The colonel traced a line on map. “The fort’s perimeter is a chain of connected rooms,” he yelled over the helicopter noise, “all around the edge of the flat mountaintop. Most of the fort is in ruins, but the Arabs chose a room with solid side walls.” He tapped the location. “The internal wall, where the doorway used to be, has crumbled. They’ve piled some rocks to block off the entrance. The mud roof is long gone, so that’s where you drop in.”

Masada leaned on the colonel’s shoulder, her lips to his ear. “One minute to target.”

He nodded. They had been lovers for several months, but outside his private quarters they had kept a professional facade-he the tough commander of the elite unit, she the technical specialist and every soldier’s heartthrob.

“Seven hostages,” Ness continued, “tied up along the side wall, right here. Two terrorists. Leader is short, balding, wearing a mask. He sent one of the hostages downhill with a note, a girl, who reported that he has a hand grenade. We need him alive-orders from above. Make sure to disable the grenade or kick it over the edge. The other terrorist is a skinny, tall teenager. Long hair. Armed with a handgun. Eliminate him on sight.” The colonel touched a finger to his temple. “And verify the kill.”

A red light blinked over the door.

Thirty seconds.

Colonel Ness got up. “Slide down fast. Engage. Disable the one with the mask and kill the youth with the gun. But watch the hostages, okay? Don’t punch any holes in those kids, or you’ll screw up my next promotion!”

The soldiers laughed, and Masada wondered, kids? Ness hadn’t mentioned any kids since the call had woken them up twenty minutes earlier, back at the base.

The pilot changed direction and pushed up the nose.