So Royce had checked what had been bequeathed to him by his old friend: an old truck and a new laptop. The setup inside the laptop was efficient. There was an address book with numerous points of contacts, each labeled with a code word and a brief summary of what that POC was responsible for. It was specific and extensive. If he needed weapons up to and including heavy machine guns and rocket-propelled grenades in Chile, there was a phone number and a code name. If he needed access to the Defense Intelligence Agency's most deeply held files, there was an e-mail address, a phone number, and a code name for that. There were even access points for most other country's intelligence agencies.

Royce had his own code name. Like the others, it was a six letter/number combination. An annotation told him that the code cycled every forty-eight hours, which required him to sync the computer to the satellite wireless system it automatically picked up every time it was on, at least every two days. He had no doubt he was hooked in to Milstar, the secure satellite system the Pentagon had circling the planet.

Since the satellites were linked to each other, Milstar provided initial security by requiring no ground relay, which could always be tapped in to. And the satellites used frequency hopping to transmit their encrypted messages. When he checked into Milstar after first using it several years ago – and he always checked everything he used, since his life depended on it – he discovered that the Air Force claimed there were five working satellites in the system, even though six had been launched. The publicity page on the Air Force website claimed that a mistake was made on the third launch in 1999 and the satellite had been placed in a nonusable orbit.

He very much wanted to know where that satellite was in geosynchronous orbit. He had a feeling it would tell him a great deal about the Organization he worked for, because he doubted that the orbit for that one had been a mistake. Perhaps from the Air Force point of view it had not gone where they wanted, but he believed that someone else was very happy wherever that satellite had ended up.

Royce sighed. All this thinking was keeping him from doing what had to be done. He opened up the laptop and read Tai's request to ARPERCEN one more time. It was either bullshit, stupidity, or something else. Because he had told Tai, as he'd told the others, in no uncertain terms, that she was no longer part of the big green machine and could never go back to it. So why was she sending an e-mail concerning a next assignment that would never happen?

She was not stupid. He had her file. Tops in her class at the University of Arizona. While on active duty, she had somehow managed to earn a Ph.D. in military history. Every efficiency report sparkled and glowed with that extra bit of effort that indicated her commanders had not been just routinely punching her ticket, but truly impressed with her. Until she was accused of abusing prisoners in Iraq, a strange departure from her straight and narrow record to that point.

Since she wasn't stupid, that meant the ARPERCEN request wasn't bullshit. Which meant it was something else, and the only thing Royce could come up with was that it was some sort of coded message Tai had sent to someone on the outside.

According to the file, she'd been recruited because of the prisoner abuse charges – and her personal motivation after losing her sister on 9/11. Her test – like those of all the others – had been to assassinate a target designated by the Organization. Even he had no idea why these people have been targeted. She had killed the target as ordered, so there was some degree of security in that – she'd crossed a line.

But…

Royce brought up her 201 personnel file once more and began reading it, searching for the thread he must have missed the first time through, now that he suspected that Captain Tai was more than she appeared to be. He glanced at his watch. The C-130 for the recon team should be ready on Okinawa by now. And Tai and Vaughn should be heading to the airfield.

Royce pulled out his secure satellite phone and punched in a number.

Vaughn could see that Orson wasn't one for rah-rah premission speeches.

"We don't hear from you on your initial entry report in twenty-four hours, we'll consider your mission compromised."

Orson was standing in the entrance to the tunnel, looking up into the back of the truck. Tai and Vaughn sat on benches across from each other, their packed rucksacks on the space behind them.

"Roger that," Vaughn said. He hadn't told anyone about his encounter with Kasen – at this point it would make little difference, if any. The mission was on, and he had to make the best of it.

Diesel fumes from the idling engine wafted through the enclosed space. He felt a curious sense of detachment as he pushed away the thoughts and feelings about the coming mission.

"Is the primary mission canceled if we're killed during the recon?" Tai asked.

Orson stared at her.

"What do you care? You'll be dead."

Vaughn and Tai met each other's eyes. He wasn't sure what he read in hers. Anger? But there was something else. He turned to Orson.

"What if we're captured? Twenty-four-hour rule?"

He was referring to the concept that a prisoner could hold out against torture for twenty-four hours, then even the best would give up everything they knew. But twenty-four hours was enough time for every plan the prisoner knew to be changed, and for damage control to begin.

"Don't get captured," Orson growled. He slapped the side of the truck to let the driver know it was ready to go, then turned and walked away.

Vaughn pulled down the canvas flap covering the back of the truck.

"Friendly."

"This isn't a friendly business," Tai said. Vaughn wondered if she knew about his brother-in-law. Frank and he had discussed the problem of serving on the same team, but in the end they had decided they'd rather fight with someone they knew and trusted. That had not turned out well. As the truck rumbled its way toward the airfield, Vaughn began preparing for battle. Both he and Tai wore sterile camouflage fatigues of a make easily bought anywhere in the world. He put his body armor on, securing it with the Velcro straps. He then slid on the combat vest bristling with extra magazines, grenades, a knife, and the FM radio with which he could talk to Tai. He put the earpiece in, secured the mike around his throat, and when Tai had done the same, turned his radio on and moved to the front of the truck bay, as far from her as he could get.

"Read me? Over."

"Roger that," Tai responded.

"Over."

"Let's keep the radio off until just before jump to conserve batteries," Vaughn said.

"Then operate only on minimum settings. Over."

"Roger. Out."

Tai turned off her radio and Vaughn did the same. He returned to the rear of the truck and checked his pistol, making sure there was a round in the chamber. Then he put on his composite armor forearm guards. Tai noted that.

"What's your training in?" Vaughn knew she was asking for a specific martial arts discipline.

"Killing."

Tai laughed.

"Know enough of a bunch of various styles and master of none?" Vaughn shrugged.

"I don't have a black belt in anything, but I have trained in a variety of styles. What about you?"

"Black belt in hapkido and tae kwon do. And trained in a variety of styles."

Vaughn had expected as much, given the way she took down Kasen. He pulled his flight gloves on, flexing his fingers to ensure a tight fit, then secured the brass knuckles to his combat vest. Seeing that, Tai raised an eyebrow.

"That's a new one."

"Something from my childhood," Vaughn explained. He felt a flush of sadness, remembering Frank at the assembly area in the Philippines before the botched raid also commenting on the knuckles.Tai pulled something long and thin, wrapped in black cloth, out of her pack.