Rovere looked at the officer with a mournful face.

  “Captain, without ropes, what will happen if we fall?”

  Captain Killian, the Delta Force veteran giving the briefing, had given him a scornful look. He’d put Rovere in his place on more than one occasion, and he had no time to waste on stupid questions. They all knew how much the Italian got under his skin, as did Rovere himself. But it didn’t stop the constant and pointless queries.

  “That’s an idiot question, Lieutenant. Anyone who falls off that cliff will die.” He stared at the man for five long seconds. “Or was that some kind of question about the afterlife?”

  They all laughed, except Rovere, who looked crestfallen and fell back on one of his interminable stocks of quotes. “It hath been often said, that it is not death, but dying, which is terrible,” he murmured.

  “Sit down and shut up, Lieutenant.”

  Rovere nodded at Killian and sat. They’d known the score when they signed up for NATFOR. Only the best of the best, drawn from the six participating NATO countries would be considered. Any of them that worried about falling off some sissy rockface wouldn’t be any use to them when the shit really hit the fan; when they were up against overwhelming odds in the field, facing barrages of shot and shell. If they couldn’t beat overwhelming odds under the harshest and most demanding conditions, they had no business being there.

  Talley continued to stare up at them. Brenner had narrowly beaten Dubois and was crawling over the parapet, ten meters up from his position. Dubois scrambled over the edge, and the two men looked down at him like children. As if to say, ‘look what we did’. He exchanged glances with Welland, and they fought their way up the last of the rockface, followed by the rest of the men. Most were Americans. In fact, Talley’s squad only had a few representatives from other countries. Maybe the most colorful was Sergeant Jerzy Ostrowski, from the Polish GROM, the Operational Mobile Reaction Group; Poland’s elite. Jerry, as they called him, was a hard, tough soldier and an all round nice guy. On duty, the Polish trooper fought hard and with innate skill. Off duty, he played just as hard and was well like by the men. People said he was descended from nobility, dating back to when the Teutonic Knights had aided the Poles, during their fifteenth century battles against Russia. Their fighting ferocity had made them the scourge of Europe. Jerry firmly denied any aristocratic ancestry, and when they pushed him, he’d reply, “That’s a load of crap. I’m here to fight, not learn how to prance around on a horse like some pox-brained noble.”

  Talley put up a hand and reached over to haul himself on top of the cliff. He got to his feet. Dubois and Brenner were lounging on the ground, ostentatiously drinking from their canteens.

  Fuck you too, arrogant pricks! Even so, maybe they have a right to be arrogant. They went up that rock face like world-class climbers.

  He smiled to himself. They sure were good, damn good. One day, their skills would be needed, and Echo Six would appreciate having these men in their midst. Guy Welland appeared over the top, walked over to him, and the rest of the men followed shortly after. They were all superbly fit. He’d seen them at work on the range and in simulated battles, both day and night. When the time came, they’d do what was asked of them, there was no question in his mind. The last man came over the cliff top, and he prepared to move on to the target.

  “Guy, we’ll move out as five squads, four men in each. I want Dubois as the back marker, and I’ll put Brenner’s men out on the flanks.”

  Welland smiled. “You don’t think Dubois will complain, not being allowed to lead from the front? It may be an insult to his Gallic pride, Boss.”

  “I don’t give a shit about his Gallic pride. He’s in the rear. You can take the point. I’ll follow you, and I want the other two squads to fan out behind me. That should do it.”

  “Roger that, Boss.”

  Talley stifled a grin. No matter how hard he tried to correct him, the old-fashioned British voice procedure sounded quaint to his American ears. Welland ran off to assemble his own squad, and Talley called over Brenner, Dubois and Lieutenant Rovere. As expected, Brenner objected at being pushed out to the flanks.

  “Verdamt! I should be on point, Lieutenant. My men move faster than anyone. This is wrong.”

  “No way, your bunch of noisy louts would give the game away before we even get near,” Dubois sneered. This is a job that calls for subtlety, not brute strength and arrogance. I would be happy to take the point, if you wish.”

  Talley smiled to himself. For ‘subtlety’ read French, for ‘brute strength and arrogance’ read German. Both men started an argument, which he moved to end.

  “Shut the fuck up! Both of you, follow my orders or you’ll be RTU’d. Clear?”

  They both nodded. RTU, returned to unit, was the ultimate threat, an ignominious end to their ambitions in Special Forces.

  “Good, this is how we’ll…”

  He stopped. A helo had appeared, sweeping up and over the cliff they’d just scaled, and swooping down for a landing. It had come in fast and low, obviously a hotdog pilot showing off his skills. Talley prepared to give the guy hell when he landed. The clown had just wrecked a vital and dangerous training mission that had taken weeks and tens of thousands of dollars to put into motion. The helo dropped down low for a neat landing, less than ten meters from where they stood, and the skids touched down; the rotors starting to spin down. It was an Army Little Bird, the Bell MH-6. Beloved of Special Forces, the helo could go anywhere and get into tiny spaces where bigger aircraft wouldn’t stand a chance. The Little Bird could carry six personnel, but this one only had two people inside, the pilot and another man; hard to make out through the scratched Perspex of the egg-shaped canopy. The pilot climbed out, dressed in flying gear, helmet, and dark glasses. His mouth was partly covered by his boom mic. Talley strode over and vented his anger.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? This is an important mission. Men are risking their lives up here, and you’ve just destroyed weeks of training and planning. When we get back, I’ll have you…”

  “Ten-hut!”

  One of his men had seen the passenger climbing out the other door. Talley recognized him instantly. Rear Admiral Guy Alexander USN, seconded from the US Navy to command NATFOR. He was the man at the top, and Talley’s boss. He stood to attention and saluted.

  “Sir!”

  Alexander nodded a greeting and sketched a salute. A Rear Admiral, he’d been just about everywhere and done about everything there was to do during his naval career. He was tall at six-three, and lean, with the kind of features people called chiseled. He was handsome for a middle-aged man, with rich blue eyes that had spent many years staring out to sea, looking out for America’s enemies. His hair was white, cut short high above his forehead. An imposing man who would make his mark on any gathering, whether up there on a remote cliff top, on the bridge of the missile cruiser he’d once commanded; or indeed, in the electric atmosphere of the White House situation room where he’d spent many an anxious hour. His reputation was fearsome to those who didn’t meet his exacting standards. To those who did, he was respected, and ready to go to the wire in their defense. It was said that only one thing mattered more than the Navy he’d spent his life serving, and that was the men serving in it. He finally smiled.

  “Relax, Lieutenant. Tell your men to stand down. I need to talk to you about a little problem that’s come up.”

  Talley gave the order, and the men sat around, watching curiously as they waited for Alexander to spell it out.

  “First of all, allow me to introduce my pilot. This is Captain Caitlin Walker, US Air Force. She’s been seconded to act as my assistant.”

  Talley’s jaw dropped as the Captain removed her helmet and shades, offering him her hand.

  “I’m sorry about your mission, Lieutenant. It was too tempting, seeing that difficult approach to your unit. I like to get in as much practice as possible. I don’t fly as often as I could. Did you hear me coming?” she grinned.

  “Er, that’s okay. I didn’t, er, no.”

  He was almost tongue-tied. Caitlin Walker was not the flashy jock he’d expected to see behind the sunglasses. She regarded him with a cool, amused smile. Her hair was short, coppery red, lustrous, and styled in a neat bob that accented her high smooth forehead. Her skin was free from blemishes and burnished to a deep California tan. Her eyes were wide-set, thick-lashed, and inky black. She wore no makeup that he could see, and her eyes were naturally full and dark, adorned with eyelashes in a natural arch that gave her an almost skeptical look. She was a girl anyone would notice, with a strange combination of simplicity and sophistication, which made her overwhelmingly attractive without even trying to be anything special. Talley had been on his own for several months since his wife had given him the heave-ho. He’d decided to avoid women for the time being and concentrate on his military career. This was a woman who could change his mind. She sensed his discomfort and unease, and something more when she looked at him; a stare of undisguised interest. Admiral Alexander cleared his throat.

  “This problem I’ve brought along, Lieutenant Talley. Let me spell it out for you. What do you know about pirates?”

  “Pirates? You mean the old style Blackbeard, as they called Edward Teach? There was Captain Morgan, and Barbarossa. Or do you mean the more modern variants, like the Somalis?”

  “The Somalis.”

  “Right. They’ve got the Horn of Africa pretty well covered, and they operate far out into the Indian Ocean. The pirates have taken over a large chunk of the Somali mainland, an area called Puntland in the northeast. They’ve become the local de-facto rulers, even to the point of levying taxes, running their own bank, and making loans to businessmen. It’s good business for what used to be poor fishermen. Normally, they take hostages and offer them, and the ships they steal, for huge ransoms. They’re well-armed and quite well-organized, so very difficult to deal with.”

  “Very good, Lieutenant. And now they’ve also graduated to murder. If their hostages’ companies and families can’t come up with the ransom, their latest trick is to murder them. ‘Pour encourager les autres’, so to speak. And that’s our problem, their latest victims. They kidnapped a Boston family, the Meers, two adults and two children. We picked up their emergency hijack beacon, and a recent satellite pass enabled us to confirm it. Sam Meer was a Coastie, served in the ROTC. I knew him briefly when he sailed under my command. He was assigned as Coastguard Liaison during an anti-drug sweep. With the Meers family, it makes a total of sixty-seven hostages they’re holding, if our calculations are correct.”

  “I thought our policy was to pay the ransom, avoid military action that may lead to bloodshed, and deal with them in the long term through political means.”

  “You’re right, up till now we’ve pursued a hands-off policy. Ever since we had a bad time in Mogadishu when we thought we could influence matters in Somalia, the State Department’s been nervous about any direct intervention. But now it’s changed, for three reasons. First, the ransoms have risen to epic proportions. They’re asking five million dollars for each of the Meer family, a total of twenty million dollars. Second, we’ve discovered that they’re funneling a proportion of the ransom money to Al Qaeda. The terrorists have levied a kind of tax on them to finance their operations. So effectively, they’re expecting us to pay them to conduct a war against us.”

  “And the third reason, Admiral?”

  This time it was Caitlin Walker who replied. “Thirdly, they’re about to murder some of the hostages, The Meers family.”

  Something in her tone alerted him; there was more to the story.

  “What’s the rest of it?”

  “Walker is my married name. My family name is Meers. Sam Meers is my brother.”

  They were silent for a few moments. He nodded.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry for more than the problems of her brother. She’s married. Damn! The good ones always get away.

  “We’re very close, Sam’s wife Judith and the two kids, as well. They’re good people. They sold everything to finance this once-in-a-lifetime round the world trip. It’s a crap way for it to end. And it may cost them their lives.”

  Talley saw her eyes mist up. Understandably, she was pretty cut up about the fate of her family. Admiral Alexander went on, giving her a sympathetic glance.

  “They’re not going to wind up that way, Captain. That’s why we’re here. Lieutenant Talley, I want your squad, Echo Six, to go in and bring them home. As well as the rest of the hostages they’re holding, of course. You’ll have the full support and backing of NATFOR.”

  “Yes, Sir. What kind of time scale are we looking at here? You know that for the next four weeks we’re still classified as a training unit. We go to full operational readiness in one month’s time.”

  “Those people haven’t got a month. If the Somalis don’t get the ransom, and they won’t, there’s nobody to pay that kind of sum, they’ll be dead inside of five days. I want your men to teach those bastards a lesson.”

  It was as well the Admiral wasn’t aware of the infighting between some of his foreign nationals. An outsider might see it as evidence they were anything but ready to move and fight as a single, cohesive unit.

  “You want the truth? They’re not ready, Sir. The training still has some way to go. But can we do this? No question! Echo Six is the best in the business. If it can be done, we’ll pull it off.”

  Alexander nodded. “Good. I’ll assign Captain Walker to liaise between your unit and myself. I suggest you return to base right now. I’ve arranged for the Black Hawks to come in early to fly you all home. There’s no time to waste on formalities. You’ll need to pack, and then you leave on a C-130 for the Persian Gulf.”

  “Where will you be based, Sir?”

  “I’m afraid won’t be with you, Lieutenant. I’ve only just learned I’ve been handed command of a carrier. So my successor will be handling this one.”

  “You’re leaving us? I’m real sorry to hear that. Who is your replacement?”

  Christ, what a time to start changing the man at the top! Right at the start of a critical operation.

  “The Commissioner General of the UN, Ismail Gul, has liaised with NATO to source a new commander. They’ve agreed to assign an army guy to the post, a Brit, Colonel Hakim.” Alexander smiled. “Commissioner Gul recommended Colonel Hakim personally, said he would be the best man for the job, and he’s probably right, I’ve heard good things about him. I know that NATFOR will be in good hands. He’s an expert in Arab affairs too, which will be very useful. As you know, it’s one of our prime areas of operations, the Middle East.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  They sure could use someone who could get a take on what the Arabs were thinking. He recalled Ismail Gul. He’d met him once at the UN in New York; medium height, with a lean build, and swarthy, dark hair and eyes. He sported a small mustache that reminded some people of Adolf Hitler, which did not help when he was sometimes criticized for his links with right wing groups in Europe. He had a reputation as a tough negotiator, innovative, yet a fair-minded man who was known to have stepped in to resolve disputes when others had failed. Yet he was not universally liked. For some people, he was the ultimate messenger of peace. For others, he was a megalomaniac in waiting. Talley remembered him as a cold, ruthless professional. They couldn’t all be right, and time would tell which of the many faces of Ismail Gul was the true one.

  Alexander continued. “When you reach sandland, you’ll land at Riyadh Air Base. They have helos waiting to fly you on to your destination, and I’ll hand over all the relevant intel to my successor. Remember, time is not on our side, Talley. If you don’t get those people out inside of five days, they’ll be killed, and it’ll all be for nothing. Don’t screw this one up. These pirates have to be taught a lesson. We’re going to end this piracy problem, and right now, you’re the line in the sand. I want it stopped dead.”

  “I’ll do my best, Sir.”

  “I’m sure you will. Good luck, Lieutenant.”

  They shook hands. He turned to Caitlin Walker.

  “Captain, we’re leaving. They’re waiting to fly me out to my new command.”

  Chapter Two

  Sam Meers lay on the filthy grass that covered the floor of their hut. They’d come for Judith, and she stood up and looked him in the eye.

  “No matter what happens to me, take care of the kids, Sam. You’re all they have left.”