Washington, 1100 GMT (0600 EST)

Admiral Archer Daniels, the Chief of Naval Operations, sat quietly while his N-2 Intelligence staff continued to add information about the hijacking at Uqba ben Nafi. He was a spare man, with a hawkish face and hollow cheeks. His skin had an unhealthy pallor, and his eyes were a watery pale blue. He chain-smoked unfiltered Camels.

The rest of the Joint Chiefs sat at the long table beside the admiral in the Pentagon situation room. With the exception of the two men and two women of the World Airways aircrew, all the hostages were Navy or Marine Corps, and the Navy had the forces closest to the Libyan coast. The Chiefs of Staff of the Army and Air Force and the commandant of the Marine Corps sat in respectful silence as the naval officers briefed and updated. Each chief took notes. The last item up on the enlarged, lighted computer displays was the translation of the communiqué from the government of the Libyan Jamahiriya, stating the demands of the terrorists.

“Shit,” said General Vaughn, the Chief of Staff of the Air Force. He sat erect, cool, and military in a uniform that resisted the efforts of seven hours in a chair to make it look wrinkled. “The bastards have this pretty well figured out. Wheelus is right on the coast. Even if we jam, incoming attack aircraft will be seen and heard from the ground in time for them to kill our people.”

General Klim, Chief of Staff of the Army, got up and straightened his rumpled uniform. “They will be much tougher to deal with if they get that murderous bastard, Abu Salaam, back from the Eye-talians. Where in the hell is State?”

The door at one end of the oval room opened, and the Secretaries of State and Defense entered with their scurrying groups of aides. Admiral Daniels looked up through tired, red-rimmed eyes. Haven’t seen those two REMFs walk into a room together in months, he thought. Probably doesn’t betoken any agreement.

The Secretary of Defense, small and dapper with black swept-back hair and shiny dark eyes above his prominent nose, moved rapidly into the midst of his military chiefs, who stood. The Secretary of State, a great, rumpled bear of a man with a high, shiny forehead surmounting intelligent blue eyes and a sad, heavy face, sat at the end of the table, reading the briefing papers, which explained the photos and the computer displays and which detailed the Baruni statement with commentaries.

To the Secretary of State, Henry Holt, the rapid-fire exchange of talk between the Secretary of Defense, David Wasserstein, and his staff seemed almost boisterous. The Joint Chiefs had sat down again and were conferring in low tones, ignoring the civilians and ignored by them. The Secretary of State sighed. “Dave, we ought to bring this to order. We have to brief the President again in one hour.”

The Secretary of Defense turned and smiled winningly. “Of course, Henry. Why don’t you bring us down to date on the political alternatives, and then we’ll speak to the military options?”

Ought to be the other way around, thought General Klim, putting a new cigarette in his already sour mouth. The Secretary of Defense was liked because he would fight hard for military appropriations up on the Hill, but mistrusted because he always resisted military options. The Secretary of State, on the other hand, had openly and publicly disagreed with David about the need to use military force where appropriate to deter and suppress terrorism.

The Secretary of State walked to the front of the room and sat on one haunch on a front-row desk. “We don’t have much to offer. Politically, this couldn’t be worse timed. We’re trying to get the Italians to hold Abu Salaam, or give him to us; his people did murder an American on that Italian cruise liner they hijacked. He is very unstable and highly dangerous, and the Italians know it, but my guess is that they’ll give him up; Nino Calvi is a friend of the U.S., but he’s under a lot of pressure from the leftists in his coalition. They’ve wanted Abu Salaam out of Italy from the first moment he was captured, and fear repercussions in the Arab world, not to mention terrorism in Italy, if they keep him in jail or try him.”

“They could give him to us. We had Justice file on him,” suggested the Secretary of Defense.

“We shoulda just kept the sum-bitch,” growled Admiral Daniels. “When we forced him down in Sicily, the goddam Eye-talians took an hour to find Carabinieri to escort the bastards off the plane.”

“Yes. Well, gentlemen,” continued the Secretary of State, “we will continue to encourage the Italians to hold firm, with dubious chance for success. We have asked the Soviets to urge Baruni to contain and if possible disarm the terrorists, again with little hope of more than clucks of sympathy from behind hands held up to conceal giggles of glee. We have no channel to Baruni other than the Italians, who, for political reasons already outlined, will be of little use, and none whatsoever to the hijackers. We will advise the President to make a strong denunciation of the crime, and then see what we can develop. That’s political, Dave. I hope the military has more answers than we do.”

David stood and pulled down at his gray vest, smoothing it over his stomach with both hands. “Thanks, Henry. Admiral Daniels has taken the point on this problem; Navy has all the assets looking at Baruni. Admiral?”

Admiral Daniels stood and coughed as he stubbed out his cigarette. “The situation has me worried, gentlemen, for two reasons. One, even though we know we can evade the rinky-dink radar their Russian friends have given the Libyans, and can attack through it, we can’t do it without their knowing we’re coming. Two, we know Baruni has at least two companies of tanks and two squadrons of aircraft on the base, and the last SR-71 photos indicate that another company of T-72s is approaching from Tarhunah, the training base seventy kilometers to the southeast.”

“That’s the base where we believe Soviet Spetznaz commandos have been training terrorists,” interjected the Deputy Director of Central Intelligence, seated with the Defense Secretary’s staff.

“Quite,” continued Admiral Daniels, irritated at being told something everyone in the room already knew. “Third, the base at Uqba ben Nafi is immense. Its perimeter is more than twenty miles around. Unless we have precise knowledge of where the hostages are, and where the terrorist and the Libyan strong points are, it will take an impossibly large force to secure the base, find our people, neutralize the terrorists, and bring our people out.”

“And that’s if the terrorists don’t simply kill the hostages at the first shadow on a radar screen, or the first sound of an aircraft engine over the coast.” David Wasserstein’s voice had an edge on it.

“Yes, sir,” said Daniels.

“So what’s the good news, Arch?” said the Secretary of State pleasantly. There were a few soft chuckles.

Admiral Daniels smiled. “We have set up a planning group, in London, and another with Admiral Bergeron, the commander of the Sixth Fleet aboard America. We would like to suggest the other chiefs put in experts they think might help us solve this problem.”

“A joint-services operation?” Wasserstein’s voice held more than a hint of sarcasm.

“I believe my colleagues and I agree,” Daniels looked at his fellow chiefs and received nods - enthusiastic from the commandant of the Marine Corps, skeptical and reluctant from the Army and Air Force, “that there isn’t time for the joint approach to go beyond planning. Navy will run this, with the help we need from Air Force and Army.”

“We sure as hell can’t afford another screwup like that Iranian debacle several years ago,” Wasserstein reminded everyone, none of whom wished to be reminded.

“Yes, sir,” said Admiral Daniels, fighting his contempt for the little sharp-tongued civilian. “We intend to avoid those mistakes by uniforming command and control on the navy-marine corps methods. Our army and air force brethren have agreed.” Again, the Commandant of the Marine Corps nodded enthusiastically, and the Chiefs of Staff of the Army and Air Force smiled faintly. “When you joined us, we were just on the point of appointing appropriate planning coordinators for the London group, which is forming now.”

General Klim rose and spoke quickly. “Lieutenant Colonel Rufus Loonfeather, commander of the 3d of the 73d Armor, just finished observing a REFORGER exercise in Germany.” Klim was amused as the bluff admiral took charge. “He should be in London by now.”

“Colonel Ian Wight, for Air Force,” said General Vaughn. “He has the F-111 wing at Upper Heyford in England. Also, already there.”

“So we will have options in one or two hours, Mr. Secretary,” said Admiral Daniels, glad that his fragile coalition was holding together.

The Secretary of Defense heaved his small body out of the deep chair. “We had better go and see the President, Henry.” The civilians filed out of the war room. The military men grinned at each other, glad they hadn’t been asked to go along to explain the extreme difficulties of the problem.