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"Going over meteorological forecasts, ice and terrain conditions. "
"See any jazz in your crystal ball?"
"Too early." Hollis raised an eyebrow. "What plans are forming in your perverted mind?"
"I can recite and draw pictures of six different ways to board a ship by stealth. I've already familiarized myself with the design and deck layout of the Lady Flamborough, but until we learn whether we're coming in by parachute, by scuba, or by foot from hard beach or ice, I can only plot an outline."
Hollis nodded solemnly. "Over a hundred innocent people are on that ship. Two Presidents and the SecretaryGeneral of the United Nations.
God help us if one steps in our line of fire."
"We can't go in with blanks," Dillenger said caustically.
"No, and we can't drop from noisy helicopters with all weapons blasting.
We've got to infiltrate before the hijackers know we're there. Complete surprise is crucial."
"Then we hit 'em by 'stealth parachute' at night."
"Could be," Hollis acknowledged tersely.
Dillenger shifted uncomfortably in the canvas seat. "A night landing is dangerous enough, but dropping blindly on a darkened ship can mean slaughter. You know it, and I know it, Mort. Out of forty men, fifteen will miss the target and fall in the sea. Twenty will sustain injuries impacting on hard, protruding surfaces of the ship. I'll be lucky to have five men in fighting trim."
"We can't rule it out."
"Let's wait until more info comes in," suggested Dillenger. "Everything hinges on where the ship is found. Whether she's moored or sailing across the sea makes all the difference in the world. As soon as we receive word on her final status, I'll formulate a tight assault plan and lay it in your hands for final approval. "
"Fair enough," said Hollis agreeably. "How are the men?"
"Doing their homework. By the time we land at Punta Arenas, they'll have memorized the Lady Flamborough well enough to run around her decks blindfolded."
"A lot is riding on them this time out."
"They'll do the job. The trick is to get them on board in one piece.
"There is one thing," Hollis said, a deep apprehension on his face. "The latest estimate from intelligence sources on the strength of the hijackers . . . it just came in from the Pentagon. "
"How many are we talking about, five, ten, maybe twelve?"
Hollis hesitated. "Assuming the crew of the Mexican ore camer that boarded the cruise ship are also armed . . . we could be looking at a total of forty."
Dillenger gaped. "Oh, my gawd. We're going up against an equal number of terrorists?"
"Looks that way." Hollis nodded grimly.
Dillenger shook his head in shocked disapproval and drew a hand across his forehead. Then his eyes burned into Hollis's.
"Some people," he said disgustedly, "are going to get their butts stomped before this caper is over."
Deep in a concrete bunker tunneled into a hill outside Washington, D.C., Lieutenant Samuel T. Jones came rushing into a large office, panting as though he'd just run a two-hundredmeter dash, which indeed he had-only two steps shy of the exact distance from the communications room to the photoanalysis office.
His face was flushed with excitement, and he held a huge photograph spread between his upraised hands.
Jones had often rushed along the corridors during crisis exercise drills, but he, and the other three hundred men and women who worked in the Special Operations Forces Readiness Command, hadn't really put their hearts into it until now. Practice did not make the adrenaline pump like the real thing. After waiting like hibernating groundhogs, they had erupted into life when the alert on the Lady Flamborough hijacking came in from the Pentagon.
Major General Frank Dodge headed up the SOF He and several members of his staff were tensely awaiting the arrival of the latest satellite image depicting the waters south of Tierra del Fuego when Jones burst into the room.
"Got it!"
