Cheryl Duffield looked up at the Masterses, and the steel returned to her eyes and voice. “She knows all about what you do, what you build, and whom you build them for,” she said. “She wants to help you build the next two generations of weapon systems, far better than you or I or anyone yet bom can imagine. Her father and I said we’d help her do that, because in a way, that’s what parents do for their kids. It’s not ballet or baseball, but parents are supposed to help their kids follow their dreams. Right?”

Jon looked at Kelsey. To his immense shock, while her mother was talking, Kelsey had been writing out a long mathematical formula on a sheet of notepaper. When she noticed Jon was looking at her, she held up the piece of paper for him. For about the third or fourth time in that meeting, Jon’s mouth dropped open.

“It’s not finished,” Kelsey said, smiling.

“I... don’t... believe ... it.. .” Jon breathed, his eyes flitting across the symbols and numbers. He pointed to one section, and his eyes narrowed, then widened, then nearly bugged out. “I... you . .. this ...”

Kelsey handed it over to Jon, and he accepted it as if she had just handed him a thirty-pound bar of solid gold. “We’ll finish it together, okay, Dr. Masters?” she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Jon. Call me Jon,” he said, smiling, his voice cracking with the sheer enormity of what he had just witnessed. Jon looked at the piece of paper, then at Kelsey, then at her mother. “Do you realize what this is?”

“Of course. It’s the future,” Cheryl said matter-of-factly, almost in a whisper. She looked down at the conference table, then added, “God help us.”

ON THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA,

TEN MILES NORTHWEST OF
 MERSA MATRUH, EGYPT
 THAT SAME TIME

The crew of the Egyptian warship El Arish, an American- built Oliver Hazard Perry-class guided missile frigate, treated the rescued members of the S.S. Catherine the Great as any other shipwreck survivors, offering them water, blankets, strong hot tea, and ful—pita sandwiches stuffed with fava and black beans fried together with meat, eggs, and onions. They were kept in the helicopter hangar on the aft end of the ship, out of sight of most of the rest of the crew. Several of the Night Stalkers received medical treatment for bums and shrapnel wounds by the Egyptian ship’s corpsman.

David Luger acted as the spokesman for the team when approached by the captain of the frigate, Commander Raouf Farouk, while Patrick, Hal, and Chris stayed away from the Egyptians in the center of the helicopter hangar, surrounded by commandos. “We are grateful to you for helping us, Captain,” David said as the captain approached. “You have saved our lives.”

“Afwan. You are welcome,” Farouk said. He looked at the men carefully. “And your name?”

“I’m Merlin.”

“Your full name, rank, and nationality?”