Anna bristled at the comment.

"Don't condescend to me, Irene.

This is my husband we're talking about."

"Exactly"-Kennedy moved in closer-"and if you really cared about him you'd stop asking people where he is. You'd remember that he's very good at what he does, and you'd honor him by keeping your mouth shut." Kennedy leaned in so her face was just inches from Anna's and in a low angry voice said, "His job is infinitely more important than both yours and mine. Do you have any idea how many lives he's saved over the years?"

Kennedy saw the defiance in Anna's eyes and said, "Sure, all your friends in the media like to call him an assassin, but have they ever stopped to count the lives he's saved?" Kennedy didn't pause long enough to give her a chance to answer.

"Of course they haven't. He didn't just save your life that day upstairs, he saved dozens Have you ever stopped to ask yourself that maybe right now he's doing exactly that? That he's saving lives?"

Kennedy eased back a bit and looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was trying to eavesdrop. Turning back to Anna, she added, "Right now there's a family of Americans whose lives depend on your husband. A mother and father and three little children. Think about that for a minute." Kennedy looked at Anna with commanding eyes.

"Would you deny them the same gift of life that Mitch gave you?"

Anna was completely caught off guard. She knew that Kennedy was scheduled to attend the dinner. She had rehearsed this confrontation several times and it never played out this way. At no time was she ever supposed to be on the defensive. Kennedy was supposed to be backpedaling. Kennedy was supposed to be listening. Anna was supposed to be in control.

Slowly, Anna began shaking her head. Her mind was flooded with memories of that night, not so long ago, when Mitch had saved her life. Her thoughts turned to the Anderson family that had gone missing in the Philippines. They had to be who Kennedy was talking about.

She'd seen photos of them and their cute little redheaded children.

Anna could not deny them their best hope. Standing up a bit straighter she struggled to find the right words.

"Just knowing where he is and what he's doing, helps."

Kennedy nodded, satisfied that she had got the young reporter to think of more than herself.

"But I worry about him." Anna thought of her honeymoon and her husband's scarred body. Her eyes moistened.

"I worry that one of these times he's not going to come home."

Kennedy honestly felt for the young bride. Clasping Anna's shoulder, she smiled and said, "I used to worry about him too, until I realized that it's the other guys who are in trouble."

Anna dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye and said sarcastically, "Great. That makes me feel much better."

Kennedy smiled.

"Don't worry about him. I can tell you that he's nowhere near the action. He's helping plan the rescue, but will not be participating in it."

Distrustful but hopeful, Anna asked, "Really?"

"Yes," nodded Kennedy.

Anna let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"Good. I just don't know if I could bear losing him."

Kennedy tried to see things through Anna's eyes. It had been so long since she'd been in love, and it was a very real possibility that she had never felt as deeply for her husband as Anna did for Mitch. Theirs was a passionate marriage born in the heat of battle. He had saved her life, and then she had given him the one thing he secretly yearned for: a real life.

There had been plenty of times when Kennedy had worried about Rapp when he was on operations. She loved him like a brother and stayed up late at night hoping he would return safely. Kennedy gave Anna an unusually warm smile and said, "I know how much he means to you, and if at any time I can help ease some of your worries, if I can answer some of your questions, then I will."

Anna was shocked by the generous and uncharacteristic offer. All she could do was smile and say thank you.

"All off the record, and never to be discussed with anyone else, of course," Kennedy said with a very serious expression.

"Of course." Anna took a drink of her cosmopolitan and studied her husband's boss. Maybe she'd misjudged Irene Kennedy.

THIRTY FOUR.

Coleman and Wicker had descended the mountain without incident and then very slowly and deliberately worked their way through the thick jungle with the goal of linking back up with Hackett and Stroble. Using the various paths that snaked their way through the plush vegetation was unwise, so even though they were going mostly downhill, it took a full two hours before they reached their comrades.

The last hundred or so feet was navigated on their bellies. Thanks to their secure Motorola radios and GPS devices, they were able to locate the well-concealed Hackett and Stroble without needing them to reveal their position. The two former SEALs had picked a spot atop a small ridgeline among the roots of a large mangrove tree. Their vantage of the Abu Sayyaf camp was ideal.

When Coleman reached the hide, he was surprised to find how lax the enemy's security was. A cooking fire puffed smoke into the air and the men lounged about with no apparent concern that they might be attacked. At first glance there appeared to be no perimeter patrol.

Coleman took this as further evidence that General Moro had been under their payroll.

Looking through binoculars he counted four dilapidated lean-tos and two green tents that appeared to be of the U.S. army surplus type.

Two men were busy tying down a blue tarp over one of the lean-tos as they prepared for the storm that was coming. The color of the tarp was further evidence that contrary to the intelligence reports they'd seen, these guerrillas were not a crack outfit. Coleman guessed the site was an abandoned village of some sort. Methodically, he scanned every foot looking for the Andersons. He checked each dwelling and saw no sign of the family. This meant they'd already been moved to a different camp, or they were inside one of the army tents. Coleman prayed it was the latter.

Knowing they had a long day ahead of them, Coleman ordered Hackett and Stroble to get some shut-eye while he sent Wicker to reconnoiter their left flank, and see if he could confirm the location of the Andersons.

As Wicker squirmed away, the former commander of SEAL Team 6 got Rapp on the secure net and began the process of meticulously relaying the location of each structure, the precise terrain of the camp and the exact strength of the enemy. Neither man communicated the obvious. Come nightfall they would be launching one of the most delicate and challenging of all military operations: a hostage rescue. Unlike almost every other military engagement, this one needed to be exercised with great restraint. It needed to be carried out with extreme skill and precision, or the hostages would get mowed down in the cross fire.

the expansive nonskid deck of the USS Belleau Wood pitched and rolled as the seas intensified with the oncoming storm.

Standing on the aft section of the flattop, Rapp picked up a suppressed MP-5 submachine gun that was lying on a tarp with several others. He held the weapon in his hands for a second getting a feel for the balance, and then pulled back the slide. After checking the chamber he released the cocking lever and listened for the click of a 9mm round being chambered.

In front of him were eight cardboard silhouette body targets. Rapp thumbed the selector switch from safety to single shot. He paid no attention to the men who were standing behind him. Moving with the confidence of someone who had done this many times before, he brought the weapon up into the firing position. His right foot moved slightly in front of his left, his entire body crouched a bit and he leaned forward. With the butt of the weapon nestled firmly to his left shoulder he looked down the black steel and through the hoop sight.