“There are some spy sites, or possibly some spy sites, on the atolls along the western end of the patrol area. At least one has radar. Captain Freah suggested they be investigated and I concur.”

Woods frowned at Stoner.

“I suggest we use the Birds and the Osprey,” added Danny. We think there’s probably a whole string of them, but looking at one would tell us a lot about the others.”

“What sites? Who are they working for?” asked Woods.

“We’re not sure,” said Stoner. “My guess is they’re with the Chinese, but that’s why we’d like to go in. Major Stockard and the Quicksilver crew have data on them.”

They discussed the sites briefly. Woods seemed to actively dislike Stoner, and pointed out twice this was not a CIA operation. Stoner didn’t respond to the provocations.

His sunburned face had a harsh ruggedness that was attractive, Bree thought, even when he frowned. And those eyes—gray-blue. Pretty.

In the end, Woods agreed investigating the sites would be useful—but at the moment they weren’t authorized to strike force on either side of the conflict.

“Draw up a plan for my review,” he said. “Gentlemen, good-bye.”

Drafted into the fucking Navy,” said Zen, rolling toward the tent that had been designated as their temporary quarters. “I’m a fucking sailor.”

“At least he got your sex right,” said Breanna, walking alongside his wheelchair.

“Navy bullshit,” grumbled Zen, pushing inside.

“How’s the tooth?”

“Still there.” Zen pushed his tongue back toward the filling. “So he must’ve done a good job, huh?”

“Why?”

“It’s not bothering you. So going to the dentist isn’t a bad thing.”

“Yes, Captain. Right again.”

She ran her hands from the back of his neck across his face, her thick, strong hands lingering on his cheeks. Zen felt reluctant to let the bad mood drop, but her touch softened the muscles in his face. She moved closer and pushed her body against him, leaning her breast into the side of his face.

“Maybe having nothing to do for a few hours isn’t so bad,” she said.

“Ya think?” said Zen. He pulled her down for a kiss. Except for the tooth, it was perfect; along, slow melt into the softness she kept behind the bomber-pilot face.

“Mmmmm,” she said.

“Mmmmm,” he repeated, his fingers sliding to the top of her flight suit. They had just started south when there was a scream outside.

Zen jerked back and grabbed the wheels of his chair, Breanna rushed ahead of him, running to the medical tent ten yards away. Two Whiplash team members, fully armed, came on a dead run, one dropping to his knee just outside the tent and talking into his microphone. Danny Freah barked something and the door to the big tent flew open. Freah, Sergeant Liu, and a Navy corpsman pushed out dragging a small Filipino. It was the woman they’d captured below, her shirt hanging half off.

“She grabbed a scissors,” said Liu. “She tried to stab the captain.”

“Guerrilla,” said Stoner, appearing behind Zen.

“Maybe she just doesn’t like the idea of being manhandled,” said Breanna. The young woman had collapsed to the ground. Bree went to her and kneeled down.

“Careful, Captain,” said Danny.

“Were there all men in there?” asked Bree.

“I don’t think that was the problem,” said Liu. “We took a gun from her earlier.”

Breanna squatted in front of the Filipino. “Are you okay?”

The young woman didn’t answer.

“restraints,” said Danny. Liu nodded and went back inside the tent.

“CPP,” said a Marine officer who’d joined the semicircle. “Commie.”

“No. she’s a Muslim,” said Stoner. “Ask her.”

“What difference does that make?” said the Marine.

Stoner said nothing, but came over and lowered himself into a squat next to Breanna. Danny, standing behind the Filipino and still holding her shirt, stooped slightly. A light drizzle had started to fall; the rain was warm, like the sprinkle from a shower.

“What are you doing on this island?” asked Stoner. “You don’t come from here.”

The young woman spit at him, but the spook didn’t react.

“We’re not your friends, but we’re not interested in hurting you either,” he said. “Tell us why you’re here. Otherwise we’ll turn you over to the Army.”

She said nothing. They stared at each other a few seconds more; then Stoner rose.

“She’s a guerrilla,” said Captain Peterson. “You’ll have to give her over to Western Command, the Filipino Army. Her people were probably planning a raid.”

“She’s not CPP, and she wasn’t planning a raid,” said Stoner.

“Who the fuck are you?” Peterson said.

Stoner gave the Marine a half smile but didn’t answer his question. He turned to Zen instead—he was the ranking officer, but even so, Zen thought it odd—and told him. “The people in that settlement are probably all related; came here from one of the other islands. Luzon or someplace. They’ll have a horror story.” Stoner then turned abruptly and walked away.