Despite all the sophisticated listening devices, the high-tech surveillance equipment, and the advanced U.S. intelligence-gathering network, there was only one way Donnegan could imagine that they might be able to learn the answers to those questions in a hurry.

The admiral pursed his lips as he grabbed the secure phone on his desk and punched in a set of numbers from memory. It rang once before a strong voice answered.

“SEAL Team Three, Commander Beaman.”

“Bill, this is Admiral Donnegan at Naval Intelligence.”

“Mornin’, Admiral!”

“Hey, I know it’s early for you out there, isn’t it? I didn’t expect you to answer. I was going to get somebody to roust you out of the rack.”

“I’m still up watching an exercise we got going. We got a team doing a ‘rubber duck’ into San Clemente Island. There’s a new team leader and I just wanted to make sure everything went all right.”

Bill Beaman commanded SEAL Team Three, home-based at the Naval Amphibious Base, Coronado Island, California, near San Diego. It was pitch-black outside and two o’clock in the morning there. Beaman had been up since oh five hundred the previous morning and had spent most of this night so far pacing back and forth between his office and the command center down the hall. He always worried about his teams, and never more so than when he sent in a new platoon leader on some dangerous operation.

Although it sounded innocuous enough, a “rubber duck” was a rather hazardous means of getting a platoon and a rubber raiding craft out of an aircraft and into the water as quickly as possible. If everything went well, the team would be racing toward the shore and their mission mere minutes after jumping out of the plane. If there were any foul-ups, there could be a dozen injured men stranded in the dark in water that was miles from land.

“So, how did it go?” Donnegan asked.

“Just got word they were ‘feet dry.’ You caught me just as I was heading home for some shut-eye. Admiral, I doubt you’re calling to inquire about the comfort of my guys.”

Donnegan liked this big, rough SEAL. He was the type who cared about his men, the kind who could be depended on when the chips were down.

Right now the chips were down.

“You’re right, Bill. I got a job for you,” Donnegan said, the shift obvious in his voice even from a full continent away. “I need for you to saddle up a small team for parachute insertion into a hostile environment. Winter Arctic weather. Full combat rig. It should be a simple surveillance mission, but if you’re uncovered, it could get damn hot damn quick.”