White left the Intel section and made his way to the aft chamber, where the CV-22 aircraft was stowed. In the subdued night-vision red lights of the chamber, the CV-22 looked as if it were damaged. Its main wing was swiveled parallel to the fuselage instead of perpendicular, and the fifteen-foot-long rotors were folded flat against the engine nacelles. It looked as if it would never be able to untangle itself. But White knew that the CV-22 could go from completely stowed to ready for engine start in five minutes, all with the push of three buttons.

When White entered the chamber, the CV-22's eight-man Marine Corps Maritime Special Purpose Force (MSPF) crew snapped to their feet in anticipation. Even after working with these guys for so many months, White was still in awe of them. They were members of

"Cobra Venom," Tenth Force Reconnaissance Company, 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit (Special Operations Capable), deployed in the Mediterranean with the U.S. Navy's Sixth Fleet aboard LHD- 1 Wasp and detached for service in Oslo. The MSPF were the elite of the elite and consisted of only fifty Marines in the United States specially trained for deep reconnaissance and covert penetration missions. The men in the MSPF could walk across cables stretched between two buildings, climb a ten-story building without a rope, swim ten miles in bone-chilling water-and kill with absolute precision, stealth, and speed. Most were unmarried, but the meaner ones were-meaner because they had more to fight for than just themselves.

The eight men here had received extra training in working not with Marine air-combat elements, but with U.S. Air Force special-operations forces, which they considered inferior but tolerable to their own. MADCAP MAGICIAN, on the other hand, seemed insane and dangerous enough for them, so they took him in stride.

None of them said a word as White strode to the CV-22's cockpit. Inside were two Air Force pilots, Major Hank Fell and Major Martin J. Watanabe. The black-suited soldiers circled in behind White as he stepped inside the tilt-rotor aircraft and squatted between the two pilots'

seats. The crew engineer and loadmaster, Master Sergeant Mike Brown, left his place at the compartment doors and hurried to join them. The assault team leader, Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant Jose Lobato, squatted behind the left-hand copilot's seat to listen in as well.

"Visit from the boss just before a mission," Fell quipped as White was about to speak.

"Looks serious. Decision time, eh?"

"You got it. Listen up. The same fucking spy ship is still out there, but I think we can radar-shadow you enough to get away clean-we're at ten miles now, and we'll probably be right on the edge of his radar horizon

by launch time. The problem is in the target area. There's a chopper circling the pickup point, the same one we've seen the past two days."

"Still just one chopper?" Fell asked. White nodded. "No other activity from Liepaja?"

"Plenty of activity, but nothing associated with the lone chopper or with us-at least I don't think so," White replied uneasily. "Radar pictures from two hundred miles away are not enough to accurately estimate enemy movements, but I think they're still looking for RAGANU. They may be close, but I don't think they got him. In any case, eyes are in the target area, and maybe eyes on us right now. It's looking very risky. We have to off-load the MISCO trailers tomorrow morning before we enter Swedish waters or we'll be in deep shit if we're caught with them on board.