Janson stood up as far as the space allowed, his joints aching from the extended crouch. The truth was, he was too old for this sort of expedition, too old by at least a decade. Why had he chosen to play this role, the most dangerous and demanding of them? He’d told himself that he was the only one who would be willing to do it, to face the odds; or rather, if he was not willing to, nobody else would or should. He had told himself, as well, that his experience made him the best one for the job. He had told himself that having devised the plan, he would be the one best prepared to alter it if necessary. But was vanity involved, too? Did he want to prove to himself that he could still do it? Or was he so desperate to expunge a debt of honor to Peter Novak that he had made a decision that might ultimately endanger Novak’s own life, as well as his own? Doubts came to his mind like a shower of needles, and he forced himself to remain calm. Clear like water, cool like ice. It was a mantra he had often repeated to himself during the long days and nights of terror and agony he’d known as a POW in Vietnam.

Katsaris was standing precisely where the blueprints had suggested they would find the second entrance—the entrance that made the entire operation possible.

“The thing is where it’s supposed to be,” Katsaris said. “You can see the outline of the trapdoor.”

“That’s good news. I like good news.”

“It’s been sealed off with cinder block.”

“That’s bad news. I hate bad news.”

“Masonry’s in sound shape. Probably not more than thirty years old. There might have been a problem with flooding at some point, and this was the fix. Who knows? All I know is that Ingress A no longer exists.”

Janson’s gut furled even tighter. Clear like water, cool like ice.

“Not a problem,” Janson said. “There’s a workaround.”

But it was a problem, and he had no workaround. All he knew was that a commanding officer must never let his men sense panic.

They had entered into the situation with sketchy knowledge. There was the information, confirmed by intercepts, that Peter Novak was being held in the colonial dungeon. There was the inference, supplied by common sense, that he would be heavily guarded. There was the necessary recourse to an aerial insertion. But then? Janson had never entertained the idea of a merely frontal approach to the dungeon—running a gauntlet that would equally jeopardize the rescuer and the one to be rescued. What made the plan workable was the prospect of simultaneity: removing the hostage even as the guards were being incapacitated. There was no longer any viable rear entrance. Hence no viable plan.

“Come with me,” Janson said. “I’ll show you.”