In the meantime, Doreen tried to draw out Admiral Matson, who was determined not to be drawn, and other than asking Cal -twice-if the CNN reporter had made it on board, addressed himself exclusively to his prime rib. It was excellent, Cal was relieved to note, as the admiral was a noted trencherman. In Admiral Matson's defense, it had to be said that he spent all his time wrangling money out of Congress for the Coast Guard. If he regarded Munro working launch security with a Munro a member of the shuttle's crew solely as a heaven-sent opportunity to remind Congress of the Coast Guard's worthiness come appropriations time, there was some validity in that viewpoint. After a few minutes, Doreen, with an air of having done her best, handed Matson off to Taffy, who was seated at the foot of the table with his best attentive and respectful expression fastened firmly on his face.

The phone rang. "Excuse me," Cal said, and took the receiver from Seaman Roberts, who was doing her best not to hurry dinner along even though she wanted to take a nap when she got off duty so she'd be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the launch. Cal hoped fervently that no fires or other emergencies broke out at T minus ten, because most of his already skeleton crew would be on deck at that time, cameras at the ready, to watch the shuttle hurl itself skyward. "Captain," he said into the phone.

"Captain, this is the OOD. We've got a request to launch our helo to go pick up someone at the Cape."

"What?" Cal said. "Is there an emergency?" He sat up, napkin sliding from his lap. "Morgan, is this a SAR?"

The OOD, a sanguine and capable woman five years out of the Academy, said cheerfully, "No, Captain. Someone just wants a ride."

Cal laughed. "What did the XO promise you this time?"

"This isn't a joke, sir," Barbieri said reprovingly.

"I beg your pardon," Cal said meekly.

"Quite all right, sir."

"So what's going on?"

"Evidently there's a VIP at the Cape and he wants to come out and watch the launch from Munro''

Cal knew a sudden foreboding. "Who is this alleged VIP?"

"Senator Schuyler, sir."

THEY LAUNCHED THE HELO WITH MINIMUM FUSS, ALTHOUGH Lieutenant Noyes did make a joke about being demoted to a taxi service. They were back in forty-five minutes, entirely too soon, roaring down the length of Munro at 140 knots, fifty feet off the water, a flyby for which they had not asked nor been given permission to do.

His stateroom full of strangers, two of them his superior officers, Cal had no recourse but to greet his father in public. "Dad," he said.

Senator Schuyler swept Cal into a manly embrace, including several thumps on the back for good measure. "Your mother sends her love, as always, son."

Cal was certain as he stood there that if Vera had given any thought to her son and only offspring in the last month it was to wonder yet again if he'd finally decided to leave the disreputable life of a sailor behind for one more befitting his mother's station in life.

The honorable senator beamed impartially at the assembled company. "And who are all these good people?"

As if the senator didn't already have the 411 on every person in the room, Cal thought, and performed the introductions, if not with grace then with utility.

The senator shook hands with Matson, saying cordially, "Of course, Admiral. You've testified before the Senate Appropriations Committee on several occasions, haven't you?"

Admiral Matson, whose lugubrious countenance had brightened considerably at the news of Senator Schuyler's coming, was almost voluble in reply. The senator listened with an indulgent smile for a few moments, murmured an appropriate comment, and with a diplomatic adroitness Cal could only admire cut Matson loose to exchange greetings with Admiral Barkley, and moved on to the Munros. "I've been seeing your daughter in the news a lot lately," he said. "A beautiful girl-"

"A woman," Cal said under his breath. "She's a grown woman." He tried and failed to catch the XO's eye.

"-and smart, too. One of our best and brightest, as the phrase goes."

Nick and Doreen said something polite and avoided looking at Cal. His opinion of them, already high, rose higher.

The senator was late for dinner but not too late for dessert. Cal fiddled with his silverware, turning the dessert spoon at the top of the plate from bowl up to bowl down. Seaman Roberts set out another gold-rimmed china dessert plate with the Schuyler coat of arms on it in front of the senator (the full set of china had been a gift from his mother, commemorating his first command, and didn't he hear about that from his friends for years afterward), and quietly left the room.

A few minutes later the phone rang. Cal was on his feet, answering it well before it rang a second time. "Captain."

"Seaman Roberts, Captain."

"Yes, OOD, what is it?"

"There was a young man from Austin," Seaman Roberts said. 1 see.

"Who bought himself a new Austin."

"Yes, I can see where that might be a problem."

"There was room for his ass, and a gallon of gas."

"Certainly."

"But the rest hung out and he lost 'em."

Sternly repressing a grin, Cal said, "Tell MPA I'll be right down."

"Yes, sir." Seaman Roberts hung up.

Cal put the phone down. "I'm sorry," he said gravely. "A little problem in Main Control. No, no, nothing serious, but my presence is required."

Halfway out of his chair, Taffy said, "Is it something I can handle, Captain?"

"No, no," Cal said. "Please, sit, enjoy yourselves as long as you like. I believe dessert this evening is apple pie a la mode, and you haven't eaten apple pie until you've eaten FS2 Steele's apple pie. I'll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime"-he grinned cheerfully at Taffy-"XO has the con."

He snagged his cap and headed for the door.

On his way out, Admiral Barkley caught his eye and winked at him.

21

TEN MILES EAST OF MELBOURNE, FLORIDA,

ON BOARD FREIGHTER MOKAME

Akil watched the tiny screen on the handheld GPS until the last digit on the coordinates changed. "All right, it's time," he said. "Everyone ready?"

It was a rhetorical question. They'd been ready for an hour and a half, since he'd brought the GPS out and left it out.

There had been very little discussion of their plan or its objective. "It really is quite simple," one of the engineers had said, sounding almost disappointed.

"Occam's razor," another said. "The simplest explanation is usually the correct one." He dared a shy smile. "Nine-eleven was a simple plan, too."

Akil smiled back. "Yes. It was. Inshallah."

"Inshallah."

At present several of them were on their knees praying toward Mecca. When they were done, they checked their weapons.

These were the smallest of small arms, the Ruger Mark II.22 semiautomatic pistol, with nine-round magazines. Each man had two pistols and a dozen magazines, all bought online through a variety of different Internet stores in different states with different identification papers and forwarded through several mail drops and a discreet, expensive customs clearinghouse to another mail drop in Port-au-Prince, where Yussuf had collected them upon arrival.

Akil's reasoning was that they were going to have to move fast and he didn't want the men to be burdened with a lot of heavy weaponry. Further, heavy weaponry would not be necessary if all went according to plan. He had ensured that his men would be trained on small arms. The Rugers were well made and reliable, and there was plenty of ammunition to accomplish the task at hand. Indeed, it was very probable they could take the ship without firing a shot. From Bayzani, he knew that at the time the ship in question was to be boarded, the crew would be unarmed, would be taken by surprise, and should be sufficiently cowed into obedience by a weapon of any size.