"Cai also ordered in a refueling barge to support the boats, and he called in a crane to load pallets of fuel onto the pier for additional support elements. Have a look."

Mitchell studied the rotating graphic of the eighty-foot-long, self-propelled barge with a squared-off bow and a small control house. A tower with a boom jutting out in a V pattern rose just past amidships. Attached to that boom was a large refueling hose ready to be extended down and outward. The data bar indicated that the barge had a crew of six.

Next appeared the floating crane seated atop a rectangular, rust-laden barge not unlike its land-based counterpart. The crane's boom rose some 120 feet into the air, and written in English on the side of the operator's cabin was the company name: Wuhan Noontide Industries, Inc. The crane had a main operator and an assistant.

"Now Mitchell, I've just gotten off the horn with Captain Gummerson, and we're running this a couple different ways to help get you out of there. With all the injured you have and the two CIA casualties, Gummerson is willing to surface at the last possible second to get you aboard, but he won't do that unless you make it past the gap."

"Which takes us back to where we started."

"Not exactly. Now pay attention, son. We have a lot to discuss."

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-TWO

SHORE DRIVE OVERPASS
XIAMEN, CHINA
APRIL 2012

While Ramirez was technically the assistant team leader, the shooting pain from his gunshot wound made it difficult to think straight, so he'd placed Beasley in charge. Smith, who'd been hit himself, had done a fine job of taping up Ramirez and fitting him with a makeshift sling, but Ramirez had refused painkillers. He'd wanted his head to be clear. Maybe he'd have Nolan inject him with a local anesthetic when the medic arrived.

Ramirez and Beasley remained inside the idling SUV while Jenkins and Smith had gone down to the docks and loading ramp, just fifty meters ahead to secure the boat.

All of Haicang up to the Xiamen Bridge was still dark, but just across the harbor, Xiamen Island remained brightly--and unnervingly--lit.

Ramirez checked his watch, then pulled up the tactical map in his HUD and zoomed in on Mitchell's SUV. "They should be here by 0410 hours."

"And the sun comes up at what, 0524 hours," said the team sergeant. We need to move."

"Yup."

"You know something, Joey? I don't like this plan." Beasley grinned.

"Neither do I."

They banged fists, the words and act a little ritual often repeated during exfiltration.

Headlights shone behind them, and Ramirez whirled. "Captain's early? But I just saw him on--"

"No," grunted Beasley. "That ain't him. Get down!"

Beasley, who was in the driver's seat, shut off the engine and lowered the window, pistol in hand.

Ramirez clutched his own pistol and hit the window button as the headlights drew nearer.

"Ghost Lead, this is Bravo Lead."

"Go ahead."

"Boss, we might have a problem."