the security booth just inside the front palace entry, where Republican Guards had set up a twenty-millimeter Gatling gun. One Tin Man had to jet-jump outside and retreat back to the roof after taking nearly two thousand rounds from the cannon before Briggs put it out of commission. Briggs left one Tin Man on the ground floor to watch for any heavy security responses, while the rest started down to the subfloors.
The entire search of the above-ground floors took them less than two minutes.
Now that the assault was on, they moved faster through the subfloors, following the location signal. They came across interrogation rooms, zapped anyone inside carrying weapons, and released all others. Chris Wohl found an infirmary, and next door was a makeshift autopsy room and morgue. 'I found two of our guys in the morgue,' Chris radioed. 'Looks like both of them have been tortured to death.' His voice started to tremble with rage. 'I'm going to kill someone for this.' He zipped both corpses into their black body bags and carried them to the roof.
'I found survivors,' another of the commandos reported. 'I'm bringing them out.' Within minutes, eleven more Night Stalkers were on board the Pave Hammer tilt-rotor, all of them injured from torture and near-starvation but all still alive.
Briggs and two other commandos had just moveH to the bottom subfloor when Briggs heard one of the lookouts say, 'We've got trouble, One. Heavy armor on the way in. We're engaging, but we're running out of time.'
'We'll be finished searching the building in three minutes,' Briggs responded.
'No good, sir,' Chris Wohl interjected. 'We're going to be surrounded in one minute. The Pave Hammer is too vulnerable. Make your way upstairs.'
'We can't leave without Patrick and Wendy.'
'Sir, we'll be walking out of Libya if we're not airborne in sixty seconds.'
'Then get airborne.'
'Negative, sir. Everyone gets on board. I've stopped picking up life signs from the general.'
'That's an order, Master Sergeant.' Briggs sent the last two commandos upstairs to get on the MV-22. 'Two more on the way. I'm staying until I find the McLanahans.'
Briggs hurried toward the source of the location signal-and he was horrified at what he found. There, a desktop was covered with blood-and moments later he found Patrick's microtransceiver, tossed into a corner.
'I found the transceiver-minus the general,' Briggs reported solemnly. He did another sweep of the area-no sign of him. 'I'm coming up.'
Ivana Vasilyeva waited until the loud, rhythmic beat of the heavy rotors far above her subsided, then crawled out of her hiding place in the steel-lined weapons locker in an isolated corner of the room. She checked that her submachine gun was cocked and ready, then carefully searched the hallway outside the small armory. All clear. She then returned to the locker and grabbed a woman by the back of her neck, pinning her left arm behind her to steer her out of the room.
'Well, that wasn't much of an assault,' Vasilyeva said to the woman in English. 'It appears your friends have left already, before their work was done.'
'They'll be back,' Wendy McLanahan said. 'Count on it.'
'But we will be long gone by then, Dr. McLanahan,'
Vasilyeva said. 'I am sorry we did not meet up with your husband. But I do not think he would like how you have been keeping yourself.' Wendy's face was badly beaten; one eye was swollen shut and bleeding; her nose was broken in several places-and she had trouble breathing because of cracked ribs, a partially deflated lung, and a torn abdominal diaphragm. Blood had been oozing out of several orifices and wounds for many days, making her look pale and ethereal.
'I think he'll understand. Besides, I'll get better-you and your friends will just get dead.'
'You'll be alive long enough for us to lure your husband to us, and then you'll both be dead, at Comrade Kazakov's hands.'
'Pavel Kazakov.' Wendy chuckled. 'The only thing worse than being his whore or his drug pusher is his assassin.'
Vasilyeva twisted Wendy's arm higher up her back, causing her to cry out in pain. 'Pain must be something you enjoy, Dr. McLanahan.'
'Am I turning you on, bitch?'
'Shut up and move,' Vasilyeva said. 'We have a boat waiting for us in the harbor. A short ride to Zuwarah, a plane ride across the Sahara to Algeria, and then another private jet to meet Comrade Kazakov. Then we set a trap for your-'
They heard a loud scream behind them. Vasilyeva turned just as a body came flying at her, pinning himself against her submachine gun and pulling it out of her hands. The gun went spinning across the hallway. Wendy twisted away. Vasilyeva struggled to her feet, madly searching for her weapon-and then saw him. 'There… you… are, General McLanahan,' she cooed softly.
Patrick stood between her and the weapon. He still wore the handcuffs, waist chain, and manacles; his left shoulder was an ugly mass of blood from where Zuwayy's men had roughly cut the microtransceiver out of his body. He backed up, looking for the weapon with his feet in the semidarkness of the hallway.
'Wendy?'
'Patrick!' she cried.
'Get out of here,' he said. 'Go back. Get away from here.'
Vasilyeva reached back, grabbed Wendy by the hair, and pulled her up to her feet. 'Is this who you came for, General? I would not have wasted my time.' Patrick quickly searched for the gun around his feet. Vasilyeva pulled Wendy to her, wrapped her left arm around Wendy's neck, and applied pressure with her right hand. 'Do not move, or I will snap her neck,' Vasilyeva warned.
'Let her go.'
'Kharasho,' Vasilyeva said. 'It is you I want anyway.' And in the blink of an eye, the former Russian officer withdrew a knife from her belt and drew it quickly across Wendy's throat. Wendy's eyes rolled up inside her head, and Vasilyev let her drop to the floor.
'No!' Patrick shouted. 'You bitch! You murderer]'
'It was you Comrade Kazakov wanted all the time,' Vasilyeva said, advancing on Patrick with the bloodied knife at the ready. 'But where is this Tin Man armor he spoke of? No matter. Comrade Kazakov only desires you dead. I think I shall bring him a finger-that should be proof enough.'
Patrick's bulging eyes shifted rapidly from his wife's inert form to his attacker. He backed away a few stepsthat only made the Russian smile. Patrick raised his hands. 'Cut these handcuffs off and let's make it a fair fight.'
'I do not wish a fair fight,' Vasilyeva said. 'Comrade Kazakov only wanted you dead, not for me to give you a fair fight.' In the blink of an eye she was on him, and before he knew it her blade had sliced once across his right arm and once across his chest. She smiled evilly. 'But he did not say it could not be slow and agonizing for you.' Patrick tried to back away, but he tripped and fell straight back. He tried to get back on his feet, but with his hands cuffed in front of him and his feet manacled, he was helpless. 'I think,' Vasilyeva said, her teeth shining as she smiled at him, 'that you should have matching cuts across your throats. Do you not think it would be fitting, General?'
A shot rang out and a bullet ricocheted off the wall. Vasilyeva turned and saw Wendy McLanahan, her torso a hideous blouse of dark red, not fifteen feet from her, leveling the submachine gun at her. 'Very impressive, Comrade Doctor-to the very last,' Vasilyeva said. She spun the knife around until she was holding the blade, then threw it. The blade sunk into Wendy's chest, and she toppled over backward. 'How very touching. You must be proud, Gen-'
She never got to finish her sentence. Patrick had gotten to his feet, kicked the back of her knees to send her down, then jumped up, wrapped the chain connecting his ankle manacles around Vasilyeva's neck, and rolled around to twist it tight. He rolled several more times until the chain was tight, then locked his feet together.
Vasilyeva was a fierce, powerful woman. She was able to struggle to her feet, actually pulling Patrick's body up as she fought to free herself. The Russian clubbed his legs, swung at his groin, and snarled like a wild animal. She started to swing his body around, jumping up and down wildly in an effort to loosen his legs. He hit the walls several times and saw stars. With Patrick stunned, this time she was able to pin his legs back and land on top of him, the chain still wrapped around her neck, her face a contorted mask of pain and rage, with blood vessels
