NINETEEN.

    The U.S. Air Force Special Operations helicopter streaked across the calm moonlit waters of Leyte Gulf. Up ahead loomed Dinagat Island and the site where two of their fellow warriors had been gunned down just days earlier. Only one of the men in the helicopter was on active duty but that didn't matter. Once a SEAL always a SEAL.

    Coleman and his team were coming to settle the score, but somewhere else in the interior of the island, under the thick jungle cover, was an American family that was undoubtedly scared witless. The former commander of SEAL Team 6 wished he could do something to help them, but right now that was out of his hands.

    Coleman and his men had moved to the side doors of the bird, two men to each side, their feet dangling over the edge, each man clipped to a safety harness in the event the helicopter had to make a drastic, evasive maneuver. They were all wearing night vision goggles, giving their eyes ample time to adjust.

    In addition, Coleman was plugged into an in-flight headset so he could communicate with the pilots. As he peered out the port door he listened to the chatter. The pilots were reporting four contacts on the FLIR moving toward the island from the east. They were right on time.

    To help mask their insertion Coleman had asked that choppers from the Belleau Wood make an overflight of the island while they were being inserted. The big CH-53 Sea Stallions would fly just south of the target area while the Pave Hawk came in from the north under a ridge

    line. Coleman wasn't at all worried about being picked up on radar.

    They would be flying too low for that. The problem was that when the sun came up they needed to be in position a little less than a mile from the general's camp.

    In order to do that, the Pave Hawk would have to drop them off closer to the target than he would have liked. The sentries at the field command post would probably never hear the Pave Hawk's rotors in the heavy, humid tropical air, and if they did, they might think nothing of it, but if the general decided to send out scouts it could be a problem. Coleman wasn't in the business of taking unnecessary risks when a solution as simple as arranging a fly over was available.

    The calm water vanished from beneath them and was replaced by a light sandy beach and then the thick jungle canopy. Coleman looked straight down, peering over the toes of his jungle boots. They were so low he felt as if he could reach down and grab a leaf. The helicopter began to climb as they worked their way up a ravine using their terrain-avoidance, terrain-following radar to hug the treetops. The pilot calmly called out one minute to insertion as the chopper weaved to the left and then back to the right as if it were meandering its way upstream.

    Coleman tugged on his leather gloves to make sure they were tight and placed a hand on the heavy coil of rope that lay between himself and Kevin Hackett. The pilot called out thirty seconds to insertion, his voice just a touch tighter this time, and then asked his door gunners to report in. The men, one on each side of the bird, looked out past their ominous 7.62mm miniguns and scanned the area, reporting all clear after just a moment. One by one Coleman and his men undid their safety tethers and grabbed on to hand straps on the sides of each door.

    Coleman's heart quickened and his chest tightened a bit as the helicopter started to slow. He'd gone through this drill hundreds of times and it never changed. He'd seen men die fast-roping in near perfect conditions. It was not something to be done half-assed. It was a task that needed to be performed with great care and focus.

    The second Coleman heard the Go word from the pilot he chucked the thick rope out the door and tore off his in-flight headset.

    Without hesitation he reached for the rope with one hand and then the other. Coleman launched himself out the door, pulled the rope close to his chest, and then loosened his grip. He dropped like a stone for the first thirty feet and then with ten feet to go he put on the clamps and slowed his descent.

    His boots broke the surface of the stream and he stopped knee deep in water. Coleman moved away from the rope, bringing his suppressed MP-10 up and sweeping the banks of the stream, his NVGs piercing the dark recesses of the area. Over his earpiece, he heard each of his men call out as they hit the ground, announcing they were clear.

    In the wake of the rotor wash the men moved quickly through the water to a predetermined rallying point on the east bank of the stream.

    The Pave Hawk rotated 180 degrees as the ropes were pulled back up, and then started its descent back toward the ocean. Normally the ropes would have been dropped and left behind, but Coleman and his men didn't have the time to gather and bury them. They needed to get to their mountaintop before the sun came up.

    The entire insertion took less than ten seconds. Coleman and his men moved out immediately, never looking up at the chopper as it left the area. Wicker took the point, followed by Coleman and then Hackett and Stroble. They moved in the stream carefully, picking their way through the rocks, their eyes and ears receptive to the slightest sign that they were not alone; their first order of business, to put as much distance between themselves and the infiltration point as possible.

    The Philippine Army helicopter approached the island from the southwest, the edge of the rising sun casting an orange glow across the thin horizon. Rapp sat in the back of the Bell UH-1 Huey with a Special Force's colonel from General Rizal's staff. Rizal did not like the idea of sending Rapp into General Moro's camp unaccompanied, so he had sent along his most trusted aide to make sure nothing happened to the mysterious American.

    Rapp wasn't crazy about having someone looking over his shoulder, but he had to admit, if anything went wrong it would be nice to have a high-ranking Philippine Special Force's officer around to settle things down. Rizal had assured him that Colonel Barboza was not a fan of General Moro. Barboza had served under Moro and was highly suspicious of his actions. The proof that Rapp had brought with him had confirmed some of what he suspected and much more.

    Fortunately, Colonel Barboza wasn't a big talker. Rapp had been with him now for over two hours and the officer had scarcely spoken a word. They'd boarded General Rizal's jet back in Manila just before 4:00 A.M. and flown to Surigao in the Central Philippines. They then jumped onboard the Huey for the relatively short flight over to Dinagat Island.

    Rapp had made only two calls on his secure satellite phone during that time. Both had been to Irene Kennedy. One confirmed that McMahon was in position to keep an eye on Ambassador Cox and the second confirmed that Coleman's team had been successfully inserted.

    Whether or not they were in place was still unknown. Rapp had the ability to contact them directly, but resisted the urge. Having spent most of his career in the field, he understood that they'd let him know their situation as soon as they were able. The plan was for Coleman to call him when he was in position.