THIRTY NINE.

    Rapp didn't like what he was hearing. Odds were a big thing to him. He was by no means risk averse, but he liked the probability stacked as much in his favor as possible.

    Invariably, what bothered him most were things that were out of his control, and the weather was typically one such thing. Captain Forester had just informed them that the storm was in fact growing in strength. Gusts were now topping 60 mph and until they got around to the other side of the island all flight operations were suspended.

    Forester assured Rapp, however, that the extraction was still on.

    The captain maintained that his pilots could handle the winds. The ride just might be a little bumpy. This did absolutely nothing to assuage Rapp's concerns. Bravado and blustering were one thing but reality was something entirely different. Could the captain's pilots pull off the extraction? Yes, was the answer, but could they also crash? Most definitely.

    Nighttime helicopter operations were delicate even in calm weather, but throw in a little wind, rain and a mountainous terrain and you had a recipe for disaster.

    As Forester spoke of the competency of his aviators, the CIA counterterrorism operative was acutely aware of one vital statistic: more U.S. Special Forces personnel had been killed in helicopter accidents in the last two decades than in all other mishaps combined.

    Rapp, Coleman and Jackson were all kneeling under the relative protection of a large dense tree. Covering his lip mike, Rapp looked at Coleman and said, "I've got a bad feeling about our extraction." Rapp could tell immediately by the look on Coleman's face that the man shared his concern.

    "I'm not crazy about it either, but what are our alternatives? Do you want to wait to see if this thing blows over and go in just before first light?"

    That option also didn't sound good to Rapp.

    "No, we're not going to wait. Now's the right time to hit 'em."

    "We brought along plenty of explosives," offered Jackson.

    "We could try expanding the perimeter of the landing area."

    "That might help," conceded Rapp, "but I'm still not crazy about getting on a helicopter in this weather."

    Coleman was struck with an idea.

    "What if we march back to the beach?"

    "That's fine if we're not pursued or worse." Jackson pointed over his shoulder toward the Abu Sayyaf camp.

    "If they manage to get off a radio transmission that they've been hit, we could get cut off on our way to the beach, and even then we still have to get on a chopper."

    "Not necessarily," said Coleman. Thumbing the transmit button on his radio he asked, "Captain, what are the seas like on the leeward side of the island?"

    There was a brief delay while the captain radioed one of the ships in the group that was out ahead.

    "Right now we're looking at ten-foot swells."

    He knew the answer to the next question but asked it anyway.

    "Any problem launching the Mark Fives in those seas?"

    "No. I can turn the ship into the storm, and we'll have no problem."

    "What do you think?" Coleman looked at Rapp.

    "If the takedown goes off clean we can have the captain launch the Mark Fives and meet them on the beach. It'll take us at least an hour to get there. That should give them more than enough time to launch the boats and pick us up. We can bring the boats right in on the beach, load up and head out to the Belleau Wood."

    "And if we run into any resistance," added Rapp, "or we think they've alerted their comrades in arms, we call for the helicopter extraction."

    "Exactly," answered Coleman.

    Rapp looked at Jackson.

    "What do you think?"

    "I like it. It gives us some options to work with."

    "Good." Coleman was also relieved. Lifting the handset of the secure radio he said, "Captain, here's what we're going to do."

    While Coleman worked out the details with Forester, Rapp took the opportunity to discuss something very delicate with Jackson. He hadn't given the subject much thought until he'd got a good look at the enemy camp, but now, in light of the fact that they might need more time to get off the island, the sensitive issue needed to be dealt with.

    Rapp looked the younger man square in the eye.

    "Lieutenant, have you ever seen combat before?"

    Jackson hesitated briefly as if he'd been waiting for the question.

    "No," he finally admitted.

    "That's all right," replied Rapp.

    "We all have to start somewhere.

    How many of your men have seen action?"

    Again, Jackson hesitated while he tallied the number.

    "Five of the twenty-three."

    This was not exactly what Rapp wanted to hear. In his mind he started moving people around like pieces on a chess board. Hackett's experience was too valuable to attach him to the cover force. His steady gun would be needed down where the action was taking place, and for that matter it would be nice to have Coleman at his side too.

    The only problem there was that Coleman needed to be in a position where he could take in the whole picture.

    Coleman got off the radio with the captain and Rapp apprised him of his concerns. Before considering them, Coleman asked Jackson to bring his men in for a final briefing.

    When the young lieutenant was gone, Rapp said, "He's never seen action."

    Coleman seemed unfazed by the revelation.

    "It doesn't surprise me."

    With a detached look in his eyes Rapp added, "I'm going to need some hardened guys down there with me to mop up when we're done."

    The two men looked at each other and communicated an unspoken thought.

    "Yeah, I know," said Coleman.

    "No prisoners. No survivors."

    He'd been through the drill before.

    "I'll make sure I communicate it to Jackson and the chiefs. Believe me, he's green, but he's heard it before."

    "Yeah, hearing about it's one thing, but until you've had to put a bullet in a wounded man's head…" Rapp frowned and looked down at the ground.

    "It'd be nice if we could spare the kid from having to think about it for the rest of his life."

    Coleman agreed.

    "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

    Jackson came back to the group and his men started appearing through the underbrush. When everyone was assembled, Coleman and Jackson began briefing the men on the specifics of the mission. Few questions were asked. The men had all gone through the drill before.

    Contingencies were addressed and for a final time they went over handling the hostages and getting them out of the line of fire and secured as soon as possible.

    Coleman went on to state in very clear terms this was more than a hostage rescue. He explained to the men that if they wanted to make it back to the ship they needed to decimate the enemy. They were an inferior force in numbers and could offer no aid or quarter. The men had all heard this before from their various instructors, but for the majority of them it was the first time it held such relevance.

    The last thing Coleman did was point to his own forehead and say, "Remember… double taps to the foreheads and keep moving."

    Then one by one he ordered each element to their jumping-off points. Coleman then directed the cover force into position and when everything was ready he gave the word to move out. Rapp led the group up the middle. Crawling on their bellies, they slid from their elevated position down toward the rushing creek. Before the rains had come the creek could have been crossed with one step; now it was a raging waist-deep river that would have to be forded with caution.

    Even with the cover noise of raindrops hitting the thick jungle leaves, the men moved with great care. Footing was so slippery that everyone had been ordered to crawl, lest someone slip, go tumbling down toward the creek and possibly alert the terrorists. Behind Rapp followed Lieutenant Jackson and ten of his men. The remaining twelve SEALs who were not assigned to the cover force were now working their way into position to flank the camp. As per the scouting report that Wicker had given them, six men had gone to take up position on the west end of the camp and six more to the east side. These two groups were to watch the two main paths that led into the village and then strike the four lean-tos when the order was given.

    All twenty-nine men in the operation had been briefed on the entire scope of the operation. This was crucial, not just so that they could carry out another man's assignment if he fell, but to understand where everyone else was. With so much firepower concentrated in such a small area, the men needed to be aware of what the various elements were up to, lest they shoot one of their own.

    When they reached the overflowing banks of the creek, Rapp waited to hear from the two flanking elements that they were in position.

    He looked out from under the brim of his jungle hat across the rain-peppered rushing stream and toward the village. From his vantage he could see directly into one of the lean-tos without the aid of his gun-mounted night vision scope. The men inside appeared to be playing a game of some sort under a single hanging lantern. At the moment one of the men appeared to be yelling at one of his companions about something. The others stood about and laughed boisterously at the angered man. As Rapp watched he couldn't help but think that the discipline of this group was really lax. It was really an embarrassment that someone hadn't freed the Andersons sooner.

    While waiting for the go-ahead Rapp's thoughts turned briefly to his wife. If she knew what he was doing right now, she'd cut his nuts off. Instinctively knowing that there was probably a pretty good case to be made that he was an irresponsible and somewhat dishonest husband, he decided to not explore the issue further. At least not for now.

    The awkward denials and recriminations could wait until he was back in Washington.

    It was always questions with Anna. She had an insatiable desire to know things, and the more she was told something didn't matter, the more it mattered. This trait, of course, treated her well in her job as a reporter, but in their relationship it was something that had to be monitored closely. Anna was a very passionate woman. Nothing was done in a halfhearted manner. If it was worth doing it was worth doing to the fullest. In this regard, Rapp wasn't all that different; he just went about things in a more analytical, stoic way, whereas Anna was more passionate and determined.

    Coleman's voice crackled over his earpiece, pulling him back to the present.

    "Teams three and four are in position, Mitch. Let me know when you're ready."

    Cradling his suppressed MP-5 in his arms he edged forward, entering the rushing water headfirst. The force of the stream rushing down the mountain was stronger than he thought it would be. He hoped it wasn't any deeper than his waist or they might have a more difficult time getting across than they'd planned. As the water deepened, Rapp found his footing and carefully picked his way across, ready to drop down into the water at a moment's notice if someone appeared from one of the two tents.

    Fortunately, the water never got above the middle of his thighs. As long as none of the other men lost their footing, they would have little difficulty in fording the stream. When he reached the other side he crawled up the grassy bank and took up a cover position a mere thirty feet from the hostages' tent. Using hand signals he gestured for Jackson to bring the other two teams over.

    This had been Jackson's idea. The original plan was to send Rapp over on his own and see if he could get close enough to the one tent to somehow tell them where the hostages were positioned inside. They all agreed that most likely the Andersons were huddled together at the far end of the tent. Nonetheless, it would be nice to know exactly where they were.

    SEALs regularly trained in shooting rooms set up for hostage rescues.

    They'd have to burst through a door, window or sometimes even a wall, and in a matter of a second or two differentiate between the hostages and the terrorists and then kill the latter.

    Jackson's suggestion had been to get the remaining two teams across before Rapp tried to sneak a peek. This way if things went wrong they'd be in a much better position to execute the takedown.

    No one wanted to return without the Andersons, so Jackson urged that they hold nothing back.

    Rapp looked over his shoulder and saw Jackson reach his side of the creek and then gesture for the next man to follow. As he waited for Jackson to join him he was startled by a flash to his left. Rapp's whole body tensed as light spilled out from the other tent. Looking through the grass he saw a man holding back the flap of the tent and relieving himself.

    Rapp didn't bother to train his gun on the man. He knew Wicker would have already done so. Looking over his shoulder he could barely make out one of Jackson's men crouching down in the middle of the rushing water.

    With no fear of being heard due to the falling rain, Rapp whispered into his lip mike, "Everyone relax. This guy can't see more than twenty feet."

    When the guy finished his business and let the flap of the tent close there was a collective sigh of relief. The fording continued and before long all of the men were across and in position to move should Rapp be discovered.

    Sitting atop the slight ridge just 200 feet from the village, Coleman had an unobstructed view. He'd watched intently as Rapp and then the others crossed the rushing stream. Both flanking elements were not visible as they worked their way through the jungle. Wicker had already scouted that terrain and reported that it was free of booby traps.

    When each element was ready Coleman spoke to Rapp.

    "Mitch, when you're ready, go sneak a quick peek and then get out of there. Lieutenant, have your conga line ready." The conga line Coleman was referring to was an entry technique the SEALs used. The men lined up as if dancing the conga and then entered the structure, every other man peeling off and responsible for clearing a given area within the room. It was a tried-and-true technique used by all hostage rescue teams.

    Whispering into his mike, Rapp let Coleman know he was going in. Crawling through the grass he inched his way forward toward the tent. Now out in the relative open, protected only by darkness and rain, he moved quickly. Across a muddy path and then up a slight slope of shorter grass, he was careful to keep the barrel of his weapon clear.

    Less than ten feet from the tent now, he began to hear voices. He continued toward the far side of the tent where the Andersons were most likely situated. He was now within the stakes.

    Carefully, he crept up to the edge of the tent. A thin sliver of light spilled out from under the green canvas where it floated just above the wet ground. Rapp made no effort to look under the side at first. Instead, he repositioned himself so he was lying in the right direction and listened to the voices.

    Over the din of the rain pelting his hat, the tent and the ground, he could barely make out the voices of men speaking Filipino. Rapp crawled toward the other end of the tent and the voices grew louder.

    He also saw shadows cast from the interior down along the gap at the bottom. Satisfied that they'd guessed right, he scooted backward through the grass and mud to the other end.

    Before looking under the side of the tent, Rapp stared momentarily at his suppressed MP-5 with its night vision scope and long thirty round magazine extending from the underside. If he had to shoot, the weapon might be difficult to bring up under the side of the tent. Rapp laid the weapon down on the ground in front of him and reached for his silenced 9mm Beretta. After quietly drawing it from his thigh holster, he held the weapon lightly in his left hand. Unlike the movies, there was no need to chamber a round, take the weapon off safety and cock it. Rapp operated with his weapons hot at all times.

    He listened for another moment, but gleaned nothing further. If the hostages were inside they weren't making any noise. Cupping his hands over his lip mike he whispered, "I'm going to sneak a peek. Be ready to move."

    Twisting onto his back he positioned himself so he could look under the side by pulling the bottom up slightly with his right hand, leaving his left hand free if he needed it. Laying his head almost on the ground he took a look. He was rewarded with nothing more than the sight of the rotten wood boards that served as a floor for the tent.

    Cautiously he lifted the side of the tent. Only an inch at first, though he was confident that the wind and rain would conceal any noise that he made. Rewarded with an up-close look at a dirty foot, he paused, not knowing if it belonged to a Filipino or an American.

    Raising the side another inch, and pulling it out slightly, he was saw part of a hairless calf encrusted in mud and bug bites and a separate foot that was so small it could have belonged only to a child.

    Rapp's spirits instantly rose and he pulled back the bottom of the tent a little farther. As in the other tents, a single lantern hung from the ceiling. In the dim light he spied two of the children and the back of the mother, their red hair making them instantly recognizable. Rapp continued to scan for the father and the other child. Knowing exactly where everyone was would allow them to execute a clean takedown.

    Rapp thought he could make out part of the father's leg on the far side of the tent. Pulling on the side a little more he lifted his head to try to get a better angle. Suddenly he was met with a pair of wide eyes, and that was when it happened.