Ramirez's face screwed up into a knot, and he cursed.

"Joey, if you can get in back, we'll treat you," said Beasley. "Jenkins, you take the wheel."

"Come on," said Smith, reaching out to help Ramirez down from the passenger's seat.

"Bravo Lead," called Mitchell. "Get out of there and light up those choppers."

"Roger that."

Once the last door had slammed shut and Jenkins was wheeling them around, Beasley issued a curt, "Three, two, one," and set off the C4 packed tightly into the helicopters and trucks behind the castle.

The idea, of course, was to keep any military or police response focused inland--and between the castle explosion and the one at the transformer station, Smith figured they had done a convincing job of baiting the hook.

He craned his head and stared back at the castle, water streaming off the rooflines like melting wax as four magnificent fireballs rose skyward and swelled into orange mushrooms behind it. The explosions cast the place in an otherworldly glow, and as they rose higher into the mountains, the valley shone once more in the flicker of lightning.

It was an unforgettable sight, a painting from ancient China coming alive before his eyes,

As Smith turned back and settled into his seat, window down, rifle at the ready, he thought of his parents back home, wished they could've come along with him on this mission. They might realize once and for all that giving up his position as a Ghost to become a small-town sheriff would be like playing in the major leagues and then deciding to coach weekend softball games.

Maybe one day, when he slowed down, but not now. Not when his blood coursed like a million volts through his veins.

While Diaz coaxed the SUV through torrents of rain and mud, Mitchell sat beside her, about to check his HUD to home in on Fang's current location.

However, his downlink channel screen crackled to life with an image of General Keating in the command center. "Mitchell, great work out there, son. Now it's time to come home. But we have a problem. Either your infiltration at the coast went south and you were spotted or that power outage has really spooked them."

The image on screen shifted from Keating to a three-dimensional, rotating graphic of a Chinese patrol boat with accompanying identification label and detailed specs: Type 62C Shanghai-II-class gun patrol boat. Length: 38.78 meters. Top speed: 28.5 knots. Crew: 36. Armament: two twin-barrel 37 mm antiaircraft artillery (AAA) guns and two twin-barrel 25 mm AAA guns.

The general continued: "Two of these Shanghai-class patrol boats are en route to Xiamen Harbor. Most of the newer gunboats of the East Sea Fleet are up in Ningde, but apparently, the older 62Cs were being transferred to other seaports, which accounts for this pair."

"Sir, you trying to make me feel better by saying they're older boats? Their guns are big, and I bet they work just fine."