maybe… but I don’t think so,” Scott answered, visualizing the area map in his head. “Pasadena has to be some sort of code.”

“What if Riley wasn’t signaling us where he is?” Khadi offered. “What if he picked up some information?”

“Maybe Pasadena is where the Cause has its U.S. base,” Li said.

“Or it could be the site of their next hit,” Scott said. “What’s in-? The PFL Cup! They’re playing the championship game this year in the Rose Bowl!”

“Khadi, get on the horn to Porter and tell him that the Cause is gunning for the PFL Cup,” Hicks ordered. “Kasay, Skeeter, Li, I want you guys back out on surveillance. Our time is short, so we have to come up with something now! Scott, you and I are going to get back on that video and-I don’t know-discover something!”

Everyone sprung into action. Kasay, Skeeter, and Li bolted out the door. The squeal of their tires could be heard in the house. Khadi was immediately on the phone talking to the St. Louis office. Scott rewound the tape, and he and Hicks began watching it again.

By the third time through, Khadi was off the phone. “Porter’s off and running with the info,” she said.

Hicks grunted acknowledgment.

“Any luck?” Khadi asked hopefully.

“If we’d had any luck, do you think we’d be watching this again?” Hicks snapped.

“Jim, back off; she’s only asking,” Scott said. He turned his head toward Khadi. “If you think you can handle seeing Riley like this again, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Thanks.”

Hicks got up and gave her his seat, then made peace by fetching her a bottle of water while he was grabbing another chair.

They watched the tape twice more, evaluating everything from the inflection of words to the placement of several coughs. They looked for anything in the room-the light, the type of chair-that might give evidence to whether it was a port building or a building in the train yard. But everything just seemed so common.

The sixth time through, Scott suddenly reversed the tape and let it run again. Then he reversed it again and let it run.

“What do you see, Weatherman?” Hicks asked.

“I don’t know… something… nothing… light maybe. Give me my phone.”

Hicks reached over and grabbed Scott’s phone from the table.

Scott dialed the ROU number. “Tara, get Gooey on the phone… Hey, Goo, have you run that video through a waveform yet?… Do me a favor, and do it right away. I’ll hold.”

Scott saw Hicks and Khadi staring at him with blank looks on their faces. “A waveform monitor is a type of oscilloscope that measures the level of a video signal.” He saw that the blank looks had not changed. “It measures light fluctuations. I think I’m seeing a regular pattern of slight change in the room’s light. I think it might be-Yeah, I’m here, Gooey… Right… yeah… let me guess-two flashes every twelve seconds… Bingo! Thanks, Gooster; you’re the man!”

Scott hung up the phone with a huge grin on his face. “I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw a pattern of barely discernible variations in the lighting on the tape. My guess is that there is a window to the outside somewhere in that room. I wanted Gooey to confirm the timing and the pattern-two flashes every twelve seconds. Out at the end of the port facility stands Molo di Tramontana-a lighthouse, still operational. I want our surveillance teams to confirm this, but I’m pretty sure there is only one building-Port 2-that has a direct line of sight to the lighthouse.”

He paused to let the information sink in. Then he added, “Looks like we’ve got us a target!”

Wednesday, January 21

Barletta, Italy

Three ghostly white figures floated on the screen. One appeared to be lying down, and the other two stood slightly behind the first. All were completely unaware of the radar bouncing off their bodies. This rapid, ultrawideband pulsation resonated from an impulse synthetic aperture radar that, like a real-life version of the fictional form of thermal imaging typically shown on television and in the movies, actually allowed one to receive images through walls. This was Ted Hummel’s first time employing the system in the field, and he was having way too much fun operating it.

“Tech One,” he said into his comm system. For this action, Hummel had been designated as Tech One, and Khadi, who was working with him in the back of the surveillance van, was Tech Two.

“Alpha One, go ahead, Tech One,” came Hicks’s whispered response.

“Confirm Riley behind window seven; two hajjis guarding-I believe beyond a door due to fainter signal. Recommend window five as entry point-four hajjis prone, probably sleeping.”