“Just Merlin,” Luger replied. “No rank or title. We are all Americans.”

“Keeping that information secret is an insult for those of us who have just saved your lives,” Farouk admonished him. “Now, I order you to tell me your real name and rank, or I will throw you in my brig.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I will not,” David replied. “I will tell you that we are crew members of the S.S. Catherine the Great, a salvage vessel based in Klaipeda, Lithuania. I’m sorry, but our ownership papers and letters of transit were lost in the attack.”

“I understand,” Farouk said. There was no doubt in Farouk’s mind that these were soldiers—they looked, acted, and even moved like fighting men. And they were not sailors, either. “The bastardly Libyans think they own the Mediterranean. I am told you do not carry passports, either.”

“Sorry, sir. They went down with our ship as well.” That was true, but the passports that went down with the ship were all fakes. “We are all American merchantmen. As I told your first officer, if you allow me to call the American embassy in Cairo, they can help verify our identities.”

“This is a military matter now, and we have specific procedures to follow to verify your identities,” Farouk said, obviously angry at Luger’s lack of cooperation. “You will be placed in custody at our home base of Mersa Matruh and questioned. You will be treated fairly, I assure you, but since you were obviously involved in some military conflict with the Libyans, we can take no chances.” He motioned to the three men surrounded by the commandos. All three put their heads down while Egyptian intelligence officers snapped pictures of them and the other commandos. “And then there is the question of those three gentlemen. Unless they are spacemen from Mars and an oxygen atmosphere is poisonous to them, they must remove their equipment immediately.”

“The devices they are wearing are life-support equipment,” Luger lied. He turned toward the three, and they all took off their helmets with a gentle hissing sound. Photo strobes flashed despite their efforts to hide their faces. “They are under some distress if they take their helmets off. May they please put them back on, Captain?”

“My ship’s doctor will examine the men with their outfits off,” the captain said. “If they are in distress, they will be airlifted to the appropriate medical facility in Egypt for treatment—all the way to Cairo if necessary. They will be well treated, I assure you. But since that outfit is unknown to me, it will be removed, examined, and placed in secure storage at Mersa Matruh until we can ascertain that it is safe and no threat to us.”

Luger nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell them that right now. It will take a few moments to remove their outfits.” Luger bowed slightly to the captain, then went over to McLanahan, Briggs, and Wohl. “Bad news, guys,” he said. “The captain wants you to ditch the armor. He’s going to have his doc examine you; then he’s going to place us all into custody at Mersa Matruh.”