“What are you doing? What are you doing here?” Farouk shouted as he saw his men drop to the nonskid deck, their bodies quivering from the electric shocks they received. He pointed an angry finger at Luger. “You told me you meant us no danger!” He saw Patrick approach and turned his anger towards him. “Are you the one responsible? I will see to it that you are put to death for this act of aggression! We saved you and your men from the Libyans, and now you dare do this?”

“Captain, I am Castor,” Patrick said. He paused as he listened to instructions Wohl issued to his men. The Night Stalker commandos quickly began to remove the Egyptian sailors’ uniforms and put them on. “My men and I won’t hurt you, and we have no desire to take your ship, unless you do not cooperate with us.”

“Won’t hurt us? Won’t take my ship? You are terrorists! Saboteurs! Spies!” Farouk screamed. “Putting on the uniform of another country’s army is not permitted!”

“This is not war, Captain, and we are not soldiers,” Patrick said. “Sir, I’m going to ask one more time for your cooperation.”

“I refuse. You may kill me if you wish.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Captain,” Patrick said. “I want you to contact your headquarters on Mersa Matruh. Tell them I have taken you hostage and warn them not to approach this ship.”

“I told you, I will not cooperate,” Farouk said. “I order you to put down those weapons and surrender.”

“That’s not likely to happen, Captain,” Patrick said. “But I’m sure you’ll reconsider my offer to contact your headquarters once we reach the bridge.”

“The bridge?” Farouk gulped. “You ... you think you will take my bridge? You will all be dead in ten minutes.”

“Maybe so,” Patrick said. “But in five minutes, we’ll have control of your bridge.” He switched the view on his electronic visor to an electronic briefing Chris Wohl was giving to the Night Stalkers. Patrick saw that Wohl had called up an electronic blueprint of the U.S.-made Perry-class frigate and was briefing his men on their assault. In less than five minutes, they were ready. Wohl took the port-side rail, Briggs the starboard rail, followed by fifteen Night Stalkers each; Patrick went atop the hangar and made his way forward along the upper gun deck with twenty commandos.

Because of the tense situation in the Med following the Libyan raids, the deck was full of lookouts, all armed with American-made machine guns. They were all doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing—searching the sea, continually scanning for threats using night-vision goggles and infrared sniperscopes—so it was easy to simply step within a few feet of them unnoticed, quietly knock them unconscious with a quick zap, disable or capture their weapons, and move on. McLanahan’s, Briggs’s, and Wohl’s electronic visors showed each crewman on deck in stark relief several yards away, and their amplified hearing equipment allowed them to take cover before a crew member came through a hatch or unexpectedly appeared around a comer.