Mitchell nodded, then regarded Keating. "General, I'm wondering why you don't want SEALs on this one? With a sub infiltration, this sounds like a job for them."

"Are you kidding me, son? You don't want the job?"

Mitchell stiffened. "Sir, I didn't say that."

"You implying that I might be biased? That I picked an army unit to prevent World War III because I'm an SF operator myself?"

"Sir--"

"Well, you're damned right I did. You'll have two SEALs to assist with infil and exfil, and a couple of CIA agents to help you get closer to the target; otherwise, it's your show, Mitchell. And do me a favor--don't you get yourself killed on my watch. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why are you sitting there? Get cleaned up and get the hell on a jet! I'll update you once you're in the Philippines."

Mitchell bolted from his chair and saluted the general. "On my way, sir!"

The screen switched to the computer's desktop, and Mitchell glanced wearily at Gordon and Grey. "Call the president. Tell him to hold up on World War III until after I've had a shower."

Grey smiled. "Speaking of calls, as soon as you have your list, send it over. A lot of operators are out on R & R, and we'll need time to get them back."

Mitchell nodded. "You got a pen? I already know who I want."

NINETEEN

NINETEEN

TOWN OF BIG VALLEY
MODOC COUNTY, CALIFORNIA
APRIL 2012

Sergeant First Class Paul Smith, Ghost Team rifleman, was home in rural Northern California for a few weeks, and it was not two days into his R & R that his boyhood friend Hernando Alameda called to say that he could use a hand loading about two hundred bales of alfalfa hay onto some flatbed trucks. Hernando had taken over the farm from his recently deceased father, and Smith knew that he was shorthanded, so he couldn't say no to his old buddy.

Hernando was twenty-seven, a few years older than Smith, and he'd been complaining all morning about the difficulties of finding good help. He worked out his frustration on the bales of hay, loading twice as fast as Smith did, both of them sweating profusely. Soon the conversation turned to women, as it always did, and Smith asked about Hernando's longtime girlfriend, Vicki, who had sweet-talked him into financing a brand-new pair of boobs.

"She just dumped me last week," Hernando said between breaths.

"How many times is that?"

"Three."

"You don't need her."

"Nope."

"But you'll be calling later."

"Yup. I'm calling in the loan."

Smith grinned. "Damn that woman."

"Hey, your dad told me he's retiring next year."

"Yeah, I can't believe it. He's been sheriff of this Podunk county for thirty years."

"You ought to take over."

Smith laughed. "I joined the army to get away from all this horse dung."

"You hate us that much?"