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He realized that he hadn't thought about his SEALs more than twice during the whole leave. Ardith was more than he had expected. He wondered just where they were going. They had left it open-ended. He knew she hated what he was doing, from the standpoint of danger if nothing else. He'd half convinced her that it wasn't all that dangerous, but he wasn't sure that she would accept that for long.

At last she had looked down at him and kissed him softly. "Look, I know what you do, and I'll freeze up with terror every time something happens in the world and I know you're going to be there. I'll endure it. I'll hate it. I'll put up with it to be with you. But one of these days I hope that you'll decide that you've done enough for your country in the Navy, and that it's time for you to serve in some other way, or to get out of government service and go in a different direction. That's what I'll be hoping."

He had gone over it a dozen times as he flew to San Francisco. Now he was waiting for a Navy plane to take off for North Island. He'd be home in a few hours. For the first time in two weeks he wondered how DeWitt was doing in the training sessions he had laid out for the platoon. They'd all deserved some time off. Each man had had his choice of a week's leave or two weeks'. Some of them had no family to go to, and felt a little uncomfortable out there in the civilian world. He knew the feeling.

It would be good to get back to Coronado and back with the SEAL program. He had a platoon to get filled up and trained as sharp as a fine saber. You never knew when a call to action might come.

21

Thursday, July 22
1340 hours
USS Monroe, CVN 81
Twenty miles off Mombasa, Kenya

The men had pored over the satellite photos, plotted out the area around the military headquarters, and come up with half-a-dozen different ways to roust the coup leader out of his stronghold.

"The one thing we don't know for sure is just where in that place the general has his headquarters — and if he's there," Don Stroh said.

"We have a few more problems too," he added. "Kenyan President Daniel Djonjo said he had Mombasa under control, but now we hear from him on a SATCOM radio that he was too optimistic. He's turned his force around, and is now concentrating on putting down a battalion of holdouts on the north side of town, off the island. He says he might be delayed there for four or five days before he can rout this bandit band."

"Thought you said you had a spy up in Nairobi trying to find out where our fat general is," Jaybird said.

Stroh grinned. "True. Last thing we heard from him, he was on his way to get inside the military headquarters. He's going in as a soldier, and hopes to fake his way through and pin down the spot we could hit with a few smart bombs."

"So why don't we just do it and worry about it later?" Magic Brown asked.

Stroh laughed. "Yeah, the military mind is working. I told you guys in China that you're in the diplomatic arm of the Navy right now. We can't spit until the politicos say we can. We can piss our pants waiting, but that's about all. There may be another complication.

"President Djonjo isn't happy the way our planes have been bombing his country. He says there must be a better way. We asked him how he would have stopped the tank, and he backtracked on that one. So even if we get a go from our President and his boys, we still have to clear it with President Djonjo."

Murdock stood. "Enough for today. We're all getting punchy. We'll take the afternoon off and rest up. I want our three tough-guy wounded SEALs to get checked out by the medics. Doc, your job is to get them down there. It wouldn't hurt for the rest of you to go see Yates in the hospital. He'd appreciate some visitors. Not all of you at the same time. Spread it out. After chow, we'll get together here at 1900 to go through this again. We might know more by then. Take a hike."

Ed DeWitt and Murdock talked to Stroh after the men left.

"What's the chances of the President's men making a decision on this soon?" DeWitt asked.

"Unlikely. Maybe in another day. Tomorrow sometime is my guess. Time difference is a big factor."

"We'll keep hoping," Murdock said.

1345 hours RX Military Headquarters Nairobi, Kenya

Muhammad Maji studied the boundary fence of the large military facility north of Nairobi. He had spent two days watching the place, trying to find a way inside. He had to get in, find out where the general was, get out, and radio the information to the U.S. military offshore. Not a tough job, an impossible one.

He had seen the guards at all three of the gates doubled within the past hour. There were interior guards walking the fences. The only way inside was through the gate in a vehicle. All he had to do was capture an army truck, kill the driver, take his clothes and ID, and drive in through the gate.

Simple.

Yes, and deadly if he failed somewhere down the line.

He moved to a better position along the road that led to the main gate. It would be the busiest. The best chance to get in and out. Now for the vehicle. There were some copies of old American jeeps, rugged little rigs, and most of them held only a driver. How?

He backtracked along the main route to the headquarters. Down a side street he spotted a bar where some lone soldier might stop to have a drink.

As he came closer, he saw it might be what he needed. It was a small drinking spot that had two of the jeep-like Army rigs parked outside. Why not just hot-wire one of the rigs and drive away? No. If he tried that, surely the bumper numbers on the stolen rig would be called in, and he'd never be able to drive out the gate. Besides, he needed a uniform.

He waited a half hour. Then a military man came out and headed for one of the rigs. He was a lieutenant, one with a swagger. Maji came out of the doorway and fell into step beside the officer. He was no larger than Maji.

"What are you doing?" the officer asked.

Maji showed him the .38-caliber snub-nosed revolver that was aimed at his side. "I'm going to borrow your transport. Hope you don't mind."

At the rig Maji had the officer get in and drive. Maji was close beside him. They went down a side street and into a small cluster of brush and woods just outside of the town, but short of the military headquarters.

Maji pushed the revolver into the man's side and fired. The round rammed through a lung and into the officer's heart, killing him instantly.

Five minutes later, Maji had pulled the uniform off the man, donned it himself, hid the body under some brush, and with the officer's credentials and wallet drove toward the main gate. He would simply hold up his ID card the way he had seen many others do. Since he was an officer, he would be given less scrutiny. It seemed to him today that the guards were more concerned with people leaving the complex than entering it.

He came up to the guard post, showed his ID card, and was waved on through before he could stop. He shifted the stick drive into second, and drove on into the headquarters. He did a quick tour of the area, driving most of the streets. The building that had the most guards was a three-story affair with no windows and .50-caliber machine guns mounted and manned at each corner.

He stopped two soldiers walking by. They saluted, and he returned the salutes, then spoke to them in Swahili.

"Men, where is the general's office? I have some dispatches for him from Mombasa, but I can't find out where he is."

"Sir, it's there, right in front of you. The only entrance is on the other side. You'll need all sorts of clearances to get in there."

"That I have," Maji said. He nodded at the men, and they scurried away. Maji drove around again. Better to keep moving. How did he know for sure the general was inside? He had to have precise information to send to the men on the American carrier.