"Why is."Then why?"Because of my sister."Vaughn felt like he was pulling teeth to get anything out of these people.

"What about your sister?"She was killed in the attack on the Pentagon. He promised me vengeance against the Abu Sayef, who we believe are allied with Al Qaeda."

"That was years ago," Vaughn said.

"You've been working for Royce all this time?"

"No. He approached me two days ago. There was something else."

"And that is?"

"I was accused of prisoner abuse in Iraq."

"And you just passed a test to get on the team?" Vaughn asked. Tai's head jerked and she reached up and placed her fingers lightly on the bandage.

"Yes. And you?" Her eyes met his, and they were locked in a stare that lasted several seconds, each appraising the other.

Finally Vaughn nodded.

"Yes."

He broke the stare and looked at the other members of the team, wondering what in their past had caused them to be recruited and what they had just done recently in order to be allowed on the team.

His thoughts were interrupted by Orson.

"Briefings in one hour."

Then the team leader left the room once more.

"So everyone here is new to this team?" Vaughn asked Tai, trying to confirm what he had suspected upon entering isolation.

She shrugged.

"As far as I know. Makes sense if they want to keep it covert."

"But Royce told me that this was a one-way ticket," Vaughn pointed out.

"We'll never go back to our previous assignments."

"And?"

"Do you think we're the first ones ever to get booked on this kind of thing?" he asked her.

That gave Tai pause.

"What are you trying to say?"

"I don't know," Vaughn admitted frankly.

"But…"

"But…?"

Vaughn looked at the photo of Rogelio Abayon. Eyes on the target – it was an axiom of planning.

"Let's get this son of a bitch."

Tai nodded.

"That's the idea."

The death of a Yakuza boss was big news. But for the moment that news was being held very tightly. Both ends of the alley where Kasama had been killed were still sealed by the containers. The police had used ladders to climb over the trailers blocking one end and then get down into the alley. Upon ascertaining who the victims were, a special police unit had been called. The head of that unit, working on a classified alert bulletin he had been given just a few days before, then made another call, this one to the Public Security Intelligence Agency, the Japanese version of the CIA.

Within fifteen minutes an unmarked helicopter appeared overhead and landed as close as possible. Two old men got off. They brushed their way past the police under the escort of the head of the special unit. Laboriously, they clambered up the ladder and then down another ladder into the alley. They walked up to Kasama's body, ignoring the smoke still drifting out of the SUVs and the other bodies and body parts littered about.

The Yakuza boss's head was resting on his stomach, neatly severed from his body. His dead hands cradled the head, as if protecting it. Lifeless eyes stared at his feet. The two men stood there for several moments, not speaking.

The head of the police special unit on the Yakuza cleared his throat, then said, "We do not think this was done by a rival faction. There have been no reports or rumors. Someone would be boasting of it if they had done it. And the preparations" – he indicated the three destroyed vehicles, the two trailers, the bodies – "we would have gotten some wind of it if some other part of the Yakuza were involved."

"'Wind,'" one of the old men repeated.

"The Black Wind blows no more," he added, nodding toward Kasama's body.

His partner turned toward the policeman.

"This is our problem. You are correct – it is not internal Yakuza conflict."

"What is it?" the policeman asked.

"Who did this?"

The first old man considered the question for several moments, as if trying to decide how much to say, then shrugged.

"We don't know. That's why we're here. But we know the Black Wind has been involved in things that extend beyond the borders of our country. Far beyond. And strong as Kasama and his organization were, there was something stronger than them. As we can obviously see."

The other man turned to the policeman.

"You can go now."

The policeman beat a hasty retreat.

"Should we call the group?" one asked the other.

He nodded.

"Let them in on the confusion."

It had been a long day, the team getting slowly into gear processing the intelligence they had been given. Each member had watched the briefing from Hawaii on the Abu Sayef, and Tai had added a little to it.

Now Vaughn lay on the hard bunk staring up at the rock. He could hear the breathing of his teammates, each different. Orson snored, which Vaughn noted – a potentially dangerous thing on a mission. Tai, on the next bunk, was motionless and her breathing so shallow he had wondered for a few moments if she'd died in her sleep. Kasen tossed and turned, occasionally muttering, another trait that was not good if they had to go on an extended mission. Sinclair seemed the most normal of the bunch, sleeping soundly and without much noise.

Hayes was not asleep. Nor was he in his bunk. Vaughn had watched him get up and make his way to the latrine in the darkness, stepping carefully to avoid making any noise. But even with the latrine door shut, Vaughn could hear the muffled retching and coughing.

After ten minutes, Hayes crept back into the room and slid into his bunk. Vaughn turned his head. And saw Tai looking right at him, the dim light glinting off the whites of her eyes. They held each other's gaze for several moments, then she closed her eyes.

Vaughn did the same. But sleep was a long time coming. And before it did come, he heard Hayes make two more trips to the latrine.

"Hono Mountain, on this side," Vaughn said, pointing at the imagery tacked to the plywood. He had managed a few hours sleep, but got up before dawn, poring through the intelligence on Abayon and Jolo Island.

Orson stared at him silently for several seconds. Vaughn was behind the podium, the rest of the team arrayed about in their seats facing him.

"That's it?" Orson finally asked.

"There's not much intelligence on the Abu Sayef on Jolo," Vaughn said, which was an understatement.

"Reversing the videotape that was taken of the failed raid indicates it was shot from the mountain."

Vaughn turned to a satellite image of the mountain and marked out a large area with a pointer.

"Somewhere on the southeast side."

Orson turned to Hayes.

"You have any idea where Abayon hides out?"

"Like I said yesterday, in the mountain," Hayes said. He shrugged.

"No one except those in Abayon's inner circle are allowed anywhere close to the mountain. What I heard when I was on the island was that there are tunnels and chambers throughout it and that's where his lair is. And he almost never comes out. That's why there is no recent photo of him."

Orson got up and walked to the imagery.

"It's a big damn mountain. And the area is crawling with guerrillas. Not only do we need to pinpoint how to get into the tunnel system, but we also have to figure out how to kill him once we're in. Whether it's a shot to the head or taking out the whole complex."

"There's a third issue," Sinclair said.

"And what is that?" Orson demanded.

"Getting out."