9:16 A.M.
MISSION THEATER TARGA
NATIONAL CLANDESTINE SERVICE
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
The right screen at the front of the operations theater went red and white, a visual alarm, then a computerized voice hit the screen as a small object was locked in on in the middle of the screen.
“Incoming missile,” said the male voice calmly. “Identify, Strela nine two approaching at one one five zero feet per second and accelerating. Time of impact, less than five seconds.”
The object sharpened—a grayish-green cone at the front of the missile—plumes of heat like orange flower petals around the cone, then the screen shot black.
The left screen, on the SEAL boat, was still active and the view—from Ferrara’s helmet—showed the choppers exploding in smoke and fire. Then Ferrara turned downriver and the screen—as with the other screen—flashed red and white, as a missile approached along the top of the water.
“Incoming missile,” said the male voice calmly. “Identify, Strela nine two approaching at four four zero miles per hour and accelerating. Time of impact: immediate.”
Inside the amphitheater, there were moans as the screen went black, then Perry barked into his comms.
“Vinny!” he yelled. “Minelli!” even though everyone in the room, including Perry, understood that the frogmen and the men from SEAL Team 4 had just gone down in a pair of choppers and a Zodiac.