"Rethink that, Eric. Trust me on this."

This sounded like an ominous yet unclear warning and Finder did spend a moment thinking about that. "Give me an idea of what you're talking about."

"I can't talk about it, okay? I've already-"

"Just give me an idea of the time, Chris."

"Early."

"How early? Help me out here."

Choosing his words carefully, Yuknis replied, "You didn't get this from me. Okay? By four, I wouldn't be inside Falluja." After a moment he amended that. "By three-thirty I wouldn't even want to try coming out of Falluja. Get my drift?" He then said, "It's big."

Finder glanced in our direction, then said, "Allow us a moment alone. Please."

Captain Yuknis stepped back a few paces. Bian rolled down her window, Finder stuck his head inside, and in a low voice he asked us, "You understand what he's saying?"

"I got it," I assured him. "An attack. The artillery barrage will start around three-thirty."

"Yeah. And by three the whole city will be surrounded and isolated. My guys have been reporting heavy military traffic all day. So now we know why, right? These Marines are royally pissed off about what happened to four contractors a few months back. I knew them. These were good guys. It really sucked what they did to them, and it's payback time."

I looked at Bian. Without hesitating she said, "But not until three-thirty. One and a half hours from now. Plenty of time."

Finder regarded her a moment, wondering, I'm sure, if she had a death wish. He thought about it for a while, then said, "The risk factor on this just jumped through the ceiling. So I'm going to ask you-why do you need to do this?"

Because we're halfwits. But I said, "We can't afford to lose this man."

"He's that important?"

"In a word, yes."

He looked at her. "We're private contractors. But we're also Americans, veterans, and we believe in what we do." He leaned in closer until his face was inches from hers. "I'm going to ask once more, and I'd better hear the truth. This guy is that important?"

"You can't imagine."

He looked at me. I nodded.

"Okay. At three, we're booking, whether we have him or not. This will not be subject to negotiation. Understand? If you want to stay, that's up to you."

He spun around, walked back to Captain Yuknis, and they held a quick whispered conversation, probably him telling Yuknis what a couple of idiots we were, which corresponded nicely with my own view.

Finder jumped back into the car, saying not a word to us. To be fair, this was more than he bargained for, financially and figuratively. In truth, it was more than I bargained for-or more accurately, it was more than I'd been told I bargained for. No good deed goes unpunished.

He jammed his night-vision goggles down onto his head and his foot down on the accelerator. As he drove, he spoke into his microphone and updated his team on this newest twist. I could overhear only his side of these conversations, and it did not sound like he got any guff from his team. Then he informed us, "Two cars are three minutes behind us. Yuknis promised to let them through without any delay or bullshit."

Ten minutes later, I observed through the moon's illumination the looming silhouette of a city, presumably Falluja. I checked my watch-2:00 a.m.-and reminded Bian, "Come three, we're out of here also. That's an order, Major."

She patted my arm. A nice gesture, but it was not a reply.

I recalled from Eric's briefing that we were entering the city on the western side, known on local maps as the industrial section. And indeed, we soon were driving through narrow streets between large warehouses and desolate factories. It had the appearance of a forlorn ghost town-appearances can be deceiving, though, and here was a case in point; the intelligence estimates predicted between five to ten thousand armed beings living within these streets, the world's largest gathering of terrorists. Added to this overall aura of spookiness, no lights were on, though here and there I caught glimpses of flickering illumination from candles or warming fires. From my CIA reports I recalled that both the electricity and the sewage had long been on the fritz.

Well, in a few hours, illumination would be provided free of charge, courtesy of the USMC and United States Army Artillery Corps, and on the subject of sewage, the shit was going to fly.

The technical term for this is indirect fire, because the ordnance flung by mortars and artillery arcs through the air, as distinct from ordinary bullets that fly straight from point A to point B. Artillerymen cannot actually observe their targets; they impersonally adjust a few knobs and levers to set the elevation and deflection of their tubes and barrels, and let loose.

The result tends to be indiscriminate and amoral; a 155mm artillery round, for instance, has a killing radius of nearly a hundred yards, and it matters not whether within that circle are enemy soldiers or innocent infants-or gullible idiots sent by their CIA bosses.

Eric turned around in his seat and warned us, "One minute to the dismount point." I wondered if Phyllis had known about the timing of this attack before she dispatched us. You never know what she knows, which is part of her charm, and the vicarious thrill of working under her. I spent a satisfying moment dreaming I had my hands around her throat, she was gasping for breath, begging forgiveness, and…

"Sean," Bian interrupted. "I said it's time to put on your goggles."

"Oh…" I pulled my night-vision goggles over my eyes and the world turned varying shades of green. I looked at Bian, who also wore her goggles. Combined with the veil and chador, she looked spooky. As did I, apparently, because she said, "Haven't we met in a horror movie?"

I laughed. "I'm the creature from the black lagoon. You're from War of the Worlds."

Eric glanced back and said, "You two are scaring the shit out of me. Put your magazines in your weapons, but don't chamber a round. And remember-they stay on safe."

He took a sharp left and turned in to a long alleyway between two large warehouses, turned off the ignition, and said, "Let's go."

Bian and I followed him back down the same alleyway we had just come down to the street, which thankfully looked empty of pedestrians. Ted remained beside the car, and I realized his job was to guard our getaway transportation, which showed good attention to detail.

We began to jog, and Eric seemed to know where he was going. Somebody better, because I didn't have a clue. I had studied the city maps, but at night everything looks different, plus the jihadis had taken down the street signs, an indication they knew the Marines were coming and didn't want to make it easy on them.

We jogged about a quarter of a mile, which is not as easy as you'd think in a long black robe that I kept tripping over. How do women survive? The streets were empty, but I had the odd sensation that we were being watched. Actually, I was sure we were being watched. But by whom?

Eric suddenly made a sharp right turn into the entrance of a large, two-story warehouse. This was the back side of the building, and Eric had already informed us that the front side faced the target building. The door we entered was garagelike-presumably this was a loading dock-and we raced through a dark, cavernous empty space and then up a narrow metal stairway that led to the second floor.

As we entered, I scanned the room through my goggles and noted, by a far window, two large green men walking toward us. Eric said to us, "My guys. Relax."

The two men drew closer, and Eric gave them our names and introduced them to us as Jack and Larry.

We were all whispering, which was totally unnecessary. But I have noticed that in moments such as this, everybody lowers their voice a few octaves. Even badasses.