“We can’t wait until we dock before we do something, sir,” Chris Wohl said in a low voice. Although they were all civilians now, retirees, Chris Wohl would never even consider calling McLanahan, Luger, or Briggs anything else but “sir,” although he might put a definite sneer in his voice if he disagreed with their orders—as he did now. “Mersa Matruh is a combined-forces base—they have close to fifty thousand troops stationed there from all three services.”

“We’re not supposed to be fighting the Egyptians,” David Luger said. “Once we contact the American embassy, we’ll be let go. But if we get into a shit storm with the Egyptians, they’re just as likely to kill us.”

“Our embassy has no idea why we’re here,” Patrick said. “No real passports, no visas—and the President already tried once to have us all arrested. We can’t go running to the embassy for help.”

“I’m forced to agree with the master sergeant, Muck,” Hal Briggs said. “They’ll treat us like captured terrorists. Our cover will be blown wide open.”

Patrick thought for a moment longer; then: “Sarge, how many sailors on this ship?”

“About two hundred total. The U.S. Navy doesn’t usually carry Marines on little frigates, but the Egyptians do. Usually two marine platoons max, thirty or forty men— those will be the best-trained counterforces. We’ve seen one platoon in here already, but only a dozen of them armed.”

Luger tensed up as he saw movement nearby—the captain was getting tired of waiting and was getting his men together to start taking them into custody. The commandos surrounding the three leaders were trying to look casual and relaxed, but they could sense their tension. “Looks like the captain’s coming over here. Time’s up.”

“How do you want to play it, sir?” Wohl asked Patrick. Patrick got to his feet, turned away from the oncoming Egyptian captain, and hefted his helmet. “Let’s take this boat,” he said, and he quickly slipped his helmet into place.

“Hoo-rah,” Wohl said tonelessly as he and Briggs got to their feet. “Good decision, sir.”

“An iznukum!” Farouk shouted when he saw Patrick put on the helmet. “Minfadlukum!” But when he saw Briggs and Wohl also put their helmets on, he knew things were turning ugly. “Waif!”' He motioned to his marine guards. “Ihataris! Waif!”

The three armored commandos moved out in a triangle formation, opposing the three main bodies of guards. At the same instant, the commandos also fanned out, moving with surprising speed since it seemed as if they were so relaxed and tired mere moments ago. The electronic energy bolts fired, striking the armed guards, and almost before the stunned guards hit the steel helicopter hangar deck, the Night Stalker commandos had their weapons in their hands. In less than fifteen seconds, every armed Egyptian sailor in the hangar was unconscious, and the commandos were closing, dogging, and guarding the steel hangar doors and hatches, weapons in hand.