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Hood was napping on his couch, happy to turn over some of the routine duties to Curt Hardaway and the night crew, when Lowell Coffey entered his open office door with a flourish.

"Signed, sealed, and-- ta-ta!-- delivered."

Hood sat up and smiled. "CIC said yes?"

"They said yes," he said, "though it had nothing to do with me. It was the Russians themselves that got this for us by sending one hundred thousand soldiers into the Ukraine."

"I'll take it," Hood said. "'Did you tell Mike?"

"I just saw him," Lowell said. "He'll be coming over."

Hood regarded the document with Senator Fox's signature right on top, where the good conservatives would see it. He was glad to see it too, though. Lying here, he had already resolved to back Rodgers on the Striker mission. Checks and balances were good, he had decided, but sometimes decisive action was better.

As Lowell left to inform Martha Mackall, Hood sat back down on the sofa, E-mailed Hardaway, then rubbed his eyes and remembered exactly why it was he wanted to run Op-Center at all.

Hood and everyone he knew-- including the President, with whom he often disagreed-- did what they were doing, first and foremost, because it wasn't enough to salute their flag with the hand and a pledge. They needed to give it their lives and their full commitment. Rodgers had given him the brass plaque that sat on his desk, something Thomas Jefferson had once written: "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." From the time he was in college, he had wanted to be a part of that process.

That sacred process, he corrected himself.

Rodgers and Bob Herbert arrived then, and after shaking hands the men hugged each other.

"Thanks, Paul," Rodgers said. "Charlie's eager to do this."

Hood didn't say it, but he knew they were both thinking it: now that they had what they wanted, they both prayed it turned out right.

Hood fell into the chair behind his desk. "So they're free to go in," he said. "What're we going to do to get them out?"

Rodgers said, "However the CIC went, my friends at the Pentagon have given us the Mosquito."

"Which is?"

"A top-secret aircraft, Stealth variety. The Pentagon hasn't finished field tests, and brought it to Seoul because they thought it might be useful in a pinch during the crisis we had there. But it's the only way we can get into and out of Russia without being seen, heard, or smelled, so we really don't have a choice."

"Charlie's okay with it?" Hood asked.

"He's like a kid with a toy." Rodgers laughed. "Give him a big, new hunk of hardware and he's very happy."

"What's the timing on this?"

"The Mosquito should be on the ground in Japan around ten A.M., local time. The transfer to the 76T should take another forty-five minutes, and they'll wait there until we give them the go-ahead."

Hood asked quietly, "What if the Mosquito goes down?"

Rodgers took a deep breath. "It will have to be destroyed as completely as possible. There's a self-destruct button for that, and it's pretty thorough. If the crew can't blow it up for some reason, Striker will have to. The Mosquito can't fall into Russian hands."

"What's the backup if the Mosquito fails?"

"Striker's got just over six hours of darkness to cross twelve miles to the 76T," Rodgers said. "The terrain's hilly but negotiable. Even in a worst-case scenario, with the temperature going down to five degrees above, they've got warm clothes and night-vision glasses. They'll be able to make it."

"How will the 76T hold up?" Hood asked.

"She's a cold-weather bird," said Herbert. "Nothing will freeze on her unless it gets to about ten below, which it shouldn't."

"And if it does?" Hood asked.

"If the temperature starts to drop," Herbert said, "we'll take off, notify Striker, and they'll have to hunker down until we can extract them. They've had the survival training. They'll be fine. According to Katzen's geographical studies, there's plenty of small game just west of the Sikhote-Alin' Range, and the hills are laced with caves for shelter or hiding."

"So we're