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  “Might be?”

  “Depends on the location of the military installation, and how well-trained that hostile military organization actually is,” he said. “Another dangerous op might be to make a HAHO jump from a plane—”

  “A what?”

  “HAHO,” Forrest repeated. “A high-altitude high-opening parachute jump. It’s when you get the green light to jump from the plane at about thirty thousand feet—way up high where the bad guys can’t hear the sound of your airplane approaching. You yank the cord, the chute opens and you and your squad parasail silently to the landing zone. And maybe, when you get there, you rescue fifteen hostages—all children—from a bunch of tangos who wouldn’t bat an eye over spilling the blood of innocent kids. And maybe before you can pull the kids out of there, the op goes from covert to full firefight. So you rock and roll with your HK, knowing that your body is the only thing shielding a nine-year-old from the enemy’s bullets.”

  Veronica frowned. “Would you mind repeating that last bit in English? Before you can pull the kids out of there…what?”

  Forrest grinned, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “The terrorists become aware of your presence and open fire. You’ve got an instant battlefield—a full firefight. You return fire with your HK—your submachine gun—scared to death because there’s a tiny little girl standing directly behind you.”

  Veronica nodded. “I thought that was what you said.” She studied Admiral Forrest’s weathered face. “Are these actual operations you’re describing or merely hypothetical scenarios?”

  “That’s classified information,” the old man said. “Of course, you’re a smart girl. You can probably figure out they wouldn’t be classified if they were hypothetical, right?”

  Veronica was silent, digesting all he had said.

  “Heads up, missy,” Forrest whispered. “Looks like this meeting’s about to start.”

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Senator McKinley said, his voice cutting above the other conversations from his seat at the head of the table. “Where the hell is Catalanotto?”

  McKinley was looking directly at Veronica, as were most of the other people at the table. They honestly expected her to provide them with an answer.

  “He said he’d be here,” she said calmly. “He’ll be here.” She glanced at her watch. “He’s only a few minutes late.”

  Just then, West, one of the FInCOM agents, stepped through the door. “Crown Prince Tedric of Ustanzia,” he announced.

  Aha. That was why Joe was late. He was coming to this meeting dressed in the prince’s clothes. The tailor had dropped off several large garment bags late this afternoon. No doubt Joe had wanted to wear one of the resplendent suits to make him look more like Tedric.

  Any minute now he’d saunter into the room, wearing a garish sequined jacket and a sheepish grin.

  But West stepped back and a figure appeared in the doorway.

  He was dressed in gleaming white pants and a short white jacket that clung to his broad shoulders and ended at his waist. There were no sequins in sight, but plenty of medals covered his chest, along with a row of golden buttons decorated with the royal Ustanzian shield. The shield also glittered from the bejeweled ring he wore on his right hand. His gleaming black hair was combed directly back from his face.

  It was Joe. It had to be Joe, didn’t it?

  Veronica searched his eyes, looking for the now quite-familiar differences between Joe’s and Prince Tedric’s faces. But with his shoulders back, his head held at that haughty angle, and no sign of a smile curving his lips, Veronica wasn’t sure exactly who was standing in the doorway.

  And then he spoke. “I greet you with the timeless honor and tradition of the Ustanzian flag,” he said in the prince’s unmistakable faintly British, faintly French accent, “which is woven, as well, into my heart.”

  11

  Nobody moved.

  Everyone stared at Prince Tedric. It was Prince Tedric, not Joe. That voice, that accent… Except, what was the real prince doing here, away from the safety of his secure room on the other side of town? It didn’t make sense. And his shoulders seemed so broad….

  As Veronica watched, the prince took several steps into the room with his peculiar, stiff royal gait. He walked like he had a fireplace poker in his pants, as Joe had so inelegantly described. Veronica fought the urge to giggle. This had to be the prince, indeed. About half-a-dozen dark-suited FInCOM agents followed him inside, and one of them closed the door tightly behind them.

  One royal eyebrow lifted a fraction of an inch at the people still sitting at the conference table, and the Ustanzian ambassador scrambled to his feet.

  “Your Highness!” he said. “I didn’t realize you’d be attending….”

  McKinley stood, too. The rest of the table followed suit.

  Still, as Veronica rose to her feet, she stared. This man wasn’t Joe. Or was it? Tedric had never seemed so tall, so imposing. But this couldn’t be Joe. That voice had been Tedric’s. And that walk. And that haughty look.

  The prince’s gaze swept around the table. His eyes passed over Veronica without the slightest hint of familiarity, without the tiniest bit of recognition or warmth. He looked through her, not at her. No, it wasn’t Joe. Joe would have winked or smiled. And yet…

  He held out a hand decorated with a huge gold and jeweled ring for the Ustanzian ambassador to bow over.

  Senator McKinley cleared his throat. “Your Excellency,” he said. “It was dangerous for you to come here. I should have been informed.” He glanced at his chief aide and hissed, “Why wasn’t I informed?”

  The prince affixed the senator with a very displeased stare. “I am not used to asking permission to leave my room,” he said.

  He was the prince. Veronica tried to tell herself that she was now convinced of that fact, yet doubt lingered.

  “But, Your Highness,” Kevin Laughton chimed in. “It’s just not safe.” He looked over at the FInCOM agents who had arrived with the prince. “I must be told of any movement.” He looked more closely at the men and a funny look crossed his face. Veronica tried to follow his gaze, to see what he saw, but he quickly looked back at the prince, his face once again expressionless.

  “If there was something you needed,” Henri Freder, the Ustanzian ambassador, interjected, “all you had to do was ask, Your Highness. We will provide you with all your requests, I can assure you.”

  “Sit, please, sit. Sit, sit,” the prince said impatiently.

  Everyone sat. Except the prince. He stood pointedly next to Senator McKinley’s seat at the head of the table.

  Rather belatedly, McKinley realized his mistake. He hastily stood and offered the prince his chair, moving around to one of the empty seats on the side of the oval table.

  On the other side of the room, one of the FInCOM agents coughed. When Veronica glanced at him, he gave her a quick wink. It was Cowboy—one of the SEALs from Joe’s Alpha Squad. At least, she thought it was. She did a double take, but when she looked again, he was gone.

  She turned and stared at the man who was settling himself in the now vacant chair at the head of the table. “I’ll need something to write on and a pen,” he announced to no one in particular. “And a glass of water.”

  Had she imagined Cowboy standing there? Was this really Joe, or was it Prince Tedric? Veronica honestly did not know.

  Around her, all of the aides and assistants were scrambling. One of them provided the prince with a smooth white pad of paper, another with a plastic ballpoint pen that the prince simply looked at in disdain. Yes, he had to be the real prince. No one could possibly imitate that disgusted look, could they? Another assistant produced a gold-plated fountain pen, which the prince took with a nod, and yet another presented him with a tall, ice-filled glass of water.

  “Thank you,” he said, and Veronica sat up.

  Thank you? Those words weren’t in Tedric’s vocabulary. At least, Veronica had never heard him say them before.

  Senat