Jacob Declan sat in the waiting room patiently, even though he had been there for--he checked his wristwatch--close to a half an hour. He had nothing to do but sit patiently and wait for the brunette woman seated behind the desk to call his name and buzz him through the doors. The thought of walking through the doors without the ladies permission had crossed his mind, but then wondered how good it would feel to be shot in the back, especially by a woman. He would never live that one down at the Winchester.

A soft voice broke the silence of the room, "Leftenant Declan, the colonel will see you now in Conference B."

Declan got to his feet almost instantly, and strode past the seated woman, who he figured was, in her late twenties, but still damn good looking for a woman in uniform.

"Any chance you could help me find Conference B Sergeant," he searched for her name, "Forrester?"

"Big boy like you," She started, as she looked up from her work, "I think you'll manage Leftenant."

The door buzzed as it unlocked and Declan proceeded through, taking one last look at Sergeant Forrester, who showed a faint blush as she glanced at Declan before he disappeared into the hallway.

As Declan walked through the hall, something strange struck him; there seemed to be no one else in the building. As he rounded a corner he saw a single man standing in the hall a distance in front of him. As he got closer, he recognized the man as his old friend and commanding officer, David Parker.

"Did I just stumble into a retirement home by chance," Declan said as he approached Parker.

"Better be careful, you'll stumble into an arse kicking," Parker said with a smirk as the two shook hands.

"Its been a damn long time sir, good to see you alive."

"Likewise Dec," It had been over nine months since the two friends had seen each other, "How'd my replacement work out?"

"Well," Declan began, "I was glad to see he was bumped to a better position out of the field," Both men chuckled slightly.

"So what is all this sir?" Declan asked as he raised his hands, motioning to the building, "This where you disappear to all those months ago?"

Parker pulled the handle and swung the door to Conference B open, "Why don't you come find out."

Declan was getting a bit nervous, but showed no signs of it, after twenty minutes of what sweating through what seemed like a mix between a post mission report and an interview. Two colonels sat opposite of him across an oak conference table. File after file of classified operations that Declan had participated in were discussed openly, something never done. As the last of the files was closed and placed atop the pile of others, one of the colonels spoke.

"Well leftenant, except for a few minor," his eyes met Parker's, who was leaning against a window ledge, before returning to Declan, "discrepancies, there is really nothing wrong about your operational performance. Captain Parker has mentioned your name on more than several occasions in the past," He took a deep breath before continuing, "So we see no problem with your introduction, welcome to Task Force Three-Oh-Three Leftenant."

Declan was surprised and stunned, it took him a moment, "I'm sorry sir, Task Force Three-Oh-Three?" Declan said glancing towards Parker looking for some sort of guidance or help.

"Yes, TF-303, several American generals decided to put it together a year or so ago. Sort of a combined op, American, British, and Australian operators all based under a single command element. We've already found that with the single element instead of multiple, that we put boots on the ground faster than ever before."

"You said American and Australian operators, who happens to control this group?" Declan pondered.

"Rotational command every six months, the Americans picked it back up several weeks ago," the colonel stood up and picked up the stack of files, "Captain Parker can fill you in more if you wish, good luck leftenant."

Salutes were exchanged as the two colonels left the conference room leaving only Parker and Declan standing.

"See what sort of nonsense you get dragged into when I'm not around to make decisions for you," Declan said to Parker once the door had shut.

"Aw it's not too bad, nice little pay bonus goes along with it. Plus," Parker said as he left his spot on the wall, "Mac's on board with us."

"Well we have the old team together at least," Declan said.

"Plus the cream of the crop from SBS and 3 Para. Good group of lads."

"Not as good as the ones we had when we were back in Afghanistan though, remember those good times?"

Parker laughed when he heard Declan's remark, "By 'good times' you mean being surrounded for two days be Taliban rebels?"

Declan smiled, "That'd be it."

Parker walked towards the door and pulled it open, the two men exited the room to the hallway, "Well I hope you liked those good times, 'cause I'm throwin' your arse straight into it. Mock-up in an hour, Warehouse 13; don't be late."

"What do you mean they lost contact?"

"The Hawaii was observing a flash message inside the designated time frame. Halfway through, the XO witnessed three bright flashes on the deck, then nothing else," the aide said, still standing although bracing for the furious rage that would soon be coming.

Vance however withheld, as took a long deep breath, and calmly said, "So is the Hawaii still trailing them?"

The look on the aide's face said it all, "No, the Hawaii lost contact as the ship docked in Mogadishu, that was four hours ago."

Vance looked down at his desk, fourteen months of work, ended in a night. "We have to assume that Nikoli is dead. Damn it, he was our only solid connection straight to Petrov. Now all we have is--what, a half sent message that says, Paki 4.16 Targe- not much to act on now is it?"

"No sir."

"Contact local field offices and have all available assets in the damn Eastern Hemisphere track down this bastard. Get a Keyhole on station, I want one on standby at all times."

"Yes sir."

"Also get all this out to the Three-Oh-Three immediately."

As the aide shut the door, Vance looked back down at the open folder on his desk. The contents, mostly classified papers for the highest levels of the C.I.A. were displayed. One of those papers was a grainy black and white photo.

"What are you up to now," Vance said aloud as he stared at the picture of Anatoly Petrov.

The last cartridge hadn't even finished rattling on the deck before Parker was yelling, "It's gotta be quicker and faster than this lads."

For the last three hours, ten men had been running through the same mock-up, Declan had stopped counting when he reached sixteen.

"We've got to secure this pilot house within ninety seconds, otherwise, they'll pucker up and were compromised. So, once more gentleman."

The ten men returned to the starting position and once more ran through the mock-up. Simulated targets appeared at random throughout the staged ship as the ten assaulted the pilot house. It was another hour before Parker ended the training, it was time for the real deal. The team cleaned their weapons, packed equipment and ammo into cases, and prepared to deploy; to where, none of them knew. Declan learned quickly, that this was just another day, in Task Force 303.

As the plane was crossing over Southern Europe several hours later, Declan was awoken by Parker, "Target's docked in Mogadishu, need to work on a new plan."