"I'm afraid the evening's already been ruined ..." She hung up and told Heidi to turn the car around; they were going back to Heidi's apartment.

Hussein began pounding on the trunk part.i.tion. "I want out of here! Right now!"

Chopra sat up. "I a.s.sume our little clandestine exit has been canceled?"

"Quiet," the Snow Maiden told him.

Heidi suddenly pulled over to the curb. "I need to know what's going on right now. I'm sure Hans back at the coffee shop has called the police."

"You're right. So maybe we're not going back to your place," said the Snow Maiden. "You can check us into a hotel. That'll work now."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Heidi, I never told you this, but Aldo was working for the CIA. That's why he was killed. And the same men who tried to kill him are trying to kill me."

"No, that's not true."

"Come with me, and I'll explain. I'll tell you everything. Just help us get a room."

"I don't even know who you are."

"I want to tell you. I really do. But it's important that you just do as I say. All right?"

"No, no, I won't do this, I can't," cried Heidi. "I don't know if you're a criminal or a prost.i.tute or who you are!" She reached for the door handle and opened the door.

The Snow Maiden bit her lower lip, drew her pistol- And as Chopra shouted, "No!"

-she killed her old friend.

SEVENTEEN.

MacDill Air Force Base U.S. Special Operations Command Joint Strike Force Command Headquarters Tampa, Florida Brent sat in the reception area outside General Scott Mitch.e.l.l's office. Mitch.e.l.l was the man, head of the entire JSF. You couldn't go any further up the ladder.

And you didn't get a meeting with a guy like that by just whining that you disagreed with a superior's decision.

You got a meeting by showing ... audacity. A word much in the news during the past year or so.

So Brent had made the call and had informed the general's staff that he wanted to strike a bargain.

The general had initially declined, but his curiosity won out when he learned that Grey had denied Brent permission to go over her head, and Brent retorted that he wasn't seeking permission; this was just a courtesy call advising her of his intentions.

Dozens of framed wartime photographs of Mitch.e.l.l in action covered the walls, and as Brent studied them, he began to understand the enormity of what he was doing, the enormity of this man's position.

Who in the h.e.l.l was Brent to try cutting a deal for another chance? The mere act was going to incite every officer above him: most notably Grey and Dennison.

Moreover, Mitch.e.l.l had been a Ghost Recon legend, arguably the unit's greatest living officer. Many of the techniques, tactics, and procedures that Brent had learned had been developed by Mitch.e.l.l himself during his own time at the JFK School. Brent wasn't even sure if he could speak intelligently let alone make a persuasive argument once he faced the man in the flesh.

And worse, he'd have to do that on two hours of sleep. He'd spent most of the night arranging to get his b.u.t.t back to Tampa, and as he checked his watch, he expected his cell phone to ring at any- There it was, ringing. After a long sigh, he answered.

"Captain Brent, this is Colonel Grey's office. It's oh eight ten, and we're wondering where you are."

Brent tossed his head back, closed his eyes, and saw himself standing before a general court-martial. No, his punishment wouldn't be that severe, of course, but his imagination always took him straight to h.e.l.l first.

"Captain Brent? Are you there?"

"Ah, yes, I'm here, here as in I'm at MacDill AFB for a meeting with General Mitch.e.l.l."

"Uh, all right, I'll inform the colonel."

"Thanks."

As Brent hung up, he pictured Grey's face when she got the news. Heat waves would billow from her brow.

"Captain?"

Brent rose and was escorted into the general's office by Mitch.e.l.l's a.s.sistant.

The general had divided the room into two areas: a rather regal-looking work zone with rich dark furniture, bookcases, and unit flags hung from the walls, the other area a high-tech observation post with a coc.o.o.n of monitors displaying battlefield operations. The station was, in effect, a miniature version of the JSF's more elaborate command center. Mitch.e.l.l was seated at that station, wearing virtual-reality gloves and manipulating holographic data bars that only he could see via his VR gla.s.ses. His fingers flicked right and left, and he made the O shape with index and thumb several times to close open windows. He suddenly wrenched off the gla.s.ses and gloves and bolted from the seat as though it were on fire.

"All right, all right ..." he muttered, clearing his thoughts aloud.

The general sported a snowy white crew cut that complemented his angular jaw. Brent guessed he spent as much time in the gym as he did in the VR chair, and an unmistakable twinkle in his eye seemed infectious.

"Captain Brent, you're a persistent man," said the general, taking Brent's hand in his own. "That much I admire. The rest of your record looks inconsistent. You, son, have been on a roller coaster ride instead of a career ladder."

"I just take it as it comes, sir."

Mitch.e.l.l hardened his gaze. "So what the h.e.l.l's the matter with you?"

"Sir?"

"Forgive my candor. Dennison tells me she pulled the plug on your mission. And Grey doesn't want you on it. You've come here to ask for a second chance in the guise of some deal regarding a low-life warlord in Afghanistan that you want to hand over to me."

"Sir, I've had sources there for years, and I'm finally calling in all my favors."

"At a rather convenient time."

"Sayyaf has links to China and the Russian Federation. There's a rumor that he's in bed with the Green Brigade, too. He's a piece we need to take off the board."

"And you're handing him to me in exchange for another chance to go after the Snow Maiden."

"What would you do?"

"I wouldn't come in here and insult my boss's intelligence."

Brent glanced away and smiled. "Sir, in the grand scheme of things, I'm just a little guy. I know that. And at my level, this is the best I got. The deal might be insulting, but you'll have Sayyaf."

"So Brent comes first, country second."

"I never wanted it to be this way. I hate the politics. I really do. But I'm asking for a lot, so I give something in return."

"So this has been your ace in the hole in case we screw you over, huh? Keep a little piece of the pie to yourself, and give it back when the time is right."

"No, sir. I wish I were that smart. When they pulled me off the mission, I started thinking about my options. Then I made a few calls."

Mitch.e.l.l sighed very deeply for effect. "You want me to take this deal and overstep my officers."

Brent opened his mouth-but the general spoke before he could: "And you want me to take your intelligence on good faith and place more Americans in harm's way."

Brent glanced toward the window. The general's tone had come as a challenge, and Brent knew if he backed down now, there was no second chance. The general was probing, looking to see if he had any fight left in him. Well, he sure as h.e.l.l did.

"Sir, can I ask you a question? Why'd you join the Army?"

Mitch.e.l.l grinned, as though over some private joke. "You know the answer to that as well as I-because they forced you to read my bio."

"I don't mean the facts, sir. I mean the feeling feeling."

"To be in control, right? To feel some power. To put forth that power in a way that yields a tangible and desirable result. h.e.l.l, that sounds so academic. Maybe we all got into this because it just makes us feel good. We want to do the right thing for our families and our country."

"That's not my story, sir. I got into this to try to be somebody I'm not. I did it out of guilt. I thought I could make things right. I learned a lot. And maybe I'm not the most qualified Ghost for this job, but you can bet I'm the most persistent. I'm disciplined, and I never forget what I want."

Mitch.e.l.l crossed around his ornate desk and plopped down hard into the leather chair. He leaned back, pillowing his head in his hands.

"The idea that you've been withholding intelligence from us doesn't just strike a nerve, Captain. It makes me want to squeeze your neck until your face turns blue."

"With all due respect, sir, there's a difference between delaying my report and withholding it."

"Semantics. Your intentions are clear."

Brent knew he'd regret it, but he raised his voice. "Sir, I just want to fight another day. That's it. You've been the fall guy yourself, so you know what I'm talking about. Once a Ghost, always a Ghost. We know how this pans out."

The intercom beeped, followed by a voice. "Sir, I have Colonel Grey on vid channel three."

"Sir, don't take that call," said Brent.

"Why not?"

"Because she'll tell you I'm incapable and insubordinate."

"And you're late for a meeting with her," added the general. "So you're right, she doesn't have to tell me how insubordinate you are. I'm witnessing it firsthand."

"I just want to fight."

Mitch.e.l.l told his a.s.sistant that he'd return the call. Then he faced Brent and sighed. "Why do I bet on you?"

"Sir, we lost a good man out there, and I'd like to take his brother, my team, and one other sergeant. You give me those people, and I'll get this Snow Maiden for you."

"You didn't answer my question. Why do I bet on you-when you've already failed? And don't tell me it's because I'll get the warlord. I don't give a c.r.a.p about him right now."

"We weren't allowed to finish what we started."

"So pulling the plug on you was premature?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"Even after repeated failures? Maybe we cut our losses with you. Why don't you just back off ? Start training the new guys, be the voice of experience. Get back to Robin Sage. I did it for years and found it very rewarding."

"Because it can't end like this. I got into the Army for the wrong reasons. I need to finish for the right ones."

"So if I cut you loose, it's with the understanding that if we don't get results, you'll be moving on to something else."

"I accept that, sir."

"So you're highly motivated."

"I always have been, sir. I just need good intel. It's hard to catch up with someone when your intel keeps you two steps behind."

Mitch.e.l.l took in another long breath, then scratched his abdomen, reminding Brent of the unique scar he had there, a scar shaped like a Chinese character. Brent had read all about the general's exploits in the Philippines before he'd been recruited into Ghost Recon. Mitch.e.l.l had been stabbed with an exotic sword and had, it seemed, developed an unconscious habit of scratching the old wound. Brent had a few scars himself, and yes, they sometimes itched and drove him mad. "You're putting me in a difficult position," he finally said.

"Yes, sir."

The general thought a moment and grimaced. "They've already given the mission to Boleman. He's one of the best operators we've got."

"I'm sure he'll get over it, sir."

"He's highly motivated, too."

"Yes, sir. Ask him if he knows where Sayyaf is . . ." Mitch.e.l.l smirked, then got into Brent's face. "You're a real con artist, huh?"

"No, sir."

Mitch.e.l.l widened his eyes. "Tell you what. I'll put you back out there. I'll expect to have Sayyaf in custody within twenty-four hours."

"My intel is good."

The general actually swore under his breath. "They're going to question this decision, but here I am, G.o.d help me, giving you one more shot. Last one. All or nothing. Hail Mary pa.s.s. Do you read me?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you're right. Boleman won't take the risks you will. He's too worried about his next promotion. You strike me as the kind of guy who doesn't give a c.r.a.p about that."

"Born in the mud, die in the mud, sir."