The black streak that arced across the sky made no sound, nor did the tiny black speck left in the air when it had passed. Slowly, however, the speck grew large and round, a black hole in the crowd of stars in the night sky. The hole grew steadily, blocking out more and more stars. And then there was a splash, and after that, nothing. A large sheet of black canvas floated to the surface of the water, but after a few minutes, disintegrated completely, adding only 38 mL of water to the sea and roughly one fiftieth of a millibar of carbon dioxide to the air.

Ten minutes later and six kilometers away, a dark figure rose up out of the water and waded toward shore. West Bank was not a safe place, and the moment the figure set foot on dry sand, it became a little less safe.

The others had all been relatively local. Kirov and Xi'an had been in Jerusalem already; Melbourne, Hyderabad, and Serajevo had been in Cairo, Amman, and Beirut, respectively. They were all waiting on their point man, whom Chai had not been allowed to choose himself. He wanted to know why.

Heavy footfalls came from the direction of the stairwell. "Jericho, I assume," said a deep voice.

Chai turned his head to look at the approaching man. Tall, powerfully built, with curly black hair that was bordering on long and a few days' stubble on his face. His clothing was that of a poor man, worn thin but stitched up where holes had appeared. But Chai could see flashes of black at the man's wrists and throat; underneath the layers of coarse cloth, a form-fitting sneak suit covered the man's skin.

The wall screen produced a floor plan of the embassy.

"Enemy forces infiltrated here, here, and here, by means of rapid-deployment drop pods. Remote surveillance shows us that their uniforms bear no sigils or insignias. Observed armament includes SP-19 fully automatic rifles, H160 flashbangs, claymores, and at least four automated turrets placed inside the major points of ingress. We estimate between 10 and 25 enemy soldiers, mostly deployed throughout the building's interior. It was designed as a hardened fortress during the waning days of Jerusalem's more turbulent years, and the enemy is exploiting this. At this time we don't know what limits exist on their munitions and rations.

"Upon successful seizure of the embassy, the enemy force contacted local authorities and informed them of the situation. As of 2000 hours last night, the International Fleet had 24 hours to release the terrorist mastermind Jachym Cerekwica, leader of a small terrorist sect expressly opposed to the IF and operating mostly in eastern Europe. Every half hour after their deadline they will kill one hostage, starting with security staff and working their way toward the ambassador, through his family, of course."

"Who's this Cerekwica?" Melbourne asked. "Is the IF willing to meet their demands if we can't exfil the ambassador?"

"Couldn't if we wanted to. Mr. Cerekwica was serving time on Io until an unfortunate mishap involving another inmate and a sharpened ceramic tile six months ago."

Kirov was looking skeptical. "Why were we brought in? Why the black op?"

Jericho was pacing slowly, hands in his pockets. He was not a particularly fit man, but he did have a casual grace to his movements. "That's the sticky part," he said. "The surveillance footage we have of the infiltration has positively identified two of the enemy soldiers as known followers of Cerekwica." The display cycled through several photographs of the two men. "Local and international authorities are both convinced that these are Cerekwica's soldiers acting on behalf of their leader. And they're right, but they aren't seeing the larger picture. Cerekwica's organization was more bark than bite; they're fanatics and they hate the IF, but they didn't have the resources to do much about it. Cerekwica is an extremely intelligent and persuasive man, and given time, he would have risen high; we saw that he didn't. However, that leaves the question: where did his followers get these toys they have here?"

Rabin knew, but Hyderabad said it out loud. "The Gray Wolves."

"As always, there's not proof, and frankly, we don't want them in the spotlight any more than they do. We don't know what the Wolves' interest in this is, but what we can be pretty sure of is that the terrorists in the embassy are just pawns. Who knows what they've been told or promised; we can't count on anything they say to be true, because they may not know their real objective themselves."

"But you have some idea," Kirov prompted. She was studying Jericho carefully.

"As to the Wolves' goal? None," said Jericho. "But we think we know what they intend."

The display flicked to a satellite photo of the embassy. "This intelsat was moved into position as soon as we learned of the infiltration. We didn't see the infiltration itself, except for what we have on the building's security cameras, but what we do see from our satellite is that one of the drop pods landed in the central courtyard, where local authorities couldn't see. Here you see munitions being unloaded from this drop pod. Melbourne, care to tell the group what these are?" Jericho pointed to several orange and black boxes.

"Industrial blasting charges," Melbourne said, darkly. "Used in belt mining to break up big rocks into manageable small rocks. They're, ahem, strong."

Rabin decided that if a demo specialist called a bomb "strong", it was.

"They plan to blow the place after their getaway?" asked Xi'an, who seemed to be one of the less experienced members of the group.

"They might have been told to do so," said Jericho. "But if the Wolves provided them with their munitions, what we have to worry about is whether the Wolves intend to level the place before the time limit is up."

"Why?" Serajevo now. "What do they gain from it?"

The wall screen displayed a map of the area around the embassy, with streets and buildings drawn in.

"Kirov will be placed here; Hyderabad will be placed here. These positions provide clear shots at the windows of the east and south faces of the embassy, respectively, as well as the south courtyard. No one gets through that courtyard, is that understood? From the gate to the front door is no man's land. Local authorities have been informed that the IF is handling the situation and ordered them not to move on the embassy, but the Israeli government is notoriously stubborn when dealing with terrorism. We can't afford to let them botch this, so do what has to be done."

The snipers, Hyderabad and Kirov, nodded. They would. They were professionals.

The screen flipped back to the floor plan.

"The terrorists will have taken the building's command center, so they'll have an eye on almost every corridor. Red dots on the screen are holocams; know them. They've cut the feed to the satlink, however, so Serajevo will have to be inside the building to tap their feed."

"I've gone over the blueprints and wiring plans," said Serajevo. She looked grim. "I'll have to get into the basement."

Jericho nodded. "Which is fine. Melbourne will need to plant our explosives."

"If we put them in the basement," Melbourne explained, "the building should simply cave in on itself, instead of throwing debris everywhere and knocking down nearby buildings. Provided that those blasting charges are disarmed, of course."

"Disarming the charges is our first order of business," said Jericho. "That's the most unstable variable in this situation, and we need to remove it from the equation. Melbourne and Serajevo will take care of that, and then proceed to the basement, at which time Melbourne will plant the explosives and Serajevo will tap into security."

"And me?" Rabin asked. It was the first time anyone had heard him speak, save Jericho. "Do I wait for them to finish before snagging the ambassador?"

"No," Jericho said. "There isn't time. When the Wolves try to trigger the charges remotely--"

"If," Xi'an said.

"--they'll know we've been there, and they'll order the terrorists to start shooting hostages. Perhaps even the ambassador."

"So what about me?" Rabin asked. "Run real fast past the cameras and hope they don't see?"

Jericho looked at Rabin. "They sent you, Mr. Haifa. Specifically. You must have something going for you that makes you worth the trouble."

Rabin bristled, but said nothing.

"Haifa and any hostages he can collect will be designated alpha team. Melbourne and Serajevo are bravo, and Kirov and Hyderabad are charlie. Xi'an will be working the comms here and I'll be coordinating the op. Everything clear so far?"

There was murmured assent.

Scorpion AIT had changed him, that much was certain. He'd hated Hale and his lessons, hated the sneaky, back-stabbing mentality Hale tried to instill. He'd hated them enough to purposefully fail an exam just to escape. And he'd been happy. He'd been free.

Except some of that mentality had taken hold, and now, he preferred to operate in darkness rather than light. He preferred that his enemy never see him coming.

He had killed men in the past year with the SOTF. Not many, but some. It was easier than he'd have thought. The guilt he'd expected to feel, the disgust toward himself--it never came. Somehow, that made it worse for Rabin. So he rarely killed.

Now, crawling across the roof of the IF Embassy in Jerusalem, he wondered if he would have to kill today. And he wished it were night, because night made it so much easier not to.

Or, failing that, it made it harder to see his victims' faces.

His sneak suit was doing its best to match the shingles of the rooftop. The technology was new, and Rabin was far from invisible. The mimetic polycarbon could copy color, much like a chameleon's skin, but texture and shadow imitation were rather undeveloped. If he held still the effect would fool from a distance, and that was all he needed it to do; as far as the world would be concerned, the SOTF was not here today, and his entrance had to be a secret from the authorities and media, as well as the terrorists. Once inside the embassy, he would switch the mimic function off. Its color-cycling was too slow, and would always be trying to catch up, making him even more visible.

He had a silenced pistol strapped to his thigh, and a small needler--loaded with sedative-tipped pins-- affixed to his forearm. There was also a pouch at his hip, which contained gauze, a hypodermic with several colored plastic vials, and a panic button. Along with the bud in his ear and the patch on his throat, these were all he took with him into the embassy.

Rabin was a firm believer in skill. Gadgets were for amateurs.

The embassy was square-shaped, boxing in a well-manicured central courtyard. Rabin was moving along the roof of the east side, toward the predesignated insertion point. His eyes scanned the buildings to his right, trying to spot the dark shape he knew was there, somewhere. He could not see it. "Alpha almost in position," he breathed.

"I got you," came Kirov's voice in his ear. "I like a man that takes his time."

Rabin grinned to himself.

"Tracking three targets just inside point of entry."

"Three?"

"Looks like one is being relieved. They're chatting. Care to wait?"

"Why do one at a time when we can do it for thrice the trouble?"

"Mmm, not afraid of a challenge either."

"Stay in the game, Kirov," said the droning voice of Xi'an. Rabin disliked him already.

"Fuck you," said Kirov, cheerfully.

"In position," Rabin said.

"There are two talking to one another a few meters south of you, and one a meter to the north. If you've got the one standing by himself, I have the two standing together."

"Whenever you're ready."

"At your leisure," Kirov purred.

Rabin gripped the edge of the rooftop, murmured a silent prayer, and swung himself over.

He smashed through the glass, tumbled across the carpet, coming up on one knee and raising his arm. He paid no attention to the twin crashes behind him; his needle sliced through the air and buried itself in the neck of the soldier in black fatigues standing before him, just beginning to raise his rifle. There was hardly any blood; the needle was too thin to do any real damage. But the sedative it carried was extremely fast acting, and the soldier found that he hadn't even the strength to squeeze his rifle's trigger. He fell.

Rabin rose, and glanced behind him. Two dead, one hit above the ear, the other in the eye. They lay on the floor amidst the scattered glass shards. Rabin felt nothing looking at the dead men. They weren't his mess, however, and he did not have to feel bad about that.

"Two confirmed dead, one incapacitated. Good kills, Kirov."

"Any time, baby," came the response.

Thirty seconds later, local authorities received a telephone call from the terrorists ordering them to lift the disruption. The Israeli police swore to them that they were not to blame, and that they themselves were experiencing the same difficulties. The terrorists informed the Israeli police that a hostage would die once every 15 minutes until the disruption ended, and hung up.

Jana was lying flat atop the roof when the first hostage died. She did not see it happen, but she heard the gunshot. Xi'an informed everyone of the situation shortly after. He seemed to Jana to be entirely too unconcerned.

11 minutes after that, she and Melbourne received their infil order. Haifa had cleared out the immediate area, and was now searching for the hostages. They were on their own.

Jana went first, leaning over the edge of the rooftop to throw her pack through the shattered window, and then swinging herself inside. Melbourne followed suit. Once inside, Jana crouched and opened her pack. She drew from within a silencer, and attached it to her pistol. She then slipped the pack on, chambered a round, and switched off the weapon's safety. Melbourne was looking at the map of the embassy they'd been provided. He seemed to Jana to be entirely too at ease.

Melbourne pointed down the hall. "This way." He loaded and silenced his pistol as they walked. "So, you're from Bosnia, eh? That's gotta suck."

Jana shut him up with a chilly glance. She wondered if he was the type who talked when he was nervous. She hoped not.

They located the stairwell without incident, though they did pass several unconscious men in dark fatigues sporting needler darts. Haifa had been thorough. Once they emerged from the stairwell on the ground floor, Melbourne started to behave more cautiously. Haifa would not have been here; any terrorists they met would be awake and trigger happy.

Melbourne consulted the map. He'd marked out in red where the most effective places to put charges would be, provided that you had no regard for collateral damage. The nearest was a load-bearing wall down the corridor and around the corridor. They crept silently.

They could hear the voices before they reached the corner. One male, one female. Jana didn't know the language. Melbourne seemed to; he listened more carefully. Jana made eye contact, and Melbourne signaled that he would stay high if she went in low. She nodded, and readied her pistol. Melbourne held up three fingers. And then two. And then one.

Jana dove out into the adjoining corridor, firing two quick shots into the back of one target. Above her there were three chirps, and crimson blossoms appeared on the dark uniform of the second. Jana rose, stepped forward, and put another bullet into each target's head while Melbourne checked to make sure there had been no one nearby to hear.

Jana knelt, and checked them for dog tags. None. The targets did have their names printed on the breast of their fatigues, however. The woman, whom Jana had killed, had been named N ESPEDAL. Jana dragged the bodies out of sight while Melbourne set to work on the black and orange box they had been guarding.

Melbourne finished quickly; the industrial explosive had not been altered, so it was a simple matter to disarm it. When he finished, and replaced the plastic cover, Jana contacted the nest.

"Xi'an here," came the response in her ear. "Go ahead."

"This is alpha," he breathed, shaping the words but making no sound. "I've checked the cafeteria, the assembly hall, and all three conference rooms. There are no fucking hostages."

"Are you certain you had the right rooms?" Xi'an asked. "The conference rooms-"

"I have the right fucking rooms, you stupid fucking twat. Put Jericho on."

"I'm here, Haifa. We've been over the floorplan, there just aren't any other areas large enough to hold that many hostages."

"Then obviously they aren't holding all of them in the same place," Rabin sneered. "If you had to hold trained soldiers hostage, would you want them together?"

"It's logistically impractical to separate them. Three men with automatic rifles can intimidate ten unarmed soldiers just as easily as five. Split them up and you need twice as many men guarding your hostages."

"Well I haven't run into nearly as much resistance in here as you jokers told me to expect. So far I've put down six and slipped past four, and I've been through most to the building. Biggest bitch so far is avoiding the goddamn security cameras--and you might ask Serajevo to get her ass in gear on that. But if the terrorists aren't patrolling, where the fuck are they?"

Jericho took several moments to respond. "Perhaps they more pertinent question is, 'Why don't they think they need their men partolling?'"

"I do not fucking like this," Rabin said. After a moment, he added, "And you aren't telling me something."

"I'll tell you when you need to know," Jericho replied. "In the mean time, Xi'an and I will go over the floorplans more carefully and contact you if we find anything. Keep searching. Room for room if you have to. Another hostage was shot six minutes ago; number three goes in nine. Keep in mind that the clock is ticking." Jericho cut transmission.

"Son of a bitch." Rabin turned and kicked the unconscious terrorist at his feet savagely.

He tried to call up the floorplan in his head. He had the general layout memorized, and knew the locations of the places of interest--the assembly hall, cafeteria, conference rooms, command center, etc.--but he could not recall each individual room. There were simply too many; his memory didn't hold that kind of detail.

It was possible that after the loss of radio communications many of the soldiers headed to the building's command center. It was a logical enough thing to do; without contact with command, they were easy targets--that had been the idea behind disrupting communications. Perhaps they were now clustered in and around the command center.

They couldn't hold all the hostages there. It would be too crowded to operate. But perhaps the more important hostages--the ambassador, his family, and possibly his chief of security--were being held there, where the terrorists' commander could keep an eye on them all. As for the unfortunate late-workers and the building's security personnel, they would be in two or three separate groups scattered around the embassy. The internal phone lines were still be functional, and the guards for each hostage group could keep in touch with the command center using those. Rabin did the math in his head. Kirov had killed two enemy soldiers, and he had darted six. Plus the four he'd slipped past, that was twelve. Whether the hostages were split into two or three groups, chances were that six guards would be required, divided evenly. That was eighteen.

Intel had estimated between 10 and 25, and Rabin was betting high. There were as many as 7 terrorists guarding the command center.

Shit.

Conceivably, if he had the embassy's security personnel with him it would be easier. The backup would certainly be a pleasant change from the mission so far. But Rabin didn't know where they were, and there would be at least two or three guards with each group, their rescue only marginally easier than taking the command center itself. And on top of that, Serajevo and Melbourne were still working on the bombs, which meant that the Wolves could still level the place at any moment. Rabin couldn't afford to waste time.

"Alpha to charlie."

"Copy, alpha," came Hyderabad's voice.

"I hear you, alpha," said Kirov.

"I've gotta take the command center, and it looks like the terrorists are throwing a party in there. You two up for crashing it?"

"You have to ask?" Kirov said.

Hyderabad was not so enthusiastic. "Jericho?"

"I'm here. Alpha, we need them to cover our escape."

"I ain't gonna have anybody to escape with if I don't get some help in here," Rabin growled. "So you either get your fat ass down here and give me a hand, or send them in."

"Watch it, alpha."

"I don't move till I see some backup, Jericho. And another hostage dies in seven minutes. Take your time."

Silence.

"Alright, charlie," Jericho said, darkly. "Infiltrate and assist alpha's assault. And be careful."

"Understood," Hyderabad said.

Kirov simply purred.

And then Xi'an contacted them.

"Bravo team, respond."

"Bravo here," Jana replied.

"Where are you?"

"We're secured the last charge. Melbourne's working on it now."

"Abort," Xi'an said. "Get away from there right now."

Melbourne stopped. "Say again, Xi'an? Abort? We're right here; I'll have it disarmed in ninety seconds."

"Negative, bravo team, evacuate the area now!"

"I have this," Melbourne said, determinedly.

"Melbourne," Jana said.

Jericho came on the comm. "A tight-beam satellite transmission just left the embassy," he said, his voice tense. "If they've reported to the Wolves that their communications are down and soldiers aren't reporting in, the Wolves'll cut their losses and blow the place!"

"Then maybe you ought to stop distracting me," Melbourne said, his fingers sorting through tangles of wires.

"Melbourne, we've got to evac!" Jana said, more urgently now. She, for one, had no interest in dying.

"Get clear, Serajevo," he said. Sweat was appearing on his brow.

Something's wrong, Jana thought. He can't do it.

She grabbed his arm. He broke her grip and shoved her, hard. Jana stumbled, but did not fall. "Go!" Melbourne shouted. He tossed her his pack.

"Evac, Serajevo," Jericho said. To Melbourne he said nothing.

Jana was a survivalist. She didn't need to be told twice. She shouldered Melbourne's pack and bolted.

Jana was a hell of a runner; she got halfway to the nearest of the building's corners before the ground shook and the air knocked her over. She hit the carpet hard, and hadn't even time to turn over before very heavy things fell on her.

"Alpha to Xi'an," he breathed, once the rumble subsided. "What the fuck was that?!"

Xi'an's response was a few seconds delayed. "Still assessing the damage, alpha. What is your condition?"

Rabin said nothing, because at that moment, five men in black fatigued sprinted past from the direction of the command center heading north, toward the shockwave's epicenter. Rabin pressed tighter into the alcove, and once they were past, slid to the other side, so they would not see him if they glanced back. He did not move or speak, even without making noise, until they had rounded a corner.

"I'm fine," he said. "What the fuck just happened?"

"Our terrorist friends let the Wolves know that they have company. Looks like the Wolves tried to pull the plug. We've rerouted Kirov and Hyderabad toward the detonation site."

"I have visual confirmation of five enemy soldiers moving toward that explosion."

"I'll advise them."

"Bravo team?"

Xi'an said nothing.

Jericho's voice came on the comm. "We've been unable to make contact with either of them." A pause. "And neither of their suits are transmitting their vitals anymore."

Rabin swore under his breath.

"You said five bogies left the command center to check out the explosion, alpha?"

Rabin pushed down his anger and replied, "That's right."

"That means that the command center should be nearly underfended."

Rabin was silent.

"Charlie will do what they can with the five scouting the rubble, but we don't know how much time you have until they return. Better move it, alpha."

"Understood," Rabin growled.

He pushed off from the wall and jogged down the corridor, glancing back over to assure himself that the five men with SP-19s weren't behind him. It was not far, and he slowed to a walk when he came close, soft-soled boots silent on the carpeted floor. He moved to the door, tested the handle; it was locked, but the door moved inward slightly when he applied pressure. The security bolts had not been engaged. Rabin rested his fingers on the palm of his glove, over the needler's trigger pad, and with his other hand he drew his pistol, releasing the safety and loading the chamber.

Rabin drew back, and threw his weight forward, throwing out a kick that landed beside the door's deadbolt. Wood splintered; the door swung inward. Rabin rushed forward, sweeping his gun and forearm-mounted needler in synch.

The command center was not large, and when there had been soldiers in here it must have been rather cramped. The group inside was small; one adult male, two female, and one girl in her early teens. they looked very frightened.

But no soldiers.

Except the one who put a pistol to Rabin's temple.

A pile of rubble close to two stories along its ridge lay across most of the length between the two northernmost corners of the building, spilling debris out across the central courtyard as far as the south side, and completely flattening the wall that separated the embassy's grounds from Jerusalem. The road beyond was completely blocked by wreckage, and the buildings on the far side were not in good shape. The dividing wall had absorbed most of the blast, but the damage to the surrounding area was not minor.

"Oh shit," Kirov said, from beside him. But he'd already spotted them. Bodies, underneath the uppermost layer of rubble. They'd have been on the third floor at the time of the explosion.

The hostages.

From the cracked-open shell of the building emerged five men in black fatigues, clambering over rubble, moving toward Varun and Kirov. Varun crouched down immediately, and reached for the buttons at his hip. He engaged the chameleon effect; a moment later Kirov followed suit. She, however, had lifted her rifle and was sighting the terrorists. "Mother fuckers," she spat, the hot rage audible in her voice.

"Steady," Varun said, reaching out to place a gloved hand over the lens of her scope. "Charlie to nest."

"Xi'an here, charlie team. Bad news--looks like you've got bogies headed your way. Five of them."

"On the ball today, are we?" Kirov said. "Why don't you get Jericho and go play in the kiddie pool while the grownups talk."

A pause, and then Jericho's voice. "My ability to coordinate this op is dependent upon minimal distraction, ladies and gentlemen. This had better be important."

"We've got casualties. Looks like one of the hostage groups was in the north sector."

Another pause. "Any idea how many?"

"Not yet," Kirov said. "Looks like the terrorists are searching for their men now though. Permission to engage?"

"Hyderabad?"

Varun watched the figures below. "They're on alert. We'll get maybe three before we're shot."

"I can take three by myself," Kirov said.

"Hold, Kirov," said Jericho.

Kirov scowled.

"There's more bad news," Jericho said.

"We're starting to get used to it," Kirov sneered. "With all due respect, sir, I think you've fucked this op pretty thoroughly."

"We've lost contact with alpha."

Kirov was silent. Varun asked, "Vitals?"

"Still normal. He's alive."

"What about bravo team?"

"We haven't been able to locate either of them. All that it means is their suits have suffered damage and aren't transmitting anymore. We have Melbourne's last known position at the epicenter of the blast, and Serajevo's roughly one hundred fifty meters west." Again Jericho paused. "If the debris is too thick, don't bother looking for Melbourne. We can guarantee that he didn't survive that blast, and the damage to his suit would have been so extensive that we needn't worry about recovering it before dustoff. I'll leave it at your discretion."

"What are you doing for Haifa?" Kirov said. Demanded was perhaps too strong a word, but only slightly.

"We're working on ascertaining his situation," Jericho said. "We'll be in touch."

"Goddamn it," Kirov said, to the dead connection.

"Shh," Varun said. He listened. "Sirens."

"They wouldn't," Kirov said.

Below, the terrorists took cover--and there was plenty. The blare of the loudspeaker meant nothing to Varun; he did not speak Hebrew. But the message was the same in any language. Drop your weapons or we kill you.

"They would," he said.

The terrorists opened fire on the Israeli police. The Israeli police opened fire on the terrorists. The Israeli police outnumbered the terrorists. The terrorists outgunned the police. It was a stalemate. And the terrorists started to fall back.

"Those fucking idiots," Kirov said. "The terrorists are going to get away and tell their command and then the other hostages are fucking dead."

"Agreed," Varun said, lying down and sighting. A feral grin found its way onto Kirov's face, and she followed suit. "I'll work my way down the line from the south. You come from the north. Last one to the center man buys the victory drinks."

Kirov switched off the safety. "Thought Muslims couldn't drink."

"I'm not a very good Muslim," Varun replied. And he fired.

Two men fell with bullet holes in their heads. The others immediately dove for cover. Kirov hit one more in the shoulder before they were out of sight, hidden behind jutting concrete. They continued to lay down suppressing fire at the Israeli police, from whom they were not completely shielded. A second later one man rose and opened fire upon the open structure of the embassy. His aim was indiscriminate; he could not see them from this distance. But he did have some idea of sniper tactics, because he aimed for the high places, and both Varun and Kirov had to keep low. When the bullets stopped they sighted again. The three men were running for the cover of the embassy corridors. Kirov fired first, taking out the man who'd fired upon them. Varun sighted the man in the lead and squeezed the trigger.

The last man, however, made it to the safety of the building's now-exposed interior, and Varun lost sight of him.

"Mother fucker!" Kirov said. She shouted to the Israeli police, who could not see them. "Thanks for the help, you stupid worthless-"

"Jericho," Varun said.

"Copy, charlie team."

Rabin took in the room in a single sweeping glance, assessing his options. The control room was rather small, mostly consoles and monitors and utilitarian furniture. The hostages were sitting in the back. The females had been bound hand and foot with zip ties, and gagged with handkerchiefs. There were tears on the face of the little girl. The only male hostage was the ambassador, who was bound to a chair. He alone had not been gagged, and the bruises on his face told Rabin that he'd just missed a rather spirited interrogation a short while ago.

Rabin wondered if the ambassador had cracked; he wondered what there was to tell these men in the first place. None of this made any sense to Rabin.

His commander hadn't been telling him anything. Perhaps theirs would.

The man weilding the pistol stayed out of Rabin's field of view. "Take your finger off the trigger. Set the gun down on the floor."

Rabin followed the man's directions, moving slowly. Without knowing exactly how close his opponent was standing, Rabin could not attack effectively; anything he did right now would get him killed. Patience, Shimon. You'll get your chance.

"Now the needler. Open your left hand wide. I want to see the fingers spread. Unclasp the straps with your other hand, and set it on the floor beside your pistol."

Rabin complied. The anger boiling in his stomach was contained, but only for the moment.

Slowly, the man with the gun trained on Rabin's head circled around to stand in front of him, arms locked and aim steady. Rabin didn't make a move. The man swept the weapons on the floor aside with his foot, and reached out to peel the patch from Rabin's throat. He looked at it curiously, then crumpled it in his hand and tossed it toward a corner of the room carelessly. He plucked the bud from Rabin's ear, and, after wiping it on his uniform, placed it in his own. The man then took a step back, so that he was well outside of Rabin's range for any quick attack.

The man with the pistol was wearing the same uniform as the others, black fatigues with no sigils of affiliation. The name printed on his breast read M CEREKWICA. The same surname as the terrorist who had died in IF custody.

"Have a seat, Mr. International Fleet. We have much to discuss."

The man took another step back, and stooped to pick up Rabin's weapons, though he never let his eyes--or his aim--waver from Rabin. He then sat in one of the metal chairs scattered throughout the room, and indicated with his pistol toward one nearer Rabin.

Rabin didn't move. "We have nothing to discuss."

Cerekwica lifted the gun and fired a shot past Rabin's ear. The sound was deafening; Rabin was sure his hearing in that ear had been damaged.

"Have. A. Seat."

Rabin seated himself. It would do no good to die here and now.

Cerekwica tapped the ear bud. "They are calling for you, Mr. International Fleet. They sound concerned. I assume, of course, that you are alpha team. If you had any backup you'd have been a fool not to bring it with you."

Rabin was silent.

"Alpha does not interest me. What shall I call you?"

When Rabin said nothing, Cerekwica lifted the pistol and pointed it back toward the women sitting against the wall. He did not look at them; his eyes stayed on Rabin. Apparently he would let random chance choose who would die. However, the gun happened to be aimed at the pre-teen girl, who let out a small cry muffled by her gag. Rabin didn't believe it was coincidental, but that changed nothing, really. He would not gamble with the child's life.

"Hamal," he said, abruptly.

The man smirked, and rested the pistol on his thigh once more. Rabin wondered it he was simply pleased with his own small victory or if he'd gotten the joke. "Hamal. And you may call me Mirek."

Rabin's eyes flicked toward the stenciled letters on Cerekwica's uniform. "Any relation?"

"Jachym is my brother," Mirek said.

Rabin's injured pride from his earlier concession demanded that he regain lost ground. He couldn't help himself. "Was," he said. "Jachym Cerekwica is dead."

Mirek said nothing. He didn't even seem at all concerned. Did he think Rabin was lying? It seemed a bold thing to assume, given the terrorists' objective here. It was rather central to their mission that Jachym be alive for the IF to be able to deliver.

Unless, of course, that was not their mission at all.

"Guess you two weren't close."

"That's an interesting costume you have there," Mirek said, ignoring Rabin's statement. "SOTF, I trust? They usually get the newest toys."

"You've had military training," Rabin observed. "Who've I got to thank for that?"

A thin smile appeared on Mirek's face. He swept his pistol around again toward the hostages and fired off a single round. All four hostages flinched violently, crying out at the sound of the gunshot. The child began to weep.

Mirek did not even glance back to see that his bullet had buried itself in the wall between the ambassador's wife and chief of security. He knew he'd missed; or rather, he knew he'd not hit anyone, just as he'd intended.

"We're talking about you," he said, darkly. "And I would appreciate if you didn't change the subject. It irritates me immensely, and next time someone might get hurt."

Rabin did not try the man's patience. "I'm SOTF," he confirmed.

"And an Israeli, by the look of you. You were brought in because you were local?"

"I am Israeli," Rabin answered, "but I'd been away for years before this morning."

"And I assume that if there is an ‘alpha team' then there must be others. How many of you are there in the building?"

"I have no way of knowing that," Rabin answered, truthfully. For all he knew the others were dead. He saw Mirek's eyes harden, and so continued, "I was sent in first. At my last contact with command there were only two others inside and it looks like both of them were killed in the blast."

"Ah, yes," Mirek said. "I'm curious about that. Why did you do that?"

"What?"

"Set off our charge."

Rabin stared a moment. "We didn't."

"Don't make me kill a hostage, Mr. Hamal. Two have died while we've been talking. We're going to be running low soon."

Rabin glowered. "We didn't set off that charge," he growled. "Why the fuck would we want to blow up part of our own building?"

Mirek took a moment to reply. "I assume you were trying to disarm the explosives. Did your man make a mistake?"

"How long before the explosion did you update the Wolves on your sitaution?"

Now Mirek was silent.

"We disabled four of the five charges before they set them off remotely. We saved your life."

"How noble of you," Mirek said, regaining some of his presence. "How many of my men have you killed?"

"Not a single one."

Mirek glanced at the needler. "How many have you incapacitated, then?"

"Six."

Silence then.

"I wonder," Mirek said, after a long moment, "whether the International Fleet will take us more seriously, now that we have a new hostage."

"You can't ransom me. I'm acting without authorization. They'll just disavow."

Varun ducked as another volley of pistol fire came from below. "The Israelis have infiltrated!" he shouted over the gunfire, despite the fact that the patch at his throat was transmitting only his own voice. "There's a terrorist that is heading to the command center right now to tell them!"

Kirov was crawling backwards, keeping under the Israelis' lines of sight while moving toward the safety of the adjoining corridor. Varun sat with his back against a wall, far enough from the open ledge to be safe from the bullets, but still ducking whenever they came. He was a sniper, after all -- when he did his job correctly, the enemy never had a chance to shoot back.

He heard someone swearing indistinctly on the other end of the connection; Jericho, he assumed. The voice that followed comfirmed it. "That terrorist needs to be intercepted. Kirov, do whatever you have to to keep him from reaching the command center. Hyderabad, your objective remains: recover Serajevo."

Kirov's face twisted in disbelief. "Are you listening, you crazy bastard? That terrorist took off for the command center. He knows this fucking building; I wasn't even supposed to enter until your clean little plan crashed and burned. There's no fucking way I can catch up with him now, especially since I have to go around in the opposite direction to get to the command center. And as for Serajevo, there are YAMAM down there. How the fuck is he supposed to dig through rubble looking for her while they're shooting at him?"

Varun was taking deep breaths to calm himself. Kirov was right; this op had gone to hell in a hand basket and any competent C.O. would have aborted by now. But one thing was for certain -- whether they succeeded or failed here, Varun did not intend to leave behind a teammate who was still breathing. If Serajevo was down there, he would have to get her out.

"This is Hyderabad," he said. "I'll find a way to get to Serajevo, somehow. But Kirov is right; the terrorist took off toward the northwest corner. There's no way for her to follow the way he went without climbing down the structure here and hoofing it across the rubble while the Israelis shoot at her. Even if she survived, she'd be several minutes behind the terrorist and she still wouldn't know her way. You guys need to come up with something that will work, and you need to do it quickly."

There was silence on the other end of the link for a long moment.

"Very well, charlie team. Hyderabad, do your thing; once you get Serajevo, make for the basement and contact us again. Kirov, make your way around the east side toward the command center. Even if you don't beat the messenger there, that's where Haifa's being kept. Once he's extracted, we'll go from there. From here on it's improv, people. Let's be creative."

The connection was cut.

Kirov looked to Varun, who was edging toward the ledge. The gunfire had stopped, but the Israelis probably hadn't moved on, not without confirming the snipers dead. He glanced back to Kirov. "Better get moving. They may be here soon."

Kirov nodded. "Good luck," she said, keeping low as she moved around the corner of the corridor and out of sight.

Rabin did not hesitate. He leapt from his chair, wrapping one hand around the pistol and punching Cerekwica in the face with the other. He wrenched the pistol from the man's and hand spun him about, pulling him upright to face his subordinate while Rabin slipped behind him, using Mirek as a shield. The terrorist soldier, who has lifted his SP-19, paused when the muzzle of Rabin's newly-acquired pistol came to rest against Mirek's temple.

"Now you're my hostage, mother fucker," Rabin whispered harshly, just behind Mirek's ear. "Kindly tell your dog to put his gun on the floor."

Sweat beaded the forehead of the soldier sighting along his rifle, trying to find a shot at Rabin that wouldn't risk his commander's death. His breathing was labored; he'd entered running, Rabin remembered. As he studied the man's face, he thought he recognized the soldier as one of the squad that left to check out the explosion. Now he was the only to return; perhaps the squad had run into charlie team.

Mirek had not said anything yet. Rabin ground the pistol's muzzle into his hostage's temple. "Tell him or you're fucking dead, Cerekwica."

And then something hit him in the side of the head, and the world exploded with white light. He squeezed the trigger, but he'd felt Mirek pull away already, and now the pistol was ripped away from him. He was hit in the head again -- from behind, he realized dimly -- and Rabin felt himself falling.

The floor was hard. He landed on his shoulder, and rolled onto his back, but that was as much movement as he managed before he felt a foot press into his chest. Slowly, his vision cleared. Mirek Cerekwica stood over him, pistol in hand. He did not look pleased. To his right stood the soldier, assault rifle held against his chest. And to Cerekwica's left was the woman who, moments before, had been sitting bound and gagged on the floor beside the ambassador's wife. The embassy's chief of security. She held a fire extinguisher at her side.

Rabin's head was not clear enough to think.

"Sir," said the uniformed soldier, tentatively. He seemed afraid of redirecting Cerekwica's anger toward himself.

Mirek continued to glare at Rabin. "What."

"The explosion, sir. It knocked down part of the wall. There are YAMAM in the embassy."

There was silence for a long moment.

"This mission has not gone to plan. Our benefactors have betrayed us. It is time to make our exit." Mirek looked to the chief of security. "Lieutenant Nichols, if you would be so good as to kill our esteemed guest Mr. Hamal and collect his suit, we are going to collect the rest of the hostages and arrange our extraction. Meet us in the central courtyard with the uniform and the women, and watch for YAMAM or more SOTF." He untied the ambassador and hauled the man roughly to his feet, shoving him toward the door. The soldier with the assault rifle followed.

She readied her rifle, leaning just far enogh around the corner to have a clear shot at the backs of both targets. She aimed for the soldier with the assault rifle first; he was the greater threat.

But as her finger was coming to rest on the trigger, a gunshot came from within the command center. And for a split second, her mind blanked but for one single thought.

Haifa.

In that split second of distraction, the soldier with the assault rifle had glanced briefly back toward the command center. He was already turning his head back toward his captive before his mind registered what he'd seen, but his body was already reacting, throwing himself to the ground and firing back down the corridor toward Svetlana.

She pulled back around the corner, exhaling a string of curses. She heard a shouted warning, and running footfalls. And the distinctive series of metal-on-metal clacks that told her the soldier was reloading. Svetlana gritted her teeth and dove out into the open corridor.

The man had the new magazine in his rifle already, and was just chambering a round when a 30.06 round hit him in the stomach. Svetlana rolled upon landing and came up on one knee. She fired a second shot that hit the man in the eye even as he fell, cutting off the man's shout of pain.

Without pausing, Svetlana rose and bolted after the others. She did not know where they had gone; there were several corridors branching from this one, and as she looked down each as she passed, seeing that they too branched early and often, she knew that she'd lost them.

Haifa dead. Ambassador lost.

Svetlana wanted to kill someone.

Lieutenant Nichols, the embassy's chief of security, obviously had little experience with actual combat. She stood far too close.

Rabin's feet scissored around Nichol's legs, and Rabin twisted on the floor, pulling her feet out from under her. Nichols fell; the pistol went off. Rabin was up on his knees immediately. He took hold of Nichols' hair, yanked her off the ground. He wrapped his arms around her head and twisted.

Lieutenant Nichols, the embassy's former chief of security, crumpled to the floor.

Rabin rose, slowly, his broad frame powerful but profoundly fatigued. He turned toward the only witnesses in the room, the ambassador's wife and daughter. Their eyes were identical tumults of emotion: gratitude, horror, admiration, disgust. Rabin crouched, and worked at the young girl's ties first. Her wrists were raw, bleeding in places; Cerekwica had not shown any mercy to the child. Her socks had protected her ankles somewhat -- no visible injuries there. When her limbs were free, the girl looked up at Rabin silently. "It's gonna be okay," was all Rabin said before moving on to the ambassador's wife.

Somewhat collected now, the woman's eyes hinted at suspicion. Rabin worked efficiently at her bindings, freeing her quickly. After, he stood, and offered his hand. She remained on the floor, staring up at him.

He did not withdraw his hand. "Shimon Rabin," he said.

Tentatively, the womand took it, and allowed him to help her to her feet. She held his eyes for a moment, before replying, "Chia-Lun." She looked down at herself, straightening disheveled clothing, and stood up straight, a regal politician's wife. "I am Fen Chia-Lun. And this," she said, extending a hand to the girl hovering at her side, "is my daughter, Lai-Seung." Her facade cracked again when she looked down at Nichols' body. "She was fairly new," Chia-Lun said, sadly. "She's been with us a few months. We all liked her. I never could have guessed..."

"You weren't meant to," Rabin said. He crouched and picked up the small pistol from where it lay on the floor. "She was pretending to be a hostage as well, until I became a threat. I think their intent was to leave her in place after they left. Her assignment was long-term; she had to form friendly relationships here quickly to ward off any suspicion that might find her after this." He checked the clip, and then slotted it again and switched on the safety. He looked for his own weapons, but they were gone now. He could not recall noticing them being taken. The seven rounds left in the little 9mm were all he had.

"Where did they take Father?" Lai-Seung asked.

Rabin glanced at her. The girl had not yet learned her mother's poker face, though she seemed to be trying to emulate it without much success. Rabin tucked the 9mm into the holster much too large for it strapped to his thigh, and moved toward the banks of monitors, eyes scanning the screens. "Cerekwica said they were going to get the other hostages and get out of here. He'll keep your father alive; he knows we need him back, and that's what he'll use to keep himself safe. He's headed to wherever the other hostages are being held. He must have his own evac arranged, because he'd be a fool to trust any help from the Wolves at this point."

Rabin glanced at the girl. Clearly, all of this meant little to her.

He sighed. The last thing he needed was to add a personal emotional stake to the outcome of this mission -- especially considering the way it was going so far. But it was too late; already he equated failure with letting this girl down. He met her eyes. "I'll get your dad back for you."

He then returned to sweeping the monitors.

Rabin had not gotten far when the command center's door -- already in a rather poor state after Rabin's entry -- burst open. Rabin did not even have time to think. One arm swept out toward the civilians, flinging them bodily aside. The hand of the other came up holding the 9mm. Rabin dropped to a crouch as he turned toward the door, and fired.

He only had time to register a shape ducking back out of the doorframe, but the voice that followed, he recognized. "I swear to fucking Christ, Haifa, if you shoot at me again you're fucking dead as digital." There was a pause. "Now then. I'm coming in."

Kirov appeared in the doorway, rifle clutched cautiously. She surveyed the room in a single sweep, then locked eyes on Rabin. "The ambassador's wife and daughter," Rabin said, motioning over his shoulder with a nod of his head. Her eyes returned to the women now picking themselves up off the ground.

"You two," Kirov said, coldly. "There are YAMAM all over the building. Find some, they'll get you out of here."

Rabin's eyes hardened. "The YAMAM are cowboys. They shoot first and ask questions later."

Now Kirov turned her eyes back to Rabin. Whatever playfulness she might have shown him before, it was distinctly missing now. "And what do you plan to do. Take them with us?" Kirov stopped then, cocking her head. She was listening to her earpiece. "Yeah, I've got him. And a pair of hostages. The command center is ours too." Pause. "It would appear his earpiece and patch have been removed, sir; clearly we're dealing with enemies who've had at least a gradeschool education." Another pause, while Kirov's face darkened. With a look of disgust, she peeled the patch from her throat and took the bud from her ear, handing both to Rabin.

"Haifa," Rabin said, holding the patch to his throat as he tried fit the too-small bud into his ear. "Be advised that the enemy is now listening in on our chit-chat."

"Acknowledged. You had us worried, Haifa," came Jericho's voice.

"Aww, ain't you sweet."

"What is the state of the recovered hostages?"

Rabin glanced at them. "They're alright, considering. I'm not sending them trolling for Israelis, in case you were gonna suggest it."

"No, I agree that it puts them at unnecessary risk. However, taking them with you isn't exactly a viable option either. You're there and I'm here, which puts me at a disadvantage, strategically speaking. Any thoughts?"

Rabin wondered if he might have misjudged Jericho just a tiny bit. Apparently the man could recognize his own limitations, provided they were displayed glaringly enough. Rabin glanced at Kirov, and then at the ambassador's family. This was not going to be popular. He took a breath. "Yeah, but I'm reluctant to discuss it where our terrorist friends can hear. But it will involve Kirov taking the kid with her while Mrs. Fen goes with me. And Serajevo setting those charges."

Darkness.

And then...

...Light.

"Hyderabad to nest, do you copy?"

Jana blinked, and clenched her eyes shut against the blinding glare. The weight on her chest and limbs was easing by degrees, and the sound of scraping stone filtered through the rubble. She forced her eyes open enough to see that a shaft had opened above her, spilling light down onto her face. Occasionally a shadow would fall across that light, but she could not see -- or think -- any more clearly than that.

"Understood, nest. Objective sucessful. Package appears intact."

The voice somewhat familiar. Jana tried to focus. The team -- someone from the team. One of the snipers. Hyderabad.

"Copy, nest. Will proceed with package to next objective asap."

The shaft was getting larger, and the weight on her body was almost gone. And then she was being lifted, carried. Her vision cleared enough to confirm her identification of the voice. Hyderabad lay her down a short distance away, on soft carpet.

"Are you injured?"

Jana thought. "I... I don't know. I don't think so. Not badly."

"Wiggle your feet."

It took concentration, but she did.

"Any trouble breathing?"

"No, I'm okay." She tried to sit up, propping herself up on her elbows, but searing pain blindsided her and made her drop back to the ground. She grit her teeth against a scream.

Hyderabad's hands were on her shoulders, preventing her from attempting to sit up again. She felt the gesture unnecessary. He examined her arm.

Haifa's instructions had been infuriatingly vague; the ass had been out the door before she could ask why. So far she'd done as she was told without question, and the mission had gone to hell in a handbasket. She wasn't in a Yes Sir kind of mood.

"Take Lai-Seung with you," he'd said, with the subvocal sensor patch held away from his throat. "Get to the third floor, and find a perch with a view of the central courtyard. And cover me."

Cover this, mother fucker.

But here she was, bounding up the stairs two and three at a time while the girl scrambled up behind her. Because although she didn't have a whole lot of faith in Haifa's strategic genius -- he had, after all, gotten himself captured -- she didn't have a plan at all.

They reached the third floor. Lai-Seung stumbled onto the landing, panting. Svetlana hurried her along. She knew where her perch would be. The open corridor along the north side of the embassy, exposed by the explosion. It give her a perfect view of the courtyard, but could be easily abandoned if necessary.

As they approached her intended perch, traveling along the east side of the building, Svetlana heard the chopper. The evac Haifa had mentioned; the terrorists' escape. They reached the northeast corner of the embassy in time to see it land through a window overlooking the central courtyard. It looked like a retired AWACS transport, but Svetlana didn't care to analyze. She looked down at Lai-Seung.

"I'm going a bit further down the hall. You stay here out of sight or I will shoot you myself. Understood?"

The girl nodded at her, wide-eyed.

Svetlana jogged down the corridor, slowing when the destruction came into sight. She crouched, and switched on the suit's chameleon effect, crawling along the corridor slowly until she reached the ledge. The chopper had landed in the flower bed, and was now surrounded by YAMAM.

And waiting a short ways from the chopper, in the middle of the circle of Israelis, were the terrorists and the remaining hostages. Svetlana recognized the ambassador among them.

She sighted, counting while she adjusted the zoom and focus. There were four terrorists; three carried SP-19s, and one held a semiautomatic pistol. She counted eight hostages -- the ambassador, two security officers, and five civilians.

As for the YAMAM, Svetlana didn't bother. There were lots.

Rabin was striding along the corridors of the embassy's first floor, Fen Chia-Lun in tow. His plan was sketchy, and quite frankly, only half-formed. But there wasn't time. This had to end. He only hoped Chia-Lun knew something he didn't that would give him leverage.

Chia-Lun's voice was hesitant. "You're SOTF, aren't you?"

"There aren't many NOC grunts around," Rabin replied, moving briskly.

"You've heard of the Grey Wolves?"

Rabin's walk slowed just a bit. "Yeah. What do you know about them?"

"About a year ago they approached my husband. In exchange for certain compensations, they wanted intelligence that he could access."

"And if he refused?"

"They'd have had him killed, obviously. Myself and our daughter as well."

"So he accepted."

"Yes. But he got word to a contact in the office of the Polemarch, and his contact responded that he should cooperate. Soon after they started sending him reports that they wanted the Wolves to have."

"What kind of reports?"

"Nothing too specific. Personnel records for space stations and starbases. Crew complements and weapon specifications for patrol ships. The like. Meanwhile, my husband was probing the Wolves' network of spies. There are more of them than we could have guessed, all throughout the IF. My husband was preparing a list when he learned that there was one here in the embassy."

"So he couldn't send it on to the IF without giving himself away."

"Yes. But they found out anyways."

"How?"

"We think it was some of the false data he was sending the Wolves' way. Supposedly they bought the plans to a new corvette in development a few months ago, which contradicted information he'd already fed them. We were worried they would strike at us, and we wanted to send off the list while we still could. But if we did anything out of the ordinary, suspicion would become certainty."

"So you waited it out."

"And we thought the danger had passed. Nothing happened for two months."

"Until last night," Rabin said. "They're using these terrorists as proxies. They must have wanted to leave Nichols in place, or she could have just offed the ambassador herself. Except... they were going to blow this place up. She'd have been killed too." He thought. "Maybe they just didn't want to risk her being captured. She probably knew more than your husband. Shit, and now she's dead."

"It doesn't matter, my husband found the names of enough spies to make this rescue more than worth the IF's while."

"Where's the list?"

"Deleted. We couldn't risk leaving it on the system. He memorized it."

Rabin glanced over his shoulder at her. "Just him?"

He was looking forward again before she responded, but her voice was cold. "I could forget a lot if you people don't get my husband back."

Rabin smirked to himself. "Gotcha."

He held a hand out, fingers splayed, and walked more slowly. They were close. The door to his left was open a crack. Rabin crept forward and peeked through. Beyond was the building's central courtyard. There were YAMAM everywhere, but he could make out the throng of hostages forming a human shield around the terrorists near the courtyard's center. Mirek Cerekwica was holding the ambassador with him near the core of the cluster.

As he watched, a chopper floated down vertically, Israelis backing out from under it. They were tense, Rabin could see. The situation was a powder keg. The slightest spark, and the fireworks would start. Rabin just had to hope that Mirek realized it.

He looked to Chia-Lun. "Ready?"

She nodded, chin set. "Is this going to work?"

To be nice to her. Like Shimon had been.

But there was no one to shout at, and it wouldn't do any good. She had to watch, helpless.

And there they were. Shimon and Mother, walking together out into the central courtyard. The Israeli police parted, pointing their guns at them, pointing their guns at the bad guys, unable to decide what to do. Because Shimon was walking with Mother in front of him, and was holding a gun to her head. His other arm was around Mother's stomach, keeping her from escaping. And there was something in his hand. She couldn't see it, but she could see the way he held it, with his thumb on a button or plunger or something.

What was going on? She didn't think for a moment that Shimon was really threatening Mother; he'd saved them, after all. But what was he doing? She could hear Shimon and one of the bad guys shouting to each other, but the helicopter's propellers were too loud for her to hear.

Lai-Seung didn't understand, but she focused her thoughts toward the drama below anyways. Get them, Shimon. Get them all. And get Mother and Father back for me.

Their orders, spelled out by Jericho as vaguely as possible now that communications were compromised, were to plant the explosives at the locations Melbourne had marked out on his floor plan, and prepare the exfil route. What the hell was going on above them, Varun did not know and Jericho could not say. He and Serajevo had to operate blind for the time being, and hope the others got the job done so they would come out of this with an ambassador to exfil.

Jana was going to set the explosives. She knew electronics, and the charges had instructions right on the casings. Exfil was Varun's job. A fifth point had been marked on Melbourne's map, where a sewer tunnel passed just beneath the embassy. The sewer didn't actually connect to the embassy -- the building had its own waste disposal, and a junction would have constituted a potential security weakness. But Melbourne had packed a pulse in his bag just for this purpose. The IF Embassy was about to get its security weakened. Not that it mattered; it would be reduced to rubble shortly after.

Varun saw Serajevo to the first placement site. She was moving alright now that they'd fashioned her a splint from a piece of wood that had once been part of a door. She had only one arm to work with, but they weren't in any extreme hurry, not yet. And he would come back after making their escape route to help.

Varun set off, following the path he'd mapped in his head after looking at the floorplan. He hoped he remembered correctly, because he wouldn't know if he was right until he used the pulse.

One way to find out.

The metal hemisphere adhered to the concrete floor in the center of the corridor marked on Melbourne's map. Varun pressed a few of the buttons on the face, and jogged away several meters, covering his ears and shutting his eyes tight.

Even facing away, he saw the flash through his clenched eyelids, and the high-pitched whine rang in his ears. He turned. A perfect sphere had been cut through the floor. As he approached, he heard the rush of water.

He hadn't been exact; the overlap of the pulse's spherical cut-out and the sewer tunnel was a hole not much wider than a man. But it would do. Haifa could suck his chest in.

The Israelis parted for him, turning their MP5s in his direction. They looked at his suit; they looked at his face. They didn't know what to make of him. An Israeli in what looked like a form-fitting wetsuit, holding a hostage at gunpoint. He didn't give them a chance to think too much.

"Back!" Rabin shouted to the courtyard, propelling Chia-Lun forward. A path cleared to the helicopter. The terrorists and their hostages were mostly aboard.

He could see Mirek glaring at him.

"I'll blow her fucking brains out, get the fuck back!" he snarled at the YAMAM.

Mirek hauled the ambassador in between Rabin and himself, standing with his back to the chopper. " What are you doing, Hamal?" He ground the muzzle of his pistol into the base of the ambassador's neck.

The ambassador stared at his wife. Chia-Lun stared at the ambassador.

" I'm calling the shots, Mirek," Rabin replied, when he was close enough that Israelis wouldn't be able to hear his shouts over the chopper's blades.

"You have lost your mind." Mirek nodded to Chia-Lun. "What's she worth to me?"

Rabin did not mention the fact that she knew as much as her husband did. "Nothing. Except that these men group us together, and if I kill this woman, the bullets start flying. You catch?"

Mirek opened his mouth. Mirek closed his mouth.

"Right," Rabin said. "So hand over the ambassador and you can be on your way."

Mirek glared and tightened his grip on his pistol.

"What's he worth to you, Cerekwica? You still think you can get your brother back?"

" No one gives a fuck about my brother!" Mirek shouted. "We're here to hit the IF where it hurts. And we've done that. But our benefactors have betrayed us, and tried to kill us with our target. So we're taking him with us, and if the Wolves want him, they'll have to negotiate with us."

Mirek, you fool. They'd kill you before you opened your mouth.

The YAMAM were closing. Rabin spun with Chia-Lun. "Get back!" He lifted the hypodermic, waving it at them. "You've already seen what one bomb did to this building. I push this button and the other eight go off!"

The Israelis backed up, a bit uncertainly.

"Don't you think about shooting me, Mirek," Rabin said, as he turned back to the man. "They look pretty damn trigger-happy to me. And the odds aren't in your favor."

Mirek was breathing heavily.

Rabin addressed the soldiers behind him, already in the chopper. "Release the hostages!"

"Do not," Mirek shouted back over his shoulder.

"You men didn't sign on to die," Rabin said. "You're crazy fuckers, but you aren't fanatics. You know there ain't no way you're leaving with those hostages. So let them go. Then you guys can take off. The Israelis will have MiGs scrambled in a few minutes; I suggest you go now. But Cerekwica and the hostages stay."

There was a pause. Mirek tried to fill it. "Don't let him intimidate you, men. We have the hostages; we hold the cards."

"The hell you do, Cerekwica. I squeeze my trigger, we die. You squeeze yours, we die. The difference is that I am a fanatic. So how brave are you feeling?"

One at a time, the hostages were sent running toward the YAMAM, to be rushed away, until only Mirek and Rabin stood with human shields. Mirek's jaw was tight, but he wasn't saying anything.

"Go," Rabin shouted to the soldiers. "Here's hoping you mother fuckers get shot out of the sky and burn to death slowly."

The chopper lifted off. It soon disappeared over the roof of the embassy.

Rabin and Mirek were left standing with their hostages in a ring of armed Israelis. Mirek's eyes were burning.

Rabin lifted the hypodermic. "Listen up!" he shouted to the YAMAM. "The embassy is hereby closed to Israeli visitors. In exactly five minutes I'm going to set off the explosives. You have that long to evacuate the area."

There was stillness for a long moment. Then, slowly, the YAMAM started backing away, first a few individuals, then as groups. "Fall back!" they shouted in Hebrew.

In moments, the courtyard was empty but for Rabin, Mirek, and the hostages.

Rabin tossed the hypodermic to the ground.

Mirek stared at it. Mirek stared at Rabin. Mirek glared.

And then Mirek's gun was pointed at Rabin.

The gunshot rang through the courtyard, but Mirek's pistol emitted no muzzle flash. The ambassador wrenched away from Mirek's grip, and bolted toward his wife. They ran toward the courtyard's perimeter, out of the way.

Mirek fell to his knees. A hole in his chest made by a 30.06 bullet leaked blood.

Kirov was a good shot. He would live long enough to get him medical attention.

Rabin moved forward, crouched next to where Mirek now lay on his back. Mirek's eyes stared up at him, accusingly. The man said nothing.

"I'm going to do you a favor, Mirek," Rabin said, softly now that the chopper was gone. "If we take you alive, you're in for a very unpleasant interrogation, and then you're going to be killed. You and I both know that you don't know anything; the Wolves used you and tossed you aside. And that's not going to go well for you, because the IF's going to take your ignorance as resistance."

Rabin weighed the pistol in his hand, and met Mirek's eyes. The fight was gone now. Mirek was a wounded animal, trapped, pathetic. After a long pause, he gave a single nod.

Rabin stood. He aimed.

Without ceremony, Rabin shot Mirek Cerekwica in the head.

He looked to the ambassador and his wife, standing several meters away. Chia-Lun's composure was significantly more solid than her husband's. He looked up toward the exposed structure of the embassy, toward where the bullet had come from. Kirov was gone already. He spotted a face in a window a short ways along the broken wall, however, peering over the sill. Lai-Seung. The face disappeared as Kirov's shape passed by.

The others arrived in groups. First Haifa, the ambassador, and a woman whom Varun assumed to be the ambassador's wife arrived. Kirov and a pre-teen girl followed soon after. The girl looked up at Haifa in awe. Haifa didn't seem to notice.

They slipped through the hole in the floor Varun had made, dropping to the walk along the side of the tunnel. The smell was horrible, but no one complained verbally. When they were a decent distance away, Serajevo detonated the charges. The felt a rumble, and held onto the wall. It passed. They kept moving.

The troupe emerged a half-mile from the embassy. They could not see the ruins from their position, but the column of dust and smoke rising from the site was hard to miss. They had donned overclothes from Melbourne's pack while in the sewer, but they hurried away from the area nevertheless.

It was over.

The Fens' exfiltration from Israel was handled expertly; this was the easy part. Jericho, Xi'an, and Serajevo saw them to the airport, and then dispersed. They did not see each other again.

Ambassador Fen's list resulted in the arrests of forty-six IF officers. The SOTF provided his family with new identities, and relocated them to Beijing.

Lai-Seung did not get to say goodbye to Shimon Rabin. He did not accompany the Fens to the airport. Though the embassy incident was not a subject often discussed among the Fens, even in private, Lai-Seung always remembered Rabin as something of a guardian angel. She later married a very similar looking Iraqi and had three children, after serving a four-year tour of duty with IF intrasystem defense.

Hyderabad and Kirov found a bar open early, and watched the news of the embassy incident while drinking heavily. They later spent the night together, and Hyderabad awoke to an empty bed but for a note written in spidery handwriting, scolding him for being such a terrible Muslim but acknowledging his redeeming qualities.

And on the outskirts of the city, a tall, powerfully-built man with curly black hair bordering on long and a few days' stubble on his face walked along the side of a dirt road, thumb extended. His clothing was that of a poor man, worn thin but stitched up where holes had appeared. But if one were to look closely, flashes of black could be seen at the man's wrists and throat.