In Panama, all of the infantrymen were still asleep. They'd be allowed to stand down for a full day, and sleep in air-conditioned comfort - under heavy blankets - after hot showers and meals which, if not especially tasty, were at least different from the MREs they'd had for the preceding week. The four officers, however, were awakened early and taken elsewhere for a new briefing. Operation SHOWBOAT, they learned, had taken a very serious turn. They also learned why, and the source of their new orders was as exhilarating as it was troubling.

The new S-3, operations officer, for the 3rd Battalion of the 17th Infantry, which formed part of the First Brigade, 7th Infantry Division (Light), checked out his office while his wife struggled with the movers. Already sitting on his desk was a Mark-2 Kevlar helmet, called a Fritz for its resemblance to the headgear of the old German Wehrmacht. For the 7th LID, the camouflage cloth cover was further decorated with knotted shreds of the same material used for their battle-dress uniform fatigues. Most of the wives referred to it as the Cabbage Patch Hat, and like a cabbage, it broke up the regular outline of the helmet, making it harder to spot. The battalion commander was off at a briefing, along with the XO, and the new S-3 decided to meet with the S-l, or personnel officer. It turned out that they'd served together in Germany five years before, and they caught up on personal histories over coffee.

"So how was Panama?"

"Hot, miserable, and I don't need to fill you in on the political side. Funny thing - just before I left I ran into one of your Ninjas."

"Oh, yeah? Which one?"

"Chavez. Staff sergeant, I think. Bastard wasted me on an exercise."

"I remember him. He was a good one with, uh... Sergeant Bascomb?"

"Yes, Major?" A head appeared at the office door.

"Staff Sergeant Chavez - who was he with?"

"Bravo Company, sir. Lieutenant Jackson's platoon... second squad, I think. Yeah, Corporal Ozkanian took it over. Chavez transferred out to Fort Benning, he's a basic-training instructor now," Sergeant Bascomb remembered.

"You sure about that?" the new S-3 asked.

"Yes, sir. The paperwork got a little ruffled. He's one of the guys who had to check out in a hurry. Remember, Major?"

"Oh, yeah. That was a cluster-fuck, wasn't it?"

"Roge- o, Major," the NCO agreed.

"What the hell was he doing running an FTX in the Canal Zone?" the operations officer wondered.

"Lieutenant Jackson might know, sir," Bascomb offered.

"You'll meet him tomorrow," the S-l told the new S-3.

"Any good?"

"For a new kid fresh from the Hudson, yeah, he's doing just fine. Good family. Preacher's kid, got a brother flies fighter planes for the Navy - squadron commander, I think. Bumped into him at Monterey awhile back. Anyway, Tim's got a good platoon sergeant to teach him the ropes."

"Well, that was one pretty good sergeant, that Chavez kid. I'm not used to having people sneak up on me!" The S-3 fingered the scab on his face. "Damn if he didn't, though."

"We got a bunch of good ones, Ed. You're gonna like it here. How 'bout lunch?"

"Sounds good to me. When do we start PT in the morning?"

"Zero- six-fifteen. The boss likes to run."

The new S-3 grunted on his way out the door. Welcome back to the real Army.

"Looks like our friends down there are a little pissed," Admiral Cutter observed. He held a telex form that had emanated from the CAPER side of the overall operation. "Who was it came up with the idea of tapping into their communications?"

"Mr. Clark," the DDO replied.

"The same one who -"

"The same."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"Ex- Navy SEAL, served nineteen months in Southeast Asia in one of those special operations groups that never officially existed. Got shot up a few times," Ritter explained. "Left the service as a chief bosun's mate, age twenty-eight. He was one of the best they ever had. He's the guy who went in and saved Dutch Maxwell's boy."

Cutter's eyes went active at that. "I knew Dutch Maxwell, spent some time on his staff when I was a j.g. So, he's the guy who saved Sonny's ass? I never did hear the whole story on that."

"Admiral Maxwell made him a chief on the spot. That's when he was COMAIRPAC. Anyway, he left the service and got married, went into the commercial diving business - the demolitions side; he's an expert with explosives, too. But his wife got killed in a car accident down in Mississippi. That's when things started going bad for him. Met a new girl, but she was kidnapped and murdered by a local drug ring - seems she was a mule for them before they met. Our former SEAL decided to go big-game hunting on his own hook. Did pretty well, but the police got a line on him. Anyway, Admiral Maxwell was OP-03 by then. He caught a rumble, too. He knew James Greer from the old days, and one thing led to another. We decided that Mr. Clark had some talents we needed. So the Agency helped stage his 'death' in a boating accident. We changed his name - new identity, the whole thing, and now he works for us."

"How - "

"It's not hard. His service records are just gone. Same thing we did with the SHOWBOAT people. His fingerprints in the FBI file were changed - that was back when Hoover still ran things and, well, there were ways. He died and got himself reborn as John Clark."

"What's he done since?" Cutter asked, enjoying the conspiratorial aspects of this.

"Mainly he's an instructor down at The Farm. Every so often we have a special job that requires his special talents," Ritter explained. "He's the guy who went on the beach to get Gerasimov's wife and daughter, for example."

"Oh. And this all started because of a drug thing?"

"That's right. He has a special, dark place in his heart for druggies. Hates the bastards. It's about the only thing he's not professional about."

"Not pro -"

"I don't mean it that way. He'll enjoy doing this job. It won't affect how he does it, but he will enjoy it. I don't want you to misunderstand me. Clark is a very capable field officer. He's got great instincts, and he's got brains. He knows how to plan it, and he knows how to run it."

"So what's his plan?"

"You'll love it." Ritter opened his portfolio and started taking papers out. Most of them, Cutter saw, were "overhead imagery" - satellite photographs.

"Lieutenant Jackson?"

"Good morning, sir," Tim said to the new battalion operations officer after cracking off a book-perfect salute. The S-3 was walking the battalion area, getting himself introduced.

"I've heard some pretty good things about you." That was always something that a new second lieutenant wanted to hear. "And I met one of your squad leaders."

"Which one, sir?"

"Chavez, I think."

"Oh, you just in from Fort Benning, Major?"

"No, I was an instructor at the Jungle Warfare School, down in Panama."

"What was Chavez doing down there?" Lieutenant Jackson wondered.

"Killing me," the major replied with a grin. "All your people that good?"

"He was my best squad leader. That's funny, they were supposed to send him off to be a drill sergeant."

"That's the Army for you. I'm going out with Bravo Company tomorrow night for the exercise down at Hunter-Liggett. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Glad to have you along, sir," Tim Jackson told the Major. It wasn't strictly true, of course. He was still learning how to be a leader of men, and oversight made him uncomfortable, though he knew that it was something he'd have to learn to live with. He was also puzzled by the news on Chavez, and made a mental note to have Sergeant Mitchell check that out. After all, Ding was still one of "his" men.

"Clark." That was how he answered the phone. And this one came in on his "business" line.

"It's a Go. Be here at ten tomorrow morning."