Talley had looked around the room, and they all seemed satisfied. The question of Caitlin Walker’s involvement concerned him.

  Is it a macho, male thing? Or is it something more? Perhaps I just don’t want a pretty girl I admire so much going into harm’s way. Either way, I don’t have a choice. Colonel Hakim is running the mission.

  The Colonel called for their attention before they broke up.

  “One final point, the mission objective. You all know how important it is that we free the hostages and bring them back to the Abraham Lincoln. This afternoon I was notified there is another objective, even more important than the hostage rescue itself. NATO intel has intercepted signals that show a direct connection between the pirate operation and Islamic terrorism. Apparently, certain Al Qaeda cells have identified piracy as a cash cow with which to fund their own activities. Unless they’re stopped, they have the potential to disrupt and block many of our major sea lanes. It’s too well planned to be just isolated groups operating out of Somalia. Someone is coordinating these activities. You should understand that today’s oil tanker in the Arabian Sea is tomorrow’s World Trade Center attack. We need to find the man at the top, and it could be that you’ll come across clues to his identity when you take the compound. You need to look for documents and message slips, and question any captives you are able to take.”

  “If we find him, do you want him arrested, Sir?” Guy Welland asked.

  “No, our masters are tired of the constant loopholes these terrorists use to sidestep the legal system. No arrests. Your orders are clear. When you encounter this man, if he is an armed, or potentially armed, enemy combatant, he is to be killed.”

  They all nodded, the message was very clear. One way or the other, he wasn’t to be brought back to face justice. They would mete out their own rough justice in the field.

  * * *

  It was dark as they neared the coast, and there was just a light swell running; ideal conditions for a beach landing. The sailor cut the two Evinrude 200 horsepower engines to a murmur, so they wouldn’t be detected as they coasted in toward the beach. Caitlin Walker was dressed like the rest of them, in the latest Multicam MTP camouflaged clothing, digitally designed to blend in with a range of different terrains worldwide. Over her uniform she wore an armored vest, the smallest they could find, and a half-helmet to protect her head and hide her coppery red hair. She was quite slight, and the camo kit looked too large on her, as if she was a child pretending to be a soldier. Even the assault rifle she carried, the heavy FN-SCAR 5.56mm, looked oversized. Talley felt depressed, she shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be risking her life in what was, he admitted to himself, he saw as a man’s world. The boats slowed even more as they neared the sandy beach, and they used their night vision goggles to guide the craft inshore. There were two hundred meters of open sand before the first thickets of jungle began to encroach on the coast. The beach was empty, and there was no one about. No sentries, nothing.

  “The stupid bastards left the fucking door open for us,” Sergeant Rafe Mulligan muttered cheerfully as he stepped ashore. “You’d think they’d have someone to watch for a night landing.”

  Talley was uneasy. He’d expected there to be some kind of a warning system, a sentry or two at the very least. He had his unit snipers ready, Jerry Ostrowski, the Pole, and Vince DiMosta, the former Delta Force sergeant. Both men were armed with the British Accuracy International Arctic Warfare Super Magnum rifle, known as the AWM. Talley hadn’t been happy at first, the American SR25 family of sniper rifles were weapons he was familiar with. But the bolt-action rifles, outfitted with a Schmidt & Bender PM, had proved outstanding in the field. The weapons fired the heavy .338 Lapua Magnum round, and the combination of rifle and ammunition had already broken several sniping records, as several unfortunate members of the Afghan Taliban had found to their cost.

  The two snipers were prone in the bow of each boat, searching for targets that so far seemed non-existent.

  “Be careful,” Talley called after Mulligan. “These people are not stupid. Don’t forget Operation Gothic Serpent. You remember they made a film about that one, Black Hawk Down. These folks are better prepared than we give them credit for. Watch your step, Rafe, there could be traps out there.”

  “Fuck ‘em,” the soldier replied cheerfully as he marched up the beach. Other men were climbing out of the boats to move up behind him, and Talley wondered if he was being too cautious. The mine exploded just as Mulligan stepped on it. The dark beach was abruptly lit up as if by a flare. A jet of flame and sand soared up into the sky, and the soldier’s brief scream was choked off almost before it started. A shower of sand mixed with Rafe’s body parts spattered down to land on the dark shore.

  “Everybody, stand where you are and don’t move. We’ve landed in a minefield!” Talley snapped. They were looking around nervously for the way to the boats, to find the way back without stepping on a mine. He searched with his NVS goggles to find a way past the deadly barrier. And he saw it, almost immediately. A faint trail of foot prints that led out of the jungle and down to the water’s edge. Whoever had used it, an armed patrol maybe, or even someone to get access to the sea for a swim or to fish; they knew where they were treading. He keyed his mic.

  “This is Echo One. There’s a trail of footprints fifty meters along the beach. I’m going there now to see if it’s safe. Follow me, and make sure you put your feet where I put mine.”

  He walked through the shallows, heading for the footprints.

  “What about the Sergeant?” he heard Caitlin Walker ask him. He glanced around. She was right behind him, her helmet slung over the back of her head and her rifle over one shoulder, as if it was a Parisian fashion accessory. He didn’t know whether to be angry or amused.

  “What about him, Captain?” He felt rather than saw her wince at his use of her rank rather than her name. “You think I should risk more men in that minefield to try and recover his body parts?”

  “No, Lieutenant, I do not. I was just curious.”

  “Yeah. When we pull out of here, I’ll request a recovery unit to pick up his remains. That’s the best I can do for him. Any more stupid questions?”

  He saw her stiffen.

  “None, Lieutenant.”

  He stepped out of the shallow surf and started walking along the faint trail. He’d only seen it because of the NVS goggles. During normal daylight, with bright sunlight glaring on the sand, it would have been invisible. Even so, he winced with every step he took, wondering if he was about to follow Sergeant Mulligan into oblivion. But he made it to the treeline and discovered that the trail became a dark tunnel through the thick vines and interlocked palm trees that otherwise formed an impassable barrier to the interior. He cursed their intel weenies. They should have seen this from overhead surveillance. Their failure had cost a man his life, and now the mission may be compromised. After the explosion, the Somalis must know they’d arrived.

  Unless they think an animal triggered the mine. It’s possible.

  The last man reached the treeline, and he immediately set a fast pace, heading for the known location of the compound. Caitlin had confirmed the trail led in the right direction. He’d put Guy Welland on point, and Talley knew he could rely on the tough SAS trooper to stay alert for any response to the mine that had killed Rafe. They marched on for an hour, encountering nothing, and then Welland’s voice hissed in his earpiece.

  “Someone on the path about three hundred meters ahead. I’ll let them go past so I can cover them from behind. I’d estimate twenty men. It has to be the Somalis going to check out the beach.”

  “Copy that. Stand by.”

  The men had heard and were waiting for his orders.

  “We’ll let them go past. I want everyone to vanish into the jungle until they’re out of earshot. Don’t let them know we’re here.”

  “Shouldn’t we hit them now?” Dubois, the cocky French paratrooper argued. “I don’t like the idea of a bunch of armed Somalis in our rear.”

  “If we hit them, it’ll warn the rest of them we’re mounting an attack. And that could mean we’ll have a hundred of them gunning for us. They may also kill the hostages. Do it my way, Dubois.”

  The man shrugged, and the next moment he melted into the foliage and disappeared as if by magic. Talley ensured the rest of his squad were in cover, then crouched down and crawled into the thick undergrowth. Overhead, the only noise he could discern was the constant buzzing and chirping of insects, the sound of the African jungle. He waited, and after a few moments heard the sound of a man coughing. Soon, he heard voices, shrill, excited voices. As if they belonged to men who were on khat, which they almost certainly were. Khat was native to the Horn of Africa, a flowering plant that produced a potent drug. Khat chewing had a long history as a social custom, dating back thousands of years in Somalia. Its stimulant effects were similar to those of amphetamines. As were its long term dangers, perhaps accounting for the perpetual and casual violence that was endemic to the area. The men passed, shouting and chatting to each other in Arabic, their native language. Welland had been correct with his estimate; there were twenty of them. Most were armed with AK-47s and the Chinese clone, the Type 56 assault rifle. Five of them were armed with the deadly Russian-made RPG shoulder launched missile system that had proved so deadly during Operation Gothic Serpent; when two Black Hawks were shot down and three more damaged by the missiles. He recalled they may need to use Black Hawks to exfiltrate, so it would be as well to take out as many RPG shooters as they could find when the shooting started. After the pirates had gone past, Talley keyed his mic.

  “We’re clear, move out. When we get into a firefight, those RPG’s go first, clear?”

  A chorus of ‘copy thats’ came back into his earpiece. None of them wanted their flight out of Somalia compromised.

  They reached a natural crossroads where wider tracks went south, west, and north. Guy was waiting for them.

  “Where do we go now, Boss?”

  Talley looked at Caitlin. “This is where we need you to guide us. Is this area familiar?”

  She nodded. “Yes, the camp we suspect the pirates are operating out of is along that path to the west, I’d estimate about nine kilometers from here. But that may not be the best way to go. We’re bound to run into the opposition if we do, and possibly that party when they return from the beach. We could take the other track to the north and cut through to an old, Catholic mission that was destroyed several years ago. Near the mission is a hidden path that should take us to the enemy compound, providing it’s not too overgrown, of course. If we hit them as we come out from that path, we should be able to surprise them.”

  He nodded his agreement. “We’ll do it that way. You’d better move up to the point with Guy. I’ll reinforce the back marker as well, in case those pirates come up behind us. Dubois, you and Brenner fall back and cover us. We don’t know what the Somalis will do when they find the beach empty. I’m hoping they’ll assume that only a few men came ashore and pulled out when they encountered the minefield. On the other hand, if they’re expert trackers, there’s always a risk they’ll know we’re here, and they’ll follow us.”

  Brenner nodded. “And if we do hear them coming up behind us, what would you like us to do, Lieutenant? Hide from them again?”

  Talley stared at him. “If they’re following, they’ll know we’re here. You kill them all.”

  Both men nodded in satisfaction and moved to cover the trail they’d just come down.

  “Jerry, Vince, we’re in dense jungle here, so there’s not much work for those sniper rifles. Move up right behind the point, just in case Guy runs into any trouble.”

  Both men shouldered their weapons and moved up to follow Guy and Caitlin. Satisfied he’d deployed the men as best he could, Talley made a last minute check. They were ready.

  “Let’s move out.”

  The marched off through the jungle. Talley checked in with the point and the rearguard every few minutes. They were deep inside the Somali territory, and Somalia had a habit of inflicting nasty surprises on those who entered the country uninvited. The mine on the beach had been a setback, and he didn’t want any more surprises. He checked his watch. There was little more than four hours before dawn, and in that time they had to reach the compound, kill the pirates, release the prisoners, and clear the area. It was a tall order. He kept looking around and listening for any sign of trouble. The noise from the jungle was deafening as they pushed through the thick, almost impenetrable foliage. Insects buzzed in an increasing crescendo, leaves rustled as nocturnal animals made their cautious way through the trees, and occasionally there was the quiet sound of slithering; a snake moving through the undergrowth. More than once a loud screeching startled them as a night predator stalked and finally took its prey. But the sounds were all animal, natural, jungle sounds, none were human. They reached the clearing, and in front of them lay the ruins of the Catholic mission, standing gaunt against the dark skyline. Guy and Caitlin were waiting for them, and close by were the guns of the two snipers, Ostrowski and DiMosta. Talley heard Guy’s voice over his earpiece.

  “Someone’s moving in the old chapel at the side of the mission.”

  Echo Six deployed for action. Guy’s group lay on the ground on the far side of the clearing, their guns covering the chapel. Talley used hand signals to send the men around to the far side of the building and form a blocking line. As Dubois and Brenner came up, he sent them forward to check out the building. They zigzagged across the open ground, moving expertly from cover to cover until they reached the outer wall of the ruin. They drew their pistols, shouldered their assault rifles, and ducked inside. He saw Brenner go right, and Dubois jump to the left. There was the sound of a cry, and then the distinct, ‘phut phut’ as two suppressed pistols fired. He heard two more shots, and then there was only silence. He keyed his mic.

  “This is Talley. What happened?”

  Brenner answered; his Germanic accent even harsher than normal.

  “Two hostiles, they’re both dead.”

  “Copy that, I’m coming in to take a look.”

  He ran across the open ground and into the chapel. Beams of moonlight shone through the roof that had been destroyed and then partially repaired with palm fronds. On the floor were a few sticks of old furniture; a table, two cracked chairs, and in the corner, a bed. The room was wretched beyond belief, a microcosm of the poverty of Somalia, and of Africa. On the floor lay two bodies, a man and a woman. They both looked to be about fifty years old, which in Somalia meant they were probably no more than thirty.

  “What happened here? They don’t look like pirates.”

  Dubois ignored him. He was busy reloading his pistol.

  “They came at us, and we thought they were about to attack,” Brenner answered.

  “But they’re not armed!”

  The German gestured to a kitchen knife lying on the floor. “They were armed with that.”

  “You didn’t need to kill them, Brenner. They were civilians.”

  He shrugged. “They were Somalis. If they wanted to live, they shouldn’t have tried to attack us with that knife. Or have you forgotten already, Colonel Hakim’s orders? Armed or potentially armed enemy combatants are to be killed.”

  He stared at Talley in triumph.

  “I guess they were subhumans, were they, Brenner?” Talley replied quietly. “Didn’t the German Fuhrer call them ‘Untermensch’?”

  “Something like that, Lieutenant, but it’s near enough. What’s the big deal? They were a couple of Somalis who tried to attack us. They died, end of story.”

  A new voice intruded. “They were the last two Christians in the area. A husband and wife; they stayed to look after the mission when the others either ran or were killed.”

  They looked around. Caitlin stood in the doorway. Her face was pale with anger.

  “You didn’t have to kill them. They were harmless.”

  Brenner looked at her and snorted. “Harmless! They attacked me with a knife.”

  She returned his glance with an expression of pure scorn. “No doubt they will reward you with a medal for your bravery, Sergeant. It must have taken a great deal of courage to shoot two innocent civilians in cold blood.”

  Brenner looked away. She turned her rage on Dubois. “Couldn’t you have stopped him, Michel? Or did you enjoy taking part in this bloodbath?”

  He shrugged and grinned at her. “I think Lieutenant Talley was right. This kind of warfare is no place for a woman. You should be drinking coffee in a sidewalk café, Cherie, wearing beautiful clothes and carrying a designer purse. That camouflage really does not suit you.”

  She had to work hard to get her anger under control. Her face went from pale, to red, to pale again. But finally, she answered him. “What you did here would be classed as a war crime, Dubois. These people were well known locally, even to the pirates. They provided basic medical care and did their best to help when people were in trouble. They were true Christians. If the locals ever find out what you did to them, God help you. There are no war crimes trials in Somalia, so if you’re lucky, they’ll just shoot you. If you’re not, they’re as likely to impale you on a sharpened stake.”

  It was the Frenchman’s turn to grow pale. Caitlin gave him a pleasant nod and walked away.

  Talley decided it was time to get a grip. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that leading such an elite Special Forces group was probably not unlike running a company of opera singers or ballet dancers, or maybe a stable of racing thoroughbreds; with all of their hang-ups, arrogance and neuroses. But, of course, with all their superb skills. His men were good, very good, but in some cases their abilities were in direct proportion to their egos.