The sky above the Aegean was swallowed by the synchronized thunder of mobilization. I leaned against the viewport of the command helicopter, which was hovering fifty feet above the sea, its dark composite body nearly invisible against the deep black water. Below us, the sea was alive. It wasn't the natural rhythm of the tide; it was the restless, deadly movement of two armies converging.

Domenico's flagship, the Il Padrino, was flanked by four sleek Italian missile boats, their decks teeming ...