Farouk held out his hand, and Patrick placed the telephone in it. The Egyptian took several deep breaths, then spoke in Arabic. After he had finished, Patrick turned to one of the Night Stalkers and asked, “What did he say?”

“He said the bridge and probably Engineering and Combat have been taken by American commandos. He ordered his crew to resist us to the maximum extent possible.”

“The only ones that will be hurt will be your men, Captain,” Patrick said. He spoke into his helmet communications system, then handed the phone back to Farouk a few moments later. “We have made contact with your headquarters, Captain. Tell them anyone approaching this ship will be attacked and killed. This is your only warning.” Farouk relayed the message, recommending that all forces be dispatched immediately to disable his ship and prevent it from falling into terrorist hands.

“Well, now the Egyptians know we’re here,” Briggs radioed to Patrick via their battle armor comm system. “Half the crew is ready to rush us from every corner of the ship, and soon half the Egyptian military will be barreling down on us. What’s the plan?”

“We need to get in contact with Martindale, have him get every asset we have available searching for Wendy,” Patrick said. “I want to turn this ship inside out looking for weapons, I want everyone to get fully recharged and rearmed, and then I want a plan of action to go in and rescue her.”

“Patrick,” Briggs said softly, “we still don’t know if she’s alive.”

“She’s alive. I know it.”

“But we don’t—”

“I said, she’s alive, dammit!” Patrick cried angrily. “I’m going to find her even if I have to move every grain of sand in the desert to do it.”

OVER THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA
 THAT SAME TIME

“You cannot go back, Sekhmet,” said retired Egyptian army general Ahmad Baris, President Kamal Ishmail Salaam’s national security adviser and longtime trusted friend of the family. Fifty-three-year-old General Baris lost most of his right leg in the 1973 Arab-Israeli War, burned off in a tank explosion, but he stayed in government to serve his country as best he could, rising through the ranks from onion-peeler and tailor to intelligence coordinator to tactician to presidential military adviser. “It is too dangerous. Al-Khan’s henchmen and the Muslim Brotherhood assassins are everywhere.”

“Not even to bury my husband?” Susan Bailey Salaam said in a low voice. Her head and arms were swathed in bandages, and an Egyptian army doctor had inserted an intravenous tube into a vein in her leg because the second- degree bums on her arms would not allow it.

“Especially not for a funeral,” Baris said sadly. “Trust me. You would not be safe. There will be a simple ceremony for your husband, no more. It is too dangerous otherwise.”