Briggs finally relented—arguing with him was not doing any good. “All right, Patrick, we’ll press on—for now.” He ignored Patrick’s warning glare. “But listen to me, man—it won’t do anyone any good if you’re dead on your feet. Take sixty minutes, Muck. Get some rest. I’ll look at the imagery myself, and I’ll have one of the guys doublecheck it. If there’s any evidence that Wendy was taken to any of those facilities, we’ll plan an entry to take a look. You might be overlooking something if you’re too tired to check each image carefully.”

“I’m not too tired, Hal,” Patrick told him. But he again rubbed his eyes wearily, and he found he had to fight to keep them open. He nodded and got to his feet. “Okay, buddy. I’ll go take a nap. Wake me if you find anything.”

“Just get some rest. We’ll handle everything.”

Patrick, David, and Hal shared a room right beside the mission planning room, but this was the first time Patrick had been there since the Egyptian military made room for them. Someone had laid out his gear on a small shelf beside the bed, and Patrick found himself eager to shave, brush his teeth, and scrub his body for the first time in what seemed like weeks. After he was done, he felt a hundred percent better. He told himself to be sure to take at least five minutes out to do this every day—it wouldn’t look good for the other team members to see the team leader looking like crap. It was a quick and simple thing to do, but it—

And that’s when he noticed Paul’s gear, stacked in the comer of the room—a lone green duffel bag with a yellow tag on the canvas handles that read, “P.McL.”—Paul McLanahan.

Dammit, Paul, why were you here? Why are any of us here? Just to fight a battle for some oil executives? Was it worth the pain, the suffering, and the death? Who would understand? Anyone? No one?

His head was a jumble of thoughts and emotions, all fighting for attention, analysis. But somehow, through it all, a woman’s voice told him to lie still, to put all violent thoughts out of his head. There would be plenty of time for planning the next battle, the voice said—now was the time for sleep. Rest was as much a part of fighting a war as the bomb run, the voice wisely said, and she was right.