The radioman complied with his request, then continued. "There could be a problem, Hawk One. The storm's just pushed the sea over four feet. It's a helluva—"
"Permission to approach. We have a situation here," he continued in English.
"Have to check that with the TAO. We've got a perimeter," came back the uneasy answer.
"Fuck your perimeter, sailor." Peretz’ voice was harder now. "This is Lieutenant Colonel Leon Daniel, Israeli Air Force. We've got an emergency and we're coming in. Tell that to your TAO, and get us perimeter clearance. We're coming by." He switched off his mike.
"Well done." Ramirez nodded his approval. "Just the right combination of entreaty and bravado. I think the Americans will be stymied. The good-neighbor policy they like to talk about."
He leaned back and wished he had a cigar. The other men waiting, crouched in the dark, had understood only some of the English. They were four Germans, a Frenchman, and a Greek.
"Conditional clearance granted," crackled the radio. "But we have to visual ID you first. Approach from vector three-two-zero. Emergency rescue op being readied, just in case."
"Roger, USS Glover," Peretz spoke back sharply, in his best military style. "Keep the coffee hot."
"It's always hot, sir. This is the U.S. Navy."
"Appreciated."