sixty minutes, Muck. Get some rest. I'll look at the imagery myself, and I'll have one of the guys doublecheck it. If there's any evidence that Wendy was taken to any of those facilities, we'll plan an entry to take a look. You might be overlooking something if you're too tired to check each image carefully.'
'I'm not too tired, Hal,' Patrick told him. But he again rubbed his eyes wearily, and he found he had to fight to keep them open. He nodded and got to his feet. 'Okay, buddy. I'll go take a nap. Wake me if you find anything.' 'Just get some rest. We'll handle everything.' Patrick, David, and Hal shared a room right beside the mission planning room, but this was the first time Patrick had been there since the Egyptian military made room for them. Someone had laid out his gear on a small shelf beside the bed, and Patrick found himself eager to shave, brush his teeth, and scrub his body for the first time in what seemed like weeks. After he was done, he felt a hundred percent better. He told himself to be sure to take at least five minutes out to do this every day-it wouldn't look good for the other team members to see the team leader looking like crap. It was a quick and simple thing to do, but it-
And that's when he noticed Paul's gear, stacked in the corner of the room-a lone green duffel bag with a yellow tag on the canvas handles that read, 'P.McL.'-Paul McLanahan.
Dammit, Paul, why were you here? Why are any of us here? Just to fight a battle for some oil executives? Was it worth the pain, the suffering, and the death? Who would understand? Anyone? No one?
His head was a jumble of thoughts and emotions, all fighting for attention, analysis. But somehow, through it all, a woman's voice told him to lie still, to put all violent thoughts out of his head. There would be plenty of time for planning the next battle, the voice said-now was the time for sleep. Rest was as much a part of fighting a war as the bomb run, the voice wisely said, and she was right.
Patrick didn't know how long he had been asleep, but he awoke gently and felt completely rested. He felt as if he could take on the entire world. The room was quiet, and even the adjacent planning rooms had only routine noises. There were things to do, he thought, and now he felt as if he could do them. He opened his eyes…
… and found Susan Bailey Salaam sitting on the bed beside him. She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling, her hair shimmering in the dim light. Patrick immediately sat up. Susan placed a hand on his chest as if to tell him to stay put, but he got up anyway. 'Mrs. Salaam, what are you doing here?'
'She's been here for the last hour and a half, Muck,' David Luger said. He was standing casually in the doorway of their room, but with a look of concern on his face.
'An hour and a half?' Patrick asked incredulously. He could scarcely believe he could sleep that long with everything that was going on. 'Everything all right?'
'Mrs. Salaam wants to talk with you,' Luger said. 'I'll be in the command post.' He turned and departed, but not before giving Susan an inquisitive, concerned look.
'Your officers have been standing guard over us the entire time,' Susan said to Patrick. 'They are very loyal to you.'
'You should have waited outside.'
'You looked restless. I thought I could help.'
'That was your voice I heard?'
Susan nodded. 'Feeling better?'
'Yes.' He sat up and swung his legs around to the floor, expecting her to stand to let him get up. But she didn't move, and he found himself face-to-face with her. She glanced at his lips invitingly, looked deeply into his eyes, then averted her eyes and let them roam across his broad chest and thick shoulders. The only sport Patrick ever excelled at was weight lifting, a sport that was solitary, much like the man himself. He had been doing it for many years,
and it showed. He lingered there for a moment, trying to decide what she was doing, then got up and pulled a clean T-shirt from his duffel bag and pulled it on. 'Let's go outside to the command center where we can talk, Susan.'
'I need to talk with you in private first,' she said. He nodded, deciding to stand right there, but after a short, awkward silence, he returned and sat beside her on the bed. 'I spoke with your officers outside while I was waiting. I still don't know Taurus's real name; it's obvious you and Mr. Luger are very close.' Patrick did not respond. 'I gave them the very latest information we have on both the Libyan naval vessels that searched the site where your ship was sunk.'
'Thank you. I'm sure it'll all be very useful.'
'Judging by the information they requested and the information they reviewed after I arrived, I'd guess you were planning a soft probe on either the Tobruk joint operations center or the Darnah naval base,' Susan said.
'I must be sure to remind my team members that you used to be an intelligence officer,' Patrick said with a wry smile.
'And you have obviously been trained to not offer any information to anyone, even in casual conversation.'
'We're eight thousand miles from home, at a strange military base-there's nothing casual about this situation.'
'Are you ever going to trust me, Patrick?' Susan asked.
'Would it upset you if I said 'no'?'
'Yes, it would,' Susan replied. It was obvious to her that he didn't care if it upset her or not. She paused for a moment, then said, 'Going in to either Darnah or Tobruk even in normal day-to-day circumstances would be very, very dangerous. Both bases are massively armed fortresses, especially for Anglos but even for Arabs. But our intelligence information tells us both bases are at the absolute highest readiness stages, just short of all-out wartime conditions. I strongly advise you not to plan to go in there unless you have your target-I'm sorry, I should say, your wife-located first. Or unless you have some massive firepower lining up behind you to support a soft probe that could turn hot in a matter of moments.'
Her inquisitive eyes told Patrick she was still fishing for information-he was glad for the rest, because he needed to stay sharp to avoid giving this beautiful, captivating, disarming woman any good intelligence data. 'I know that, Susan,' Patrick said. 'But I'm counting on the combat operations to help screen our movements in a soft probe. You know as well as I do that security measures sometimes get curtailed when moving men and equipment is the most important thing.'
'It's risky.'
'She's worth the risk.'
'I didn't mean to imply she wasn't,' Susan said. 'But if you're discovered, even if you can fight your way out, your entire operation is finished-they will kill your wife and erect an unpenetrable wall around every military and government base, building, or office. All you will have left… is retribution. Will that be enough for you?'
'I don't intend to let that happen.'
'With all due respect, Patrick, that's a pretty bad attitude,' Susan said directly. 'Think about it for a moment. What if you did nothing? What if you did no probe at all, so your team never risked discovery? Your wife is probably in a Libyan medical facility badly injured, probably unconscious and unable to speak, so they will wait until she regains consciousness, which means you still have time to plan, locate her precisely, and wait for the perfect opportunity.
'If she is conscious, they may try to interrogate her. That could take days, perhaps weeks. If she talks, they will keep her alive to extract every bit of information from her. That still gives you time.'
For the first time, Patrick reconsidered his plan. Susan was absolutely correct: There was nothing to be gained by going in now. War could break out any moment between Libya and Egypt, or just about anywhere in northern Africa, and Patrick and his team would be right in the middle of it. But holding back and waiting would put him no closer to rescuing Wendy. It didn't matter what Libya was planning against Egypt, or if war would break out any time for him, the most important thing was finding and rescuing Wendy.
'Thank you for your advice, Susan,' Patrick said. 'I'll take it into serious consideration.'
Susan Bailey stood, stepped toward Patrick, and touched his shoulder. 'What has happened to you, your wife, and your men is already a horrible tragedy,' she said, 'but please don't compound the tragedy by launching off on an impossible mission against overwhelming odds for an objective that you cannot define.'
Patrick nodded, then opened up the door. 'Dave.' Luger appeared within seconds-obviously he was standing very close by. 'Please escort Mrs. Salaam outside.'
Susan looked into Patrick's eyes once more, but his deep-blue eyes were even more dark and inscrutable than before-he might as well have been wearing the strange high-tech helmet right now. She left without another
