Mitchell shook Fang again, and the man's eyes flickered open. Mitchell held up the sword. "You see this? It's mine now. You have nothing." Mitchell shoved Fang into a puddle.

With a grimace, Mitchell got to his feet, retrieved the sheath, and slid the sword home. He tucked the cane into his pack, took one last look at Fang, lying there, dying, then picked up his earpiece/monocle and started down the hill, just as Diaz, pistol in hand, came running toward him. "Captain!"

Fang knew that if he lost the sword, his spirit would not be in harmony with his ancestors. The sword represented that harmony, and it had been destined for the hands of Fang's own son, the child he'd yet to have. He should have been less focused on his career. He should have found a woman in China and had that son. Now Fang had nothing left, save for one more breath.

"Diaz, I'm right here," Mitchell called, wiping off the earpiece/monocle and slipping it back over his ear. He was too exhausted to feel vindicated, justified, or anything else.

As she approached, her gaze lifted past him. "Nice work, Captain."

Mitchell shook his head. "It should have never come to this. Never . . ."

"Let me see that arm." She tugged out her rescue knife with its secondary blade for cutting past uniforms.

"No time. Nolan will look at it. Let's go." He started forward, lost his balance, and Diaz grabbed his good arm, draped it over her shoulder.

"It's okay, Captain. I got you."

USS MONTANA (SSN-823)
SOUTH TAIWAN STRAIT
SOUTH CHINA SEA
APRIL 2012

"And there she goes, twenty-six million dollars of pure fun," said Lieutenant Moch, as the Predator's onboard camera showed an image of the dark, roiling waves before the screen went blank.

Captain Gummerson turned his attention to Moch's playback monitor. "Show me that fuel barge and that crane one more time before I talk to Mitchell."

"Rewinding now. And there they are, sir," said Moch, rapping a knuckle on his screen.

As Gummerson studied the infrared images, he pointed his finger at one heat source and said, "What is he still doing there?"

"I don't know, sir," said Moch.

Gummerson glanced back over his shoulder. "XO? Tell the SEALs we may have a change of plan."

"Aye, aye, sir."

UNITED STATES SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND
MACDILL AIR FORCE BASE
TAMPA, FLORIDA
APRIL 2012

"All right, son, what am I looking at?" said General Keating to the young intelligence officer seated before the wide-screen display.

"Here's Xiamen Harbor. Right here is the first patrol boat, heading up to the seawall. From what I can tell, sir, the DIA's mole got off that order to the patrol boats, but only one's heading up. The other captain has either been ordered to remain behind, or maybe he didn't receive the second order. Bottom line is we still have one Shanghai to deal with. See him, right there, running along the gap between Haicang and Gulangyu Island."