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The far wall of the room contained no murals. Instead it was dominated by a huge curtain, behind which was a gigantic TV screen. Communications gear of all shapes and sizes surrounded this screen. Radio transmitters, fax machines, scramble-cable printers, a secure Internet hookup—they looked like planets orbiting a rectangular star.

Usually found next to all this high-priced stuff was the chow table. It was well-stocked by the CIA-run kitchen located in the basement of the restaurant. The line of hot dishes was always substantial here, the coffee always fresh, the Cokes always ice-cold. Spooks had to eat too, and considering the location and the circumstances, the fare on Seven Ghosts Key was very good. But there was no hot food steaming today. No bucket full of icy Coke. Not even any coffee brewing.

Instead the buffet table was closed, the coffee machine stood mute, and there were three guys who looked very much like doctors sitting on folding chairs. In front of them was a smaller table with three black bags containing huge hypodermic needles opened up for all to see. And instead of plastic coffee mugs, there was a line of paper cups, each with several pills inside. None of this looked particularly inviting.

The first thing Delaney spotted as he and Norton walked in was the hypodermic needles. He almost passed out on the spot.

“Man, this is not going to be good,” he whispered. “Not for me. Not for anyone.”

They avoided the table of needles, and took seats in the last of five rows of chairs set up facing the big screen. The air-conditioning was working full blast, and it was actually chilly inside the room. Norton felt his sweat turn to ice; he wished he’d been able to finish one more beer. Delaney simply slumped in his chair and began a long series of burps.

More of the base’s invisible occupants drifted in. A few of the tech support people. The guys who ran the simulators. The security team. The CO of the Marine contingent, Captain Chou Koo—who everyone called “Joe Cool”—arrived with a flourish. Four members of the U.S. Army Aviation Corps wandered in next, distinctive in the bright green fatigues. Behind them were four Navy SEAL medics, the tiny Red Cross patches over their left breast pockets identifying their function. What the SEALs’ role was in all this Norton didn’t have a clue. But like the Army pilots, they had certainly managed to keep themselves well hidden until now.

Behind the SEALs came a man Norton had seen his first day on the island and not since. He was a tall, powerful-looking individual, early forties, with a slightly Nordic look about him. He was wearing a black flight suit and a pair of Keds sneakers, the same outfit Norton had seen him in the first time. His baseball cap had a patch above its bill that read: Angels Do It Forever.

Norton elbowed Delaney when this character walked in.

“Who is that guy?” he asked his colleague. “He seems familiar.”

Delaney burped once. “He looks like a pilot. But I haven’t the foggiest.”

Smitz came in next. The young CIA case officer arrived, as always, briefcase and omnipresent IBM NoteBook in hand. He nodded to Norton and Delaney, who returned his greeting with mock salutes. Others stood and shook his hand. Still others ignored him completely. Accompanying Smitz was a middle-aged CIA officer Norton knew only as Rooney. Norton had figured out that where Smitz was the one actually running the mystery operation, Rooney was the guy in charge of Seven Ghosts Key itself. Following them in were a half-dozen civilian types, unknown to Norton and Delaney, but undoubtedly CIA as well.

The last ones to arrive were Gillis and Ricco. They walked into the Big Room like aggrieved parties walking into court. Slightly flustered and confused, looking this way and that, checking out every door and window as if they were already plotting out an escape route. It was clear they wanted no part of whatever was about to happen here.

They were about to take seats when they spotted Norton and Delaney. Their demeanor changed instantly. Gone were the twin baffled looks. Both faces now turned red. They began walking over to Norton and Delaney. It was clear they wanted to talk.

“Oh, boy,” Delaney slurred. “Here we go…”

“You two assholes are dead meat,” Gillis growled at them upon arrival.

Neither Norton or Delaney moved a muscle. They remained seated and simply looked up at the two National Guard pilots.

“What’s your problem?” Delaney asked them calmly.

“You dickheads twisted something to get us assigned here. That’s the problem,” Ricco said through gritted teeth. “Now we’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere, without a clue as to what the deal is.”

“Hey, join the club,” Delaney said dismissively.

Gillis, the taller of the two, leaned in closer to them.

“We know this is some kind of weirdo practical joke of yours,” he said angrily. “And I swear, when I get the chance, I’ll kill both of you twice.”

Delaney just laughed at him. Norton didn’t. His shoulders were still feeling a bit heavy.

“I was asked to recommend a solid refueling crew for this mission,” Norton told them. “And you were the first choice. That’s the story, straight and square. Besides, I’ve got better things to do than play practical jokes on you two lugnuts.”

“We’re going to be away from home for two fucking months,” Ricco said, seething now with each syllable. “Do you know that? We got homes, families, things to do—not like you two cowboys.”

Norton just glared up at Ricco. Oh, yeah, recommending the Air Guard crew had been a mistake, he thought. But not for the reasons he’d been dreading.

He finally stood up and faced both men.

“Look, you meatballs,” he said. “We’re in the fucking military here. The service of the United States. You got a letter from the President, for Christ’s sake. There’s a mission to be flown and they asked for the best and I said you guys because you are the best at air-to-air. But I guess being an asshole doesn’t make any difference when it comes to that.”

Ricco and Gillis were suddenly stumped. Was Norton really flag-waving, or was it just part of a bigger gag?

“I got no desire to fly anything involving you two,” Gillis finally retorted. “Besides, I don’t have the faintest idea how to fly a helicopter, nor do I want to.”

Now it was Norton who was surprised.

“Helicopter?” he asked. “They want you guys to fly a copter too?”

“Don’t play cute,” Ricco told him. “Like you didn’t know?”

Norton just shook his head. “How the fuck would I know? No one knows anything about what’s happening here.”

Gillis took one more step towards Norton. He really was a huge guy, and Norton was sure that if he wanted to, Gillis could squash him like a bug.

“Like I said, I don’t want to be involved in anything that includes you two assholes,” Gillis hissed.

“Ditto,” Ricco chimed in.

Now Delaney was suddenly on his feet.

“So go ask to be relieved if you’re going to cry about it,” he told them angrily. He was about half Gillis’s size in both height and weight. “Then you can go back to hanging out at the dump on weekends.”

Gillis and Ricco started laughing at this.

“Hanging at the dump, eh?” Ricco said. “Well, it’s sure beats being demoted from driving jet fighters to choppers!”

Norton’s ears were stung by the comment.