It had been more than enough. The other twenty-three security men aboard had been killed within seconds of Shikishima's destruction, those on duty gunned down by their supposed comrades from behind, those off duty below deck killed by poison gas and gunfire as they slept. Five members of the ship's crew had also been shot, but so far, at least, the rest were cooperating with Yuduki Maru's new masters. The officers had been separated from the men, and both groups were kept locked in carefully searched compartments below, released a few at a time under close guard to carry out their shipboard duties. They'd been promised their lives if they cooperated.

Kurebayashi wondered how many of them seriously believed they would be allowed to live once Yuduki Maru made landfall. The stakes in this game were so fantastically high since the takeover, there had been only one significant threat to Yuduki Maru. For the past three days they'd been steaming steadily on a heading of 012, almost due north. The coast of Madagascar, however, slants from south-southwest to north-northeast, so the plutonium freighter had been steadily drawing closer and closer to the huge island's eastern shore. At this moment she was just 150 miles southeast of Cape Masoala, and needless to say, her abrupt change of course had not gone unnoticed.

Ever since they'd left Cherbourg, the Greenpeace vessel Beluga had dogged the freighter's northbound wake. Perhaps because they hadn't been sure whether the course change was according to plan or not, Greenpeace had made no immediate announcement about the change in course, but as the Yuduki Maru had steadily neared the Madagascar coast, violating her pledge not to approach any coastline by less than two hundred miles, Beluga had radioed the news to the world.

As expected, once the news had gone out, governments along the Yuduki Maru's new course had panicked. The 235-ton coastal patrol boat Malaika, largest ship of the Malagasy Republic's tiny navy, had attempted to rendezvous with the freighter late on Friday afternoon but had been scared off by warnings broadcast over the radio. In two more days, they would be passing through the Seychelles and Amirante Islands, a thousand kilometers northeast of Madagascar, and there would almost certainly be another attempt then.

Well, Kurebayashi and his comrades were ready. He hefted his AKM, comforted by its reassuring bulk.

Nothing, he thought, not all the navies of the world, can possibly stop us now!

0720 hours (Zulu -5)

Headquarters, SEAL Seven

Little Creek, Virginia

Maps of various scales of the western Indian Ocean had been tacked up on every wall of SEAL Seven's briefing room, mingled with blown-up black-and-white aerial photos of two ships. KH-12 satellites had been tracking the Yuduki Maru almost continually since Thursday; holes in the spy sat observation time had been filled in by relays of Air Force high-altitude Aurora reconnaissance aircraft.

Things had been moving quickly since the Broken Arrow alert had gone out. Most of SEAL Seven's energies had been directed toward gathering intelligence. Early Friday — Friday afternoon, Madagascar time — the missing Iranian oiler Hormuz had been picked up and photographed as well, less than six hundred miles north of the Japanese freighter and plodding south on an intercept course. During the past twenty-four hours, the two ships had closed the gap to a few dozen miles. By now, everyone assigned to Operation Sun Hammer was working on the assumption that the Iranians must be behind the hijacking of the Yuduki Maru. Iran, of course, had denied the charges.

There were orbital snapshots of other vessels as well, the motor sailing ketch Beluga, registered with Greenpeace, and a small Malagasy Republic coastal patrol boat, Malaika. Word had gotten out about the plutonium ship's change of course yesterday, and that, naturally, had complicated everything. "Plutonium Ship Off Course!" were the Friday morning headlines on half the world's newspapers. "Hijacking Suspected!"

Later, the hijacking theory had been all but confirmed when the Yuduki Maru had warned off the Malaika, proving that those aboard, whoever they were, were less than friendly. All of the publicity, however, made Operation Sun Hammer far more difficult. SEALs preferred operations set well out of the glare of media notice.

Master Chief MacKenzie leaned against the plot table with his arms folded, listening to the new lieutenant lay out the mission plan. Everyone in Third Platoon was there, gathered in the briefing room that was part of the CO's suite in headquarters. Also present were Captain Friedman of the Red Wolves light helo squadron, Captain Coburn, and their tactical staffs.

"Our overall plan has been approved by Admiral Bainbridge and his staff," Murdock was saying. "However, there's plenty of room yet for creativity in this thing. In particular, I want to hear your suggestions. After all, you guys're going to be in the water too."

Good, MacKenzie thought. Draw them out and give them a say. No military organization can afford to be a democracy, but the men, these men, responded well to an officer who cared what they thought.

The excitement in the room was rising, thick enough to cut with a SEAL's K-bar. First and Third Platoons had been notified early that morning that they were going after the hijacked Japanese plutonium ship.

Now they were working out just how they were going to pull it off.

"Well, I have to say I'm concerned about the approach, Lieutenant," Roselli said. "I'm wondering why we're doing it with CRRCs. If the objective keeps to that eighteen-knot speed, we're not going to have any leeway."

CRRCs — Combat Rubber Raiding Craft — were slightly larger versions of the traditional IBS. They could be dropped from aircraft by parachute or released by a submerged submarine, as was called for by the Sun Hammer op plan, and were powered by a silenced outboard motor. They had a top speed of about twelve knots, which meant that the SEAL assault force wouldn't be able to catch up with the target if they missed on their first try and it passed them by.

"What would you suggest instead, Chief?" Murdock asked.

"Come in astern by helo. Fast-rope onto the fantail. Short and sweet."

"And if the bad guys hear the helicopters' approach? We could find ourselves coming in over a damned hot LZ."

"Suppressive fire from an escorting gunship. Sir. Clear the deck with gas, small-arms fire, and buckshot so we don't risk breaching the cargo or hitting the hostages."

Roselli did have a point. Freighters like the Yuduki Maru were noisy enough astern that a helicopter, especially a silenced, covert-ops bird like the Model 500MG Defender 11, could slip up their wake without being heard aboard.

"I agree that would make our approach easier, Chief," Murdock said. "Unfortunately, we can't guarantee the bad guys won't have lookouts on their fantail. Making the approach on the surface at least gives us a chance of getting aboard before they know we're there. And gentlemen, it's critical that we do just that. It'll let us take down some of the tangos silently, and maybe we can make some of them tell us where the hostages are being held and how many guys they have aboard. I think we'd all rather not have to fight our way aboard. Right, Chief?"

"Yes, sir," Roselli said.

"Other questions? Suggestions? Bitches?"

There were none.

"Okay, let's go over the approach again."

Sun Hammer's success depended on catching and boarding both the Yuduki Maru and the Hormuz in an ocean where Western assets were few and far between. While Murdock had considered staging the SEALs' assault out of Diego Garcia, the plutonium ship was expected to approach no closer to that island than thirteen hundred miles, probably sometime around noon local time on Sunday as it passed the Seychelles Islands. Thirteen hundred miles was well outside the range of any but the largest, midair-refueling-capable choppers like the Super Stallion.