As was his custom, Martindale never stuck around for the details—the planning, training, organization, logistics, or movement of the Night Stalkers was never something he was concerned about. He gave marching orders, then left it to the teams to carry out the plan. Within minutes, they heard his helicopter depart, on its way to his next meeting. Patrick had little idea what he did, where he went, or whom he spoke to as the former president of the United States.

“Now we’re talking serious bucks!” Briggs exclaimed happily. “Man, I was hoping we’d get into jobs like this—I was thinking I’d have to go back to Georgia and help my granddad in his kennels and get a real job.”

“I’m not happy about accepting this job,” Patrick admitted. “Some big oil cartel is asking us to put our asses on the firing line to help them keep their profits safe. We don’t know anything about the cartel; and since the assassination of President Salaam, we don’t know which way the Egyptian government is going to go. And I don’t trust any intelligence info we get from private sources. They answer to investors and bosses, not to the grunts.”

Hal fell silent, looking at the ground. Chris Wohl nodded. “All good points, sir,” he said. “Our first priority would be to get our own intel—a few overflights from some NIRTSats should do it.” NIRTSats, or Need It Right This Second Satellites, were small, low-Earth orbit photo and radar reconnaissance satellites designed for a specific mission. They were extremely valuable in passing detailed intelligence information to tactical units; but because they were in very low orbits, their duration was usually only a few days or a couple weeks, and they carried only small positioning thrusters and very little fuel, so their orbits could not be changed or even fine-tuned to any great extent. He looked at Patrick evenly, then added, “If you agree to do it with us.”

“You don’t need my approval, Chris.”

“Pardon me, sir, but I do ... we do,” Wohl said.

“ ’Fraid so, Muck,” Hal said. “The Night Stalkers may be a private nonmilitary unconventional action team, but the bottom line is: We’re a team”

“We don’t do anything unless we all agree to do it,” Paul chimed in. “One person has veto power. One ‘no,’ even one ‘I’m not sure,’ and we scrub the mission.”

“That’s the SOP, sir,” Wohl agreed. “We all do it, or no one does it.”