Tai finally continued.

"Capturing Saddam didn't stop the insurgency in Iraq. The Israelis have killed many Palestinian leaders and the movement continues. These are people who haven't dedicated themselves to their leaders, but to their causes. And the only way to defeat a terrorist movement is to defeat the cause."

Vaughn had spent two rotations in Iraq and one in Afghanistan while he was in Special Forces before going to Delta Force, and he knew she was right. The U.S. military was waging the wrong type of war in both places – as it had done before in Vietnam.

"So then why are we doing this?" he asked.

"I've been thinking about that," Tai said. Vaughn could now see that she was also lying back on her ruck, the infamous rucksack flop. Her eyes were closed.

"There's something else going," Tai said.

"Something that Royce and Orson aren't telling us."

"There's always something else going on," Vaughn said.

"And it's usually about money."

A slight smile graced Tai's thin lips.

"'Ours is but to do and die.'" Vaughn was startled.

"Tennyson?" It was Tai's turn to be surprised.

"Every soldier should know Tennyson. The Abu Sayef have never been high on the United States terrorism target list for a simple reason – there's no oil here."

"Cynical," Vaughn said.

"Skeptical," Tai countered.

"So what's changed?"

"That's the big question, isn't it? But I bet it has something to do with wealth in some form or another.

Now, you want first watch?"

Moreno looked through the periscope at the small island, focusing on the cluster of buildings. His position was a couple of hours ahead of Jolo Island, so the morning sun was well up already. He could see little activity on the island. An occasional vehicle moving on the few miles of paved road. There had been no activity at the airfield so far.

Moreno had the military flight schedule for the atoll. He'd downloaded it from the Internet, and he thought it was very nice of the American military to publish it on the Web. One Air Force plane was scheduled to land just after noon on its way across the Pacific on a regular run.

Moreno had an entire binder of information on Johnston Atoll, all gained from simply surfing the Web. He even knew the exact number of guards on the island. Not U.S. military, but rather, civilian contractors. And probably not the best that could be recruited, since they were serving in places where the pay was much better, such as Iraq.

Thirty-two rent-a-cops guarded the facility, probably in three shifts of eight, if they were working at full strength. But that implied they were all working seven days a week, which Moreno doubted, since one had to add in days off. He guessed a guard shift was at most six, possibly four. There were several hundred U.S. military personnel on the island, but they were scientists and supply officers and clerks – not infantrymen. He had to assume those people had access to weapons, but he hoped to be on the island before an alert could be issued.

And then it would be too late.

Royce sat in the clearing on top of David's truck, staring aimlessly to the north. He had no doubt the Organization had killed David and all the others on the plane. Not being a fool, Royce also could extrapolate that eventually he would suffer the same fate, probably under a different guise and at a different time.

Knowledge was power. And for the first time in his career with the Organization, Royce was thinking about how little he knew about it. He had contact points laterally. Orders from above via secure encryption on a computer from an unknown source. And below him, those he recruited. He was a piece of a machine that he had little idea of the true nature or extent of, and like any piece, he was sure he was replaceable.

He had a strong suspicion that David had been replaced because of some aspect of the current mission. It had been David's mission, and to pull him off it and "retire" him before it was completed was a sure sign of that. So there was more going on with this mission than appeared. The Tai angle wasn't good, but he didn't think that had been enough to cause David's death.

Royce blinked, bringing his attention back to his immediate surroundings. Action. When in doubt, take action. But very, very careful action. Because the wrong action could bring the wrong attention.

First, he needed to know more about David's death, and in the process, more about the Organization.

Second, he needed to know more about this mission against Abayon of the Abu Sayef. What was the real goal? Because the Hong Kong angle meant this was much bigger than just a terrorist leader on Jolo Island of the Philippines. He doubted very much that the Organization would launch this mission simply in retaliation for the botched rescue mission. The Organization, in his experience, did not react to such things. The Organization acted.

And thus, he had to act. But very carefully.

The Japanese woman met the team from Australia planeside, standing next to a stretch limousine with heavily tinted windows. The Learjet in which they had flown from Okinawa to Hong Kong was unmarked and parked far from the main terminal. There were no customs officials in the area, and she silently directed the team into the limousine.

No words were exchanged as the long car drove away from the airport. The woman pointed at a pile of gear stacked in the middle of the passenger compartment. The team leader pulled off the blanket covering it. Weapons, body armor, explosives – all that had been requested was there.

"When do we go?" the team leader asked, speaking first as they approached the city.

"When I tell you to, if I tell you to," the woman replied.

Abayon was in pain. There was nothing unusual about that. His life had been full of pain ever since his encounter with Unit 731. But today he felt it more deeply than usual. And he knew it was not a spike, but the heralding of even more pain to come. The doctors had given him six months. But that was only a guess.

He leaned back in his wheelchair, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, trying to expel the agony with the air. It did not work. He closed his eyes for several moments, then opened them and reached for the piece of paper that had been brought to him several minutes earlier. It detailed the money made and disbursed the previous evening in Hong Kong. The numbers lessened the pain. If tonight's auction did the same, his group would have gone a long way toward funding the war against the rich for many years to come.

There was, of course, no word from Moreno. Security dictated that. The only way to know if he was successful would be to watch CNN and wait for the news.