“My tragedy—and my hatred—is insignificant compared to what you must feel, Madame,” Shafik said, her voice flowing with relief and gratitude.

“No tragedy—or hatred—is insignificant,” Susan said quietly. “I assure you of that.”

“If you permit me, Madame,” Shafik said, “I would like to personally apologize to you for the breach in discipline and procedures by the Republican Guards on the day of your husband’s assassination. I have served in the Guards for almost ten years, and I have never witnessed such a flagrant dereliction of duties and responsibilities.” She removed her red beret, crushing it in her strong hands. “I am ashamed to wear the beret.”

“Don’t be, Captain—you earned the right to wear it,” Susan said. “It was the ones who took bribes and allowed themselves to be lured away from their posts that should strip themselves of the honor of wearing it, not you.”

“Yes, Madame,” Shafik said. “I assure you, I will do everything I can to avenge my president’s, your husband’s, assassination. Those who committed that deed do not deserve justice—they deserve retribution.”

Susan Salaam touched Shafik on her left cheek and nodded reassuringly. “And they shall have it, Captain,” she said quietly but sternly. “The killers of both our husbands shall feel our vengeance.” Shafik smiled, nodded, then snapped proudly to attention.

“We have your quarters ready, Sekhmet,” Baris said, pointing to a waiting armored staff car.

“I want to meet the commandos first.”

“Out of the question,” Baris said. “Captain?”

“The commandos have not allowed anyone except supply vessels near the ship, Madame,” Shafik said. “The ship is guarded continuously by at least twenty men on deck plus one of the commandos dressed in the strange combat equipment. We have made three attempts in the past two days to sneak aboard the ship and were caught every time. Our next option being considered is a massive assault.”

“I don’t believe that’ll be necessary,” Susan said. “They are keeping themselves imprisoned on the ship—I see no reason to risk any lives just so we can take them off to another prison. Let’s go have a talk with them.”

“The Egyptians are being extraordinarily cooperative all of a sudden, Muck,” David Luger observed. He had just entered the Combat Information Center aboard the Egyptian frigate El Arish and joined Patrick and several other members of the Night Stalkers, looking over charts and satellite photographs of Libya. “The cordon around us has relaxed—they moved their patrol boats out another half- klick. Still within visual range and easily within helicopter and deck gun range, but it takes the pressure off. All their fire-control radars and jammers have shut down. They’ve also agreed to send more medical supplies and extra food and water for our prisoners.” He set a folder on the chart table. “More NIRTSat photos, hot off the press.”