The narrative voice from JSOC command could be heard in the sit room once again, and everyone leaned forward into the table.

“One minute to delivery,” said the voice.

The small picture-in-picture on Chaperone’s screen grew, dwarfing the other as the Rapid Return team entered an area close enough to the objective that everything could be seen on one screen.

Entering a street of decaying buildings flanked by the ever-encroaching desert, the truck slowed. Having used Chaperone to try to scan the immediate area for any potentially hostile targets, JSOC command queried Israeli intelligence as to their ground assets posted at both ends of the street. The word came back all clear, and JSOC hailed the SEAL leader.

“Jonah, this is Ishmael. Time to enter the whale. Over.”

“Enter the whale. Roger. Jonah out,” came the response.

The team leader gave the go command. One by one, the SEALs jumped from the truck, rolled when they hit the ground, and immediately took cover.

Except for the sound of the rapidly receding truck, the street was completely silent. Knowing that police and civil defense patrols were on sporadic and unreliable schedules, the recovery team did a quick check of their equipment and moved out.

Each member of the team had memorized the satellite reconnaissance photos that showed their delivery point, objective, the extraction point, and two backup possibilities that would be used only if needed. Their silenced MP10s at the ready, Rapid Return’s recovery team picked their way through the rubble-strewn alley in front of them and headed east toward their objective.

Advancing cautiously, the team froze sporadically at sounds coming from the windows above. Even though the men were disguised in the robes and headdresses of poor villagers, if any local got a good look at the heavily outfitted assault team, the alarm would surely be raised.

Dangerously close to the objective, the team, as planned, readied to split up. Although the Israelis had cross-trained with the SEALs in the past, General Venrick had insisted they be on-site only for reconnaissance and support if needed. The actual assault would be carried out by Rapid Return’s American recovery team.

“Ishmael, this is Jonah. We are ready to enter the whale. Can you give us a sit rep? Over.”

“Roger, Jonah. Chaperone shows you are all clear.”

Too clear, Harvath thought as he looked at the screen in front of him. If the FRC was hiding the president in this location, it would be much more heavily guarded. Maybe, though, the FRC thought posting guards would attract too much attention. What was odd was that U.S. satellites had been able to show people coming in and out of the FRC building, but had not been able to penetrate to see inside. These mud-and-brick houses were nothing for the NSA’s peekaboo technology, but the target building had been shielded with some sort of protective material, impervious to all the NSA’s gadgetry.

As if reading Harvath’s thoughts, General Venrick spoke into his lip mike. “Jonah, this is the Old Man. Are you in a position to ascertain the nature of the whale’s skin?”

The fact that the satellite hadn’t been able to penetrate the building had bothered Venrick as well.

Speaking quietly into his throat mike, the team leader responded, “Negative. It looks the same as all the others.”

Checking Chaperone one last time, the general responded, “Jonah, you may cast your bread upon the waters. Over.”

“Roger that. Jonah out.”

With a flick of his fingers, the team leader sent two members scurrying around the back of the houses toward the rear of the target building. Two more were sent to the home just adjacent. Moving quickly and using the shadows for cover as much as possible, the remaining four members of the squad headed toward the ugly-crimson-colored door of a house just down the street from the target building.

As arranged by the Israelis, the door was unlocked. Weapons ready, the team entered the house, sweeping the first and then the second floors. Satisfied that it was clean, they carefully made their way to the roof. Slowly, the team leader raised the trapdoor and peered out. Confident there was no immediate danger, he took off his goggles and took a pair of more powerful night-vision binoculars from his pack. From what he could see, everything was quiet. He slid from underneath the hatch and crawled along the roof to its southeast corner.

So as not to give himself away, he balanced his goggles on the parapet wall of the roof and aimed them toward the objective. The team’s second in command toggled to the leader’s vision screen and, not seeing anything in the vicinity of the objective, flashed the leader a thumbs-up.

The man known as Jonah retrieved his goggles, crept forward toward the corner of the roof, and gently raised himself to look over the parapet wall with his binoculars. The objective was perfectly quiet, not even anyone on its roof. These Fatah guys were either very confident or very stupid.

Crawling back to the trapdoor, Jonah put his night-vision goggles back on before signaling the team’s sniper that it was all clear. Squeezing through the tight opening, the muscular and deadly accurate twenty-five-year-old rolled onto the roof and prepped his weapon.

He carried a silenced Walther WA2000 sniping rifle, which fired a.300 Winchester Magnum cartridge. Even without its Leupold night-vision scope and laser range finder, there wasn’t much the sniper couldn’t hit. With the specially designed barrel clamped at the front and rear, the torque from the large bullet wouldn’t lift it away from its intended target. The barrel had also been fluted, further reducing the gun’s vibrations on firing. With its pistol-style grip and customized butt and cheek pads, this weapon would do very nicely if anybody chose to come snooping around while operation Rapid Return was in progress.

Jonah and his two remaining team members were to make the frontal assault. Exiting the house where they’d left their sniper, the men picked their way down the deserted street, breathing a little easier knowing they were under the watchful and protective eyes of one of the best long guns the SEALs had ever trained.

The key elements of the mission were speed, surprise, and overwhelming force. As Jonah and his men neared the target building, all of its shutters were drawn. Adjusting the fine tuning on his goggles, Jonah looked up toward the flat roof and noticed that there were indeed sheets of what looked like lead protruding along the edges, covered with plaster and mud. Confident that the right people back in D.C. had seen what he had and knew what it was, he and his men carefully scanned the perimeter. There were no signs of any intrusion devices, not even dogs.

“Ishmael, this is Jonah,” he whispered, his throat mike perfectly picking up every word. “It is very quiet. Do you detect any motion?”

“Negative, Jonah. You are all clear. Proceed when ready.”

By means of the arched courtyard, two Rapid Return members were able to scale the common wall to reach the adjoining roof next door undetected.

Resisting the urge to make a joke about what a great haircut he could give the two team members who had just climbed upon the roof, the sniper kept his communication to the bare minimum and said into his throat mike, “Alpha, this is Watchdog. I have you in my sights and you are all clear.”

“Affirmative,” responded Alpha’s leader.

Hearing that Alpha was on the next roof, Jonah said into his throat mike, “Alpha, the whale’s skin may be tougher than we thought. Get over and check it out. I want an assessment ASAP.”

“Roger,” came Alpha’s response.

Quietly, the two men picked their way across the roof of the adjoining house, wary of weak spots thanks to a training story of an operative who fell through a roof in Panama.