“We’ll come around and swing in from the west to cloak our outline against whatever darkness is left.” Steiger’s eyes never strayed from the windshield. “I’m flicking off the navigation lights now. Good luck!”

Pitt squeezed Steiger’s arm, stepped into the cargo section of the Minerva, and closed the cockpit door. The compartment was ice cold. The loading hatch was open and the wintry morning air whistled into what seemed a vibratinaluminum tomb. Sandecker held the harness out to him and he strapped it on.

The admiral started to say something and then hesitated. At last, his cast-iron features taut with suppressed emotion, he said, “I’ll expect you for breakfast.”

“Make my eggs scrambled,” Pitt said.

Then he stepped into the frigid dawn.

Lieutenant Alan Fergus, leader of the SEAL combat units, zipped up his wet suit and cursed the vagaries of the high command. Not more than an hour ago he’d been rudely awakened from a dead sleep and hurriedly briefed on what he regarded as the dumbest exercise ever to come his way during seven years in the Navy. He pulled on his rubber hood and tucked his ears under the lining. Then he approached a tall, burly man who sat slouched in a nonregulation director’s chair. His feet were propped on the bridge railing and he peered intently down the Potomac.

“What’s it all about?” asked Fergus.

Lieutenant Commander Oscar Kiebel, the dour skipper of the Coast Guard patrol boat that was ferrying Fergus and his men, twisted the corners of his mouth in an expression of distaste and shrugged. “I’m as confused as you.”

“Do you believe that bullshit about a battleship?”

“No,” Kiebel said in a rumbling voice. “I’ve seen four-thousand-ton destroyers cruise upriver to the Washington Navy Yard, but a fifty-thousand-ton battleship? No way.”

“Board and secure the stern for Marine helicopter-assault teams,” Fergus said irritably. “Those orders are sheer crap, if you want my opinion.”

“I’m not any happier about this outing than you,” said Kiebel. “I take my picnics as they come.” He grinned. “Maybe it’s a surprise party with booze and wild women.”

“At seven o’clock in the morning, neither holds much interest. Not out in the open, at any rate.”

“We’ll know soon. Two more miles till we round Sheridan Point. Then our objectives should be within - ” Suddenly Kiebel broke off and cocked his head, listening. “You hear that?”

Fergus cupped his ears and turned, facing the patrol boat’s wake. “Sounds like a helicopter.”

“Coming like a bat out of hell without lights,” Kiebel added.

“My God!” Fergus exclaimed. “The Marines have jumped the gun. They’re going in ahead of schedule.”