Murdock glanced at his watch. It was nearly 2300 hours. "And when do you need our plans?"

For the first time that evening, Fowler smiled. "Lieutenant, I'm afraid I'll need a copy by zero-nine-hundred hours tomorrow. I know that's stretching things tight..."

"I don't mind a little late-night work, Commander," Murdock said. "But when is Prairie Watch supposed to go down?"

"Tomorrow night," Fowler told him. "Either late Friday evening or early Saturday morning. We have to know which way to jump in regard to the Maru by Sunday. Judging from her speed under tow, she'll reach Bandar Abbas sometime around midday on Sunday. We don't expect to be able to move against her before she's in port. But we must take action before the Iranians have a chance to remove her cargo. Your changing the access code on the Yuduki Maru's computer was a good move, Lieutenant, but once they have the ship in port, all they need to do is cut through the deck hatches with a shipyard-sized cutting torch. I'd guess we're looking at Sunday evening, at the latest."

"Then we'd better get busy," Murdock said. "Sir. We don't have a hell of a lot of time."

Friday, 27 May

2315 hours (Zulu +3)

Indian Ocean, 220 miles southeast of Mashirah

Beneath a black and overcast sky, the Marine CH-46E Sea Knight skimmed across a black sea, its twin fore— and aft-rotors pounding against the night. The transport helicopter was running without lights, deliberately flying low to avoid enemy search radar. Somewhere, a few miles to the south, the Iranian squadron, the hijacked Japanese freighter, and the civilian pleasure craft were all making their slow way north at a speed of about eight knots.

Aboard the Sea Knight, the men of SEAL Seven's Third Platoon sat in armored seats on the red-lit cargo deck, giving their equipment and each other a thorough final inspection. Of all the means of insertion into enemy territory, Murdock liked helocasting the least. At least with other types of airborne approaches, you got to use a parachute.

"Three minutes!" the plane's crew chief yelled, holding up three fingers for emphasis. The Sea Knight's rotors made so much noise it was hard to talk and be understood, and Murdock found it difficult to believe the enemy hadn't heard them from the moment they'd lifted off from the deck of the Nassau. Of course, helicopters from the Marine Expeditionary Force had been probing and circling the Iranian force's perimeter all day, partly to push them into some suitably revealing response, but mostly to accustom them to the sound of nearby American helicopters.

Murdock nodded at the crew chief, then looked at each of the SEALs with him in turn. There were twelve men in all, with two men missing from the group, one from each squad. Magic and Nickle had been detached to serve as overmatch snipers and were following the big CH-46 in a smaller UH-1 helo trailing somewhere astern of the Sea Knight.

All of the men in the CH-46 were outfitted for a combat insertion, with black Nomex flight suits and hoods, fins, masks and SCUBA rebreathers, and with assault vests carrying full assault loadouts. Their faces, the only exposed skin on their bodies, had been heavily smeared with black paint. Their spirits, Murdock noted, were high; they were all keyed up, but with the grinning, joking intensity of men prepped for a mission and eager to see it through. Mac had seen to it that all of the men had had a good night's sleep. Murdock, DeWitt, and Mac, though, were all running a little shy on rack time. They'd been up most of the night before drawing up the op plans, orders, and loadout checklists for this mission. Both of them had caught a few hours that morning, however, and right now the adrenaline in his system had Murdock alert and wide awake.

The entire platoon had spent much of that afternoon studying the deck-plans of the Beluga, until they knew every companionway and cupboard, every compartment and storage locker aboard, until they could have run through the yacht blindfolded if necessary. Of even more critical importance, they'd spent hours memorizing the faces of everyone known to be aboard: of the yacht's owner, Rudi Kohler, and his wife; of the Schmidts and the American couple, Jean and Paul Brandeis; and of the four Germans hired by Kohler as Beluga's crew. The goal was to be able to recognize instantly any of these people, under any circumstances, from any angle, under any lighting.

They were ready.

Murdock locked eyes with MacKenzie across the Sea Knight's deck. The master chief grinned back in reply, his teeth impossibly white against his paint-blackened face, and returned a jaunty thumbs-up. It was difficult to put his finger on it, but Murdock sensed that something important had changed in his relationship with these men. He was accepted now, a part of the team. The change might have been occasioned by something as simple — and as complex — as shared combat aboard the freighter.

Carefully, Murdock gave his weapon a final check. For this raid, Gold Squad would be serving as backup, a just-in-case reserve against the possibility that Iranians might show up in force, perhaps from one of those escorting patrol boats, and they were armed accordingly, with sound-suppressed H&K MP5SD3 subguns and, just in case the platoon needed heavy fire support, an M-60 machine gun and M-16s with M203 grenade launchers attached.

Murdock and Blue Squad, on the other hand, had the primary task of boarding the yacht and taking down the terrorists, if any, a role known to SEALs as VBSS, or Visit, Board, Search, and Seizure. Marksmanship aboard a small and wave-tossed sailing vessel could be a problem even for the best shot, and there was the danger that high-velocity rounds that missed their target might punch through a thin, fiberglass bulkhead and kill a hostage in the next compartment. Though all of them carried H&K subguns strapped to the rear of their assault vests as secondary weapons, the boarding party's primary weapons would be their sound-suppressed Smith & Wesson Hush Puppies, each mounting an under-barrel laser target designator.

The problem was that the laser sights were relatively delicate and had to be perfectly aligned for them to do any good. The SEALs had checked their sight alignments aboard the Nassau; now pistols and attached laser sights were cradled in black, foam-padded, watertight cases. Murdock again tested each of his sight's connections, then closed up the case and secured it to his assault harness. It would have to ride out a pretty severe thump and he didn't want anything coming loose along the way.

"One minute!" the crew chief yelled, and Murdock signaled to the SEALS. Together, they stood up and made their way aft, as the Sea Knight's cargo ramp whined open. Because they were helocasting with bundles of gear, they would be using the open ramp instead of the small, square opening known as the "hellhole" in the Sea Knight's deck.

Chief Roselli, first in the stick, helped MacKenzie and Brown drag the team's bundled CRRCs to the ramp, then stood by, his swim fins looped over his arm, silently counting down the last few seconds to the jump point. The helo was traveling more slowly now; Murdock could sense the change in the pitch and speed of the rotors.

"Ready..." the crew chief warned. "Your target is now at bearing one-seven-four, range ten miles!"

"One-seven-four, ten miles," Murdock repeated.

A light at the front of the cargo deck winked from red to green, and the crew chief gestured sharply with his arm. "Go!"

MacKenzie and Roselli shoved the first CRRC bundle off the ramp, then the second. Roselli followed them, racing into the black gulf yawning beyond the open ramp.

"Go! Go! Go!" Murdock called, clapping Brown on the shoulder. Garcia was next, then Higgins, then Ellsworth, each man slipping smoothly into the place vacated by the man before him, taking a breath, and propelling himself into the night.