Рыбаченко Олег Павлович
Oleg Rybachenko saves Tsarist Russia

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  • Аннотация:
    Eternal boy Oleg Rybachenko travels back in time with eternal girl Margarita Korshunova to save Tsar Nicholas II from defeat in the war with Japan.
  Oleg Rybachenko saves Tsarist Russia.
  ANNOTATION
  Eternal boy Oleg Rybachenko travels back in time with eternal girl Margarita Korshunova to save Tsar Nicholas II from defeat in the war with Japan.
  PROLOGUE
  Child Terminators, armed with hyperblasters and clad in combat suits, hovered above the seas. They stood directly in the path of Japanese destroyers preparing to attack the Russian Pacific squadron. The first group of Japanese ships moved without lights. The destroyers glided across the sea surface like a school of sharks, moving almost silently.
  The boy-terminator hefted a thermoquark-pumped hyperblaster in his hand. It was charged with ordinary water and, in one minute of forced fire, could release the energy of twelve atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima. Of course, there was a power regulator. Since the hyperblaster could run on any liquid fuel, there was no need to skimp. And if it hits, it hits.
  Margarita smacked her lips and exclaimed:
  - For Russia!
  Oleg confirmed:
  - For our Motherland!
  And the boy and girl pressed the ray gun buttons. And with a bang, the first destroyers were hit by hyperphoton jets. They were simply cut down.
  The monster children then transferred their hyperplasmic eruption to other ships.
  The young warriors sang with pathos:
  We will fight the enemy fiercely,
  The endless darkness of locusts
  The capital will stand forever,
  Let the sun shine upon the world, country!
  And they continued destroying the destroyers. A single shot cut several ships to pieces at once. The children were in combat suits and hovered above the surface.
  The first group of destroyers was sunk in literally two minutes. Oleg and Margarita flew on.
  Here they attacked the next group. The destroyers came under the blows of death rays.
  Oleg took it and sang:
  The knights served their Fatherland faithfully,
  The victories opened an endless account...
  All for the sake of holy mother Russia,
  What a wave from the underworld will destroy!
  Margarita continued releasing rays:
  What could a Russian warrior be afraid of?
  And what will make him shudder in doubt...
  We are not afraid of the flame of the color of gloss -
  There is only one answer: don"t touch my Rus'!
  And the child terminators sank another squadron of Japanese destroyers. And they continued moving. They were very lively. How wonderful it is to return to childhood after adulthood. And to become a child terminator and serve in the space special forces. And you are also helping Tsarist Russia: the most wonderful country on Earth!
  Here the young warriors are flying across the surface of the sea, and using a gravity finder, they locate the third squadron of destroyers. Admiral Togo tried to play his trump cards, but they were all defeated. And so the boys took on the third squadron.
  They fired and sang:
  And with whom else have we fought victoriously,
  Who was defeated by the hand of war...
  Napoleon was beaten in the impenetrable abyss,
  Mamai is in Gehenna with Satan!
  And the third destroyer squadron has been sunk, melted down, and burned. And the few surviving sailors are floating on the surface. The children, as we can see, have dealt with Togo's light ships. But the larger ships will have to be dealt with as well. Sink them, and consider the war with Japan over.
  Nicholas II is unlikely to land troops in the Land of the Rising Sun; he will take back the Kuril Islands and Taiwan - a good naval base could be created there.
  The Tsar-father wants Russia to have free access to the world's oceans, and his dream is close to being fulfilled.
  The child terminators have decent navigation skills and are approaching the main squadron's deployment location. Six battleships and eight armored cruisers, plus some smaller ships. Now, the young army will take them on. Or rather, a couple of warriors, who look very young.
  And so they turned on the hyperblasters again, very powerful ones at that, and launched death rays at the Japanese ships.
  Oleg took it and sang together with Margarita:
  We defeated the armies of the Commonwealth,
  We recaptured Port Arthur together...
  They fought the Ottoman Empire with wildness,
  And even Frederick blew away the battle of Russia!
  The child monsters pummeled the Japanese. They sank the largest battleships with ease. Then the Mikasa exploded and sank, along with Admiral Togo.
  The destruction of other vessels continued, and the young warriors sang with great enthusiasm and inspiration:
  No one can possibly defeat us,
  The hellish hordes have no chance of revenge...
  And not a single face is able to roar,
  But then came the bald bastard devil!
  And the childish space special forces continued the destruction. The last Japanese ships exploded and charred. They sank, and few of the brave warriors of the Celestial Empire survived.
  Thus, Japan was left without a navy. So the young space couple had fulfilled their mission.
  After which, over the course of two months, a Russian naval squadron landed troops on the Kuril Islands and Taiwan. And the war ended. A peace treaty was signed, stripping the Land of the Rising Sun of all island possessions except Japan itself. The samurai also agreed to pay a contribution of one billion gold rubles, or Russian rubles. Russia finally took control of Korea, Manchuria, and Mongolia.
  And then Yellow Russia was formed there.
  The Tsarist Empire was experiencing a rapid economic boom. It entered World War I with the world's second-largest economy, second only to the United States.
  Then, a world war began with Germany, Austria-Hungary, and the Ottoman Empire. Tsarist Russia entered this war with fast Prokhorov "Luna-2" light tanks capable of speeds of up to forty kilometers per hour on roads, a remarkable speed for a tank at the time. It also had the world's first and most powerful four-engine Ilya Muromets bombers, armed with eight machine guns and carrying two tons of bombs. It also had weapons such as horse-drawn carts with machine guns, gas masks, mortars, seaplanes, dynamo-rocket artillery, and much more.
  Naturally, Tsarist Russia won within a few months and with relatively little bloodshed. And Istanbul became the Russian Constantinople, where Tsar Nicholas II moved the capital of the Russian Empire. But that's another story.
  
  CHAPTER No 1.
  The groan was coming
  He walked in and propped his sunglasses on top of his head, pushing his long, sandy-blond hair out of his face. His skin was bronze, and he had the relaxed air of a local...
  Yana's mouth was open.
  Stone's hands fumbled with the pockets of his ripped shorts, but his nervousness kept his gaze fixed on Yana. His blue eyes were calm, almost serene. He looked like a man who had just awakened from a restful sleep. "Hello, Baker," he said.
  Yana began to speak, but did not make a sound.
  "Oh. My. God," Cade said. "Well, this is awkward, isn't it?" He looked at Jana, whose expression was somewhere between shock and anger. But he could see something else in her eyes, something she was trying to hide-excitement.
  "You," she blurted out. "What are you doing here?"
  His voice was soft, disarming. "I know you're crazy," he said. "And I'm not here to give you any excuses. I lost it all over you, baby, and it's my fault."
  "You're damn right it's your fault," she said. "You don't do that. You don't just up and disappear when you're in the middle of something."
  Cade looked at the two of them and bit his lower lip. He had witnessed something he hoped he wouldn't see.
  "I know. You're right," Stone said.
  "Well, I don"t want to hear about it," said Yana.
  Stone fell silent and waited. He was giving her time.
  "So spit it out," Yana said. "Why did you leave me? Are you seeing someone else? Is she cute? I hope so. I hope she was worth it."
  Cade wanted to disappear into the aging floorboards.
  - Baker, there's no one here...
  "Yes, that"s right," she interrupted.
  Stone walked up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Look at me. I'm serious. There was no one."
  "You haven't called me for a month," she said with anger in her words.
  "I was on ops," Stone said. "Look, I knew you were Bureau before you came here, and you knew I... well, you knew I worked in a similar field. I was on ops and couldn't share anything with you."
  "Operation? You up and disappear for a month? What the heck? Now I find out you're supposed to be some kind of contractor for the DEA? What else don't I know about you?"
  - Have you ever wondered where I learned all this? All the training I gave you? Weapons and tactics. Hand-to-hand combat. Destruction and all that?
  "Yes, I wondered. But I assumed you were in the army and didn't want to talk about it. But that doesn't give you the right to disappear."
  "I couldn't talk about my work, Baker. Not until now, that is. Now that you're back in action."
  "I'm not back in the fold," she said. "I'm not the Bureau. I'm never going back there. They don't manage me. I manage myself."
  Cade intervened. "Okay, okay. Can we stop this confrontation with the past? We've got a missing person."
  Yana didn't recognize Cade. "You didn't even tell me your last name. Not that I asked, mind you. So, John is your real name?"
  "Of course it is. I never lied to you. And yes, I was in the military. But you're right, I didn't want to talk about it. There are a lot of things I never want to talk about again. I'm just sorry it hurt you. I didn't tell you about myself because I didn't want to get burned when this was over."
  "You assumed this would end," Yana said.
  Cade once again wished he was anywhere but here, listening to his ex-girlfriend talk to the man she clearly had feelings for.
  "Isn't that right?" Stone said.
  opened her mouth.
  To Cade, the expression was like that of a man who had just found the missing piece of a puzzle.
  Her hand found her mouth and covered it, and she took two steps back. "Oh my God," she said. She pointed at Stone. "Your last name is Stone? That can't be. That can't be."
  "Which one?" Stone said.
  "Your eyes. That's why there was always something so familiar about you.
  This time it was Cade. - What are you talking about?
  "Eight years ago," Yana said, shaking her head. "I just graduated from college."
  Cade said, "You met eight years ago?"
  "No. My first job, before the Bureau, I went to work for a software conglomerate. I was making investments for them. It turned out my bosses weren't in a good mood. I ended up becoming a key witness for the FBI. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he approached me. My involvement in that case made me reconsider my entire career path. That's what made me think about becoming an FBI agent."
  Stone frowned. "Who? Who approached you?"
  - I didn't put two and two together until I heard your last name. But you have his eyes. My God. How could I have missed it? You have his eyes. Agent Stone, that's who.
  Stone replied, "I'm a contractor now, Baker. Besides, in the Army we were known as operators, not agents. I never went by the name Agent Stone."
  "Not you," Yana said, "your father. Your father is Special Agent Chuck Stone, isn't he?"
  This time it was Stone who opened his mouth. "Do you know my father?"
  "Do I know him? He saved my life. Yes, I know him."
  Silence filled the space like smoke fills a room.
  Cade said, "Great. My ex-girlfriend not only moved away, but apparently started a whole new family in the process." Humor was his only defense. "You'd think, since I work for the NSA, I'd already know all this." He laughed a little, but it didn't go away.
  Jana shook her head, her expression hardening. "You should have told me more," she said. "But we don't have time for that. We need to get down to business." She crossed her arms and looked at Stone. "What do you know about Agent Kyle McCarron's disappearance?"
  
  16 Last observation
  
  
  "Yes,
  Stone said, "Baker, wait. Did you know my father?
  Yana waited a bit, but finally said, "Yes. It was back in the Petrolsoft case."
  Stone's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but all he could do was exhale.
  "Petrolsoft?" Stone finally said. He looked at the floor. "I think I need to sit down," he said, leaning against the ottoman and sinking back onto the pillows. "Dad almost died on this case. He was shot in the chest. The only reason he didn't die was because..." He looked at Jana.
  Yana interrupted. "They called for a helicopter evacuation. I know, I was there. His blood was on me."
  "I can't believe it was you," Stone said. "He was in intensive care for days. We didn't think he was going to make it. It was months later. I'd just been selected for Special Forces Operations Detachment One and was about to go when Dad finally told me about the case."
  "First SFOD-D?" Cade said. "So you were Delta Force."
  "Yeah. We've done a lot of things. Everything's under JSOC's control."
  "JSOC?" Yana said.
  Cade replied, "Joint Special Operations Command. Whenever we recommend an invasion, we call JSOC. If approved, they assign either a Delta Force team or one of the eight SEAL teams."
  "Anyway," Stone continued, "Dad was retired for health reasons and decided that since I had a security clearance, it would be okay to share the details with me."
  "He worked for the Bureau for twenty-three years," Yana said. "He was already eligible for a pension, but he didn't want one ."
  "Yes," Stone said. "What he told me about the case. He told me about the girl he recruited to go undercover. He said she was the most fearless creature he"d ever seen." He continued to look at her. "I can"t believe it was you. You risked your life. And not only that, the other agents said it was you who stopped the bleeding. You saved my dad."
  Cade glanced between them. He watched the tension drain from Yana's face and shoulders. It seemed to him that her earlier anger had melted away.
  "He saved mine," Yana said sweetly. "He was a real hero that day. If he hadn't burst into that apartment, I'd be dead now. It's because of him that I became an agent."
  There was a long silence, and Cade paced back and forth. It was as if the other two had forgotten he was there. He said, "I hate to interrupt this wonderful reunion, but can we get back to business?"
  "Kyle approached me a while ago," Stone said. "He was new to the island, and I was still trying to figure out who he was."
  "What prompted him to contact you?" Cade said.
  "How can I put it?" Stone said. "I have a special reputation here."
  "What reputation?" asked Yana.
  "I'm known as a guy who can get things done."
  "Achieve your goal?" Yana said. "You couldn't even find your shirt this morning." The young couple laughed at this conclusion, but Cade closed his eyes. "What things?"
  Stone removed his sunglasses from his head and tucked them into his empty shirt pocket. "In the cartels, I'm known as a mule. I move drugs from point A to point B. That allows me to know which cartels are moving what product and where it's going. Then I report it to the DEA. Well, not all the time, but every now and then."
  Yana raised her head. "You're not disclosing all the deliveries? You work for them as a contractor, right? Isn't that concealing evidence?"
  Stone said, "It's not that easy. To survive here as long as I have, you have to be damn careful. If I told the DEA about every shipment, they'd intercept it. How long do you think I'd survive? Plus, there are times when one cartel or another wants to test me. They've had shipments confiscated, so they set me up for a milk run. They don't tell me, but sometimes there aren't any drugs in the package. It's just supposed to look like drugs. They track it and make sure it gets to its destination, then wait to see if the DEA boys show up. The usual internal witch hunt.
  Cade said, "So when the cartels give you a mission, how do you know which of your drug shipments are just tests?"
  "I can't explain it," Stone said. "I just have a weird feeling inside."
  "Let's get back to business," Yana said. "Tell us about Kyle."
  "Kyle knew I was a mule before he knew I was undercover. He befriended me. Thought I'd be a good way to get in. Damn, he was good. I had no idea who he was, and that's saying something. I can usually sniff these guys out."
  "He"s good," Yana said.
  "Which one?" Stone replied.
  "You said he was good. It's not in the past tense. Kyle is alive, and we will find him."
  are there cartel operations here?
  "A lot more than you think. That's because they're being so low-key. I don't have numbers other than what I've seen, but they're moving a lot of product," Stone said.
  "How can you be so sure?" Cade said.
  "Look, when it comes to the cartels, they know one thing about me: I always keep my promises. That kind of loyalty goes a long way. I've taken a liking to the Rastrojos cartel in particular. All that means is that I get more access to see what's going on than other low-level mules. That puts me in places others can't."
  "But how do you know how big it is?" Cade said.
  "I don't just move drugs. Sometimes it's cash. Last month, I moved a tractor-trailer. It was filled to the brim. I'm talking shrink-wrapped pallets of green paper-hundred-dollar bills. The 1.5-ton truck was packed to the brim, all but a stack of pallets leaning against the rear doors. It was a roof-high load of white flour, designed to hide the cash from prying eyes. Sometimes the Antiguan police stop trucks to search them."
  "So Kyle had succeeded. He went deep," Jana said.
  This time Stone looked at Cade. "I'll bet my ass he was head over heels. Like I said, he was the best I've ever seen. When I was at the Office of Enforcement, I saw him coming and going. He was clearly investigating them."
  "Oficina de Envigado what?" - Cade asked.
  Yana answered: "Escondit means refuge in Spanish."
  "Okay," Cade said, "so you'll see him at Envigado's here on the island. When was the last time you saw him?"
  "It was about five days ago. He was there, apparently at a meeting. I was passing by, and he was having breakfast on the balcony with..."
  Jana approached Stone. "With? With whom?" Receiving no answer, she asked, "Who was Kyle dating?"
  Stone looked at her, then at Cade, then looked down and exhaled deeply. "Montes Lima Perez. Rumor has it he was captured by another cartel, Los Rastrojos, led by Diego Rojas.
  
  17 Von Rojas
  
  
  After the hearing
  The name was Diego Rojas, Cade closed his eyes. Yana looked from Stone to Cade. "Okay. Can someone tell me what's going on?"
  Cade rubbed his neck and exhaled deeply. "He's bad, Yana."
  Stone said: "That's putting it mildly. He's Los Rastrojos' number one on the island. But not just on the island. He's a major player. And he's as ruthless as they come."
  "Be honest with me, Stone," Jana said. "What are the chances that Kyle is still alive?"
  "If it had been anyone other than Rojas, he would have lived just long enough for them to get whatever information they wanted from him. But with Rojas, you never know. His temperament is legendary. Kyle is dead. He would be dead already."
  "The NSA has been spying on Colombian cartels off and on for years. Cade said Rojas isn't just high up in the organization; he's fresh blood. And he has pedigree."
  "What is that supposed to mean?" said Yana.
  "Cade replied. "It all started with the Cali Cartel. Cali was founded by the Rodriguez Orejuela brothers in the city of Cali in southern Colombia in the early '80s. At the time, it was an offshoot of Pablo Escobar's Medellin Cartel, but by the late '80s, the Orejuelas were ready to branch out on their own. They were led by four men. One of them was a man named Helmer Herrera, known as Pacho. Pacho and others led the cartel to a point in the '90s where they controlled ninety percent of the world's cocaine supply. We're talking billions of dollars."
  - So why the history lesson? said Yana.
  "Los Rastrojos is Cali's successor. Diego Rojas is Pacho's son," Cade said.
  "Yes," Stone said, "his last son. The others were killed. So, apparently, Pacho changed Diego's last name to protect him."
  Cade said: "After the murder of his older brothers, the child grew up with thoughts of revenge. He has a complex psychological profile, Yana. The US has been trying to get to him for years."
  "The DEA couldn't do it?" Yana said.
  Stone said, "It's much more complicated than that. The DEA had a lot of objections that prevented them from shutting down Rojas."
  "Answer from whom?" said Yana.
  Cade replied. "The State Department's response. They were afraid that if Rojas were killed, it would create a power vacuum in Colombia. You see, so much of the Colombian government is mired in corruption. If the balance of power shifts, the state is concerned that the country will become unstable. And if that happens, you'll have a new hot spot for terrorist organizations to set up shop and be undisturbed."
  "I don't think I want to hear it," Jana said. "It makes me sick. Anyway, if the State Department doesn't want Rojas taken out, what is Kyle doing trying to infiltrate their cartel?"
  "Disruption," Stone said. "They probably want to continue disrupting every new drug supply route to slow the flow into the United States."
  Yana's impatience boiled. "I don't care about all this background nonsense. I want to know how we're going to save Kyle.
  "You need to know," Cade said. "You need to know who Roxas is and how ruthless he is before you go there."
  The stone stood. "Before who goes in there? Goes in where?" He looked at Cade. "Wait, she won't go in there," he said, pointing.
  "She has to go there," Cade said. "She's our only chance of getting Kyle out alive."
  The stone's volume increased. "He's dead, I told you. You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know these people."
  "I know all about these people," Cade spat.
  "Oh, really?" Stone said, crossing his arms. "From his office at the NSA?" He turned to Iana. "Baker, don't do this. I've been inside for a long time, and I'm telling you, not only is Kyle dead, but even if he weren't, they would have sniffed you out. And don't even ask me what they'll do to you if they find you."
  She placed a gentle hand on Stone's shoulder. Only then did she realize her hand had begun to tremble. "I have the perfect way to get in," she said, a shudder running through her body. "They're actually going to invite me in."
  Stone shook his head.
  "Johnny, this is what I have to do." She crossed her arms, trying to hide her shaking hand. "I have to. I have to. I have to."
  "Yes," Stone replied, "you speak very convincingly."
  
  18 Nightmares
  
  
  Jana knew
  She had been up late and decided to take a nap. Soon, she fell asleep. Her pupils darted back and forth across her closed eyelids. She had already passed through the first four stages of sleep, and rapid eye movement (REM) had begun in earnest. Her breathing deepened, then slowed. But as the dream began to unfold, visions of light flashed before her mind's eye. She began to discern a certain shape, the telltale silhouette of Wasim Jarrah, the man who had tormented her waking and sleeping for over three years. He was responsible for the three gunshot wounds to her upper torso. Those horrible scars. They were always there, a constant reminder of his power over her, and they had a mind of their own.
  Her breathing quickened. She had killed Jarrah moments before he was set to detonate the weapon of mass destruction. Visions flickered and formed in her mind. It was as if she were watching footage from an old newsreel. Her pupils darted left and right with increasing speed as Jarrah emerged from his silhouette. It was as if he had stepped out of her memories of that fateful day, high on a cliff, deep in Yellowstone National Park.
  Jarrah, now clearly and sharply focused, stepped out of the silhouettes against the newsreel and approached Yana. At the time, she was gravely wounded and lying face up on the rocks. Blood and scratches covered her face, arms, and legs-badges of honor earned after a two-mile run through forest and rugged terrain in pursuit of Jarrah. Her head had hit the rocks, and the concussion made the situation even more hazy.
  It was another recurring nightmare she couldn't shake. She relived the same horrific ordeal several times a week. And now the boundaries of her own sanity were beginning to weaken. It was like an earthen dam being soaked, through which a massive volume of water began to seep.
  In her dream, Yana watched Jarra's back, who now stood before her with crystal clarity.
  "It's a joy to watch, isn't it, Agent Baker?" Jarrah said through a sickening grin. He put an arm around her shoulder. "Let's watch it again, okay? It's the ending I love so dearly." Yana's breathing quickened.
  That day, as Jarrah reached out to pick up Yana and throw her body over the cliff, she plunged a knife into his chest. She then slit his throat, spraying blood onto the pine needles, before barrel-rolling him over the edge. Jarrah died, and Yana prevented the attack.
  But here, in her nightmare, her memory was altered, and Jana faced her worst fears. She watched as Jarrah lifted her limp body from the ground, threw her over his shoulder, and walked to the edge of the cliff. With Jana's torso dangling behind him, he turned so Jana could see over the edge and into the canyon below. Jagged rocks at the bottom jutted upward like the fingers of death. Her body twisted in pain, her limp arms hanging limp at her sides. Jarrah laughed a monstrous laugh and said, "Ah, come on, Agent Baker. When you were a child, didn't you want to fly like a bird? Let's see if you can fly." He threw her over the edge.
  As she fell, she heard Jarrah's laughter from above. Her body slammed into the rocks at the canyon floor, leaving her in a crumpled heap. Then Jarrah casually walked to his backpack, reached inside, pressed a button on the device, and watched as the digital screen came to life. He typed a coded sequence into the tiny keypad and activated the device. Without hesitation, he tossed the eighty-pound backpack over the edge. It landed not far from Jana's body. Five seconds later, the ten-kiloton nuclear weapon detonated.
  A mushroom cloud rose into the atmosphere, but that was only the beginning. The canyon where Yana lay was located directly above the world's largest volcanic magma chamber. A cacophony of primary and secondary volcanic eruptions followed.
  Back in her bedroom, Yana's right hand began to twitch.
  In her dream, Jana heard warnings from the state geologist they'd consulted during the investigation. "If this device detonates directly over the magma chamber," he said, "it will trigger a volcanic eruption the likes of which have never been seen before. It will devastate the western United States and blanket much of the country in ash. It will darken the sky. There will be a year-long winter..."
  In her dream, Jarrah turned to face Yana, and she saw death in his eyes. Her dream self froze, unable to fight. He pulled out the same knife and plunged it into her chest.
  In bed, Yana's breathing stopped, and post-traumatic stress took over. Her body began convulsing, and she could do nothing to stop it.
  
  19 Works undercover
  
  Bar Tululu, 5330 Marble Hill Rd., St. John's, Antigua
  
  Jana
  The little black dress clung tightly to her toned figure. It was enough to attract attention, but not enough to be flashy. Her target was here, and she knew it. As she entered, she couldn't help but notice Rojas sitting in the corner of the bar, and it was all she could do to avoid eye contact. It's him, she thought. He was looking straight at her, his eyes tracing her distinct curves. Yana's heart began to beat faster, and she exhaled, trying to calm her jittery nerves. She felt like she was walking into the lion's mouth.
  Music boomed from five-foot speakers, and bodies huddled tightly together, bouncing to the beat. It was a strange blend of African rhythms, backed by the unique sound of steel drums-an authentic blend of the island's West African heritage, softened by the salty air, a gentle breeze, and a relaxed attitude known to locals as "island time," a low-stress approach to life.
  She walked up to the counter and leaned her elbow on its polished wood. Rojas was wearing an expensive blue blazer over a crisp white button-down shirt. She glanced at him with her blue eyes, and the corner of his mouth curled up in response. She smiled back, but more politely.
  The bartender, a local islander, wiped the bar with a white towel and asked, "Ma'am?"
  "Mojito, please," said Yana.
  Rojas stood up. "May I make a proposition?" His Latin accent was softer than she expected, and she was captivated by something in his eyes. He looked at the bartender. "Bring her a rum punch with Guyanese passionfruit and a Ron Guajiro." He came closer. "I hope you don't find me too pushy, but I think you'll like it. My name is Diego Rojas." He extended his hand.
  "I'm Claire. This is a very expensive rum," said Jana. "As far as I remember, about $200 a bottle."
  Rojas's smile revealed perfect pearly whites. "A beautiful woman who knows her rum. Are you just visiting our exquisite island?"
  I can't believe I'm this close to him, she thought, goosebumps breaking out on her arms. Being so close to a psychopath, the only person who held the key to finding Kyle, was terrifying. A bead of sweat trickled down her side.
  "Most islanders prefer Cavalier or English Harbour," she said, "but that's for the average local. Ron Guajiro's distillery did its best work in the '70s, but it's no longer available. But the 1980s, as he's bottling now, produced a very respectable bottle."
  "I'm impressed. Have you ever tried guajiro from the 1970s?"
  She placed an innocent hand on his arm and looked into his dark eyes. "You can't want what you can't have. Don't you agree?"
  He laughed as the bartender mixed the punch in front of her. "To desire is to strive to possess or have something. And what makes you think you can't have what you desire?" His eyes wandered over her peak to what pleased them.
  Yana maintained eye contact and nodded.
  "Here you go, ma'am," the bartender said, placing a glass of rum in front of her. She sampled the colorful punch.
  "What do you think?" Rojas said.
  "We'll see. While it would be sacrilege to hide such a fine rum as Guajiro behind other flavors, I detect traces of clove, pipe tobacco... espresso, a little tawny port, and orange."
  "How did you learn so much about rum? Did your family have a distillery?
  Keep him talking. Yana believed Kyle was alive and knew his life depended on her ability to infiltrate Rojas's organization. She searched for the slightest sign of deception. A flicker of his facial muscles, a darting of his gaze down and to the left, but she couldn't detect anything.
  "No, I come to knowledge more honestly. I work in a bar."
  This time he laughed louder and responded to her touch. When his eyes landed on her hand, his dazzling smile faded, and he said, "But what did you do with your hand?"
  If he knows I beat the crap out of his opponent last night, he's doing a good job of hiding it. She let the prolonged silence emphasize the moment. "I cut myself shaving."
  He laughed and finished the rest of his drink. "My, my. But there are cuts on the knuckles. No bruises, though. How very interesting. Hmm..." He took her other hand. "Marks on both hands. Yes, shaving is dangerous. One must be careful." This time, the Latin tint of his accent betrayed a slight English lilt, like that of someone who had spent a lot of time in the United Kingdom.
  Yana shifted her position, and another drop of sweat fell on her. "But why be careful? Life is too short, Mr. Rojas."
  "Indeed," he said, nodding.
  
  From the darkened hillside about fifty yards away, Cade squinted through his binoculars at the open-air bar. Even at this distance, the music was clearly audible. "Well, it didn't take her long," he said.
  Stone, lying on the ground next to him, replied, "You expected this?" He adjusted the tripod of his Vortex Razor HD monocular spotting scope to better align the view, then rotated the reticle to zoom in. "I mean, how could you not look at her?"
  - Are you trying to tell me she's beautiful? We dated for a year, you know.
  - That's what I heard.
  Cade winced and shook his head. "Let me ask you a question. Are you the biggest idiot on the island?"
  Stone continued to stare through the scope. "Okay, I'll bite. What's that supposed to mean?"
  "You had her. I mean, you had her. But you let her go? What were you thinking?
  - It's not that simple.
  Cade put the binoculars down. "It's that simple."
  "Let's break it off, okay? I don't like talking to Yana's ex-boyfriend about Yana."
  shook his head again.
  Stone said, "She'll have this guy wrapped around her finger in a minute. Look at him."
  "Of course, I'd like to hear what they have to say. I'm nervous as hell about her being in such close proximity to that scumbag."
  "I'll never send her there with a wiretap. But this is something we can agree on. Rojas is a psycho. He has no remorse. It took a lot of deaths for Rojas to become Rojas."
  
  Back at the bar, Yana leaned back and laughed. She was surprised at how easily everything had unfolded. "So where did you grow up?"
  "You tell me," he answered.
  "Let's see. Dark hair, dark complexion. But not just because he spends too much time on the beach. You're Hispanic.
  - This is good ?
  Yana grinned. "I"d say somewhere in Central America. Am I right?"
  "Very good," he said, nodding. "I grew up in Colombia. My parents had a big farm. We produced coffee and sugar cane."
  She took his hand and turned it over, then ran her fingers over his palm. "These don't look like a farmer's hands. And Guajiro? It's not often you meet someone with such refined tastes. They must have been special people."
  "They were the second largest coffee exporters in the country. The finest Arabica beans."
  "You didn't pick sugar cane in the fields, did you?" Her smile was playful.
  "Not at all. I was sent to the best private boarding schools. Then to Oxford University.
  "Classical education, no doubt."
  - And here I am.
  "Yes, here you are. So what are you doing now?" She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear his cover story.
  "Let's not talk about me. I want to know more about you."
  For example, how do you separate me from my panties? Yana's expression changed. "I see you coming from a mile away, Mr. Rojas."
  "My name is Diego," he said with the soft elegance of royalty. His eyes met hers. "Is there something wrong with a man finding beauty in a woman?"
  "You only see the surface. You don't know me."
  "Me too," he said. "But what fun would life be if we couldn"t discover new people?" His hand found his chin. "But your statement sounds like a warning. Is there something I should know about you?" His smile reminded Yana of a certain Hollywood actor.
  It was hard for her to look away from his gaze, but eventually she did. "It's not pretty inside."
  Another well-dressed man with distinct Latin features quickly approached Rojas and whispered something in his ear.
  Who is this? Yana thought.
  "Will you excuse me for a moment?" Rojas said, gently touching her hand. "Business calls."
  Yana watched as the men walked out onto the balcony. Rojas was handed a cell phone. He knows. He knows I sent his rival to the hospital. Now I'm in this depth. Yana's right hand began to tremble. What am I doing? Her breathing quickened. Memories of her horrific ordeal in the cabin with Rafael flashed before her eyes.
  
  From the hillside behind the bar, Stone squinted through a powerful monocular. "Damn, we've got a bugbear."
  "What?" Cade paused, reaching for his binoculars. "Is she in danger?"
  "Of course she's in danger. She's two feet away from Diego Rojas.
  "No!" Cade said. "Where's the new guy you're talking about?" Cade searched the club from one side to the other.
  "Wait," Stone replied. "I know who it is. It's Rojas' scout. Looks like he and Rojas are heading out to the balcony."
  "I can't see Yana! Where is Yana?
  Stone looked at Cade.
  The look on his face reminded Cade of his first days at the NSA. He was so green, he felt like such an idiot.
  Stone said, "God, you really are a jockey, aren't you?" He moved Cade's binoculars a little to the left. "She's here. In the same place where she sat."
  "Great. Good." Cade's breathing evened out. "And I'm not a jockey," he muttered.
  "Oh, no?" Stone said.
  - I've been in the field before.
  - Yes .
  "Okay, don't believe me." Cade tried to think of a really spicy option. "Besides, you used that word incorrectly."
  Without losing focus on Yana, Stone asked, "What word?"
  "Boogie. A bogey refers to a phantom blip on a radar screen. It comes from the old Scottish word for "ghost." You've misused the word."
  "Oh, yes," Stone said. "You're perfect for field work. It's also a reference to an unidentified aircraft from World War II that's presumed hostile."
  - Do you know the security guard?
  "Yes," Stone replied. "Although he looks more like an intelligence consultant. His name is Gustavo Moreno."
  "Gustavo Moreno?" Cade repeated like a parrot. "Why do I know that name?" Cade closed his eyes and began to search his memory for a name that wouldn't come to mind. "Moreno... Moreno, why did I..." His eyes widened. "Shit, shit, shit," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.
  
  20 Cade panics over Moreno
  
  
  Yana Prostora
  In the NSA command center, Knuckles saw that it was Cade calling and answered. "Go, Cade."
  From the hillside in Antigua, Cade stuttered. "Knuckles, Uncle Bill, get him. We got . . . there's a problem."
  "Well, I guess so," Knuckles replied. "Dude, calm down."
  Uncle Bill, the elderly department head, approached Knuckles' desk with a smile on his face. "Is this Cade? Put me on speaker."
  - Yes, sir.
  The speakerphone buzzed. "She's... she's... ".
  "Just calm down, Cade," Uncle Bill said, wiping crumbs from his beard. Tiny pieces of orange cracker had dissolved into the thick carpeting. "Let me guess. Jana's at a bar? Maybe surrounded herself with drug lords?"
  There was a short silence. "How did you know that?" Cade said.
  "Come on, buddy," Knuckles said. "We can see the location of your cell phone. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out you're stuck on the side of a hill, probably watching a bar called Tululu's?"
  "There are a couple of security cameras in the bar," Uncle Bill said. "We hacked them. If you see what we see, that means she was talking to Diego Rojas, right?"
  "Rojas is bad enough, but this new guy..."
  "Gustavo Moreno?" said Uncle Bill. "Yes, that's not good. I've been looking for him for a long time."
  "Damn," Cade said, "why didn't you guys tell me we have eyes inside us?"
  "Dude," Knuckles said. "What's funny about that? We just wanted to see how long it would take you to call us in a frantic panic." Knuckles handed Bill a five-dollar bill. "And I lost the bet."
  "Yeah, hysterical," Cade said. "Moreno, is this the guy who used to work for Pablo Escobar? Am I remembering that correctly?"
  "That's the one," Uncle Bill said. "He was the head of the Colombian National Intelligence Agency. We haven't seen him for over a year. I'm impressed that you remember his biography."
  "Didn't he work for us?" Cade said. "But then he got involved with the Medellin Cartel?"
  Knuckles jumped up, always eager to confirm his knowledge. "Looks like he switched teams. According to our records, he spent the first ten years of his career at Langley, then transferred his experience to the Columbia National Intelligence Service, and then disappeared."
  "Where did the CIA get another mole?"
  Uncle Bill replied, "He wasn't a mole, Cade. He was legitimately working for the CIA. He resigned and returned to his home country to work in intelligence. It was after that that he decided it was better to work for a drug lord."
  "Whatever," Cade said. "But if Moreno is working for Rojas right now, and Moreno is gathering intelligence for the Rastrojos cartel, then that means..."
  Uncle Bill interrupted, "This Rojas guy will probably check out the information about Yana. He probably already knows that last night the woman broke that guy from the Oficina de Envigado cartel into pieces. We certainly hope that this chance encounter with her will lead to Rojas believing her."
  "Bill," Cade said, "why are you so calm? If Moreno runs a full background check on Yana, they'll probably have her fingerprints. They'll know she's FBI. And if they find out she was a federal agent, they'll suspect she's undercover."
  - We are prepared for this turn of events, Cade.
  "Which one?" he shouted into the phone.
  "For a man with Gustavo Moreno's intelligence-gathering skills, it's no surprise that he was able to discover that she was a former federal agent."
  - And you agree with this?
  "No, I'm not ready," Bill said, "but I'm ready for this, and so is Jana. Look, the only thing she's going to do tonight is get Rojas interested, right? Our only hope of finding a clue to Kyle's whereabouts is for Jana to get inside. We assume Rojas will figure out her identity, and Jana won't deny it. In fact, she'll admit she was Bureau and throw away her badge. Moreno's background check will confirm she's been living in a tiki hut on the beach under an assumed name ever since."
  "The story is plausible, Cade," Knuckles added. "It's not unlike Gustavo Moreno's own story. He also worked at high levels in the U.S. government, but became disillusioned and left."
  Uncle Bill said, "When she gets back to the safe house tonight, you guys tell the story."
  Cade rubbed his eyes. "Great." He exhaled. "I can't believe we're using her as bait."
  - Cade? Uncle Bill said, "Jana is a grown woman with a high intellect, and she is especially loyal to her friends. We don't really use her."
  - What do you think? Cade answered.
  "Would you want to be the one who didn't tell her that Kyle was a suspect in the disappearance? If something happened to Kyle and she could do something about it, she'd kill the three of us for not telling her. We can use her as bait, but she knows exactly what she's doing."
  "Bill?" Cade said. "Kyle is not a suspect in the disappearance. He's missing."
  "We're on the same team, Cade. But right now, the assumption is that Kyle is still under deep cover. Until we have proof he's been kidnapped, we'll never get approval to form a strike team. I want you to understand the importance of what we're talking about here. If we send a team to retrieve Kyle and it turns out he wasn't kidnapped, not only will we ruin six months of undercover work, we'll also be violating international law. You're not in the United States down there. Antigua is a sovereign state. It will be considered an invasion, and the consequences on the world stage will be catastrophic."
  Cade rubbed his eyes. "Fine. But, Bill, when this is all over, I'm going to tell Mrs.... Uncle Bill Tarleton about the stash of orange crackers under your desk."
  
  21 Arrival on the island
  
  VC Bird International Airport, Pavilion Drive, Osborne, Antigua
  
  The tone of the man was walking
  Up the Jetway and into the terminal, like any other passenger. He was in his early sixties, but years of hard living had taken their toll. Such signs of wear and tear are often the result of years of drug and alcohol abuse. But for this man, it was the result of something else.
  For him, the wear and tear manifested itself in two physical areas. First, there was a constant tension in his shoulders, as if he needed to react at any moment. It was a tension that never subsided, the result of years of being on guard, never knowing from which direction the next attack might come. And second, it was written in his eyes. They held a condemning deadness, similar to that carried by soldiers who have endured a long, intense war. Often called the "thousand-yard stare," the wartime gaze can appear and disappear. But this was different. His eyes carried a crushing defeat. It was like peering into the soul of a man who had died inside but was forced to live on.
  Across from Gate 14, he stopped and shifted his carry-on bag onto his shoulders, then stared out the massive windows at the runway and the buildings beyond. The day was clear, crisp, and the blue sky held something deep within him. He pulled a photograph from his top shirt pocket, accidentally dropping his American Airlines boarding pass. He stared at the photo of a young woman at a graduation ceremony. She was shaking hands with a much taller man in a business suit. To the man, her eyes seemed to be watching him, as if she were following his every move. And yet, he knew his mission. He knew his purpose. He had only recently received the photograph, and he still remembered the first time he looked at it. He turned it over and read the words etched in pencil on the back. It read simply, "Jana Baker."
  
  22 Back in the safe house
  
  - Farm, Hawksbill Bay, 1:14 .
  
  " Before she comes.
  - said Cade.
  "Will you calm down?" Stone replied. He pushed his hair back and plopped down on the couch. "I'm telling you, she's good."
  "Good?" Cade snapped. "Good at what? Good in bed?
  Stone shook his head. "A man. That's not even what I was saying. I mean, she's ready. She can take care of herself." He pointed at Cade. "We need to get this shit under control. We've got a missing person."
  "I know Kyle is missing!" Cade shouted.
  As Yana walked along the broken coral path, Stone jumped up. "Don't bark at me! She can take care of herself. I've seen it. Hell, I trained her. She could almost kick my ass. And one more thing. We had some good times. And if you have a problem with that..."
  They both turned and saw Yana in the open doorway.
  - What is it? she said. Her voice was hoarse.
  Both men looked down.
  Yana said: "And I thought it would be awkward."
  "I'm sorry, baby," Stone said. "It doesn't matter."
  Cade stepped towards her. "Do you know who it was with Rojas today?"
  - The man who pulled him out? No.
  "His name is Gustavo Moreno. He works as an intelligence officer for Rojas.
  Yana let the thought play in her head. "It had to happen. There was no way my past could have gone unnoticed."
  "How did you leave your things at Rojas's?" Stone asked.
  "He invited me to his villa."
  "Yeah," Cade said. "I bet he did."
  "Cade. For God's sake. I'm not going to sleep with him."
  Cade shuffled his feet and muttered under his breath, "At least he's someone you're not going to sleep with."
  "What was that?" she blurted out.
  "Nothing," Cade replied.
  "What time is it?" Stone said.
  "Lunch." She looked at Cade. "If I play it right, he'll trust me."
  "How are you going to make him do that?" Cade said.
  "I can take care of myself, you know? I don't need you to come help me."
  He walked up to her. "Will you let me handle this? Is it all under control?" He leaned over and tugged at her hand. "Then why is your hand shaking? The PTSD isn't gone. It never left you, did it?"
  She pulled her hand away. "Don't meddle in my business."
  Cade said, "In this operation, your business is my business. What you know, I know. What you hear, I hear. I'm in charge."
  "You're in charge, right? I don't work for the government anymore. And I don't work for you. I do this on my own."
  Cade's voice rose. "Kyle McCarron is a CIA agent, and this is a government operation."
  Jana said, "If this is a government operation," the word spilled out like spoiled vinegar, "where is the government to save him? You can't even convince people he's missing!" She started pacing. "You have no support. Special forces should be crawling all over this island. The president should be on the phone threatening the Antiguan government. Half a dozen F-18s should be swooping over the Interior Ministry just to scare the crap out of them!"
  "I told you we had no support when we started this!" Cade yelled back.
  Stone jumped between them. "Let's all just calm down. We're on the same team here. And all this bickering isn't going to get us any closer to finding Kyle."
  "I"m going in," she blurted. "I"m going through with it, with or without support. Kyle is alive." The vibration in her hand intensified, and she turned away from Cade. "I don"t have any choice." Jana"s peripheral vision began to blur, and her breathing became ragged. "I can handle this, Cade." She entered the first bedroom and closed the door behind her. She braced her hands on the dresser and looked into the mirror. A cold heat hit her face, and for a moment her knees went weak. She exhaled heavily and closed her eyes. But the harder she tried to rid herself of the horrors gripping her soul, the brighter the horrors became.
  She imagined herself back in the hut, tied to a wooden chair. Rafael leaned over her, a knife in his hand. Come on, Yana. Grasp this. Don't let it weigh you down. But then she fell. Rafael hit her in the face with the back of his hand, and she felt the salty taste of moisture in her mouth. Stop it. Stop thinking about it. Remember the fort. Everything will be fine if you just get to the fort. She closed her eyes and remembered her childhood, a small path in the forest. She imagined tall pine trees, the bright sun shining between the branches, and the appearance of a dilapidated fortress. As Rafael and the hut faded into the background, she mentally walked to the tangled mass of vines and branches that made up the fort's entrance and tried to conjure up the omnipresent scent of fresh earth, jasmine, and pine needles. She took a deep breath. She was inside. She was safe. And nothing could harm her in the fortress.
  She opened her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair and makeup were disheveled, her eyes tired and defeated. "If I can barely cope with PTSD after meeting him in a public place, how can I..."
  But a lonely thought occurred to her, and she straightened up. "Raphael is dead. I killed that son of a bitch. He got what he deserved, and he's not going to hurt me anymore."
  
  23 The tallest participant
  
  
  Jana pulled it out
  She walked to the security gate and waited for the armed guard to approach. She glanced in the mirror again and shook off the shudder. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into an elegant bun, and her flowing sarong skirt matched the island atmosphere. The guard leaned toward her open window, his eyes gliding down her bare leg to her thigh. Right, she thought. Get a good look. He might not have been the man she was looking for, but the effect was exactly what she wanted.
  "Exit the car, please," the guard said, adjusting the shoulder strap of his submachine gun and moving it to the side.
  Yana stepped out, and the guard motioned for her to spread her arms wide. He used a hand cane, moving it up and down her legs and torso. "You think I have a Glock hidden somewhere?" she said. Her suggestion wasn't lost on the guard-her clothes were tight, leaving little to the imagination.
  "This is not a metal detector," he said.
  It's a good thing I don't wear a wire, she thought.
  Back in the car, she drove down the long driveway, its manicured entrance paved with finely crushed pink coral and surrounded by exquisite tropical landscaping. As she crested a small hill, a panoramic view of Morris Bay opened up before her. The turquoise-blue waters and pink-white sands were typical of Antigua's natural beauty, but from the hillside, the view is breathtaking.
  The estate itself was luxurious and secluded on the seashore. It sat atop a hill but nestled in a valley; there was no other building in sight. And if you ignored the two armed guards walking along the shoreline, the beach itself was completely deserted. Yana stopped the car in front of the entrance, a set of carved glass and teak doors beneath a massive sandstone arch.
  Rojas swung open both doors and stepped out. He was wearing a loose button-down shirt and gray linen pants. He took Yana by both hands and spread his arms wide to look at her.
  "Your beauty parallels the beauty of this island." There was sophistication in his words. "I'm glad you've decided to join me. Welcome to my ranch."
  As they stepped inside, Jana was met with a breathtaking view of the bay through the glass wall that lined the back of the house. About a dozen enormous glass panels were pulled back, creating a forty-foot-long open-air expanse. Light island breezes carried the delicate scent of jasmine.
  He led her out onto the balcony, where they sat at a table covered with white linen.
  He smiled. "I think we both know you lied to me last night."
  A shudder ran through Yana's stomach, and although the statement caught her off guard, she didn't flinch. "Just like you," she replied.
  He leaned back in his chair. For Yana, this was an acknowledgment that the situation had changed. "You first," he said.
  "My name is not Claire."
  "No." His accent was enticing, seductive. "Your name is Jana Baker, and you used to be..."
  "FBI agent," she said. "Does that surprise you so much?" Her hand shook slightly.
  "I don't like surprises, Agent Baker."
  "Me too, Mr. Rojas. But I don't go by that name anymore. You can call me Yana or Ms. Baker, but the title of agent puts me off." She nodded at him. "I assume a man of your means checked me out. And what else did you find?"
  "I had a short but storied career in the United States government. Pretty little terrorist hunter, huh?
  "Maybe."
  - But you seem to have joined us here in Antigua. Have you been working as a bartender for the last year or so?
  "I'm never going back," Yana said, looking out at the calm waters of the bay. "You could say I've changed my mind. But let's talk about you. You're not just a successful businessman, are you?"
  The silence was heightened by a sudden break in the wind.
  He crossed one leg over the other. "And what makes you say that?"
  - I know who you are.
  - And yet you came?
  Yana replied: "That's why I came."
  He took a moment to assess her.
  She continued, "Do you think it was an accident that I smashed Montes Lima Perez into tiny pieces?"
  Two well-dressed servants came to the table and placed salads on fine china on top of the large china already on the table.
  As they left, Rojas said, "Are you saying you're targeting poor Mr. Perez?"
  Yana didn't say anything.
  "You didn't just smash him to pieces, Miss Baker. As far as I'm concerned, he'll never walk properly again."
  Referring to the groin shot, Yana said: "That's not the only thing he'll never do again."
  "Right."
  They sat quietly for a moment before Rojas said, "I find it hard to trust you, Miss Baker. It's not often one encounters deserters from your country."
  "Oh, no? Yet you use Gustavo Moreno's services. You're probably familiar with his background. The first ten years of his career were spent in the CIA, but you trust him.
  - Of course, I know about Mr. Moreno's past. But I'm curious, how did you come up with this information?
  Nervousness washed over her. "I learned a lot in my past life, Mr. Rojas."
  He exhaled. "And yet you say you"ve left that life behind. Convince me."
  "Do you believe the U.S. government would send an undercover agent to work at a tiki bar on the beach for a year, just as a cover? Mr. Moreno may have also told you that the FBI, NSA, and CIA have been looking for me this whole time. And you know why? Because I gave them my badge and left. I changed my identity. I was off the grid, learning things about myself. Things I didn't know, and I've never felt more alive."
  "Go on."
  - Moreno also told you that my former employer wanted to accuse me of murder?
  "The death by firing squad of the man known to the world only as Rafael." His Colombian accent was perfect.
  "They can go fuck themselves," she said. As the wind picked up, Jana leaned across the table. "My whole life has been a lie, Mr. Rojas." She let her gaze slide to the undone buttons of his shirt. The look was seductive, but her insides were starting to churn. "I've learned my interests lie elsewhere. I will not serve a self-serving government. An ungrateful madman with an endless appetite. My path now lies on the other side."
  "Really?"
  "Let's just say I have certain talents, and they're available to the highest bidder."
  "What if the highest bidder is the US government?"
  "Then I'll take their money and turn them over in the process. I've been thinking about a few other things besides this over the past year."
  - Retribution is the most dangerous partner, Miss Baker.
  "I'm sure Montes Lima Perez will agree with you."
  He laughed. "Your intelligence pairs beautifully with your beauty. Like this wine." He raised his glass. "Pairs perfectly with the bittersweetness of the salad. One without the other is good. But when they come together, it's magic."
  They both sipped dark red wine.
  Rojas said, "As far as I understand, the police reports of your arrest are accurate. Did the dastardly Mr. Perez mean to harm you?"
  She turned away. - He wasn't the first.
  - Chip on your shoulder, right?
  Yana ignored the statement. "Let me sum it up for you. After I took bullets for my country, stopped two bombings, was kidnapped, and nearly tortured to death, they falsely accused me of murder. So I have a chip on my shoulder? You're damn right. I don't care about your business. My extraordinary talents are available to the highest bidder."
  Rojas looked out over the bay, his gaze falling on a seagull. The bird swayed gently in the breeze. He took another sip of wine and leaned toward it. "You've done a lot of harm to Montes Lima Perez. Don't get me wrong, he's a rival, and I'm glad he's out of the way. But I don't need such a public bloodbath. Not here. It draws attention." He exhaled. "This is not a game, Miss Baker. If you come to work for me, I demand the utmost loyalty."
  "I've already eliminated the cartel's top security agent, the Oficina de Envigado, on the island. The cartel may still be here, but I think you should know by now where my loyalties lie."
  "I need to calm the Oficina de Envigado. I need the highest-ranking members of their cartel to disappear from the island without a trace. I can't allow local law enforcement or others like the CIA to notice. Are you interested in helping me with my problem?"
  Yana smiled, but her hand shook more violently. She held it in her lap, out of sight. "Money," she said.
  His eyes grew stern. "Don't worry about it right now. Just tell me how you plan to complete your assignments."
  
  24 Fisherman's Tales
  
  
  Ton narrowed his eyes.
  He looked out into the bright Antiguan sun, then pulled out his phone and opened the maps app. He put the photo away again and looked into the eyes of Special Agent Jana Baker. The photo was taken on stage at the FBI training center at the Marine Corps base in Quantico, Virginia. It was her graduating special agent training course. She was shaking hands with Steven Latent, then the FBI director.
  The man studied the map, which showed a single ping near his position. "Still in the same place," he told himself, then headed toward Heritage Quay and followed the signs to the Nevis Street Pier. "We need to rent a boat," he told the man on the dock.
  The man had weathered black skin and wore a straw hat. He didn't look up. "How big is the boat?" His accent was tawny with a distinct island twang.
  "Just need a ride. Maybe a twenty-foot one.
  "Do you fish?" asked the seller.
  "Yeah, something like that," the man said, looking at the shoreline.
  
  A few minutes later, the man turned the key, and the two outboard motors roared to life. He let them idle for a moment, then dropped the ropes from the bow and stern and pushed off from the dock. He wedged his phone tightly between the windshield and the dashboard so he could see the map, then propped a photo against it. He pulled out of the harbor, following the ping. "Not much longer now," he said, his smile revealing yellowed teeth.
  
  25 Fire in the belly
  
  
  Jana was standing
  She walked past Rojas's chair, placed her hands on the balcony railing, and stared out at the bay. She gripped the handrail tightly to hide the vibrations in her hand. Rojas turned to look, and his gaze didn't go unnoticed.
  "I need an answer, Miss Baker. I want to know how you plan to carry out such tasks. These people would simply disappear, and no one would be the wiser."
  Yana smirked. "Already proving my point," she said.
  - And what's the point of that? He stood up and stood next to her.
  "Your eyes. When I stood and walked here, you couldn't take your eyes off me." She turned to him.
  "And what's wrong with that? I already told you. My eyes are drawn to beauty."
  "How do you think I lured Perez out of the bar and into a deserted alley?"
  Rojas nodded. "There's no room for error here, Miss Baker. When a leading member of the Oficina de Envigado disappears, it's best not to look for clues or a body they might find. Or they'll find your body and do something with it." The implication was vile, but Jana held her tongue.
  "Leave it to me. You'll find I know quite a bit about making people disappear. And how to conceal crime scenes." She stared into the shimmering waters. "A hundred thousand."
  "One hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money, Miss Baker. What makes you think your services are worth so much?"
  She looked up at him. "That's half. That's what I'm taking up front. The rest comes after delivery."
  He stepped closer and gazed at her breasts without embarrassment. It was as if he were in an art gallery admiring a statue. But after a moment, his gaze fell on the three gunshot wounds on her chest. He raised his hand and ran the back of his fingers over the center.
  A sharp, burning sensation made Yana recoil as Raphael's face flashed before her eyes. "Hands off," she said, more insistently than she intended. "I may be on your payroll, but I don't do it for the money. And I never mix business with pleasure. My price is two hundred thousand. Take it or leave it."
  "Idle with pleasure? What a pity. It doesn't matter," he said, turning and waving his hand dismissively. "I have everything I need from beautiful women at my disposal."
  Something in his tone made Yana pause. It was as if he were describing a broken cell phone or a pair of torn pants-an item that needed to be discarded and replaced. A tiny voice whispered from somewhere deep, a place of darkness. Show her again, the voice said, as the scar flared with pain. Show her how much she looks like her father. Flashes of her nightmares flashed before her eyes, a photograph of her father, an arrest warrant. Her hand shook more violently, and the edges of her vision began to blur, but she resisted, and the voice faded.
  A servant appeared with a dish in his hand and placed two glasses on the table.
  - But let's sit down and have a drink.
  "What are we drinking?" said Yana, sitting down in a chair.
  "Guaro. It means 'firewater,' a signature Colombian drink. Many people like Aguardiente Antioqueño, but I prefer this," he said, raising a small glass of clear liquid and crushed ice, "Aguardiente Del Cauca."
  Yana held her shaking hand in her lap and raised the drink to her lips with the other. It tasted like a smooth vodka to her, only sweeter.
  Rojas said, "Do you know what my people said when I told them to expect your arrival?"
  - And what was that?
  "Ya vienen los tombos. This means... _
  Yana interrupted, "The police are coming." She shook her head. "After I nearly killed one of your rivals, you still thought I worked for the US government, didn't you?"
  - You continue to amaze me, Miss Baker.
  "And upon my arrival, you checked me for listening devices."
  "You can't be too careful in this matter."
  "Show me the rest of your ranch."
  The tour of the estate lasted several minutes, as Rojas led her from room to room, recounting the history of the sprawling property. He concluded the tour at the lowest level, an immaculately appointed cellar lit by daylight, where dozens of wine barrels were stacked in a closed room. "The wine comes here from Colombia and is aged in the cool, earthy conditions."
  "Very impressive," Yana said. "But there are two more rooms you haven't shown me. The first is the room where most men end their tour."
  Rojas grinned. "You've made your feelings about the master bedroom crystal clear. What about the other one?"
  Yana pointed to a steel door on the side. It turned out to lead into a corridor.
  "Ah, well, you can't reveal all your secrets."
  - Something to hide, Mr. Rojas? She smirked.
  Rojas ignored this statement. As they climbed the wide, brightly lit glass staircase to the first floor, Rojas said, "I have many sources of information, Miss Baker, and I will pass on some to you. Information about your assignments." He placed his hand on hers. "You've earned yourself a place on my ranch. The question remains, do you have what it takes to stay?"
  She started up the stairs, then turned and looked down at him. His eyes were on the back of her head.
  He laughed. "Very well played. You continue to amaze me. Please never lose that quality."
  "And you tell me the source of your information. I don't accept facts blindly," she said. Rojas assessed her, but she continued. "I know it takes a lot of information to do what you do, but that doesn't mean I trust it." Rojas led her upstairs to the front door. Gustavo Moreno looked at her from the long hallway. His arms were crossed. "And I don't trust that man," she said.
  Rojas looked at Moreno. "The source of this information is mine and mine alone."
  "This is not a negotiation," she said.
  "What you're looking for is already waiting for you in the front seat of your car. We can discuss the source later. I want this to happen quickly, Ms. Baker. Time is of the essence. Your mission must be completed tonight."
  She walked outside, down the steps, and onto the broken coral path. She got into the car and thought of something she hadn't expected: Rojas was on schedule. Before entering the estate, she'd felt an incredible pressure to find Kyle and find him quickly. But now she suspected Rojas had other plans, and that thought gave her pause.
  She picked up a large, heavy-duty envelope and opened it. Inside were four thick wads of crisp hundred-dollar bills and a dossier. The dossier looked just like an FBI file. It was made from the same folders she was accustomed to seeing in government reports. When she opened it, she saw that it was identical to a government intelligence report. Attached to the left panel was a glossy black-and-white photograph of the man Yana knew was her target. On the right were several sheets of reference material, neatly bound at the top with flexible metal strips.
  Where did they get this from? she wondered. This target is obviously a member of the Office of Enforcement.
  Just before she started the engine, she heard a sound about twenty feet behind her, like someone pounding on the windowpane. When she turned, she saw a woman at the window. Both her hands were pressed to the glass, and a look of terror was reflected in her wide eyes. Her mouth opened in a scream, and Yana's heartbeat accelerated.
  A hand clamped over the woman's mouth and pulled it away. She was gone. A feeling of rage flared inside Yana, and she reached for the doorknob. But an unfamiliar Latin voice came from the porch: "So glad you could join us today, Miss Baker." She turned and saw Gustavo Moreno pointing toward the main gate. "It's time for you to leave our company." Two armed guards stood next to him.
  Yana knew the woman was being insulted, and the rage building in her gut intensified. She started the car, then put it into gear.
  As she drove away, she tried to suppress thoughts of the woman, but she couldn't. She passed the entrance, where the guard had already opened the gate. He stood and waited for her to pass. The slight smirk on his face disgusted her.
  Moreno may have planted a tracking device on my car, she thought. I can't go back to the shelter.
  
  26 Back to the bungalow
  
  Side Hill Bay
  
  Jana was the driver
  In the direction of her tiny beach bungalow. If Gustavo Moreno had a detailed profile on her, they would surely already know where she lived, so getting there wouldn't be a problem. She wound along the main road of Grace Farm and turned left toward the water at Perry's Bay, then down a dirt road before stopping at Little Orleans, a dilapidated market frequented by locals. The sun-bleached paintwork had once been peach, pink, and turquoise. The shop blended seamlessly into the surrounding village. She jumped out, picked up the only working payphone, and dialed Stone's number.
  "Hey," she said. "I'm out."
  "Thank God," Stone replied.
  - I'm in Little Canton. Why don't you come over to my house?
  "On the way."
  "And make sure you're not followed."
  Stone laughed. "Not long ago you were my student."
  "I knew a lot before I came to you, idiot," she said in a sarcastic tone.
  
  Her one-room bungalow was nestled among banana and coconut palms. It was more of a shack than anything else. But the tropical colors that adorned the interior helped soften the impression of poverty surrounding the property. The house, if you could call it that, was located fifty yards from the water on a private ranch owned by a British family. The rent was dirt cheap. When Yana arrived on the island the year before, she had strived for a simple existence, and she succeeded. Compared to the average islander, Yana had money, so furnishing the meager space was easy.
  Ten minutes later, Stone's jeep pulled up and she jumped in. "You didn't go to Rojas's looking like that, did you?" Stone said, pulling away.
  "No, I just changed," she said. "Kyle is alive."
  He slammed on the brakes, and the Jeep skidded as a plume of dust rose from underneath it. "Did you see him? Why didn't you say so? If we had known that, we would have put the DEA team on standby."
  - I didn't see him.
  He slowly sped up. "Then why are you..."
  "Premonition."
  "The NSA is not going to order an invasion on a whim."
  "He's there. I'm telling you.
  - Because of a premonition?
  "You may not know this, but many crimes are solved by guesswork."
  "Yes," he reproached, "but much is decided by factual evidence."
  They drove up to the safe house and went inside.
  "Cade," she said, "what makes you think the shelter isn't under surveillance?"
  "It's good to see you too," he said, looking up from his laptop. He turned back to the monitor, where he was in the middle of a secure video conference with the NSA. "Wait, Uncle Bill. She just walked in."
  Then Yana heard voices coming from the laptop's speakers. "Yes," said the voice, "we know. We saw her walking down the road."
  Yana leaned over the monitor. "Hello, Uncle Bill. What do you mean, you could see me? Do you have monitors on the road?"
  Knuckles leaned toward him in the video. "They're called satellites, Agent Baker. We're watching."
  "Knuckles," Yana said, sitting up straight and crossing her arms over her chest, "call me agent again and I'll..."
  "Yes, ma'am," he said.
  Cade said, "And that answers your question about how we know we're not being watched here. Knuckles has a team that's always watching the sky. We'll know if anyone comes within a quarter mile."
  "They're using kilometers down there, Cade," Knuckles said.
  "Know-it-all," Cade replied.
  Stone shook his head. "Yana thinks Kyle is still alive."
  "What evidence do we have?" said Uncle Bill, running his hand through his thick beard.
  "Nothing," Stone said.
  "He's alive," Jana said. "Do you think we got it?" She held up the file. "This is the full investigation of one of the members of the Oficina de Envigado. They want me to kill a man named Carlos Gaviria."
  "That name had to come from Gustavo Moreno," Knuckles said. "We know he's a big shot in the intelligence community."
  Yana shook her head. "Nowhere did the background information come from, where did the name even come from?" She looked at the others. "None of you geniuses know, do you?" Silence greeted her. "Rojas wants to remove the Oficina de Envigado from the island, but these cartels have been doing this for decades. They know what they're doing."
  Bill said, "What are you getting at?"
  Jana said: "Even Gustavo Moreno would have a hard time finding out who was on the island from the Oficina de Envigado. He needs to get that information somewhere."
  On the video monitor, Uncle Bill leaned back in his chair. His fingers dug deep into his hair, which was more salt than pepper. "Kyle. Kyle was interrogated, and that's how they got the name Carlos Gaviria."
  said Yana.
  "Oh, come on," Cade said. "I don't buy the fact that Moreno didn't know who from the Oficina de Envigado was on the island. It's his job to know things like that."
  Stone placed a hand on Cade's shoulder. "Spent a lot of time working as a DEA agent, didn't you?"
  - Well, no, but...
  Stone continued. "Spend a lot of time on the front lines? Establishing contacts? Buying drugs undercover? Maybe in the line of fire? Infiltrating the upper echelons of the drug trade?
  - No, but...
  "Trust me," Stone said, "it's a lot more difficult than you think. These people don't just show up on the island and announce themselves. They enter quietly, under false names. It all happens slowly. The quality of the passports is incredible. Then, once the whole team is assembled, they set up shop completely anonymously."
  "Get a biography on that name," Uncle Bill told Knuckles.
  Knuckles smiled. "It's already on, sir," he said, pointing to screen number four. "Carlos Ochoa Gaviria, he is the son of the MAS commander."
  Uncle Bill muttered.
  "What is MAS?" Cade asked.
  Knuckles was only too happy to help. "Muerte a Secustrades. It was a paramilitary organization. It started out as a security force to stabilize the region. In those days, its members included members of the Medellin Cartel, the Colombian military, Colombian legislators, small industrialists, a few wealthy cattle ranchers, and even Texas Petroleum."
  Yana said, "Texas Petroleum? A US company? What the hell is an American company connected to drug cartels?"
  "Uncle Bill replied. "Cocaine had just become a bigger export than coffee. Producing that much product requires a lot of land and labor. And the locals were under attack from all sides. The MAS was created to combat the guerrillas who were trying to either redistribute their lands, kidnap landowners, or extort money. Companies like Texas Petroleum needed the region's stability."
  "But the IAS changed its charter, didn't it?" Cade said.
  Knuckles said, "It became a division of the Medellin Cartel. They were cracking down, if you know what I mean. The stability of the region was no longer an issue. Anyone who interfered with the cartel was dealt with."
  "Okay," Yana said, "so my target, Carlos Gaviria, was the leader's son. So what?"
  "Remember," Uncle Bill replied, "we're talking about Columbia in the early '80s. As a son, he would have gone with his father. He would have witnessed dozens or hundreds of murders. He grew up in that environment."
  "Yeah," Cade said, "I've no doubt he was involved in some of them. Making a guy that ruthless disappear won't be easy."
  Yana turned her back. "Who said he should just disappear?"
  "What was that, Yana?" said Uncle Bill.
  "She said," Cade replied, "why should he just disappear? That's not what you mean, is it, Yana?"
  "I'm going to get Kyle out of there. I don't care what it takes."
  Cade stood up. "You can't mean you're willing to commit murder."
  Yana's eyes were like stone.
  Uncle Bill spoke next. "If your grandfather were standing next to you, you wouldn't say that, Yana."
  "It won't be murder," she said.
  "Oh, no?" Cade said. "What would you call it?"
  "Someone gets what they deserve," she said.
  This time there was venom in Uncle Bill's voice. "There will be no killing on my watch. Subject closed. Now drop it." It was the first time any of them had seen the typically stoic man get angry. "Besides, we have more information," Uncle Bill said. "Tell them, Knuckles."
  "Tell us what?" Cade said.
  Knuckles stood up. He was in his element now. "You won't believe what we found in Kyle's CIA file."
  
  27 Kyle's CIA File
  
  Hawksbill Bay
  
  "Headgear
  "In Kyle's CIA file?" Yana asked.
  Knuckles replied, "They hid his federal affiliation."
  "What does it mean..."
  "They tampered with his file," Knuckles said. He liked being the one who knew something others didn't.
  "I know what it means," said Yana. "I wanted to ask what it says?"
  Uncle Bill said, "They introduced him as a DEA agent."
  Cade stood up. "Why did they do this? Do they want him killed?"
  Yana turned and took a few steps while the information processed in her head. "They don't want him killed, they want to save his life."
  "That's right," said Uncle Bill. "And the data log shows that this new identity was entered into the system four days ago."
  Kyle disappeared."
  "Makes sense," Jana said. "If Kyle was secretly investigating a drug ring and missed the filing, the CIA might assume he was compromised." She turned to Cade, who was still catching up with her. "I told you. Rojas got the name of my first assignment from Kyle. And the reason he knew Kyle would have that information is because Gustavo Moreno had looked into Kyle's background."
  Cade closed his eyes. "And discovered he was DEA. So now we know he's alive."
  "Bill," Yana said, "you have to allow this. You have to send a team here to get him out."
  - I already tried, - answered Uncle Bill. - It's more difficult than that.
  - Damn it, Bill! Jana said, "How hard can it be? Kyle's being held by a drug lord, and we have to get him out."
  "Yana," Bill said, "I just talked to the National Security Advisor. I hit a brick wall."
  "Politics," Stone said, shaking his head.
  Bill continued, "Yana, I believe you. But that's not enough. Something big is about to happen, and I have no idea what it is. No one is going to upset the balance."
  Jana's face began to turn pale. "Bill, I'm not going to sit here and let Kyle die. I don't care what the political stakes are." Her breathing quickened.
  "Are you okay, Yana?" Cade said.
  She walked up to the monitor and leaned over. "I'm not leaving him, Bill. I'm not leaving him."
  Cade took her by the shoulders and sat her down in a chair.
  "I'm on your side, Yana," Bill said. His voice was calm, reassuring. "I am. But there's nothing I can do. My hands are tied."
  There was some anger in her tone. "Don't do this, Bill," she replied. "He's one of us. We're talking about Kyle."
  Bill looked away. After a moment, he spoke. "I know who we're talking about. Kyle is family to me."
  Yana's jaw muscles tensed. "I'll do it alone if I have to," she said. "But it won't look like a surgical team went in and carefully pulled him out. It'll look like a damn car bomb went off."
  Bill glanced at the monitor. "Something happened, didn't it? Something else happened when you went to Rojas.
  The woman in the estate, screaming from behind the mirrored glass, flashed into Yana's field of vision, but she said nothing.
  Stone said, "Bill, we're still going to have to get access to the teams."
  "Why is this?"
  "Rojas hired Yana to kill the head of the Office of Enforcement. She can't go kill the guy. We need to activate the extreme rendition protocol. Yana will lure him to some secluded location, and the team will capture him."
  But from behind Uncle Bill and Knuckles, a man from the NSA command center stepped forward. He was wearing a dark suit and tie. "There will be no transmission," the man said when Uncle Bill turned to him.
  Yana glanced sideways at the monitor. "Son of a bitch."
  
  28 CIA Corruption
  
  
  "Who the hell is this guy?
  Stone said, but Jana and Cade knew.
  "Nothing would brighten a girl's day like another Virginia farm boy," Jana said, crossing her arms.
  The man's hands remained in his suit pockets, as if he were chatting with friends at a wedding reception. "There will be no release order. There will also be no order to extract Agent McCarron."
  Stone's hands flew into the air and he screamed at the monitor, "Who the hell do you think you are?"
  "And you, Agent Baker," the man said, "you will retreat. There will be no bombs at Diego Rojas's estate."
  Uncle Bill took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Stone, may I introduce Lawrence Wallace, recently appointed Assistant Deputy Director of the CIA, National Clandestine Service, Counterterrorism Center."
  "Is this the CIA's agenda?" Yana barked. "Are you the one who's covering this up? What could be so important that you'd leave a man? What is it this time? The CIA wants to sell cocaine to the Antiguan rebels? Sell weapons to al-Qaeda so they can fight ISIS? Launder money for..."
  "That"s enough, Yana," Bill said.
  Lawrence Wallace's smile was polite but condescending. "I won't prettify your comments with a response, Agent Baker."
  "I'm not an agent anymore. If you call me that again," Yana said, pointing her finger, "I'll fly over there, rip out your Adam's apple, and hand it to you."
  Wallace smiled. "Good to see you, as always." He moved out of the monitor's field of view.
  Stone looked at the others. "What the hell just happened?"
  Bill replied, "Like I said. There's something more here, and I intend to find out what it is."
  
  29 Best Laid Plans
  
  NSA Military Headquarters, Fort Meade, Maryland
  
  "Sire?"
  " Knuckles said, bursting into the room. Uncle Bill stopped mid-sentence. He and a dozen other men, all military leaders, seated around the long oval table, looked up. "Oh, sorry."
  Bill exhaled. "It's okay, son. It's not like this briefing was about national security. We were actually discussing knitting patterns."
  Knuckles swallowed. "Yes sir. There's something you need to see. Right now, sir."
  Uncle Bill said, "Will you excuse me, gentlemen? Duty calls."
  Bill kept pace with Knuckles as he raced into the massive command center. "It's here, sir, on monitor seven," he said, pointing to one of the countless enormous computer screens suspended from the high ceiling. "There, in the center of the screen."
  What am I looking at?
  - Laura? Knuckles said to the woman across the room. - Can you zoom in a little?
  As the satellite image on the monitor zoomed in, it showed a small boat about seventy-five yards from the shoreline.
  "Dear Wailer," Bill said, "I don't suppose you called me out of the Joint Chiefs meeting to show me your vacation plans."
  "No, sir," Knuckles replied. "These images are from one of our spy satellites, NROL-55, codenamed Intruder. It's in geosynchronous orbit with a mission of ELINT cover or ocean surveillance, but we've reassigned it to...
  "Knuckles!"
  "Yes sir. We are looking at Hawksbill Bay, Antigua.
  "And also?"
  "Laura? Closer, please." The image on the monitor zoomed in until it appeared to be hovering about fifty feet above the ship. The decision was perfect. The boat's bright white deck shone down on them as it rocked in the calm surf. The sole occupant, a man, lifted a pair of long binoculars to his face. "He's keeping watch, sir."
  "Wait, Hawksbill Bay? Our safe house?
  Knuckles said nothing, but the implication was well understood.
  "Christ. Knuckles, make me a secure link to the shelter.
  - Exactly, sir. I've tried that before."
  - No joy?
  "This won't even work. The comlink is down.
  "That's impossible," Uncle Bill said, walking over to the laptop and sitting down.
  "Right here," Knuckles said, pointing to the computer monitor. "I tried the satellite three times, then I launched this. Check the diagnostics."
  Bill studied the readings. "The satellite there is fine. And look, it's operational." Bill studied the information further. "All systems are online. And we were in contact with the safe room, what, an hour ago? What's the problem?" But then Bill straightened up and slammed his fist on the table. "That son of a bitch."
  "Sir?"
  Bill stood up. "These idiots cut the uplink." He picked up the phone and dialed. "They cut the uplink, and now we have a rogue agent on our hands." He spoke into the phone. "Get me a DEA Special Response Team at Point Udal, U.S. Virgin Islands." He waited a moment for his call to connect. "Commander? This is William Tarleton, NSA clearance kilo-alpha-one-one-nine-six-zulu-eight. I have a priority target on Antigua. Raise your assets and accelerate. You will receive your route and mission package in flight. This is not a training exercise, Commander. Confirm?" He hung up and looked at Knuckles.
  "I don't understand. Who cut the uplink?" But the moment the question left his lips, Knuckles knew the answer. "Oh my God."
  
  30 Robber
  
  NSA Command Center
  
  "SYA?"
  - said Knuckles. - But why would the CIA shut down our communications satellite?
  Bill was way ahead of him. "Knuckles, I need a flight plan for the DEA and an estimated time of interception."
  "Sir, are we really sending a team? We'll need the president's permission to invade Antigua, won't we?
  "You let me worry about it. And this isn't an invasion, it's a single command."
  "Try telling that to the Antiguan Foreign Ministry." The kid tapped away at his laptop. His keystrokes sounded like gunshots. "From the DEA station in the U.S. Virgin Islands to Antigua is two hundred and twenty nautical miles," Knuckles said, starting to talk to himself. "Let's see, the DEA has a Gulfstream IV, so... . . . max V-speed is Mach 0.88, what's that? About 488 knots, right? But I doubt they're pushing that hard, so let's say 480 knots, give or take. That's 552 miles per hour, which means they'll be at VC Bird International in Antigua about forty minutes after takeoff, depending on how fast they reach max. Plus we'll have to factor in how long it takes them to get to the plane..."
  "Too much time," Uncle Bill said. "If the crook in that boat is a lookout, he might have already called that damn cartel he works for, and they might have people on the way. Call Cade on his cell."
  "But, sir," Knuckles said, "this is not a secure line."
  "I don't care. I want them out of here right now." Bill started pacing. "That asshole could be anyone."
  "Another option..." Knuckles suggested before being interrupted again.
  "What if he's working for Rojas?" Uncle Bill continued, ignoring the boy. "That would mean Cade and Stone would be compromised, not to mention Yana's cover would certainly be blown. Are you still following him?"
  "Of course we do, sir. But there's one thing you don't...
  "If we have to do a hot extraction, there will be a charge for it, but at this point I really don't give a shit."
  "Sir!"
  - What is it, Knuckles? Damn it, son, spit it out.
  "What if a DEA strike team picks up a guy in a boat, but it turns out he's CIA?"
  
  31 Unintentional
  
  Hawksbill Bay
  
  The groan pressed
  He pushed his glasses up onto his head and plopped down on the couch. "This is a real disaster. Who is this idiot?"
  Yana got fed up and disappeared into the back bedroom.
  Cade said, "Lawrence Wallace is a company man. I've dealt with him in the past."
  "Yeah?" Stone said. "Without a retrieval team, how can we make Yana's assignment, Carlos Gaviria's? I mean the three of us? It's impossible."
  "I thought you were a tough Delta Force operator, no less."
  "I'm serious. Have you stopped and thought about what it would take to pull off something like that? With a rendition team, it wouldn't be so bad. Jana could lure a guy into a private room where he thinks he's going to have a little oooh-la-la with her. They'd stick and jab the needle into his neck so fast that by the time he felt the sting, the drug was already half-blackened. Then the team would bundle him into a van, and he'd drive away. Next stop, Guantanamo Bay. But that..." Stone shook his head.
  Cade shrugged. "I don't know. It has to be something we can do ourselves."
  - How long have you been sitting in this booth?
  "Hey, Stone, fuck you," Cade said. "I've been in the field before."
  "Good, because we'll need him. But you're not thinking this through. Gaviria won't be alone. He's number one in the island's Office of Enforcement. He'll have protection. And by protection, I don't mean he'll have a condom."
  Yana stood in the doorway of her bedroom and said, "Two ex-boyfriends talking about condoms. Could it get any worse?"
  The stone stood. - Yana, you don"t look very well.
  "Thank you so much," she replied. "Cade, I had to run out of my bungalow. Do you have any Advil?"
  "Of course. My things are in the other bedroom. The outside pocket of my bag.
  She disappeared into Cade's room.
  Stone came closer and lowered his voice. "It's getting worse."
  "I know it is so."
  "No, man. I mean, I've been with her for almost a year, and I've never seen it this bad."
  "Have you had any signs of post-traumatic stress before?"
  "Of course. She just had better control over it. But it's like she's about to explode at any second. You can see it in her eyes."
  "Are you some kind of psychologist?" Cade's statement was condescending.
  "It happens to a lot of guys. I've seen it. We came back from a long deployment. It's hard to deal with. Humans aren't meant to run a war zone. What happened to her anyway?"
  Cade crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. "You were with her for a year and she never told you? It doesn't sound like you were in a serious relationship."
  "Fuck you. She left you, as far as I remember. And it had nothing to do with me. You know, I'm tired of your bullshit. When I met her, she was so eager to learn. So I taught her. She will never leave, and then I understood. She was driven by what she went through. What was it?
  - If she didn't tell you, I'm certainly not going to.
  - I'm not the enemy, Cade. We're on the same team, in case you hadn't noticed.
  "I don't have time for this," Cade said. He looked at the laptop. "And why hasn't the NSA called again?"
  Stone looked at his watch. "Maybe they're busy."
  "Uncle Bill's the best of the bunch. He's not busy." Cade sat down at the laptop and typed a few keys. He glanced at the monitor. "What the hell?"
  Stone leaned over. "What happened?"
  "Satellite," Cade said, pointing to a small icon of a spinning globe in the upper right corner of the screen. The globe was dark.
  "What about this?"
  "When the connection is hot, the globe is bright green. It's like it doesn't exist. Damn, we've lost contact."
  "Well," Stone said, "if it's something like Wi-Fi..."
  "It's nothing more than Wi-Fi. A connection this stable doesn't just drop. It's in geostationary orbit. The satellite stays in the same position all the time. And it's not because we're mobile or there's interference from a storm system. Let me run some diagnostics."
  "You bite my head off like that again, and we'll be in trouble. Geosynchronous orbit. I'll show you geostationary orbit."
  "Hey, Delta Squad guy, you just stick to your side of the mission, and I'll stick to mine." Then Cade muttered something under his breath.
  - What was that?
  "I said that you won't recognize your Wi-Fi from Bluetooth, from BGAN and from VSAT."
  "What a pencil neck. You think you know your shit, don't you? Let me ask you a question. In the M84 flashbang, is the pyrotechnic charge a subsonic deflagration or a supersonic detonation? No? What is the muzzle velocity and maximum range of the .338 Lapua Magnum when fired from the M24A3 Sniper Weapon System?" Stone waited, but Cade just stared at him. "Yeah, you fucking know."
  Cade stood in front of Stone, his jealousy and anger getting the better of him. Then, from the back bedroom, Jana screamed, "What is this?" The men turned to see her standing in the doorway.
  Stone said, "Nothing, baby. Just a gentlemanly disagreement."
  Her eyes were fixed on Cade. "I said, what is this?" In one hand, she held a box of chocolates. In the other, a stack of standard-sized envelopes, tied with a rubber band. The bundle was about four inches thick.
  Cade's mouth dropped open.
  Yana walked up to him and pushed him into a chair.
  "Speak."
  - And these? he said. - I was going to tell you about them.
  "When?" she snapped. "It's not just a box of chocolates. It's marzipan. You know, I love those. You know, I used to get them when I was a kid. What do you think? That because you brought me marzipan, it'll bring back all those memories and we'll be a couple again?"
  He sat stunned.
  "And these?" She held out a stack of letters. "These are letters from my father! When were you going to tell me about this?" She rushed into the stack. "And look at them. Judging by the postmark, he's been writing me letters for the last nine months. And I'm only just finding out about this now?"
  Cade stuttered, but then his voice changed. "You left. You disappeared, remember? You abandoned. Stopped paying rent on your apartment, no one notified you where you were going or when you might return. What do you think happened to your mail?"
  "I didn't give a shit what happened to my mail, my lease, or anything else."
  - Then stop yelling at me about a stack of letters from your father. You never told me you even spoke to him.
  Stone said, "Wait, why doesn't she contact her father?"
  A salty silence filled the space.
  Cade finally responded, "Because he's been in federal prison her whole life."
  
  32 Section 793 of the United States Code
  
  Hawksbill Bay
  
  Jana left
  She dropped the box of chocolates to the ground, and the muscles in her jaw tensed. "I"m not mad at you for collecting my mail. I want to know why you brought these letters here? What makes you think I have any interest in this man. He"s dead to me. He"s been dead my whole life! But wait a minute," she said, leafing through the envelopes. "They"re all open. You read them, didn"t you?"
  "The FBI has been reading your mail since you disappeared. I told you before that you killed the world's most wanted terrorist, and that puts you in danger.
  "Oh," Yana replied, "the FBI read them. And you?"
  Cade looked down at his feet. "No one knew what to do with your mail, so I was collecting it."
  But Yana was fixated. "Yeah? Just what I thought. You were handing them out all over the office? Just to give everyone a good laugh? Ha-ha. Agent Baker's dad's in jail!"
  "That's not true," Cade said.
  Stone interrupted. "Hey, I don't want to jump in the middle of anything, but is your dad in the pen? What did he do?
  Yana's face froze. "United States Code, Section 793," she said.
  Stone thought for a moment. "793? But that's... espionage."
  "Yes," Yana replied. "My father committed treason against the United States." Her lower lip trembled, but she quickly recovered. "I was two years old. They said he died of cancer. As an adult, I found the truth."
  Stone said.
  "And so Cade thinks he's bringing me marzipan and these letters, to where? To make me open up? To find my roots and all that crap?" She inched closer to his face. "You think this will change me back into the girl you knew? What a load of psychological nonsense!" She tossed the letters at his feet.
  "Kelly Everson..."
  "Have you talked to Kelly?" Jana blurted out. "About me? What gives you the right?"
  Stone asked, "Who is Kelly Everson?"
  "A thug," Cade replied. "I was counseling Jana through PTSD. Yeah, sure, I talked to Kelly. We did everything. And she feels..."
  "Don't tell me how she feels. I love Kelly, but I don't want to hear about it. Get it over your head. I'm not coming back. I'm never coming back." Yana walked into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.
  Stone looked at the pile of envelopes at Cade's feet and the candy scattered on the floor. He said, "Well, that went well. Good job."
  
  33 About robbers and danger
  
  Hawksbill Bay
  
  Sade collected
  envelopes and candies and threw them on the table next to the laptop. He studied the monitor again and shook his head. - Where is this satellite? His cell phone rang. - Cade Williams?
  "Cade," Knuckles said. "Wait, here's Uncle..."
  Uncle Bill called on the phone. "Cade, we have a problem with the satellite."
  "No kidding. I can't make contact. I'm going to reposition NROL-55 to see if I can get a better signal."
  "That won't help. The uplink was cut intentionally."
  are you saying?
  "Don't worry about it right now. We don't have much time." Bill spoke almost quickly. "You have an observer on your twelve o'clock. You need to get..."
  The phone call cut off into silence. Cade pressed it to his ear. "Bill? You still here?" The only thing he could hear was silence. No background noise, no shuffling feet, no breathing. He looked at the phone. The ringer was dead. "What the hell?"
  "What is this?"
  "I don't know. The call dropped." Cade was still looking at him. "And now I have no cell signal."
  "No signal? Are you sure?"
  "Bill said... . "
  - What to say?
  "Something like twelve o'clock. God, he spoke so fast. I don't know. Twelve o'clock?" Cade looked at his watch. "But it's already one o'clock."
  - What else did he say?
  "Why is my camera dead? Which one? Oh, he said something about a spotter.
  "Observer?" Stone said, turning and looking out the large windows. "Wait, did he say twelve o'clock?"
  "Yes."
  "Oh my God, Cade," Stone ran outside and opened the trunk of his jeep. He pulled out a large suitcase and brought it over.
  "What are you doing ?"
  Stone snapped the latches on the suitcase and opened it. Inside was an automatic pistol, neatly tucked into the hardened foam. "Yana?" he shouted. "We have to get out, right now!"
  "Why should we leave?" Cade said.
  Stone removed his HK 416 carbine, inserted a magazine, and loaded a round. "Commo's out, right?" Stone said, grabbing the spare magazines and tucking them into his belt.
  "Commo?"
  "Communications equipment. You've lost your secure comlink, and now your cell phone, and Bill mentions twelve o'clock and an observer?
  - True, but...
  "Look out the window, nimrod. At our twelve o'clock hour. A guy in a twenty-foot whaling ship with binoculars.
  "Which?"
  Yana ran into the room, and Stone handed her a Glock. She took it from him and checked the chamber. It was as if she was on autopilot.
  "We're going through the back door," Stone said.
  Without further ado, the three entered Yana's room. Stone opened the window. They climbed out and disappeared into the dense tropical foliage.
  
  34 orders cancelled
  
  NSA Command Center
  
  The knuckles ran
  Uncle Bill, who had his nose buried in his laptop monitor. Bill looked at the boy. "Which one?" Bill said.
  "Drug Enforcement Administration Special Forces, sir. Something's wrong."
  "Flight? What happened?
  "They turned around sixteen minutes ago, but they just turned back."
  "Turned back? Why? Mechanical? Connect me to the commander."
  Knuckles hurried to put on his headset. He pecked his laptop and then said, "Commander Brigham? Support the NSA, William Tarleton."
  Bill took the headphones. "Special Agent Brigham, radar shows you've turned due west."
  A crackling sound in the headphones prompted a response from the DEA commander. The plane's engines roared in the background. "Sir, just received an abort command. We are standing still."
  "Cancel the command? I haven't authorized anyone..." But Bill paused for a moment. "Where did the order come from?" Although he had his suspicions.
  - I have no right to speak, sir.
  Uncle Bill closed the microphone. "Son of a bitch!" Then he said to the commander, "Understood. It's the NSA, out." He turned to Knuckles. "Wallace must have found out I ordered the DEA to the scene. The CIA countermanded my orders."
  "Sir, Cade, Jana, and contractor John Stone's cell phones are down. We have no way to reach them." The kid started to get nervous. "Are you telling me the CIA has cut off all our communications with our own team?"
  "Damn it, that's what I'm saying."
  "Uncle Bill, they're alone there, without support. What are our options? Can we call the local authorities?"
  "We can't take any chances. It's not uncommon for one or both cartels to infiltrate the police. We would have handed them over. No, we must pray that our message gets through."
  Knuckles picked up his laptop and started to walk away.
  Bill said, "Figure out how we can grow them."
  
  35 Approach
  
  
  Jana conducted
  Glock and pushed Cade between her and Stone.
  "Why do you keep looking back?" Cade told her.
  "Checking our six, dumbass."
  "Quiet," Stone said. "Both of you." He pointed his rifle forward and led them out the back of the property, through tropical foliage, a mixed thicket of bananas, jumbie sousop, and apra trees. They walked away from the house and headed toward the dirt road until Stone raised his fist in a halting gesture. They took cover in the dense undergrowth and looked toward the boat.
  "Who is this?" said Yana.
  Stone replied, "I don't know, but it can't be good."
  - How many bullets do you have? said Yana.
  "Thirty-round magazine with two in reserve," Stone said. "Yours is full. Sixteen plus one in the tube."
  They scanned the area, then focused on the boat and its sole occupant. "A Glock 34 holds seventeen rounds, not sixteen," Yana said.
  Stone shook his head. "I'm starting to regret training you, Baker."
  Cade said, "Sixteen rounds, seventeen rounds. Does it really matter? Can we focus on this question here? Like, who is this asshole and why is he watching us?"
  "I can think of a couple of possibilities," Stone said, "and neither of them are good. We're going to have to get out of here."
  "Wait!" said Yana. "Look."
  The man put down his binoculars and dropped a second anchor into the water. The first was from the bow, and this one, dropped from the stern, was supposed to stabilize the boat.
  "He's going to be around for a while, that's for sure," Stone said.
  The man secured the rope tightly, swung his legs over the railing and dived into the deep turquoise water.
  "Are we sure this has something to do with us?" Cade said. "The guy could have just been a tourist out for a swim."
  "A tourist with Steiner binoculars headed straight for our safe house? We lose contact, and all three of our cell phones die? At the same time? Bullshit. He's a spotter, and we've been set up. The cartel knows we're here. The only question is, which one?"
  "I agree," said Yana. "But look, he's swimming towards the shore."
  "I'm saying we get out of here," Cade said.
  "No," Yana answered. "Let"s see who it is."
  They watched as the man emerged from the water onto the shore. He took off his T-shirt and wrung it out.
  "He doesn't have a gun," Stone said, even though he pointed his rifle at the man.
  "He's coming here," said Yana. "Oh my God, he's heading straight for the house!"
  
  36 To prevent an attack
  
  
  The tone of the man was walking
  straight into the safe house while the trio watched. He approached the jeep and stopped, peering inside. He walked on, his steps crunching on the broken coral. Reaching the house, he peered into the bay window, shielding his eyes with his hands.
  "What is he doing?" Yana said, scanning the space behind them again. Her eyes were constantly moving.
  "Looking for us," Stone replied. He set the safety on his carbine to the off position.
  The man walked over to another window and looked inside.
  "Okay, here's how it's going to go," Stone said. "I'm going to sneak in there and take him down. Jana, keep an eye on our six. If his team is already on the way, they should be here any second. If he gives me a fight, I'll kick his ass. Cade, if anything happens-" He stopped. "Jana, where are you going?"
  "Watch and learn," she said before quietly pushing through the undergrowth toward the man.
  "Yana!" Cade whispered.
  "I created a monster," Stone said, watching Yana approach the object from behind. He turned and looked down the dirt road to make sure there would be no attack.
  "Stop her!" Cade said.
  - Relax, office boy. Watch this.
  Yana was four feet away from the man, her Glock tucked into her jeans. As he passed the window, she slammed her shoulder into him like a linebacker. His body slammed into the wall of the house with a massive force, and Yana knocked him to the ground.
  Stone and Cade jumped up from their seats and ran toward her, but Yana was on top of the man, one knee pressed against the back of his head. She held one of his hands behind him by the wrist as the man gasped for air.
  Stone crouched behind cover and aimed his weapon at the road, bracing himself for an attack that seemed unlikely to come. "Good throw." He reached out, grabbed Cade, and yanked him down.
  "I even liked it," Yana replied. "Now let's find out who this asshole is." Yana stopped when the man began to cough and began to regain her composure. She said, "You, speak."
  The man's chest heaved as he tried to breathe under her weight. "I... I... "
  - Okay, old man, why are you attacking us like that? And while you're explaining that, why don't you help me understand why you're anchored off the shore and keeping an eye on us?
  "That's not true. I, I'm looking for someone," he said.
  "Well, you found someone," Jana said. "So, before I bash your head in, who are you looking for?"
  "Her name is Baker," he coughed. "Yana Baker."
  Stone turned and looked at Yana. To him, she seemed lost in distant thoughts.
  Yana shook him off, her brow furrowing. "Who do you work for?"
  "Nobody!" said the man. "That's not true."
  "Then why are you looking for Jana Baker?" Stone said.
  - Because she is my daughter.
  
  37 Federal Identification
  
  
  I was here
  Something about the voice. Fragments and flashes of long-lost memories appeared before Yana's eyes. The aroma of sizzling bacon, the sun's rays glistening on the tips of dew-covered corn stalks, and the scent of aftershave.
  Yana rolled the man onto his back. She looked into his eyes, and her mouth fell open. This was her father. She hadn't seen him since she was a baby. And yet here he was, in the flesh. His skin was wrinkled and red from sunburn. But his eyes. His eyes were tired and haggard, but they dispelled all doubt. He was her father.
  Yana stood up. She looked like someone who had seen a ghost. Her voice became guttural. "I can't... what are you... I don't understand."
  - Yana? - said the man. "Is it really you? My God..."
  Yana's breathing deepened. "What are you doing here?"
  "I came to find you. I came to find you and tell you that I'm sorry."
  - Are you sorry? Yana barked. "Sorry for abandoning me when I was a child? Sorry for killing my mother?" Yana backed away. "I grew up without a father and mother. Do you know what that's like? And you're sorry? Stay away from me." More memories flashed before her eyes. The greenish glow of sunlight filtering through the leaves into her childhood fortress, the jingle of change - someone's pocket, the smell of marzipan - dark chocolate and almond paste. She backed away and almost tripped.
  Cade and Stone were speechless.
  "Yana, wait," her father said. "Please, let me talk to you."
  He started to move towards her when Stone extended a frozen hand.
  "No, no," Yana said, shaking her head. "You can't be my father. You can't!" she screamed.
  Cade walked up to her. "Come on, let's go inside."
  "Yana, please," her father said as Cade led her away.
  Stone turned to face him. "Turn around. Put your hands on your head. Interlace your fingers." He turned the man against the house. After searching him, he said, "Pull out some identification."
  The man pulled out a small, damp leather wallet and pulled out an orange ID card. It had a photo of the man on it, along with a barcode. The card was readable.
  
  US Department of Justice
  Federal Bureau of Prisons
  09802- 082
  Ames, Richard William
  PRISONER
  
  - So you're Yana's father, right? Then why does it say here that your last name is Ames?
  But the man was fixated on Yana when she disappeared inside. "That's my last name."
  - Her last name is not Ames.
  "Baker was her mother's maiden name. After I was penned, her mother renounced everything she knew about me." His voice shook. "She changed Jana's name to Baker. Please, I have to talk to her."
  Stone held him back, but flipped the safety on his rifle back on. He called, "Cade?" Cade stuck his head out the door. "The man claims to be Yana's father, though his last name is..."
  "Ames. Yes, I know." Cade shook his head. "John Stone, meet former CIA operative Richard Ames. Arrested in 1998 for treason against the United States and the father of Jana Baker."
  Stone grabbed Ames by the collar and led him to the door. "It's time to talk, Mr. Ames."
  "Yana doesn't want to see him," Cade said.
  - I know, but we need to find out some things, like how Mr. Ames found us.
  
  38 Not that type of music
  
  
  LED ston
  the man inside and pushed him into a hard wicker chair.
  Ames looked for Yana, but saw only the closed bedroom door.
  "Okay, old man, talk," Stone said.
  "Which?"
  "You know what," Cade said.
  "I, uh. Well, I've been gone for a few months."
  "What about this?" Stone said, examining the ID. "When I get you through NCIC, I'll find out you're now a fugitive from justice?"
  "No! No, I served my time. Twenty-eight years and thirty-six days. I paid my debt to society. I was released."
  Cade said, "Paid your debt? They should have buried you under the prison."
  Ames looked down at his feet.
  Stone was completely occupied. "Get over with it. How did you find us?"
  Ames shifted in his chair.
  "Hello!" Stone shouted.
  "I, uh. I found you..." He looked straight at Cade. "It was him."
  "Him?" Stone said. "What do you mean it was him?"
  Ames glanced back at the closed bedroom door. This time he saw a shadow two feet beneath the door. Yana was standing just on the other side.
  "When I went out, all I could think about was her. In fact, inside, all I could think about was her, too. I hadn't seen her since she was a child." His voice became choked with emotion. "I had to find her. But no one told me. No one told me anything."
  "And also?" Cade said.
  "I started looking for her online. It didn't take long to find all the articles. The FBI agent stopped the attacks. She's not exactly a private figure, you know?
  "Yes, I am," Cade said. "But there's nothing online that would lead you to her home address, her phone number, her place of work, nothing. And there's certainly nothing that would lead you here."
  Stone towered over Ames and cracked his hard hand on his shoulder. Ames winced. "I'll ask you politely. How did you find us?"
  "I put the music box on it," he said, nodding to Cade.
  "A music box?" Cade said.
  Stone glanced sideways at Ames. "The term 'music box' is CIA jargon for a radio transmitter. How the hell did you get a radio transmitter on that?"
  "Not exactly a radio transmitter. A tracking device. It wasn't that complicated."
  The stone clenched tighter. "Why don't you explain this to me before I lose my patience?"
  "Good God," Ames said. "I started sending Yana letters a good six months before I was released. I didn't have her address, so I sent the first one to FBI headquarters in D.C. I figured they'd forward it to whatever local office she worked at. But the letter came back. They marked it 'no longer at this address,' presumably meaning she no longer worked for the FBI. I didn't know what to do, so I sent another letter. This time they forwarded it to her apartment address."
  "How do you know that?" Cade said.
  "Because they had something wrong. They forgot to include the apartment number. So when it got there, the post office simply marked it 'return to sender,' and the letter was returned to me at the United States Penitentiary in Florence. Now I had her home address without the apartment number. I started sending letters there, and they were never returned."
  "Yeah," Cade said, "I was house sitting for her when she disappeared. I was working with the apartment manager and had the guy delivering the mail mark all her mail. I was collecting it. Holy shit."
  "That doesn't explain how you found this place," Stone said.
  Ames continued, "When I found out the letters weren't being returned, I figured I had the right address. I kept writing. Then, when I got out, I sent a box of chocolates."
  said Cade.
  Ames looked at the bedroom door. "They were her favorite when she was a little girl."
  "And also?" Stone said.
  "I hid a tile inside the box."
  "Tile?" Stone asked. "What the hell is a Tile?"
  Cade's eyes lit up with recognition. "Tile?"
  "Yeah. A little Bluetooth tracking device," Ames said. "Bought a couple of them online. They're great for finding your missing wallet, locating your car in a huge parking lot, or..." He looked at Cade. "Put it in the bottom of a box of chocolates."
  Before Stone could ask, Ames said, "It's not always easy to find your Tile because they don't use the cellular network to track location. If they did, it would be easy. You just open the app on your phone and locate the device. Instead, they use Bluetooth. Everyone who has a Tile installs the Tile app. There are millions of users. If you need to find one of your Tile, you tell the system to find it. Then all the users become a network of devices that automatically search for your Tile. If someone comes within a hundred feet, their device sends a notification. In that case, I'm lucky."
  "How so?" Stone asked.
  "When I sent the marzipan to Jana's apartment complex, I didn't find it on the tracking app in her apartment. I found it when this guy," he pointed at Cade, "took it to his apartment, which is a completely different complex than the one I thought Jana lived in. At first, I didn't understand what that meant, but I figured she might have moved or something. I drove from Colorado to Maryland and staked out the apartment, hoping to see Jana. But all I ever saw was him. I also staked out her apartment complex, but she never showed up."
  Cade tried to keep up. "Wait a minute. You were the one who sent me the package with..."
  "Right," Ames continued. "Like I said, finding a missing Tile isn't easy, even with millions of users out there. The ping showed up in my Tile app, probably because someone in your apartment complex had one. But I had to make sure you had the Tile app installed on your phone. That way, if you ever delivered a piece of candy to Yana, your phone would know where it was."
  "What package? What did he send you?" Stone said to Cade.
  "Got a free pack of Tiles in the mail. It said it was a free sample. Damn, I thought that was cool."
  Stone rubbed his eyes. "So, you installed an app on your phone to keep track of your cute new trackers? Let me guess. Put one in your car, one in your wallet, and one, wait for it, in your bag in case little Timmy stole it from you at recess."
  "Kiss my ass, Stone," Cade said.
  "And when he flew here," Ames said, "he brought a box of marzipan with him. I could easily track where he was. There was only hope that he would deliver the candy to Yana." He looked at the bedroom door again; his feet were still there.
  Stone slung his rifle behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. "What were you thinking, sneaking up here like that?"
  "I didn't know," Ames said. "I mean, it's a tropical island. It's not like I thought she was on surgery or anything. She doesn't even work for the FBI anymore. I figured she was on vacation."
  Stone said, "You almost got killed."
  "I'm definitely going to be sore in the morning, that's for sure," Ames said, rubbing his ribs. "I take it you guys are in surgery? But I don't get it. There's only three of you?"
  "We can't discuss anything with you," Stone said.
  Ames shook his head. "It doesn't look like much has changed. Back at the Agency, I was always organizing operations. Damned if someone didn't screw a mutt. Someone pulls the plug, and my guys are on their own. No backup."
  "The hell with the mongrel?" Cade said with a smirk. "You've really gone out of circulation. I don't think anyone's used that particular phrase in a couple of decades."
  "If it's just you three," Ames continued, "maybe I can help."
  Yana's voice came from behind the bedroom door. "I want this man out of this house, right now!"
  "It doesn't look like you were invited. It's time to go, sir," Stone said, pulling Ames to his feet.
  Cade walked him down to the boat. "Looks like your anchor's come loose," Cade said. The stern of the boat slid closer to the shore and rocked gently on the sand.
  "Yes, I guess I'm not a very good captain," Ames replied.
  The two talked for a few minutes. He handed Ames back his wallet. "Let me help you push this boat away."
  As soon as they finished, Ames began to climb aboard. Cade said, "You went to a lot of trouble to find her."
  Ames looked down at him and said in a tight voice, "She's all I have left. She's all I have."
  Cade pushed the boat, and Ames started the engine and sped away.
  
  39 Shell Game
  
  
  Sade is back
  into the safe house and waved for Stone to come outside.
  "What were you two talking about?" Stone said.
  "It doesn't matter."
  "Delete this stupid app from your phone before someone else uses it to track us."
  "Cade said. "It's not like he doesn't already know where we are."
  - Can you trust this old psycho? You sneak up on us and then ask if he can help?
  Cade didn't say anything, but the look on his face spoke volumes.
  "Wait a minute. You want him to help us? Are you crazy?"
  "Think about it. You yourself said that the three of us couldn't make Carlos Gaviria disappear. Maybe you were right. We need more men. He's a former CIA officer.
  "The last time he was at the Agency was when Yana was still a child. This is out of the question. We can't involve some rebellious civilian in this. He's a liability and can't be trusted."
  "You know we're running out of options. If Kyle's alive, he won't last long there. What was your plan? For the three of us to go in with guns blazing? We wouldn't have stood a chance. The only way to get to Kyle is for Yana to successfully incapacitate Gaviria. After that, she'll gain the trust of both Rojas and Gustavo Moreno. I agree that the last kind of people I'd trust are those who've committed treason. But did you think he was going to do anything to put Yana in danger? He's her father. And no one on this island even knows he's here. He looks exhausted, like many of these tourists. He'll be able to get close without anyone knowing. And," Cade paused for effect, "he has a boat."
  "What are we going to do with the boat?" But Stone considered the idea for a moment. "The boat. That's all. If Yana can lure Gaviria into a compromising position somewhere right by the water, we can drag him away."
  "It will be night. Cover of darkness," Cade added. "You must admit, this is the best plan we have."
  "This is the only plan we have," Stone admitted.
  on me?
  Stone shook his head. "Surprised, that's all."
  "Oh, screw you. I told you, I've been in the field before.
  "It smells like a freshly cut M112 block demolition charge."
  "What? There's no time for that. I have to... _
  "Lemon citrus".
  "Well, that's just wonderful, Stone," Cade said sarcastically. "You should work for a potpourri company."
  "And we don't use Ames in any way."
  "I disagree," Cade said.
  - You're not in charge! Stone barked.
  "Hello! This is an NSA operation."
  - The NSA does not engage in field operations, employee.
  "We can argue about this later. Right now I need to find a way to re-establish contact with Fort Meade.
  "We're going to rent our own boat. And if we go after Gaviria tonight, we need as much backstory as possible. Where's that folder Yana brought?
  "In the house ".
  They walked in. Stone took the file and said, "Do you think Yana is ready?"
  "I've never seen her back down from anything," Cade said, sitting down at his laptop.
  "Okay," Stone said, starting to study the dossier.
  Cade started working on the laptop again.
  Yana came out of the bedroom and they looked up. "I don"t want to talk about it," she said. "The first person who mentions my father will hobble out of here. What were you two talking about outside?"
  Stone said, "Gaviria. How to get Gaviria. We need a plan."
  "It's happening tonight, so hurry," she said. "Is there anything useful in this file?"
  "Not much. Just that he has a shit ton of bodyguards. Apparently his address is here, but that won't do us any good. We can't raid his villa with all that firepower. We need to get him somewhere off-site."
  Cade sat up. "What the hell?" he said, pecking at the laptop. "Satellite link back." But before he could call the NSA command center, a ringtone began to pulse on the laptop. It was an incoming video call. A moment later, a new window appeared, and Lawrence Wallace's face stared back at them.
  "Don't try calling the NSA, Mr. Williams, the comlink won't work long enough."
  Jana and Stone hovered over Cade's shoulder and stared at the monitor.
  "What's wrong with you?" she blurted out. "What are you playing at?"
  "It's a pleasure to work with someone of your caliber, Agent Baker. Having such success in killing terrorists, that is...
  Cade said, "Why is the CIA interfering? Kyle McCarron is being held, and you're blocking us at every turn. He's CIA, for God's sake!
  "Don't worry about that right now," Wallace said. "You need to focus on Agent Baker's assignment, Carlos Gaviria."
  - How do you know about this? - Yana shouted.
  "My job is to know, Agent Baker," he said. "And your job is to worry about Gaviria. What you're missing is where, am I right?"
  Before Yana could speak, Stone took her hand. "Let the dick finish."
  "What you won't find in Gaviria's file is that he owns a local nightclub. That's because it's registered to one of his shell corporations. I'm sending you the information packet right now."
  Yana said, "This is a CIA file, isn't it?" But the video link was cut off. "What was the CIA up to? They gave this file to Diego Rojas."
  Cade said, "Well, uplink again," meaning satellite communications.
  The three of them looked at the monitor, watching a new information packet sent by Wallace. It described a complex series of banking connections linking one of Carlos Gaviria's shell corporations to a local nightclub.
  Stone said, "Well, we could do it there at Bliss. It's a club near my house."
  "But I thought it was called Rush Nightclub."
  "Bliss is at the front of the club, close to the water, Rush is at the back. Lots of people and noise," Stone replied. "If Gaviria is there, you'll need to separate him from the bodyguards."
  "What is this place?" Cade said.
  Jana replied, "A lively nightclub in Runaway Bay. But Stone, what difference does it make that Bliss is closer to the water?
  "Cade's idea," Stone said. "Bliss is on the hill, closer to the water, right? It's not far from my cabin."
  "So?" Yana replied.
  "If you lure him there without bodyguards, maybe we can get him on a boat."
  "A boat? I understand your place is right on the dock, but how am I supposed to get him on the boat? And he'll never part with his bodyguards.
  - You won't lure him into the boat. You'll lure him to me. He's sitting above the water, right?
  "Yeah?"
  "There's a hatch under the bedroom floor," Stone said.
  Yana glanced at him. "Luke? I've been in this bedroom a hundred times and never..."
  Cade rubbed his eyes.
  She continued, "I've never seen a hatch."
  "He's under this grass mat," Stone said.
  "Rock?" Cade said. "Why is there a trapdoor in your room, under the grasscloth rug, that Jana has been through hundreds of times?"
  "I put it there. I work in deep cover, a cabinet boy, and I needed a way to get out if something went wrong."
  said Yana. "Okay, great, so there's a hatch. What, do you want me to knock it out with Rohypnol and throw it in the ocean under your bedroom? Where are we going to get that kind of medicine?"
  "Rohypnol would be a good idea," Cade said.
  "No time for this shit," Stone said. "You don't need roofies to knock him out." He let her think about the statement.
  After a moment she smiled. "You"re right, I don"t know."
  "What's that supposed to mean?" Cade said.
  "She's more than effective at using a chokehold. If she gets her arms around his neck from behind, he'll go out like a light. It doesn't matter," Stone said, "you're just working on the connection. Yana can handle it herself."
  Cade shook his head. "Is it just me, or does anyone else see the big elephant in the room?"
  "Cade," Yana said, "I told you before, Stone and I were together. If you can't accept that I slept with other men after you, that's your problem."
  "Not that," Cade said. "It'll look like a chance encounter, right? Like when you 'bumped' into Diego Rojas at the Touloulou bar? You're planning to meet Carlos Gaviria the same way. I understand how you plan to lure him from the club to Stone's, but how do we know he'll even be at the nightclub?"
  
  40. Lure the drug lord
  
  
  "Gaviria will be at the club."
  - Stone said.
  "Oh, really?" Cade asked. "How do you know that?"
  - My job is to know these things. You were on this island for five minutes. I've been here for five years, remember?
  Cade said, "Okay, so why don't you explain it to those of us who just work in the cubicles."
  "The Oficina de Envigado cartel is new here. And Gaviria himself, apparently, is just a new arrival. Remember how I told you these cartel members sneak onto the island quietly, under assumed names? It's almost impossible for us to know when someone new shows up here. But about a month ago, I overheard a couple of Los Rastrojos members talking about the arrival of some new leader of the Oficina de Envigado cartel. They didn't have an identity, but they knew they'd sent someone new, someone big."
  "So how does that make it easier to bring Gaviria into the club?"
  "The club changed right after that. It's right up the hill from my cabin, so the change was obvious."
  "How so?" said Cade.
  "The music, the clientele, the property, all of it. Damn it, why didn't I see this before?" Stone said.
  "Look what?" Cade asked.
  Yana nodded and smiled. "He owns the club now. And if he owns it, he's almost certainly the guy who made all the changes."
  "So he owns a nightclub? So what?
  Stone said: "They're always interested in covering their tracks with legitimate business. Besides, he probably enjoys this late-night nonsense.
  "Okay," Yana said, "here's the plan. Let's assume he'll be there. If so, I'll meet him and try to bring him to Stone. Where are you two at that time?"
  "I'll be right there," Stone said. "You won't see me, but I'll be there. If anything goes wrong, I'll be there, and I'll be there as hard as I can."
  "And if everything goes according to plan, what?" she said. "If I drag Gaviria into the house and kick his ass, I'll lower him through the hatch?"
  "I'll be in the boat right below you," Cade said.
  "You?" Yana said.
  "Is this such a surprise?" Cade replied.
  "You're not very good for field work," she said.
  "I wish you'd stop talking like that," Cade said. "I'm going to rent a boat now."
  "Time is short," Yana said. "Are you two sure you know what you're doing?"
  "Hey," Stone said, putting his hand on her, "have I ever let you down?"
  "Yes," said Yana. "You disappeared for a month and didn't say a word."
  since this will not happen.
  Yana shook her head. "Where are we going to rent a boat?"
  "Leave it to me," Cade said. He walked out and got into the rental car. What he didn't realize was that he'd left his cell phone on the table.
  
  41 Authorized
  
  Jolly Harbor Jetty, Lignum Vitae Bay, Antigua.
  
  Police Lieutenant Jack Pence
  They called around 8:00 pm, he was at home.
  "This is Pence," he said into his phone.
  "LT, this is Detective Okoro. Sorry to disturb you at home, sir, but I have a uni who says he has one of your subjects on file.
  "Tell him to keep going. Send him reinforcements and grab the little dick. Then call me and I'll meet you at the station."
  - Understood, sir.
  
  About thirty minutes later, Lieutenant Pence's phone rang again. He picked it up and listened, then said, "Uh-huh. Yeah. Good job. No, let's let him sit in the tank for a while."
  
  Around 10 p.m., Pence walked into the interrogation room at the station. "Well, well, if it isn't my good friend from the NSA. How are we today, Mr. Williams?"
  "What time is it? I've been sitting in this hole for hours. I have to get out of here, right now! I'm on official U.S. government business. What gives you the right to detain me?"
  "Really? This is my island, Mr. Williams. You're not on U.S. soil. But why so impatient? Can I call you Cade? Sure, why not. We're friends, right?"
  Cade stared at him. "Answer the question. What am I accused of?"
  "I'd watch your tone, Mr. Williams. But let's talk about this, okay? You know what I don't like?"
  "When you step on gum and it sticks to your shoe? I have to get out of here!"
  "Ah," said the lieutenant, "clever girl." He leaned over the table. "You want to know why you're here? I don't like being lied to, that's why."
  "Look, Lieutenant, you need to call the US Embassy. They'll call the State Department, and then your Secretary of the Interior, who I dare say will be pretty pissed.
  "I called the US Embassy. And they called the US State Department. And you know what? They don't know why you're here. You sure as hell aren't here on official business. I shouldn't have let Yana Baker come to you. I want to know where she is, and you're going to tell me."
  "That's impossible," Cade said. Then he thought, the CIA! The damn CIA lied to me. "I never lied to you," he said.
  "Oh, no? You know who else I called? The U.S. Attorney's Office."
  Cade's face turned pale.
  "Yeah, the Assistant U.S. Attorney never went to Antigua, did he?" Pence grinned. "That was a good thing, by the way." He rushed forward and slammed his fist on the table. "Where's Jana Baker? Her little incident is looking more and more like assault with a deadly weapon, if not worse."
  "She was attacked!"
  - That, my friend, is nonsense. You thought I was an idiot? Her story is more than flawed. For example, in her statement, she said she was walking home from the club when the alleged assault attempt occurred. But she went a little off her route. In fact, six blocks away.
  - What do you accuse her of?
  "You should be more concerned about what we're accusing you of. And as for Ms. Baker, attempted murder, for starters. She wasn't attacked. She lured her victim into a dark alley and shot him twice, not to mention compound fractures. Left him there to bleed out. I'm loading her, and she'll be stuck. So, let me ask you this. Was your little agent out of control, or was she on a mission?"
  "I'm not saying a word. Let me out of here right now."
  The door opened and a uniformed officer entered. He handed the lieutenant a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside was a firearm.
  "And the weapon she used," Pence continued, throwing his bag down on the table with a thud, "did you give her that? You know what interests me about that weapon?"
  Cade laid his head on the table. "No, and I don't care!" he shouted.
  "I find it interesting that when someone runs serial numbers, nothing comes back."
  "So what?" Cade said. "So what the hell?"
  "This is a Glock 43. A modified Glock 43, to be precise. Notice how the grip is cut. It requires a hand-made magazine. And a suppressor. That's a nice touch. But let's talk about the serial numbers. As you'd expect, everything is stamped with the appropriate serial numbers. And the manufacturer registers every gun they produce. Funny, this one isn't listed. Apparently, it was never produced."
  - Let me out of here.
  "Pretty neat trick, huh?" Pence continued. "For a gun to disappear from a national database? I'd say it would take the government to pull something like that off." He circled behind Cade. "I don't just want to know where Jana Baker is, I want to know what she's doing, sanctioned by the U.S. government, on my island."
  - She's not a killer.
  "She's definitely not a kindergarten teacher, is she?" Pence walked to the door. "Tell you what. Why don't you stay in your cell for a little while longer? Maybe you'll have your memory back by morning." The door slammed behind him.
  Damn, Cade thought. How am I going to end up in the boat under Stone's bungalow tonight if I'm stuck here?
  
  42 Storm of Fury
  
  
  Ston looked at his watch,
  It was already 10 PM. "We have to go, Yana." He picked up Cade's cell phone from the table where Cade had left it and glanced at the tracking app on the screen. A single pin appeared on the map, indicating Cade's location. What are you doing? Come on, he thought, get into position.
  From the back bedroom, Jana replied, "Could you relax? Do you think we'll get there before Gaviria goes to bed? You know as well as I do that these clubs don't open until late."
  Stone heard her footsteps and pocketed his phone. He didn't want her to know Cade was out of place. When she left, his expression changed to "wow," but he didn't say anything.
  Yana smiled. "Where's Cade?" she said.
  Stone hesitated for a moment. "Oh, it'll be ready." He tapped the cell phone in his pocket. "The boat will be there." However, his voice didn't sound convincing.
  Yana hopped into the open-air jeep, and Stone threw his gear into the trunk. A strong night breeze blew through her long tail, and she watched the moon rise over the bay. The moonlight illuminated a chasm beginning to form in the dark waters. Lightning flashed in the distance.
  They turned off the seaside road and drove towards the club.
  "If all goes according to plan," Stone said, "I'll be hiding in my bungalow when you go inside with Gaviria. You won't know I'm there."
  "Don't worry," she said, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. "If anything goes wrong in the bungalow, I'll get his ass out."
  - This is not a sanctioned murder. This is simply an execution, understand?
  But Yana didn't say anything.
  Stone watched her as they sped down the gravel road, the Jeep taking turns. She was focused on something.
  "Hey," he said, "you there? You have to remember, we're on our own here. And that doesn't just mean we have no backup. It also means that if this goes wrong, the U.S. government will let us spin in the wind. They'll disown all knowledge. And you know what? They won't even lie."
  "Uncle Bill would move heaven and earth to help us. And nothing would go wrong. Stop obsessing," she said. "You're just doing your part. Gaviria is mine."
  When they were six blocks from the club, Stone said, "Okay, it's okay. Let me out here." She pulled the car to the side. The roadside was dark and surrounded by thick tropical foliage. A strong gust of wind blew, and Stone jumped out, then grabbed his gear. He looked up at the storm clouds, then disappeared into the thicket.
  Yana looked ahead, mentally picturing the mission. She pressed the gas pedal, causing coral dust to rise behind her.
  A little further down the slope, a wave crashed into the shore. The gathering storm was approaching.
  
  43 Thunder Harbor
  
  
  The groan took
  He took up a position on the hillside directly above the club. He was still surrounded by dense foliage. He slung the carbine strap over his head, peered through miniature binoculars, and began counting the bodyguards. "One, two... hell, three." Well-dressed Colombians stood at various points near the club. Stone exhaled and looked further down the hill, toward his bungalow. "Three bodyguards outside. Big one. How many inside?" He scanned the parking lot. The Jeep wasn't there, but then he spotted Jana pulling up to the valet. Even in the tense situation, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was.
  He shook his head and focused on the bodyguards again. He zoomed in and studied each man individually. "Uh-huh," he said, discovering a large bulge hidden under each of their jackets. "Automatic weapons, just as I thought."
  He pulled out Cade's cell phone and looked at the map. This time the ping had closed the distance. "What's taking so long? Get the damn boat here." But then a wave crashed into the dock, and the boats tied to the slips rocked against the sides. Damn this weather, he thought. Lightning flashed again, and in the flickering light, Stone saw a boat approaching.
  He looked past the clubhouse to the boardwalk and stairs that led from the clubhouse to the dock and in front of his bungalow. As the boat entered the harbor, it rocked on increasingly larger waves. The storm was intensifying. Time to take position.
  
  44 Bad vibrations
  
  
  Before Yana went
  As she entered the club, she could feel the pounding music. When she and Stone were dating, they never frequented this place because it wasn't their scene. Loud music, strobe lights, and crowds of people huddled in a sweaty mass.
  The club was huge, but she knew Gaviria was somewhere around here. If only she could just spot him. She pushed through the crowd until she spotted the dance floor. It was lit from below, and splashes of color erupted from one section to another, harking back to the 1970s.
  About fifteen minutes later, she spotted a well-dressed man who looked as if he could easily be Colombian. It wasn't Gaviria, but perhaps he was nearby. The man ascended the thin stainless steel staircase overlooking the expansive dance floor and disappeared behind a set of hanging beads that served as a partition.
  At that moment, Yana felt a hand rub against her bottom, she turned and grabbed it. A half-drunk man stood behind her, and she squeezed him tighter. "Feel good?" she said.
  "Hey, you're pretty strong. Maybe you and I-oh, shit," he said as Jana twisted her wrist and the man doubled over in pain. "Damn, baby. What's with the hostility?"
  She let go of his hand and he stood up. "I'm not your baby."
  He looked at her chest. - Well, you must be .
  She hit him in the softest part of his throat so fast he didn't even realize he'd been hit until the choking sensation washed over him. He coughed and clutched his neck.
  "Were you going to ask me to dance?" she said. The man clutched his throat and began to cough. She shrugged and said, "Nothing to say? Hmm, what a disappointment." She walked to the stairs. When she reached the first step, she looked up. A huge bodyguard was enveloping the top landing. A wave of nausea shot through her stomach, but she tried her best to ignore it. She walked up the stairs as if the place belonged to her.
  The man raised his hand, but Yana continued, "Carlos sent for me."
  The man thought for a moment, then said in a strong Central American accent, "Wait here." He looked her up and down and smiled, then walked through the beaded partition. As he disappeared into the next room, Yana followed. A second guard, just beyond the partition, placed his hand on her just as she saw Carlos Gaviria across the room.
  He had a girl on each side of him, and gold rings on his fingers. His button-down shirt was unbuttoned. "I didn't send for any girl," he said. But when he saw her, Jana knew he was intrigued. His head tilted to the side as he looked at her. "But please, I don't mean to be rude," he said loud enough for Jana to hear. "Let her join me." He nodded to the two women next to him, and they stood and disappeared into the back room. When the door swung open, Jana saw that it led to an open balcony on the beach side of the club.
  She approached Gaviria and extended her hand. He kissed her tenderly. A new wave of nausea washed over her. Pull yourself together, she thought. It must be the gold chain around his neck that's making you sick. She smiled at her own humor.
  "What an exquisite creature. Please join me."
  The guards retreated to their posts.
  Yana sat down and crossed her legs.
  "My name is..."
  "Gaviria," Yana interrupted. "Carlos Gaviria. Yes, I know who you are."
  "I'm at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I don't know you."
  "Your friend from home sent me. What difference does it make who I am?" Yana said with a playful smile. "A gift, so to speak, for a job well done."
  He took a moment to assess her. "I've done my job well," he laughed, referring to his success in turning the island into a new drug route. "But this is very unusual."
  - You're not used to such awards?
  "Oh, I have my rewards," he said. "But you, how can I say that? You're not what I expected."
  She ran her finger down his forearm. "You don't like me?"
  "Quite the opposite," he said. "It's just the blond hair, the accent. You're American, no?"
  "Born and raised." Her tone was disarming.
  - And very straightforward, as I see it. But tell me, how is this woman different from you... gifts appear on our island and work in this capacity?
  "Perhaps I'm more curious than other girls." She looked at his chest and placed her hand on his thigh.
  "Yes, I see that," he chuckled. "And you know, I wouldn't want to disappoint my friends. After all, they've been very generous." He looked at her, and Yana knew the time had come.
  She leaned toward him and whispered in his ear. "I don't just have talents. They're more like skills." She nipped his ear, stood, and walked out the door to the balcony. Here, on either side of the stairs leading down to the water, more guards were stationed.
  A strong gust of wind fluttered her tight dress, and lightning flashed in the bay. Gaviria kept up, and Yana passed the guards and descended the stairs. Reaching the bottom landing, she glanced over her shoulder. A wide grin spread across his face. He handed his drink to one of the guards and followed.
  
  The boat was tied under the bungalow, but Stone took one last look at it. It was too dark to see Cade at the wheel, but she knew he was there. The water was churning, and the wind was beginning to pick up. A loud clap of thunder boomed as the approaching storm announced itself. He shook his head and shouted over the crashing waves. "Just hold on. It won't be long now." He slid overboard and looked up the hill. "It's hers!" he shouted. "She's coming."
  Stone was about to jump through the open window at the side of the bungalow, but he glanced back again. He watched Gaviria approach Yana.
  Gaviria hugged her from behind and pulled her close. She smiled and gave a most flirtatious laugh. Stone could only hear their voices. He stuck one foot out the window but stopped when he heard the sound of footsteps. Two bodyguards thundered toward them. Then Stone heard shouts.
  "What?" Gaviria shouted at the guards. "You two are paranoid."
  "Patron," said one, breathing heavily. "She's not what she says."
  "What are you talking about?" said Gaviria.
  Another guard grabbed Yana. "It's her, Patron. She's the one who sent Montes to the hospital."
  A surge of adrenaline coursed through Stone's veins, and he leaped from the platform onto the sand below. His first thought was to shoot both guards and then go after Gaviria. But Kyle? The instructions were clear. Gaviria was to be taken calmly. 5.56mm NATO rounds were the complete opposite of silent. The gunfire attracted a stream of bodyguards, and a firefight ensued. Kyle couldn't be saved this way.
  Gaviria looked at Yana. "Is that so?" He placed his hand on her throat, and the bodyguards twisted her arms behind her back, then bound her wrists. Yana's struggles were in vain. Gaviria grabbed her by the ponytail and told the guards, "You two wait here." He looked at the cabin, which was only twenty feet away. "We'll talk to her for a bit." He dragged her, kicking and screaming, into the changing room.
  
  45 Predicting the Unpredictable
  
  
  One hundred cracked
  at the mouth of the bay, and the wind picked up. Heavy waves crashed against the boats and the shore. Stone looked from one guard to the other and tried to come up with a plan. I have to think, damn it! Whatever this was, it had to be quiet, and it had to happen right now.
  He slung his HK416 over his shoulder and crouched under the sidewalk. Then an idea occurred to him. It's lightning, he thought. He closed his right eye and kept his left open-a technique used by special forces that allows a soldier to see his rifle's sights immediately after a flare chute illuminates a darkened battlefield.
  Come on, come on! Stone thought as he waited. But then it happened. Lightning flashed directly overhead. The resulting burst of bright light, followed immediately by darkness, provided perfect cover. Stone vaulted over the railing behind one of the bodyguards. In the blinding light, he reached behind and placed his hand on the man's jaw and the back of his head. He jerked, then spun around. His spine cracked under the double force. But before the body could fall, Stone leaned over and forced the man's torso onto the side railing. Stone swung his legs over the railing. The thunderclap was such a cacophony that it drowned out the sound of a human body hitting the ground.
  Stone vaulted over the railing, yanked his carabiner back into place, and braced himself for the worst. Just above the crash of the next wave, he heard Yana scream again. "Shit! I have to get in there!" Another guard peered through the cabin window. He hadn't seen Stone's actions.
  He'll have to be lucky next time. He heard something shatter in the cabin, like a coffee table being crushed. He removed his paracord survival bracelet and unwound it to sixteen feet. He hobbled under the boardwalk closer to the cabin. In the dark, he tied one end to the side railing, then threw it over the boardwalk to the other side. He shuffled under it and tugged on the cord, then tied it.
  Lightning flashed again, followed by a loud clap of thunder. This time, the other bodyguard looked up. When he noticed his partner was nowhere to be seen, he broke into a blind sprint. He tripped over paracord and was thrown into the air. Before he could hit the hardened boards, Stone vaulted over the side railing. But just as he pounced, the man struck Stone in the face with a huge fist. Stone went flying over the railing and crashed to the ground. He jumped up just in time for the man to jump on him. They fought in the reeds in a blinding brawl.
  
  46 Adrenaline Horror
  
  
  Jana pulled it out
  against the bindings on her wrists, but Gaviria pushed her into the house. She tripped in the hallway and crashed into a bamboo coffee table. It shattered under her. All the air in her lungs dried up.
  - So you're the little bitch who tried to kill Montes, huh?
  Everything happened so quickly that Yana struggled to catch her breath.
  "Who hired you?" He yanked her to her feet as she struggled to get air back into her lungs. He shook her violently. "Who hired you?" he yelled, then backhanded her across the face. As her body spun, she kicked him in the chest, sending him flying into the wall. But he reacted like a trained bolt of lightning, throwing a right punch that caught her on the jaw and sent her crashing to the ground.
  Gaviria laughed. "Did you think, doing what I do, that anyone would respect me if I was just some pussy? Now you're going to tell me who signed the contract with Montes, and you're going to tell me right now."
  Yana was blinded by the pain in her jaw. Her vision blurred. It was hard to distinguish the impending episode of post-traumatic stress from pure, raw terror. Lightning struck outside, and a clap of thunder shook the tiny bungalow. She struggled to form a plan, any plan. Before she could process it, he was on top of her, his hands clamped around her throat. He jerked her head up and down, choking her, and screamed, "Who hired you?"
  Yana saw a blurry figure behind Gaviria just before everything went dark. She lost consciousness.
  
  47 Awakening
  
  
  Ana's eyes
  She clicked, but everything was so dark and loud. She was half-conscious, and pain shot through her body. She discovered that her hands were still bound. Thunder crashed somewhere above, and a torrential rain poured down on her. The surface beneath her rocked violently, and her body bounced up and down. Her consciousness faded, and she lost consciousness again. In her mind's eye, she found herself running through the forest toward her special hiding place, her fort. If only she could reach her fort, everything would be okay.
  The floor beneath her jumped again, and her body hit something. The noise above was deafening. She glanced in one direction and saw Stone crouched. He pointed his rifle in the direction behind them, and now Yana could tell they were in a boat. A boat. Cade got us a boat. It all made sense to her.
  Lightning flashed horizontally across the sky, accompanied by such a loud roar that she thought she'd been hit. They were caught in the heaviest rain she'd ever experienced. She looked over the bow of the boat and squinted at the raindrops, but she could barely see anything. Even though her hands were still bound, she felt tremors. They started in her right hand but quickly spread to both arms and her torso. Her post-traumatic stress disorder episode had taken a violent turn for the worse. Soon she was convulsing. The last thing she remembered was a dark, murky liquid rolling toward her across the white deck. It had turned to slush along with the rainwater, and it was undoubtedly blood.
  
  48 gagged and tied
  
  
  Jana woke up
  in a sea of darkness. Disoriented, she sat up straight and looked around. She was in her bedroom at the safe house. Her hands were free, but her jaw ached. She touched it, and something like an electric shock throbbed. She felt swelling.
  She stood up and calmed down. Thunder rumbled in the distance-the storm had passed. She heard voices and opened the bedroom door, then squinted into the bright light of the lamp.
  "Oh, come on, big baby," said the voice. "It's not that bad."
  "Oh, damn, that hurt," she heard Stone reply.
  In the haze of her vision, it looked like Cade was placing a butterfly patch over one of Stone's eyes to seal the wound.
  "Hey," Stone said, "you're up. Are you feeling okay?"
  Yana gently placed her hand on her chin and rubbed her neck. "Well, I feel better. What happened? The last thing I remember was..."
  But she stopped mid-sentence. Cade turned around, but it wasn't Cade. It was her father.
  Yana opened her mouth. "What are you doing here?" There was anger in her words, but, speaking against the swelling in her throat, her voice was muffled.
  He didn't answer, but instead turned to Stone to cast the final butterfly.
  "Damn it, man, that hurt," Stone said.
  Ames wiped away a trickle of blood. "It'll be fine," he said, lifting Stone. "Here, look." He pointed to the mirror on the wall, and Stone examined the work.
  He turned to Ames. "Hey, that's very good. Have you done this before?"
  Ames exhaled and shook his head. "Not the first time."
  "I don't understand," Yana said. "How did he get here?" Her voice was shaking. "Kyle! Oh my God. We ruined our chance to get Kyle?"
  Stone said, "Relax. We still think Kyle is okay. When Rojas is told the target he assigned you no longer exists, he'll be pleased."
  "But, but..." Yana stuttered. "Bodyguards! It had to be so quiet. Gaviria had to be taken out so no one would know what happened! Rojas will find out."
  "As far as they know, it was quiet," Stone said. "The other bodyguards in the club didn't see anything. The storm covered our tracks. It's all taken care of."
  Yana pulled the chair closer and sat down. She turned her attention to her father. "Then explain it," she said, pointing.
  Stone examined her neck and jawline. "There'll be some swelling, but your jaw isn't broken." He looked at Ames. "If it weren't for him, you'd be dead. In fact, we'd both be dead right now."
  "Which one?" her voice softened.
  "Late yesterday, after Cade went to rent a boat," Stone said.
  "What about this?"
  "I don't know how to tell you this. But yesterday, Cade disappeared. I didn't know where he was. He went to rent a boat, and that's the last I heard from him. When I called his cell phone, it rang here at the house. He left it. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd lose your shit."
  - What happened to Cade? She stood. - Where is Cade?
  Stone put his hands on her shoulders. "We don't know right now. But we'll find him, okay?"
  "Two are missing?" Yana said, her thoughts racing through her head. "He's been missing all this time? Was he taken?"
  "I know, I know," Stone said. "Here, sit down. When I couldn"t find him, I looked at his phone. I don"t know, I was looking for anything. But I found one thing I suspected. The little cab jockey hadn"t deleted the Tile tracker app from his phone like he told me he had. At first, I was angry, but then I thought it might be the only thing that could help us find him. He has a Tile tracker on his keychain. So I opened the tracking app to see if it would find him. And it did. It showed his position on a map by the dock."
  - So you found him? said Yana.
  "Not exactly," Stone said. "But at the time, it made sense because he was right where he needed to be, having rented a boat. But when I saw the storm coming, I got nervous. I wanted him to get the boat under the cabana as quickly as possible. Otherwise, the surf might get too rough for him to get into position without hitting the piers that support the place. So I pinged him."
  "But he didn't have a cell phone," Yana said.
  "I wasn't pinging his cell phone, I was pinging his tracking device. The tiles have a tiny speaker. You can use an app on your phone to make the tracker sound through the speaker. That way, you can find lost keys or something. I was hoping Cade would hear the alarm and get to the landline to call me so I could warn him." Stone turned and looked at Ames. "But it wasn't Cade calling. It was him."
  Yana closed her eyes. "I don't understand."
  Stone continued. "Cade, apparently, didn't trust Mr. Ames, took a tile from his keychain, and threw it into Ames's boat so he could keep an eye on him. When I pinged the tracker, Ames called Cade's cell, and I answered. Your father brought his boat to help us. He killed Gaviria. He got that gorilla off me. He put you in the boat with Gaviria, and that's how we got out. He saved our lives."
  Yana doubled over, as if she had a sudden stomach ache. She closed her eyes and began breathing deeply, trying to ward off the demons. "We have to find him. Oh God, how are we going to get both Cade and Kyle?"
  Yana's father quietly said, "Operationally, when we face enormous challenges, we take on one goal at a time."
  Yana looked at him, then sat up straight. "We? You're supposed to be some kind of expert? Besides, you can't do that," she said. "You can't disappear for twenty-eight years and then reappear and be okay."
  He waited. "There's nothing I can do to atone for the sins of my past. There's nothing I can do to make things right. But maybe you could put it off for a little while, until we get your friends out. I can help."
  "I don't want to hear it!" she said. "I don't want to hear another word. Now go away and never come back. I never want to see you again."
  Stone said, "Yana, none of us know what your life was like growing up without parents, but he's right. Look at our situation. We have two men missing. We need his help. Not only is he willing to help, but he's experienced."
  "Aha!" Yana shouted. "Experience selling classified information to the Russians!"
  Stone continued, "As much as I agree with you, we need his help. He saved our asses there tonight. Do you know what your father did for the CIA before he became an operations officer? He was a field operative."
  Yana looked around.
  "Right," Stone said. "His experience may date back to the Cold War, but a field is a field. I couldn"t get to you in the cabin because of two bodyguards. I thought you were dead for sure. But your father, he attacked that guard. He didn"t hesitate. Before I could even process what had happened, your father yanked a knife from my belt and plunged it into the guy"s neck. But he only came for me after he saved you. That"s you, Jana. Your father risked his life to save you. And look at him. He"s sitting there, ready and willing to do it again."
  Yana shook her head and stood up to go to the bedroom. "It'll be light in a couple of hours. I need to be ready to tell Diego that Rojas Gaviria is dead. And I need to have a plan to get Kyle out. After that, we'll start looking for Cade." She glanced at her father. "And you stay away from me. Don't talk to me, don't look at me."
  "Yana, wait," Stone said. "We have a problem."
  - What now?
  Stone walked to the other bedroom door and opened it. Carlos Gaviria was lying on the floor. His hands were tied behind his back and he was gagged.
  
  49 Hidden Agenda
  
  
  "This is a hat
  He
  "What are you doing here?" said Yana. "He's not dead?"
  The duct tape around Gaviria's mouth muffled his angry cry.
  "But there was blood," Yana said. "The whole boat was covered in blood."
  Stone said, "Okay, it was his blood, but he's not dead. But your father confused him.
  Yana remembered the moments before she was strangled, a blurry figure in the house behind Gaviria.
  Jana said, "What are we going to do? Just leave him on the floor? I thought you threw his body away. We can't keep him here."
  "It all happened so fast," Stone said. "I was completely out of my mind." He pointed to the wound above his eye. "But without the release team, it's our problem now."
  A ringtone came from Cade's laptop, and Yana walked over to him. "I can't believe it. It's that son of a bitch."
  "Yana, wait," Stone said. "Ames, get out of the camera's line of sight. I don't want anyone to know you're here."
  Ames walked behind the table so as not to be seen.
  She pressed the button on the secure video conference window. "Wallace? What the hell do you want?"
  "As always, to offer my assistance," Lawrence Wallace said from the screen, his expression smug.
  "Help? Yes," she said, "the CIA has been very helpful so far."
  "Would you rather find Gaviria yourself? And how would you do it? So far, you've achieved what you set out to do."
  "Really?" said Jana. "We want to keep Kyle McCarron out of danger."
  "The path to Agent McCarron lies through Carlos Gaviria."
  Yana leaned toward the monitor. "This was your agenda, wasn't it? You gave Diego Rojas the full dossier on Carlos Gaviria, and he passed it on to me. Something's going on, and I want to know what it is. What does the CIA want from the drug lord?"
  Wallace ignored the question. "As I said, I'm here to offer my assistance."
  "What makes you think we need help?" Stone joked.
  Wallace said: "First of all, I congratulate you on your victory over Gaviria. I'm impressed."
  "Great," said Yana, "my life's purpose was to impress you."
  - But you have serious problems, don't you?
  "And what is this?" said Yana, although she knew the answer.
  - Gaviria's not dead, is he? You can't hold Gaviria while you try to free Agent McCarron. You need me to take him off your hands.
  Yana looked at Stone, then back at the monitor. "How do you know this?"
  "I know a great deal, Agent Baker," Wallace said. "I can take Gaviria. The rendition team is what you needed all along, am I correct?"
  "I don't trust you, Wallace. So I'll ask you again. What does the CIA want from a drug lord?"
  - You let me worry about it.
  Yana crossed her arms over her chest and began to wait.
  Wallace continued. "I have a team en route to your location. They'll be there within two hours. Gaviria won't be a problem anymore."
  - What if I don"t give it to him? said Yana.
  Wallace laughed. "You have no choice."
  "I don"t work for you," Yana said.
  - I'll tell you what, Agent Baker. You hand over Gaviria, and I'll tell you what you want to know.
  - Are you going to tell me the CIA's plans?
  He laughed again. "No, but I'm going to earn your trust. I'm going to tell you where Cade Williams is."
  Yana's mouth opened, but her words sounded tinged with anger. "What did you do to him?"
  "I assure you, he is not in CIA custody. Consider this information a gesture of goodwill."
  "Damn it!" she screamed. "Where is he?"
  - Do we have a deal?
  "Yes."
  "Once Gaviria is handed over to us, you will receive instructions."
  The call disappeared.
  Yana slammed her fists on the table. "Injection!"
  From behind the laptop, Yana's father said, "You're right not to trust him. There's an agenda. There's always an agenda."
  Jana's jaw muscles clenched as she looked at her father, but then Stone spoke. "What are they playing?"
  "I don't know," Ames said. "But it's always a level higher."
  "Meaning?" Stone said.
  "Well, you were a Delta Force operator, right?"
  "Yes."
  "You were given missions, and those missions made sense at your level, didn't they?"
  "Usually, yes. We had high-level security clearance, so we usually knew what we were doing and why."
  "But there's always a level above. A higher priority, a larger scale. It's something you didn't know. Like, where were you stationed?"
  "I can't talk about it," Stone said.
  "Of course not," Ames replied. "Let's see, okay, here's an example. Let's say it's 1985, and you're in Delta Force. You're tasked with transferring weapons to the Iranians. Now, at the time, Iran was under an arms embargo, so this was all illegal. But you're told the U.S. is going to sell the Iranians Hawk and TOW missiles in exchange for the release of seven American hostages held in Lebanon by Hezbollah. And since Iran has a lot of influence with Hezbollah, we'll get our guys back. Are you following?"
  "It sounds awfully familiar," Stone said.
  "What you weren't told was a higher agenda, the next level."
  - What was it like?
  "Taking American hostages made sense at your level, but the real purpose was a cash exchange. The US needed massive, untraceable cash reserves to fund anti-Sandanista rebels in Nicaragua. Their goal? To overthrow the Sandanista government."
  Yana muttered, "The Iran-Contra affair."
  "Right," Ames said. "A higher priority agenda. And that's not the half of it. You have no idea how far the CIA will go. Have you ever heard the name Kiki Camarena?"
  "Of course," Jana said. "Cade talked about him. Said he was a DEA agent who was killed in Mexico."
  "Killed because the CIA didn't like that he was disrupting their drug trade," Ames said.
  "Oh, come on," Yana said. "The CIA isn't going to kill a federal agent. Why would they want to run their own drug trade?"
  "Look it up if you don't believe me. For the same reason," Ames said. "They were raising funds for the anti-Sandanista rebels."
  Stone said, "Okay. We've lost our way here. So, that brings us back to square one. What is the CIA's agenda here in Antigua?
  "I don"t care," said Yana.
  "You don't sound very convincing," Stone replied.
  "I want Kyle and I want Cade. That's the priority. If the CIA wants to get involved in the drug war, they can. When this is all over, I can hunt down Wallace and kick his ass."
  
  A few hours later, just as the sunlight began to form a glow in the eastern sky, a knock on the door startled the trio.
  - Pizza delivery guy? Stone joked.
  "I don't think the Company delivers pizza," Jana countered.
  "But I hear they have a good delivery service," Stone said, looking out. Four operators in Kevlar gear stood on either side of a casually dressed man. "Come on, it's them."
  Ames slid to the side, trying to stay out of sight.
  But when Yana opened the door, she couldn"t believe who was standing on the other side.
  
  50 Unexpected Visitor
  
  
  " XHello, Yana.
  said the man.
  - What are you doing here?
  The man nodded to the operators, and they entered with their weapons. Stone pointed to the bedroom door. Four clumsy men grabbed Gaviria from the floor and drugged him while he thrashed. They disappeared into the water, where an F470 inflatable reconnaissance boat lay idle near the beach.
  The man glared at Stone, but then turned to Yana. "Sorry, I had to wait until they cleared up."
  "What's the matter?" she said.
  - I don't know, but I'm going to find out.
  - What do you mean you don"t know? said Yana.
  The man said, "I have a message for you. Apparently, Cade was pinched. When he went to rent a boat for your operation last night, he was captured by locals. He is still in custody."
  - Local police? said Yana. "Why?"
  "They're looking for you, Yana. They're searching the island. Since you haven't returned, they consider you a fugitive and Kayde an accomplice. They want to charge you with attempted murder in connection with the attack on Montes Lima Perez."
  Yana shook her head, but before she could say anything, the man extended his hand. Yana shook him and felt him hand her something. He disappeared into the water and vanished.
  She closed the door and Stone asked, "Who was that?"
  "Pete Buck, CIA. We've worked with him before. He seems like a jerk at first, but once he gets to know you, he's a good guy.
  "Yes, it seems very warm," Stone said. "What did he tell you?"
  "You're not missing much," Yana said. She opened her palm to reveal a tiny envelope made of thick paper. She opened it and emptied the contents onto her hand. Three unmarked digital chips fell out.
  "SIM cards?" Stone said. "The CIA cuts off communications from the US to our cell phones, but now they're giving us new SIM cards?"
  "Buck wouldn't have given them to us without a reason," Yana said.
  "It doesn't make sense," Stone continued. "They can listen to our cell phone calls whenever they want, so why give us new SIM cards?"
  Yana was lost in thought. "I don't think the CIA gave them to us. I think Buck did."
  - But Buck is from the CIA.
  "I know," Yana said, "but something is going on. He won't hurt me, I'm sure of it."
  Stone said, "You think the CIA doesn't know what the CIA is doing?"
  "It won"t be the first time," Yana replied.
  Ames said against the wall, "I think he's trying to contact you."
  Stone looked at Yana's angry expression and then said, "Ames, I think you should wait this out." He turned to Yana. "I think he's trying to contact you."
  said Yana.
  "Do you trust him?" Stone said.
  "Yes."
  "Then you should trust him. Put the SIM card in your phone. I bet not only will it accept calls from the mainland US, but Buck will call you soon."
  "Okay, but we have to prepare for Rojas. He owes me a hundred thousand."
  
  51 Obstruction of Justice
  
  Royal Antigua and Barbuda Police Commissioner's Office, American Road, St. John's, Antigua.
  
  "I'm sorry,
  "Who did you say was calling?" the secretary said into the receiver. When she heard the answer again, she cringed. "Oh, just one minute, please." She pressed the button on the desk phone and said, "Commissioner? I thought you'd like to take this."
  "I'm in a briefing," said Robert Wendell, the newly appointed commissioner.
  - Sir, I really think...
  "Okay, flash it. My God," he said to the group of twelve senior inspectors gathered in his office. "New secretary," he said with a grin. "Still not quite sure who she can tell to leave a message." He picked up the blinking phone line. "This is Commissioner Wendell."
  Other men in the room could hear muffled screams coming from the telephone receiver.
  The commissioner muttered into the phone, "Yes, ma'am. We have what? Well, wait a minute, ma'am. I don't even know-I see. No, ma'am, I'm sure we haven't detained... I understand you say he's a US citizen, but in Antigua..." The commissioner waited while the man on the other end of the line continued.
  Inspectors heard a knock on the telephone as the subscriber on the other end hung up.
  The commissioner hung up and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the inspectors until his gaze settled on one in particular, Lieutenant Jack Pence. "Pence? We have a U.S. citizen in custody?"
  "Yes sir. His name is... _
  "His name is Cade Williams. Yes, I know. And he's been charged?
  "Obstruction of an investigation."
  "In other words, he didn"t commit a crime. Am I right?" He slammed his fist on the table. "You want to know how I know his name?" He was met with silence. "Well, I"ll tell you." He jumped up from his seat so fast that his swivel chair slammed into the wall. "There was a very nice woman on the line named Linda Russo. Do you want me to give you three guesses as to who Linda Russo is?" He braced his fists on the table. "She"s the damn United States Ambassador to Antigua! Why the hell do we have a US citizen in our custody? And not just some random tourist, but apparently a US government employee. Jesus Christ! I haven"t sat in this chair for four months and I"m about to get my ass kicked! Call your men and release him."
  "Sir," the lieutenant hesitated, "we believe he..."
  "Harboring a fugitive. Yes, the ambassador was kind enough to share that little fact with me. Look, you want to bring in the real suspect and charge her with murder, that's one thing. But harboring a fugitive?" The commissioner shook his head. "Release him, immediately."
  Twenty minutes later, Cade was released from custody. He hailed a taxi and watched them to make sure he wasn't being followed. The taxi dropped him off a mile from the safe house. He waited to double-check he wasn't being tailed, then crossed the street and offered a kid ten dollars for a bicycle without tires. He rode the rest of the way back on steel rims.
  When he pulled up to the house, Stone stepped outside. "Hey, nice ride."
  "Very funny. Where is Yana?
  "Inside. Are you enjoying your short time in prison?
  - Oh, that was wonderful. Cade walked in and Yana hugged him. It was more than he expected.
  "I'm so sorry," she said. "We had no idea what happened to you."
  - How did you know? he said.
  After she explained last night that the CIA had reported him arrested and Gaviria taken away, he nodded.
  "They're going to charge you, Yana. I'm so sorry."
  She said, "Are they really considering this attempted murder?"
  "Apparently so," he said. "They know your route home. That you lost your way. To them, it looks like you lured him into that alley. And since they know your experience as a special agent, your training... well, they think it was planned."
  She crossed her arms. "Screw them. Besides, we don't have time for this. We need to prepare for my visit to Diego Rojas."
  - Do you think you're ready?
  "I can get through the gate. But getting Kyle out of there is the problem. I know he's being held. And I bet he's somewhere behind that steel door in Rojas's wine cellar.
  "I believe you, by the way. That Kyle is alive. It makes sense. Even though we don't know why the CIA is involved, it makes sense that Kyle was the one who told Rojas that Gaviria was on the island."
  Stone entered and listened.
  Jana said, "We can't be distracted by the CIA. We need to focus on our single target, Kyle." She looked around, then out the bay window. The boat was gone. "Wait a minute. My father's gone?"
  Stone said.
  Cade said, "I know you don't need advice about your father, Ian, but you have to give him a chance."
  "He doesn't deserve a chance. If he wanted to be with me, he had that chance when I was born."
  Cade dropped the subject. He looked at Stone. "We need a plan to get Kyle out. Stone, you were a tough Delta Force operator, and you were at Rojas's estate. What do you suggest?"
  "With a team of eight operators? Arrive under cover of night, deploy guns for cover, and quietly eliminate the guards. Have our electronics expert disable all alarm systems. Go inside and hack the door Yana described. Grab Kyle and drag him out. A car will be waiting ahead of us, and a CRRC boat will be behind us in case we need to escape that way. Attack helicopters are on standby in case things get dangerous."
  said Yana. "Good for a team of eight."
  "I know," he said. "There are four of us."
  said Yana.
  "We need his help, Yana," Stone said.
  "Look, there's only a few of us," she said. "You're talking about quietly, cold-bloodedly killing these guards. If something goes wrong, we'll probably be in a firefight. Have you ever done this before?"
  "Many times," he said, though his voice was distant.
  Cade shook his head. "We don't have that kind of support. Gunships in reserve, cutters? That's just us."
  "Then we'll go in the front door," Stone replied. "Yana's coming in anyway. I'd be fine outside the office. I have a sniper rifle with an AMTEC suppressor. If things go south, I'll take out the guards at the gate and the front door, and no one will know."
  "Wait, wait," Cade said. "There's no chance we can try to take Kyle by force. Not three of us. How are we supposed to get him out without all this?"
  "We use Jana," Stone said. "Jana inside is better than eight operators outside. But she needs to be prepared in case things go wrong."
  Cade said, "How is she going to prepare if they search her again, which they will?"
  "I"m going with a weapon," Yana answered.
  "Armed?" Cade said. "How are you going to get a weapon past the guards?"
  "I'm not. I've proven myself to Rojas. I carry a gun, and he can kiss my ass if he thinks otherwise."
  Then Yana's phone rang.
  
  52 Origins
  
  
  Caller ID
  Yana's phone simply said, "Unknown." She held the phone to her ear but said nothing. A distorted, computerized voice said, "Your mother had a favorite candy. Meet me at the place where they came from, ten minutes. Come alone."
  "Which one?" Yana said, but the call disappeared.
  Cade asked, "Who was that?"
  "Someone wants to meet me."
  "Well, it must be Pete Buck. He's the only one who has the number for this new SIM card.
  "Yes," said Yana, "but where? And why would he disguise his voice?"
  "He's disguised himself..." Cade said. "He clearly doesn't want anyone to know he contacted you. He slipped you the SIM cards, and now this. Where did he say he wanted to meet?"
  "I have no idea," she said.
  "You just talked to him," Stone said, still looking out the window.
  "He said to meet me at the origin of my mom's favorite candy."
  "What the hell does that mean?" Cade said.
  Yana went, as she thought. "She loved marzipan, too. That's where I got it from. But they're made in New Orleans. He said to meet me at their place of origin in ten minutes. Now, how am I supposed to meet him..."
  - Yana? - said Cade.
  "I know exactly where," she said and walked out the door.
  Cade and Stone followed them, but Jana raised her hand before getting into the car. "I'm doing this alone."
  As she left, Stone told Cade, "Don't worry, she knows what she's doing."
  - That's what worries me.
  
  53 Question has an answer
  
  Little Orleans Market, Antigua.
  
  A few minutes later,
  Jana stopped her car behind the market and parked next to a dumpster. She walked in the back door. Inside the ramshackle shop was the owner, a little old woman named Abena. She hadn't looked up from her sweeping. Pete Buck sat at a tiny round table, one of three set for everyone enjoying Abena's cooking. Jana approached the table but paused, her eyes fixed on the old woman. Abena stood where she stood, broom in hand. It was almost as if she were frozen.
  Yana walked up to her, gently hugged her waist, and picked up the broom. The woman smiled at her through glasses as thick as Coke bottles, and the two of them shuffled behind the counter, where Yana helped her onto a stool.
  When Yana sat down at the table.
  Sometimes she gets stuck."
  - I know what you're going to ask, Yana. But I don't know.
  "What am I going to ask?" she said, even though she knew the answer.
  "Why," he breathed, "why is the Company knee-deep in drug cartels?"
  "And also?"
  - I told you, I don't know.
  - You'll have to do better, Buck.
  He didn't say anything.
  Yana continued. "Let's start with what you know. And don't give me any classified information. We're talking about Kyle."
  "We've done a lot of groundwork on the new Colombian cartels. Again, I'm not exactly sure why, but when an operational package comes in, you work on it without questioning it."
  "Thanks for reminding me why I ran away to a tropical island," she said with a grin. "God, I hated it."
  - Can I continue? he said. "In any case, something big is happening."
  "They sent you on an operation and didn't tell you the target?"
  "Same old Yana," he shook his head. "Maybe there"s something to history. Look, in the "80s, the Colombian cartels were made up of the Medellin and Cali cartels. Medellin was Carlos Escobar"s brainchild, and Cali arose from that. None of that exists anymore. Hell, even the cartel structure Escobar created is gone. That organizational structure controlled everything. Every link in the drug chain, from production to retail, was his. When he was killed, it fell apart. So, over the last twenty years, the drug trade in Colombia has reorganized, but it"s fragmented."
  - What does all this have to do with Antigua? Or Kyle, for that matter?
  "Leave your pants on."
  "I'm planning," she said.
  "A new generation of drug trafficking groups has been born, with a completely new structure."
  "Okay, I'll play along. What is this new structure?"
  "BACRIM is a newer organization. The Colombian government gave it a name that means 'criminal gangs.' BACRIM is a group of drug traffickers. They had to decentralize because anyone who climbs too high up the chain of command is quickly identified by the Colombian police or the Drug Enforcement Agency and suspended. There can't be another Carlos Escobar today. BACRIM has two main groups: the Oficina de Envigado and Los Rastrojos. And that's where Antigua comes in."
  "How so?" she said.
  "The Envigado Cartel is the successor to the Medellin Cartel, and Los Rastrojos succeeded the Cali Cartel. Again," Buck continued, "these are very disparate groups that are virtually impossible to destroy."
  "Why?"
  "The DEA tried, believe me. Each group is broken up into many smaller units. Many of these nodes are individual drug traffickers, backed by a small gang, and they use BACRIM as a shield to take advantage of routes and departure points. Taking out any single node doesn't bring down the rest of the nodes. It only causes a temporary disruption. Then the drug flow continues as the network reforms. And," Buck continued, "they've established themselves in Antigua. It's a new route for drug trafficking to Mexican cartels and then to the US."
  Yana leaned over. "Then why don't you people identify and then remove the head of each little node at once?"
  "That's not our job!" Buck snapped.
  "If this isn't the CIA's work, then what are you doing on my island?"
  "When did you become such a pain in the ass?" Buck said.
  "When I gave up my badge and ID to the FBI director and started a new life. Before you dragged me back in.
  "Identifying these people isn't easy. The nodes are practically invisible. These guys are more likely to be armed with an iPhone than an Uzi. They look like businessmen. They blend in. And they keep quiet. Not to mention, it's more difficult than before. We can't simply trace the cocaine flow back to the source. These guys have a much more diversified criminal portfolio - extortion, illegal gold mining, gambling, and microtrafficking, such as marijuana and synthetic drugs, as well as cocaine and its derivatives."
  "All I care about is getting to Kyle." Yana lowered her voice. "The only thugs in Diego Rojas's house who don't have automatic weapons are his intelligence officer, Gustavo Moreno, and Rojas himself. They shouldn't be that hard to identify."
  Buck shook off the accusations. "Anyway, like I said, something big is falling, and I don't know what it is."
  - I know who does this.
  - Yes, I'm sure my boss is well aware of what's about to happen and why the CIA is here. I brought you here for a reason. I brought you here to tell you that we need to move fast.
  "I don't help the CIA in any way."
  "No," he said, "I'm talking about Kyle. I'm here to help, and I'm telling you, we have to move and move now."
  - Or what?
  "I have a bad feeling about this. IMGINT and MASINT reports are coming across my desk."
  "Speak English."
  "Intelligent imaging, measurement and signature intelligence."
  what do these reports say?
  "There are a lot of satellite images of the Rojas estate. I mean a lot. This, along with other similar sites throughout Colombia."
  "If the Company is conducting some kind of investigation and he is the main target, isn't that normal?"
  Buck glanced over his shoulder. "Okay, I guess. But there's a weird amount of location data. GPS coordinates, longitude, latitude, precise road measurements. I don't understand."
  Yana stood up. "I have no idea what any of this means, but you're doing a damn fine job. How do they expect you to do your job if there are so many secrets?"
  is an attack planned?
  Yana gritted her teeth. "You mean the team of CIA operatives who captured Gaviria, right? Hell, first they told us we were alone, that there would be no reinforcements, and now you think they're going to launch a raid? The US government is going to commit an act of war against a peaceful nation?" She gestured toward the estate. "There are innocents there. Servants, cooks, cleaners. They're just locals."
  Buck lowered his head. "Collateral damage."
  Her voice became unnatural as she remembered the woman screaming out the window. "There's a woman in there. That idiot's raping her. She's a victim of the human slave trade."
  "Which one?" said Buck.
  "Which one? What does it mean? I don't know. She has long black hair."
  - She's dead, Yana.
  "What?" she said too loudly before covering her mouth.
  "Her body was discovered yesterday," Buck said. "Rojas gets bored very quickly. There"s a constant stream of sex slaves there. Rojas orders them brought in. When he"s done with them, they"re taken out." Buck stood up. "She was easy to identify. Most of them migrated from South America, but she was Persian, from Syria. We don"t know how she got here, but I"ll bet the fact that she"s from the Middle East has something to do with what"s about to happen. I"m on your side, Jana." He looked down and noticed her hand was shaking. "Don"t shut me out. Besides Cade and Stone, I"m your only friend."
  "The Middle East?" said Yana. "What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying there's a connection?"
  "My ground clearance is not that high."
  "Bullshit!" said Yana. "If you know he's committing kidnappings, rapes, and murders, why hasn't the CIA arrested him? Why isn't his fucking head on a stick?"
  This doesn't happen.
  She slammed her open palm on the table. "What is the Company doing in Antigua?"
  - I told you, I don't know.
  "Oh really? Well, let me ask you this. What happened to Gaviria?
  - What is this supposed to mean?
  "You guys showed up so hot and ready to snatch him from our hands. You had a team prepared and waiting. And you wouldn't do it without a reason.
  "Yana, we're talking about me," Buck said. "I'm telling you what I know. I'm telling you more than I should. I'm taking a hell of a risk here."
  "Then you better find out what happened to Gaviria before something goes wrong."
  "What could go wrong? We're the CIA."
  Yana leaned back in her chair. "Yes, of course. What else could go wrong?" She raised her voice. "I'm not quite sure about the Agency."
  Buck said, "Me and you both."
  The two smiled.
  
  54 Scorpio's Sting
  
  CIA secret station, location undisclosed, Antigua.
  
  Lawrence Wallace leaned over
  man's computer monitor.
  "It's here, sir," the analyst said, pointing to a dot on the radar screen. "That's the seaplane's transponder."
  - Are you sure that our target is on board?
  - This is confirmation, sir.
  - Estimated time of arrival in Antigua?
  The man began tapping away at the keyboard, trying to calculate the flight time. "Depending on headwind and airspeed, that's fifty-six to seventy minutes, sir."
  Wallace glanced at his watch. "Fifty-six minutes? We're running out of time. We need to get all parties in there." He spoke lower. "Give me that headset. Where is Avenger in relation to Antigua?"
  "Aircraft carrier?" the analyst thought, pressing a few keys on his laptop to locate the vessel. "Heading 1,700 nautical miles south-southwest, sir." The analyst waited a moment.
  Wallace stared at the monitor, his eyes glassy. "Let them turn to wind."
  The analyst thought, "The only reason to turn an aircraft carrier into the wind is to launch an airplane." He glanced out the window and saw Wallace's face reflected in it. He saw a strange mixture of panic and satisfaction.
  Wallace said, "Give me that headset." He put the headset on and adjusted the microphone. "The Avenger?" Wallace said into the microphone, "This is Crystal Palace, over."
  
  1,766 miles from Fort Meade, Maryland, Knuckles shouted across the massive NSA command center, "Uncle Bill! The feed is live!" He clicked the mouse a few times, and the device began recording.
  The old man ran up, out of breath. - What is it, son?
  "They just called the aircraft carrier George H.W. Bush. She's part of Carrier Strike Group Two, currently stationed in the Caribbean." The temptation to deny the information was too great for the young analyst. "They're monitoring the deteriorating situation in Venezuela. She has at least one cruiser, a destroyer squadron of at least two destroyers or possibly frigates, and a carrier air wing of sixty-five aircraft."
  Bill looked at him over his glasses. "I know what a carrier strike group consists of."
  - Oh yes, sir.
  - Give me this headset.
  
  "Forward, Crystal Palace," the carrier shouted. "This is Avenger."
  "Avenger, this is Crystal Palace. Give me a sitrep."
  "The asset is on the Crystal Palace court. The catapult is blocked.
  - Understood, Avenger. Launch the asset. I repeat, the asset is ready for launch."
  
  On the deck of an aircraft carrier, the pilot of an F/A-18F Super Hornet received a thumbs-up. The pilot refueled the engines until flames erupted from the exhaust ports. The launch catapult shot forward and launched the aircraft from the deck.
  "Asset has left, Crystal Palace," said a voice over the secure uplink.
  - Understood, Avenger. Give me a direct line.
  A few moments later, a crackling sound came through the headset as the F-18 pilot came on line. "Crystal Palace, this is Scorpion. All systems nominal, altitude two hundred eighty-seven feet. Climbing to cruising altitude over."
  Wallace glanced at the radar screen as a second blip, representing the F-18, pulsed across the screen. "Roger, Scorpion, this is Crystal Palace. I've got five by five. At your discretion, approach straight ahead, bearing 327.25, confirm?"
  "Roger that, Crystal Palace. Maintaining course 327.25 degrees.
  Weapon status?
  "Crystal Palace, this is Scorpion. AGM-84K off my starboard wing. Scorpion down."
  The CIA analyst looked questioningly at Wallace. Wallace covered the microphone and said, "He means the plane was armed with specific weapons specified in the mission directive."
  "What is the AGM-84K, sir?"
  
  "He said something about the annual general meeting?" said Uncle Bill, pressing his headphones to his ears.
  Knuckles typed in the weapon's name to confirm his suspicions. He pointed to his monitor when his computer responded:
  
  GM-84K SLAM-ER (Stand-off Land Attack Missile - Extended Response)
  Boeing Company
  Weight: 1487 lbs.
  Length: 14.3 feet.
  Operating range: 170 miles.
  Speed: 531 mph
  
  "Mother of God," Uncle Bill whispered.
  "Fourteen hundred pounds?" Knuckles said. "What are they going to do with it?"
  
  Wallace said into the microphone, "Scorpion, this is Crystal Palace. Close to one hundred and sixty miles, source to target, then hold .
  "Roger that, Crystal Palace," came the F-18 pilot's curt reply. "Scorpion out."
  
  Uncle Bill's fingers sank into his thick gray hair. "We have to warn Yana." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "How do we do this without arousing the CIA's suspicions?"
  "We tried to lift them, sir," Knuckles said. "Nothing works."
  "Damn it, son. I have to talk to them. I want answers."
  "But... sir, I don't understand," the boy muttered. "What is this bomb for?"
  But Uncle Bill was fascinated by his train of thought. "And even if I warn her, Jana won't leave Kyle there."
  
  At the secret station, a CIA analyst looked up. "Sir, I know I don't have operational clearance, but I need to understand the plan."
  Wallace glanced at the man. "You've been with the Agency, what, five years? What do you think the mission is?"
  "At first, I thought it was to disrupt a new drug route for the cartels. But now I realize there's another target: a target on a seaplane heading to Antigua. Is the larger plan to bring all the players together?"
  Wallace did not confirm this statement. - You don't approve?
  - Sir, it's just that Agent McCarron is still in custody. Agent Baker needs time to get him out.
  "This won't be the last time you see the disposable."
  "Sir?"
  "An agent that the company will allow to be detected."
  The analyst looked down. "So you're saying Agents McCarron and Baker are expendable?"
  - It's for the greater good, son. We passed the intelligence to Diego Rojas so that McCarron could be captured.
  "But-"
  "Agent Kyle McCarron is the icing on the cake. The real agenda here isn't simply stopping the flow of drugs. To that end, the DEA can spin its wheels as much as it wants. It's meant to sanitize the connection between terrorists and the cartel before it even starts."
  - I don't understand, sir.
  "That's above your pay grade." Wallace looked down at him with his long, thin nose. "You're either with me or you're out."
  A few moments later, a CIA analyst asked, "What game is this, sir?"
  "Bring me the Red Dragon."
  "CIA operators? Yes, sir.
  As soon as they were on the line, Wallace spoke into the microphone. "Red Dragon, this is the Crystal Palace."
  "Go ahead, Crystal Palace," the CIA special operator replied.
  "Operation Overlord is underway. I repeat, Operation Overlord is underway." Wallace waited for a response, but when none came, he said, "I repeat, Red Dragon. This is Crystal Palace. Operation Overlord is underway."
  "Understood," came the operator's pompous reply. "This is the Red Dragon, out."
  The analyst said, "He didn't seem to be very happy about it, sir."
  "Well, it's not like him to have an opinion, that's all!" Wallace shouted.
  "No, sir. I didn't mean to imply..."
  Wallace ran both hands over his head. "Fuck! This whole damn operation depends on this!"
  - Sir, what is Overlord?
  "You're just doing your job. Overlord is my responsibility."
  
  At the NSA command center, Knuckles said, "What was that, sir? He was in contact with the control team? Operation Overlord?"
  "I have no idea," Uncle Bill replied, "but I can tell you one thing: I'm too old for this shit." He thought for a moment. "Son, call me the DEA Special Response Team in Point Udal, U.S. Virgin Islands."
  
  55 Living with this
  
  Safe House
  
  Jana drank
  Her father is in the other bedroom. - What is he doing here?
  Cade looked at her. "We're a little shorthanded, and you're heading back to Roxas's estate. Anything could happen. We might need him."
  "Oh, and you think a former CIA operative who spent the last twenty-eight years in prison is going to help?"
  "He apparently helped a lot when things went wrong with Gaviria."
  Yana's breathing quickened. "I don't have time for this." She glanced around the room. "Where's Stone?" But when she glanced back at the broken coral path, she got her answer. He was returning in his jeep.
  "Recon," Cade said. "He went to see Rojas to see where he could set up with his sniper rifle." Stone walked through the door. "Well?" Cade said to him.
  "It's going to be harder than I thought. But I think I have a place."
  "Where?" Ames said from behind the bedroom door.
  "Stay away from this," Yana snapped.
  Stone shook his head. "I'm on the next hillside. There's lots of foliage and cover there. It gives me a good view of that side of the complex."
  "But wait a second," Yana said. "It"s far away, isn"t it?"
  "Not in sniper terms."
  "How far?" Cade said.
  "Eleven hundred and sixteen yards," Stone replied.
  "Is it close?" Cade said. "Are you kidding me? Eleven football fields from here?"
  Stone didn't answer.
  "He's right," Ames said, walking into the room with his arms crossed. "When I was a handler, I set up three operations that required longer shots. Trust me, if he's certified as a Delta Force sniper, he can do it."
  "Nobody's asking your opinion," Yana snapped. "How long will it take you to understand the situation?"
  "Are we going now?" Stone said.
  "This evening," Yana said. "Shut up for a minute while I call." She dialed the number and let him ring. She said, "I'll be there this evening at seven."
  Diego Rojas was on the other end of the line. "Agent Baker, how nice of you to call." Yana heard the muffled sound of a woman crying in the background. "But I have plans for this evening. I'm afraid I'll inevitably be delayed."
  Adrenaline, laced with anger, rushed through her veins. Rojas was insulting another woman. "I don't care who you entertain. I'll be there to pick you up, and I expect you to have my second payment ready."
  The woman screamed again, but to Yana it sounded like she'd been gagged. "You're a woman who doesn't know her place, Agent Baker."
  "Don't talk to me in that dominant male tone, Rojas. The last one who did this lost his balls and turned his face the color of a purple eggplant." She paused and let the statement sink in. "You had no way to get to Gaviria. If you had known, you wouldn't have hired me for this job. Now that the job is done, I expect to be paid, and paid in full. And you have other assignments for me, don't you? Times have changed. The Oficina de Envigado is well aware that their fearless leader is no longer around, and the heat is on. The stakes are higher, and the higher the stakes, the higher the price."
  the body of the elder Gaviria?
  - Certainly .
  "We'll discuss your next assignment this evening," Rojas said. As soon as he hung up, Yana heard the woman's scream again. To her, it sounded like muffled horror.
  Cade said, "Oh my God, Jana, you're shaking like a leaf."
  "I swear to God, I'll kill that son of a bitch," she said.
  "What is this?" Stone said.
  Ames looked the other way but said, "Killing is the easy part, Yana. Living with it is the hard part."
  She turned to him and opened her mouth, but images flashed before her mind's eye. She was back in the cabin, tied to a chair, and Raphael was looking at her sideways.
  Her chest heaved and she raised her hand to her throat and then pulled it back, as a person might check for blood.
  "Hey, Jana," Cade said. "Still with us?" To distract himself, he asked, "What happened to Pete Buck?"
  As she finished explaining what she'd learned from Buck, her phone vibrated once. She glanced at the screen, then held it up for them to see. It was an incoming text message, containing one word: "Marzipan."
  "It's Buck again," she whispered, barely managing to get over the lump in her throat. "God, he must want to meet again. I just got back."
  "He should have more information," Stone said.
  "We don"t have time for this," Yana said. "We need to get ready for this evening."
  Ames said in a low voice, "You better go see what Buck has."
  But a moment later, Cade's computer chirped and everyone looked at him.
  "What?" he said. "Satellite communications are coming back online. There's only one way it happens."
  They all knew what it meant, another call from Lawrence Wallace was about to come.
  
  56 Star on the wall
  
  
  Garden
  The initial idea was to try using the newly acquired satellite connection to contact Uncle Bill at the NSA. They'd been out of touch for over a day, and even the new SIM cards Pete Buck gave them weren't helping them call from the island. It was maddening. But no matter what Cade tried, his connection was still blocked.
  A chirping sound came from the laptop speaker.
  "There you go," Cade said as Jana and Stone leaned over him.
  Ames kept his distance. He tried to tread carefully when it came to Yana.
  Lawrence Wallace's smug face appeared on the monitor. They could see his lips moving, but they couldn't hear anything. After a few moments, sound became audible.
  "...time is short. You have to move right now."
  "Wallace," Cade said. "We didn't get it. Your connection was lost. Say it again."
  "If you want to get Agent McCarron out, now's your only chance." Wallace shifted in his chair. "Did you hear me? I said you need to move right now."
  The three looked at each other. Jana said, "Wallace, what's the sudden rush?"
  - It doesn't concern you. The schedule has... been moved."
  "Class schedule? What schedule? And when are you so worried about Kayla?" she said. Her tone was accusatory.
  "The Agency's sole concern has always been the safe return of our agent."
  Yana shook her head. "This is crap, and you know it."
  "Whatever our differences, Agent Baker, Kyle McCarron's life hangs in the balance. Do you want him to be a star on the wall at Langley? You're the only asset who can get to him."
  "That's nonsense too," she said. "What about that group of operators who dropped by last night to pick up Gaviria? They didn't look like they'd come to the island for a little sun. Why don't you send them?" Yana checked him out.
  "Baker!" Wallace said, waving his arms. "You're the only one who can get into this facility and get him out. If there was an attempted raid, Agent McCarron wouldn't have a chance. Now, I order you-" He stopped mid-sentence and spoke to someone out of the camera's view. "He what? How did that plane get so far and so fast?" He turned back to his monitor. "Baker, you have to trust me. If you don't go now, Agent McCarron will be dead within the hour."
  "Damn it!" Yana screamed. "How the hell do you know that? What changed?"
  "It is necessary to know."
  "You want me to go to a drug den and you think I don't need to know about it? I swear to God, Wallace. When I'm done with Rojas, I'm coming for you."
  From the back of the room, Ames said in a quiet, almost reverent voice, "Hidden agenda."
  Yana looked at the monitor again. "Wallace, you have five seconds to tell me what's going on. Otherwise, get him out yourself."
  Wallace's face went stony. "Get him out now, or his blood will be on your hands." He disconnected the call.
  
  57 Fan the Flames
  
  Little Orleans Market
  
  Jana was in control
  The jeep made a sharp turn and stopped behind the market. Buck waited. "What is this?" she said. "We were here only twenty minutes ago."
  Buck's voice was distant. "I just got off the phone with an informant."
  "Spit it out."
  "Gaviria's body was just dumped at the main gate of the Oficina de Envigado."
  Yana was speechless. "His body? But the CIA had Gaviria in custody. He was alive. What, was he killed?"
  "I have no idea, but it's not good."
  - If Gaviria's body was just dumped at the front door of his own cartel, that means... . . that means the Oficina de Envigado is about to declare war on Los Rastrojos.
  Buck said, "Envigado will send every soldier they have. Rojas's estate is about to become a war zone. And that's not all. A high-priority suspect is heading to the island. A terrorist named Karim Zahir. Apparently, he's on his way to meet Rojas."
  Yana's gaze sharpened. "This is it, isn't it? This is what Wallace was so panicked about. He knew. The son of a bitch did this to himself. He has something up his sleeve, and this is his way of forcing my hand."
  - What are you going to do?
  "I'm going for my friend."
  "Yana, wait!" Buck shouted. But it was too late. The jeep's tires were already spinning.
  
  58 Object in motion
  
  
  Agip
  Sliding from one side of the dirt road to the other, she dialed Stone's number. When he answered, she screamed into the phone. "Come now! I'll be at the house in four minutes, and I won't be there more than two before I go to Rojas. You need to be at your place."
  "Oh, my God, Yana. What happened to you tonight? Nineteen hundred hours, remember? We have to plan."
  "Step!" she screamed, and then hung up.
  By the time she reached the safe house, Stone had already left. She slammed on the brakes and drove across the parking lot, then ran inside.
  Cade was on his feet. "What happened? Why are we going right now and not tonight?"
  She rushed past him and into the back bedroom. "What do you mean, we? You're not going anywhere." She swung open the wooden door of the louvered closet, which crashed into the frame and began to wobble. Then she yanked a dress off the hanger.
  "I have to go," Cade said, standing in the doorway. "You can't expect just you and Stone to handle this. What if you need help?" His voice cracked as he watched Jana throw her shirt and shorts on the floor. "What if you need a distraction or a spare vehicle to get away?"
  Yana turned her back and dropped her bra on the ground, then pulled the little black dress over her head and wrapped herself snugly in it. Cade tried to look away, but couldn't.
  "Where is Ames?" she said.
  "Your father? It might help if you could at least call him that.
  "Where?"
  "It's gone. I don't know. When Stone took off, I turned around and he was nowhere to be found."
  Yana pulled out a small black purse and reached behind the dresser. Her hand fidgeted for a moment, then Cade heard the Velcro tear as she pulled out a full-frame Glock 9mm pistol.
  Cade said, "You don't think you're going to tuck that thing into that little dress, do you?"
  "No, nimrod, just grabbed the wrong handle, that's all." She reached behind the dresser again and put the gun back. Then she pulled out another, much smaller one. It was identical to the gun she'd used to teach her attacker, Montez Lima Perez, a lesson. She tightened the silencer and made sure there was a round in the chamber, then tucked it into her purse. She pulled out a black Velcro strap that held two extra magazines. Cade tried unsuccessfully to look away again as she placed her foot on the bed and hiked her skirt up high enough to wrap the strap around her upper thigh. When she saw Cade staring, she said, "Get a good look?"
  - Are you suggesting? He pointed back.
  "No."
  "So what's changed? I'm coming with you," he said, stepping into the main room and grabbing a gun from Stone's bag.
  - Whatever the case, you'll stay away from this place. I can't get Kyle out and I have to come back and kick your ass too.
  When they reached the jeep, Cade got behind the wheel. He said, "What did Pete Buck tell you this time? What's the sudden rush about?"
  Yana looked in the mirror and blotted her makeup and hair. "There's a terrorist on the way. He and Rojas are about to end their business relationship."
  "Which ? "
  "Money laundering worth hundreds of millions."
  "Nice," Cade said, speeding up. "But that doesn't explain the urgency. Why does it have to happen right now?"
  "Oh," she said, "did I forget to mention that Gaviria's body just appeared at the Oficina de Envigado complex?"
  Cade almost lost control of the car. "What? He died? How... _ _
  "I don't have time to paint you a picture. But as soon as they see that body, a bunch of angry drug dealers will be smashing down the gates of Rojas' house. It'll be all-out war. I have to get Kyle out now, no matter what."
  "Jesus, Yana. We need backup. We can't fight off fifty well-armed men while you sneak in to grab Kyle-from a locked cell, I might add. We need Uncle Bill. He could send a strike team here in a heartbeat."
  "Well, since we still can't even call him, the damn issue is moot."
  "How are we going to play this? I mean, are you going to, like, talk through the front gate?
  "When we get close, you jump out. I don't have a chance of getting past this guard with anyone else in the car."
  "How are you going to get past him in the first place? You're not supposed to be there until this evening.
  Yana removed her lipstick and looked at herself in the mirror one last time. She looked at the open cleavage on her chest and said, "I'll think of something."
  
  59 Arrival
  
  Morris Bay
  
  The tone slides
  The single-engine Quest Kodiak floatplane landed in the calm waters of Morris Bay. Water splashed out in protest. The plane taxied to a small private dock. Sitting in the rear passenger seat, Karim Zahir pushed his dark sunglasses higher. He glanced through the windshield at the Rojas estate and saw two armed men standing on the dock.
  Zahir wore a long-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned a few buttons. His light jacket and trousers contrasted sharply with his dark features. A beautiful young woman with bronzed skin sat quietly next to him.
  Zahir's eyes raked over her body and smirked. He leaned toward her. "If you want to stay alive," he whispered, "you'll be very, very quiet."
  Her lower lip began to tremble.
  "Mr. Zahir?" the pilot said, seeing the men on the dock with machine guns. "This is Morris Bay, Antigua, sir. But are you sure we're in the right place?"
  "Of course I'm sure. Don't let the rudeness of my business partners' security services bother you. It's all for show."
  The pilot swallowed. "Yes, sir." He steered the craft until it reached the dock, where one of the guards took him in. The guard opened the plane's side door and held it.
  "Stay here," Zahir told the pilot, "and be ready. I don't like being kept waiting." He stepped onto the plane's float and then onto the dock. The woman followed him, but almost slipped in her high heels. "My business will be completed within an hour, after which I will leave."
  "You mean you're both leaving, sir?" said the pilot.
  Zahir looked at the woman's dress. "No, I'll go alone. My assistant has other business here, and he'll stay."
  When she saw the smirk on Zahir's face, she pulled away from him.
  
  60 No more anxiety
  
  
  "This is where you get off,"
  - Yana said to Cade as they drove closer.
  Cade stopped the car and jumped out, and Yana got into the driver's seat. He tucked the gun he'd taken from Stone's bag under his shirt. "Be careful," he said.
  But right after she sped up, she said, "I'm not going to be careful."
  Cade disappeared into the tropical foliage and moved towards the complex.
  Yana turned the Jeep toward the driveway, but stopped abruptly. She took a few breaths and glanced at her right hand. She was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that she hadn't noticed the shaking. You spent the last year preparing for something like this, something you hoped would never happen. She closed her eyes and exhaled in one long movement. There it was. And with that, all the worry left her body.
  
  61 Flesh and Lead
  
  
  Fso of your place
  On the opposite slope, Stone aimed his Leupold rifle. He scanned the front of the estate and descended toward the guardhouse at the entrance gate. Something moved in his peripheral vision, and he squinted in its direction, but couldn't make out anything. He began to move the scope to get a closer look, but when he saw an approaching jeep, he zoomed in to see the guard.
  
  Yana stopped the car in front of the guardhouse and smiled playfully. The same guard she'd encountered earlier stared at her, his gaze sliding down to her chest. When he finally looked her in the eye, she responded by running her eyes down his body. After all, a little flirting couldn't hurt.
  But when he moved his machine gun to the front of his body, she straightened up.
  His voice was salty. "You're not scheduled until 7:00 p.m."
  Try again, she thought. She leaned her elbow against the open window, propped her head on her hand, then bowed it. "I know," she said. She reached out and let her fingers delicately run over his arm. "Things have gotten a little busy. So I thought I'd come early."
  The man looked at her hand and swallowed. "I have to make a call." He turned to the security booth.
  Damn, this isn't working. "You?" Her tone was playful. Out of his sight, she fumbled for her purse. "I wanted this to be a surprise for Diego."
  "I'm not allowed." He took the phone, but when a silenced bullet hit his skull, brain matter splattered across the guard booth and he lost consciousness. "I guess I'm hot," she said, jumping out of the jeep. "It was a boring conversation anyway."
  
  Standing on the hillside, Stone watched the man collapse. He glanced at the guards in front of the house to see if they'd heard when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye again. It came from the same direction. "What the hell is that?" He adjusted his scope, but too many foliage obscured his view. But then he saw color through the thick green and caught a glimpse of Cade's face. "Rookie," Stone said. He glanced back at the guards and saw one of them raise his radio and start talking. Stone adjusted his rifle and aimed it at the guard. "This isn't good. They know. Damn it, they know."
  
  Yana pressed a button inside the gatehouse, and the massive steel gates began to open. She hopped into the jeep and drove calmly down the driveway to the estate.
  
  At the front door, the first guard signaled to the second and began to descend the steps toward Yana's approaching car.
  
  "He'll never survive," Stone said. He exhaled and held, counted slowly, then tapped out one round. Through the silencer, the shot sounded like a muffled pop. However, the sound of the bullet hitting the man's skull was loud, something like a slap. The guard's body spun and hit the ground just as the jeep crested the hill.
  The second guard turned around at the sound of the slap and saw his partner in a pool of blood. Stone aligned the crosshairs and began to lightly squeeze the trigger. But before the gun could fire, he saw the man's body fly into the air. Yana had hit him with her jeep.
  Stone watched as she jumped out and shot the man in the head without hesitation as she walked up the steps.
  "Oh God," Stone said to himself, "I've created a monster. Oh shit!" he said as another guard emerged from the open doorway.
  
  Yana dropped to the ground and fired a shot straight up into the man's throat. The hollow point of the .380 caliber pistol sank into the soft flesh and exited through his spine. He was dead before the empty brass shell casing hit the stone platform. She leaned against the doorframe and looked around the massive, glass-walled room, gun held high. On the veranda, she saw Diego Rojas shaking hands with a well-dressed man with a black beard and a devilish grin. The men stood with their backs to Yana, pointing up and down at the woman standing across from them. Her long, shiny black hair cascaded over the straps of her long, form-fitting, sequined dress. The woman was the only one looking in Yana's direction, and Yana knew she was another sex slave.
  The Middle Eastern woman placed her hand on Rojas's shoulder and laughed as he presented her with a gift, a gesture of goodwill. The mere thought of what would happen to the woman made Yana explode, but when she saw the young woman's stony expression, her eyes lit up even more.
  The very center scar on Yana's chest began to burn, and she heard voices. She turned around, but the voices were far away. One rose above the others.
  "Do it," the voice mocked as he laughed. It was like a snake hissing. "Do it now. You know what they're going to do to that girl. You know you can stop it. Do it." Yana's grip on her firearm tightened, and her breathing became ragged.
  The trio's laughter sent a fresh shockwave of nausea through Yana's body, and the edges of her vision, once clear and sharp, began to blur. She looked down and saw the body of the last guard she'd killed, then turned around and saw the other two.
  You killed them without hesitation, the voice said. It was beauty.
  Yana's fingers slid over the scar, and she winced in pain. She looked back at Rojas and the other man.
  Do it. Kill them, the voice taunted. Kill them all!
  Yana's knees began to shake.
  The others would have killed you. They were justified. But you will walk up to these two and kill them in cold blood. Once that is done, your journey will be complete.
  Tears streamed down her face, and Yana struggled to breathe. The gun dropped. "Kyle, I have to get to Kyle." She dropped to one knee and shook her head violently, then said, "Remember the fort. You have to find the fort." She gritted her teeth and let her thoughts drift back to her childhood, back to her precious fortress, her bastion of safety. When she was finally inside it, her breathing began to normalize.
  She looked up to see the woman on the balcony staring at her, her eyes glassy with fear. Yana put her finger to her lips and whispered "shhhh" when the woman's gaze landed on the dead guard at the door. She looked petrified, but seemed to understand that Yana was there to help.
  Yana grabbed the dead guard by the collar of his jacket and dragged him across the slippery stone floor to the door, then rolled his body down the steps.
  At least he's out of sight, she thought. She crept to the doorframe and held out an open palm to the girl, signaling her to stay put. The woman blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
  The magazines only held five rounds, so Yana pulled a full round from her Velcro belt and loaded it into her weapon. She quickly walked to the glass staircase and began descending. About halfway down, she saw an armed guard on the lower level peering through the glass wall at the seaplane still docked. She stood up straight and clasped her hands behind her back, shielding her pistol from view, then descended the stairs.
  Hearing her approach, he turned abruptly and spoke in a strong Colombian accent: "What are you doing here?"
  She walked up to him and said, "What is this supposed to mean? Didn't you see me here last night? I am Diego's guest and will not be spoken to in this manner."
  His mouth opened as if he was searching for words.
  Yana approached to within eight feet. Her hand shot out from behind her back and she pulled the trigger. His body collapsed to the ground. She rummaged through his clothes and pulled out a set of keys, then darted toward the wine cellar and its mysterious steel door.
  It took her three tries to find the right key, but once she did, it went in easily. However, when she opened the door, the real trouble began.
  
  62 Devoted to the idea
  
  
  Back in the safe house,
  Cade's laptop chirped as the small icon of a spinning globe turned green. The satellite link came to life. A video window opened, and Uncle Bill in the NSA command center said to someone off-camera, "Are we live yet?" He glanced at the monitor. "Cade? Jana? Christ, where are they? We have to warn them!"
  In the safe house, right behind the monitor, stood Richard Ames.
  Uncle Bill said, "Listen, if you can hear me. Something big is about to happen. The CIA has ordered an F-18 scrambled. It's coming your way, and it's armed with the mother of all bombs. We're tracking it now. Based on the fighter's current speed, the flight time, and the maximum range of that missile, we estimate you have twenty-eight minutes. I'll repeat that. Exposure time is fourteen hundred and fifty-six hours; two fifty-six local time. Whatever you do, don't go into that complex!" Bill looked just off-camera. "Damn it! How are we going to know if they got the message?"
  When the satellite call ended, Ames checked his watch. Then he pulled out his phone and started a conference call with Jana, Cade, and Stone. It took a few moments, but each person answered in turn.
  Yana was the last to answer the phone. "I don't have time for small talk, Ames."
  "All three of you," Ames said calmly, "listen carefully. An airstrike is in progress at this time. ETA is 2:56 local time."
  "Airstrike? What are you talking about?" A rock slammed down from the hillside above the Rojas estate.
  Ames said, "I told you there were always higher targets. The NSA just hacked the satellite lock and called him." He looked at his watch. "You only have twenty-five minutes. There's no way you can get inside and get McCarron out in time."
  "It's too late," Yana said. "Already inside the gate. Twenty-five minutes? I'll get him out at six. Baker, out." She hung up.
  "She's right," Stone said. "It's too late. We're committed."
  When the call ended, Ames glanced at Stone's bag, which was sitting on the floor of the safe house. He leaned over and unzipped the long bag. When his gaze landed on the object that had piqued his interest, he said, "They're going to need some help." He pulled it out of the bag and looked in the mirror. "Say hello to my little friend."
  
  63 This is not cottage cheese
  
  
  Sade pushed
  He made his way through the dense foliage toward the guard booth. Speaking of the phone call, he said, "Twenty-five minutes? Shit." Seeing the open gate, he could only assume Jana had walked through it. His heart pounding, he crept closer to the shack. He grew bolder when he saw no one sitting inside. He peered into the tiny outpost. Blood spattered the walls. His heart pounded. He rounded the back of the building, and his gaze fell on a pair of black boots. Those boots were attached to a dead man, and Cade averted his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he couldn't see anyone.
  If what Ames said was true, he thought to himself, this slope would be a flat floor in a few minutes. He grabbed the man's arm and started to pull when his phone rang again. It startled him so much that he collapsed to the ground. He looked at the phone.
  "Stone, what the hell do you want?" he said, looking around.
  - What do you think you're doing?
  "Are you following me? I don't have time for a social call. I have to get this body out of sight. If anyone sees it, it's game over."
  "This body is nothing compared to the three lying at the front door of the estate. Don't worry about it. Grab his machine gun and go back where you won't be seen."
  "Don't tell me what to do. I've been in the field before. I know what I'm doing."
  "So glad to be working with another cameraman," Stone snapped. Their rivalry continued.
  Cade pulled the automatic weapon's strap off the man's shoulder, but seeing dark blood covering the back of the belt, he leaned over and covered his mouth.
  Stone stared into the distance. He felt like Cade was about to get sick. "It's blood, Cade. He died. That happens sometimes. But I'm glad to see you'll pull through."
  Cade straightened up. "Very funny, idiot. That was brain matter, which I wasn't too happy about."
  "Does it look like rotten cottage cheese?"
  "Oh, God," Cade said, "this is terrible," he said, fighting back nausea.
  But then Stone said, "Wait a minute. I hear something." Stone paused, then said into the phone, "You hear that?"
  What do you hear?
  "It looks like an engine. It looks like several engines." Stone raised his binoculars and scanned the road in the distance. "Cade! We have incoming traffic. Close the security gate and get out of there!"
  
  64 Breathe
  
  
  This is the door.
  Sliding across the gritty cement floor, Jana peered into the darkness, pointing her gun ahead. The stench was overwhelming. When she saw the single silhouette of a man lying on the floor, she rushed inside and pointed her gun at the door to make sure there were no guards. She turned and saw that it was Kyle. He was lying on a dirty rug, one arm cuffed to the wall. She knelt down and shook his shoulder. "Kyle, Kyle. Get up." She shook harder, and finally, he began to stir.
  "Hey, man. Leave me alone," he said in a bad fog.
  "Kyle! Get up, we have to go."
  Yana fumbled with the keys until she found the one that fit the lock on Kyle's wrist. She shook him again and pulled one eyelid apart to examine the pupil. It was dilated. She checked his hands. Both had obvious bruises where the needles had been inserted. "They drugged you." She pulled until he sat up straight. "What are they giving you?" But the answer didn't really matter. She placed his hand on her shoulder and struggled to her feet.
  "Kyle, help me. We have to go. We have to go now." She glanced at the open doorway.
  When Kyle came to, he said, "You're not that guy. Where's that guy with the stuff?
  - Let's go, we have to go.
  She led him forward, but he stopped. "I need to get something, dude. Where is this dude?"
  Yana stood in front of him and slapped him in the face. "There's no time for this! This is our only chance."
  "Hey, dude, that hurts. Hey, Yana? Hi! What are you doing here? Did you bring me things?"
  Yana thought for a moment. "Yes, Kyle. Yes, I have things. But it"s outside. We have to go there to get it. Just come with me, okay?"
  - Okay, dude.
  The couple stumbled as Kyle tried to get to his feet.
  "Hey, is that a gun you have or are you just happy to see me?" He laughed. "Why the hostility? These people are amazing!"
  Yana hadn't expected Kyle to be in this state. She couldn't decide whether she struggled more because of his weight or because she was afraid to pull him out before the missile hit the roof. She held the pistol half-raised.
  As they stepped out into the downstairs room, Kyle glanced sideways at the glass wall. Yana glanced back and forth. She glanced at the bottom of the balcony. Woman, she thought. I have to get her out of here. But with Kyle in this state, she strained to come up with an idea.
  Kyle looked at the dead man sprawled against the wall. "Hey, dude. Wake up," he said. He chuckled. "Not sleeping on the job." But when he looked closer and saw the dark pool of blood, he looked at Jana. "He doesn't look so good. Maybe we should get him a Band-Aid or something." She started to drag Kyle away when he said, "Dude's got a boo-boo, that's for sure."
  She looked at the large open space behind the complex. The seaplane was docked, flanked by two of Rojas's guards. Damn, she thought. This can't be happening.
  She turned Kyle and headed for the glass staircase. She supported him, then heard several voices above. She turned Kyle back toward the massive bay doors and led him out to the patio. On the balcony, Rojas, a Middle Eastern man, and his bodyguard were still holding the woman. Just then, she heard men descending the glass staircase, speaking in Spanish. She began to panic.
  She pushed Kyle to the far edge of the patio and laid him down just behind the bench. She ran back, grabbed the dead man, and dragged him into the patio just behind Kyle. Two pairs of legs appeared on the stairs. She grabbed an oriental rug and pulled it over the bloodstain, then ducked into the patio.
  She crouched at the edge, shielding Kyle with her body and holding the gun at arm's length. Shut up, Kyle. God, please. Shut up.
  Two guards slowly descended the last steps in the middle of their conversation.
  Yana's thoughts raced. Did I close the door to Kyle's cell? Would they notice the rug was out of place? The harder she tried to control her breathing, the harder it became.
  As two heavily armed men approached the giant bay window doors, Yana glanced at the silhouettes of people on the balcony above. There's no way they couldn't have heard that, she thought, considering the sound of silenced weapons being fired in such close proximity.
  The men came out into the courtyard. Yana pressed her lips together and didn't dare breathe. If she was forced to kill them, Rojas would hear, and she would have no choice but to try to escape with Kyle. In his condition, they had no chance. She held it for what seemed like an eternity, and could almost hear the ticking of her wristwatch. Rocket, she thought. We don't have time. She applied a little attention to the trigger.
  
  65 Hell hath no fury
  
  
  The men were standing
  in the wind. Yana was three feet away from him. Their conversation continued when one of them pointed at the floatplane. She pressed the trigger harder. But then in the distance she heard pops, like automatic weapons fire. The men turned and ran up the stairs, and Yana took a deep breath. What the hell was that? Oh, my God, Stone was there. Her phone rang. It was Cade.
  "What's going on?" Yana whispered into the phone. She heard screams on the balcony above and watched as people burst into the house.
  "The Oficina de Envigado is here!" Cade shouted over the gunfire. "And they're very angry."
  - What about Stone?
  "He can't decide who to shoot next."
  "Tell him to shoot them all. Wait!" said Yana. "This is the perfect diversion!" She watched as the two guards at the seaplane took off running.
  Cade said, "It looks like they're about to breach the gates! This place will be overrun. Roxas's men are resisting, but they're dropping like flies."
  "Forget all this! I need help. They drugged Kyle. I can't get him out alone."
  "Oh, shit!" Cade said. "Where are you?"
  "Backyard. Ground floor. Tell Stone to meet me at the dock behind the estate.
  - And what to do?
  There's a seaplane there.
  "What are we going to do with the floatplane?" Cade said.
  "Shut up and move!"
  
  66 Glass Shards
  
  
  Jnad shooting,
  Cade heard a whistle. He looked up to see Stone waving at him. Cade gestured for him to follow him to the back of the estate.
  Stone nodded, but when he saw Cade jump and run toward the wall of the building, he aimed his sights just above Cade's shoulder.
  
  Cade was in despair. A guard jumped out from behind the building and started shooting, but then his legs flew out from under him. He collapsed to the ground. Cade stopped dead in his tracks, trying to process what had happened. But then he realized it was Stone. Cade ran around the back of the house to the patio.
  
  Stone slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder and pulled the HK 416 carbine back into place. He raced down the hill, weaving through the tropical vegetation. His movements were swift, making him difficult to see and even more difficult to shoot.
  The gunfire from the two warring drug cartels intensified, and stray bullets pierced the air from all directions. Stone's phone rang.
  "We're pinned," Cade said into the phone. "Kyle's unconscious, and we need to get to the dock!"
  "Be there in sixty seconds!" Stone shouted. A moment later, a bullet pierced his right calf, and he groaned.
  "What was that?" Cade said.
  "Nothing special. On my way. Just hold on tight."
  Stone unfastened the Velcro strap and pulled it over the wound. "I'll have time to bleed later," he said, and broke into a run. He stayed in the thick of the fight, and when he could see the entire back of the property, he took up position. Two guards fired at Jana and Cade. Stone switched back to his sniper rifle and took them both down. He said into the phone, "All clear."
  Cade replied, "The pilot's still on the plane! We're going there with Kyle. Cover us!"
  
  Automatic gunfire echoed across the manicured lawn as Cade appeared, Kyle slung over his shoulder. Cade closed his eyes as dirt and blades of grass spattered his face. He turned to find Jana still huddled under the balcony. "What are you doing?" he yelled, then turned to see another guard fall to the ground.
  "I won"t leave her," Yana said.
  "Which one?" Cade said.
  There is another woman there.
  "Yana! We have to go. This place will be captured any second!
  She turned him around forcefully. "Take Kyle to the plane. Do it now!"
  Cade took off running as more gunshots rang out around him.
  A stone flew from one bullet, then from another, and the guns stopped.
  Cade weaved across the open ground, struggling under Kyle's weight. More bullets whistled past his head, and he stumbled. He and Kyle fell to the ground.
  Stone inserted a fresh magazine and fired again. The shot hit its target. "Move, Cade!" he shouted into the phone. Cade grabbed Kyle again and threw him over his shoulder, breathing heavily. The floatplane was only fifty yards away.
  
  Yana sat down on the glass staircase and surveyed the floor above. Several of Rojas's guards fired from the windows as the attackers crowded ahead. Copper shell casings lay scattered on the marble floor near the now-closed front door. She heard a woman's scream from the hallway and jumped to her feet just as bullets shattered the massive glass walls behind her.
  Karim Zahir's personal bodyguard emerged from one of the rooms, pointing a gun at her. Yana slammed into the wall for cover and shot him in the chest. He lunged back, firing furiously, and rolled on the ground. He clutched his chest and then collapsed.
  Yana ran down the hallway and crouched, then pointed the Glock upward. Zahir lunged forward, firing his pistol at chest level. The bullets slammed into the drywall above Yana's head, and it exploded. He hit Zahir's shoulder. His pistol fell to the ground, and he scrambled into another room.
  Yana leaned over and saw a woman. Her sequined dress was torn, and mascara was running down her face. She grabbed the woman's hand and pulled her toward the hallway, when she suddenly felt the woman jerk back. The last thing Yana remembered before everything went dark was the woman's screams.
  
  67 Not without her
  
  
  Ana's eyes
  A wet, searing pain opened up from the blackness. Her head throbbed. She could tell the men were towering over her, but all she could hear was a bright, stinging ring. Because she was facedown, she couldn't see which of them had grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the room. As her hearing began to return, she heard gunfire from several directions.
  She heard Rojas's voice. "Turn that damn woman over. I want her to look me in the eye when I kill her." Someone grabbed her again and flipped her onto her back. The man standing directly above her was Gustavo Moreno, Rojas's intelligence officer. He stood with a polished chrome pistol in his hand.
  Yana reached for the back of her head and winced in pain. Her hair was wet, and when she pulled her hand back, it was covered in dark blood. Moreno grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her toward the wall to keep her upright.
  "There, Senor Rojas, but we must move quickly, we don't have much time."
  Rojas stood at Yana's feet. "My intelligence officer warned me about you. He never trusted you, but after what you did to Montes Lima Perez, how could I not?"
  "They're hunting you, idiot," Yana said.
  "You have a good mouth for a panocha, a cunt that is about to die," Rojas said.
  Yana's head was still spinning. "I know what this means."
  - So you were working undercover for the Americans? A double agent?
  "I don't work for anyone," she spat back.
  "Then why follow me? Most people who come after me don't live to tell about it."
  "Patron, we must go," Moreno pleaded.
  "Kyle McCarron," Jana said.
  "Yes, when my intelligence officer saw you on the surveillance camera, he told me what was going on."
  The gunfire from the front of the estate intensified. Gustavo Moreno placed his hand on Rojas's shoulder. "Señor Rojas, we have to get you out. I don't know how long we can hold them off."
  Rojas told him, "The tunnel was built for a reason, Gustavo."
  Yana said: "The tunnel. The coward's way. I would have come for you anyway."
  Rojas laughed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
  "A woman," Yana said. "When I was here the first time."
  - Ah, did you see her in the window? Yes, - Rojas smiled, - she fulfilled her task.
  "Go fuck yourself."
  "The eternally gentile young woman, Agent Baker. But I must know one last thing. Your timing seems impeccable. You came to my house to free Agent McCarron while my rivals in the Oficina de Envigado are going to war? That's not a coincidence, is it?"
  "Figure it out yourself," Yana said.
  - I wish I had time to teach you a lesson in manners.
  Jana said, "This is no coincidence. The recently murdered body of Carlos Gaviria was just found at Envigado's front door. What do you think of their response? Your operations here have come to an end."
  "Freshly killed? But he was killed two days ago."
  "No," Yana grinned. "We kidnapped him two days ago, right from under your noses. He was very much alive."
  The sound of a cascade of broken glass could be heard from the room.
  "Señor Rojas!" Moreno pleaded. "I must insist!"
  "You kept him alive, and then killed him at the right time? And abandoned his body to start a war? He was my godson!"
  Yana knew she'd hit a nerve. "He screamed like a little girl when he was killed."
  - He did nothing of the sort! Rojas screamed.
  A stray bullet pierced the drywall and shattered a glass statue in the corner of the room.
  This time, even Rojas knew they had to leave. He said, "We have a saying in Colombia. There's no cheating in death. It does exactly what it promises." He nodded to Moreno, who pointed the gun at Yana's head.
  Yana looked at Rojas. "You can burn in hell."
  - answered Rojas. - You're first.
  Yana closed her eyes, but they snapped open at the sound of an automatic weapon fired at point-blank range. She rolled for cover as dust and shards of drywall scattered across the room. Rojas and Moreno fell. Yana looked up and saw a woman in a sequined dress, holding a machine gun.
  The woman fell to her knees and began sobbing. Moreno lay motionless, his eyes wide. Yana began to pull the gun from his hand, but Rojas lunged at her, only to be elbowed in the face by her, breaking his nose. Rojas staggered back and jumped to his feet as Yana grabbed the gun. He was across the room and out into the hallway when Yana fired. The bullet hit him in the upper back, and he vanished.
  Jana struggled to her feet and looked at her watch. "Oh, my God," she said, grabbing the woman's hand. "We have to get out of here!" They ran through the house as bullets whistled past. They descended the stairs to the floor below and ran out into the courtyard, only to see Cade struggling with Kyle in the distance. Bullets chewed through the grass. She heard gunfire from the trees to her left and watched as Stone shot another of Rojas's guards.
  Stone shouted at her, "Go!" then began laying down suppressive fire. She tugged the woman's arm, and they began to fight. A bullet grazed Yana's shoulder, sending her sprawling. But with a surge of adrenaline, she jumped up and ran with the woman. They were halfway to the dock when Cade loaded Kyle onto the plane.
  The pilot shouted something unintelligible over the engine noise.
  The gunfire from inside the house intensified, building to a sharp crescendo. Yana pulled the woman, then pushed her body into the plane. "We have another one!" she shouted to the pilot. "We have another one!" then motioned to Stone as he ran after him.
  Bullets ripped across the pier, sending shards of teak flying through the air.
  The pilot shouted: "I'm not waiting! We're leaving!"
  Jana raised her gun at him. "Fuck you!" But when she turned again, she saw Stone limping and then falling. "Oh my God." She took off and fired toward the house.
  From the plane, Cade shouted, "Yana!" but there was nothing he could do.
  She reached Stone, pulled him to his feet, and they ran to the dock. As Stone slumped into the front seat of the plane, he raised his rifle and fired at the cartel members swarming the lawn. "Get in!" he shouted at Yana. But she grabbed his injured leg and set it in place, then snatched the rifle from his hands.
  "I have to do something first," she said, closing the door and slamming her hand on the side of the plane, signaling the pilot for takeoff.
  The plane's engine roared, and it rocked on the water. Yana ran out of the dock, firing her gun at her attackers. She ran toward the forest. She believed it was the only part of the estate where a tunnel could be dug. But just as she started shooting, her gun ran out of ammunition. A stream of gunfire whizzed past her, and she rolled to the ground.
  She shielded her head from the sting of flying debris. Events began to move in slow motion. The sound of gunfire was deafening. Yana saw people from both cartels shooting at each other and at her. Several bodies were littered with blood and chaos. Lying face down in the grass, Yana struggled to comprehend what was really happening. She kept hearing the warning: an airstrike is imminent.
  She could barely comprehend how she would survive the next few moments, but the thought of Rojas's escape sent a surge of adrenaline through her. Bullets whistled over her head. She looked everywhere, but there was no way out. How will I get to the tunnel? she thought.
  Several cartel members charged straight toward her, firing as they ran. A bullet hit the ground just inches from her face, sending dirt and shrapnel into her eyes. She curled into a ball, clutching her ears and face with her hands.
  Yana struggled to regain her sight when a man emerged from the bushes immediately behind her and began firing at the cartel. Bullets flew overhead, and red-hot shell casings flew out of his gun and fell on her.
  There was something familiar about his silhouette. Her vision was blurry, and she struggled to focus on his face. In the context of the horrific firefight, she couldn't understand what she was seeing. When her vision cleared, the shock on her face was matched only by the fury on his.
  
  68 Not without him
  
  
  Physical location of a remote place,
  Lawrence Wallace spoke into the microphone. "Scorpio, this is the Crystal Palace. Give me status, over."
  The F-18 pilot responded, "Crystal Palace, this is Scorpio. Heading, three one five. Angels, twenty one. Speed, four fifty. Just within target range. Master Arm, off. Warning yellow, hold weapons."
  - Understood, Scorpio. You are at twenty-one thousand feet, airspeed four hundred and fifty knots. Arm yourself, of course.
  "Crystal Palace, Master Arm, engage. Weapon armed. Target locked."
  "You're red and tight, Scorpio. Launch on my command. Launch, launch, launch."
  A moment later: "Crystal Palace, this is Scorpio. Greyhound is gone."
  
  It was Ames. The man towering over her was Ames. Her father stared at his pitiful death and refused to give in. His actions reminded Yana of a skilled operator. He took careful aim, fired a three-round burst, and then re-aimed. It was mechanical. He moved with such fluidity that the gun seemed an extension of his body, somehow fused with him, like an arm or a leg.
  Bullets ripped into the ground where he stood. Yana couldn't hear anything in the melee. She suffered from a condition known as auditory exclusion, which causes people to lose track of the sounds around them in stressful situations. She watched Ames's lips move and knew he was shouting something at her.
  The more she stared at the strange sight, the more she began to realize he was shouting. He was screaming at her to get up and move. As she rolled to her feet, Ames retreated to the other side, continuing to attack. He was drawing fire away from her. He continued the methodical process, dropping the empty magazine and reloading with a fresh one. And the sequence began again.
  Yana ran as fast as she could toward the tree line. She paused for a moment to look back at her father. With the airstrike about to strike, she knew it would be the last time she'd see him alive. She broke into a run through the dense forest in the only direction that could lead to a tunnel. But her thoughts drifted. The pounding of her legs and heart, the sensation of brush against her limbs, catapulted her back to last year, when she'd run through the forest in Yellowstone National Park toward terrorist Waseem Jarrah. Rage pulsed through her veins.
  The very center scar on her chest began to burn, and three terrifying voices penetrated her consciousness.
  She'll do it herself, said the one in the center. It echoed like a man speaking in a cave.
  How? the other answered.
  She will decide her fate. Once she kills him, she will join us and will never be able to break free again.
  The trinity laughed with a chilling echo.
  post-traumatic stress episode.
  "You can't make me," she said through a tight throat. "I'm in control." The voices faded, and her feet pounded harder. She ran down the path until she came to a brick-framed door shrouded in tropical vegetation. It was built into the hillside. Vines almost completely obscured the secret escape route. The huge steel door was closed, but she could see fresh tracks in the ground, followed by what looked like a single set of motorcycle tire tracks.
  She swung the door open, but then a lonely fear gripped her. I don't have a gun. She struggled to listen over the distant gunshots and heard something in the distance-the sound of a dirt bike engine.
  When she peered inside, the dimly lit tunnel was empty. The cement tunnel was about four feet wide, and she squinted in the dim light. It went back about forty yards and then turned right. "It should lead to the basement," she said.
  Outside, she heard a roaring sound piercing the sky. It was so loud it could only be described as the sound of rushing air. Then came the most powerful explosion she could imagine-an airstrike. She dove into the tunnel, the ground shaking as she fell. Dust and tiny shards of cement rained down as the light bulbs flickered. Outside, a steady stream of dirt and debris, mixed with shards of shattered wood, began to fall to the ground.
  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a long alcove built into one side of the tunnel. Three dirt bikes were parked, with room for a fourth. Each bike's small battery had an electrical cord connected to it, apparently to keep the batteries charged and prevent them from draining.
  Many months ago, when they were dating, Stone taught her to ride. They often rode tandem on his motorcycle. Most of the time, she sat behind him, hugging his torso, but later, Yana hopped on the bike and looked at him playfully. "Teach me," she said.
  Thick black smoke billowed from the other end of the tunnel toward Yana. Without thinking, she jumped on her bike. Only then did she notice the cuts and abrasions on her legs. "No time for this now." She started the bike and caught her reflection in one of the side mirrors. Her face was covered in dirt, her hair was caked with dried blood, and blood was dripping from her shoulder.
  She stepped on the gas, and mud erupted from the rear tire. The only question was, could she catch Rojas before he disappeared? But when she thought of all the women he'd harmed, fear and doubt flashed through her mind. Whatever the outcome, she would do everything in her power to stop him.
  
  69 Chase the Madman
  
  
  Jana weaved
  She rode a dirt bike back and forth through the jungle, stopping every few minutes to listen. In the distance, she heard another motorcycle. She gave chase, but knew that since she didn't have a gun, she'd have to keep her distance.
  Approaching the winding cobblestone road, Yana glanced at the muddy trail left by another bike and followed it. She glanced back at the estate. A huge column of smoke rose hundreds of feet into the air-the complex was destroyed.
  As she crested the hillside, she spotted the bicycle and the telltale silhouette of Diego Rojas racing ahead. He slowed, clearly trying to blend in.
  She pursued him, but the further he went, the more shocked Yana became. With each turn, his purpose became clearer.
  "How would he know where our safehouse is?" She thought further. "But if he knows where the safehouse is, that means..." Her thoughts swirled around in her head: "The equipment, the NSA computer, all that classified information. He'll try to find out what information we've collected against him."
  She accelerated the motorcycle to full acceleration.
  
  70 Memories Long Forgotten
  
  
  Jana slowed down
  The bike approached the safe house and set off early. She didn't want to warn Rojas. Walking, she quietly approached the edge of the property.
  Yana heard a scream from inside. "Tell me!" Rojas shouted. "What does the United States know about my operation?"
  The questions were met with unintelligible answers, but the voice was unmistakable. It was Pete Buck. Then a single shot rang out.
  Yana darted through the dense vegetation along the left side of the yard, then moved down the other side of the house. She pressed herself against the wall and crouched low until she reached the first window. She pulled out her phone and opened the camera, then raised it just above the windowsill and looked at the screen. She panned the camera left, then right, until she spotted Buck. He was lying on the floor, clutching his leg. Yana couldn't see Rojas-the wall was in the way. But the sight of blood was enough.
  She crouched and moved toward the back of the house. When she reached her bedroom window, she flung it open and climbed inside. She rolled onto the wooden floor with a thud.
  
  The sound of her body hitting the ground made Rojas duck. He winced momentarily, then regained his composure. "That damn bitch," he said. He looked at Buck, raised the gun, and slapped him across the face. Buck's unconscious body lay sprawled on the floor, blood pulsing unchecked from his leg.
  
  Jana rushed to the dresser against the far wall. She ripped the Velcro and pulled the Glock from its hiding place.
  Rojas burst into the room. It took him no more than a millisecond to fire his weapon at her. The bullet rippled down the length of her right forearm, leaving a deep gash in the flesh.
  Everything slowed again, and a voice rang out in Yana's head. It was the voice of her marksmanship instructor from Quantico. Double-tongue, center mass, then one to the head. Without thinking, she stepped aside and fired. The bullet hit Rojas in the right shoulder.
  Just before Jana fired again, she saw Rojas's hand go limp as the gun fell from his grasp. It bounced across the wooden floor and landed at her feet. She kicked it under the bed, and Rojas fell to his knees.
  With her finger on the trigger, Yana took two steps toward Rojas and placed the gun to his temple. In doing so, she pushed his head into the doorway . Her jaw clenched, her eyes flashed, her breathing quickened, and her attention sharpened. If anyone else had been present, they would have described her face as beast-like. She pulled the trigger.
  "No, no, wait," Rojas said, his face contorted in pain. "You need me. Think about it. You need me."
  Yana's right hand began to tremble, but in the heat of the moment, she couldn't tell whether it was from an impending PTSD episode or the pure rage raging through her body. She gripped the gun tighter and said through clenched teeth, "You tortured these women, didn't you? After you finished raping them?"
  Rojas began laughing maniacally. "I showed them their place, that's for sure," he said, his body swaying with laughter.
  "Do I need you? What I need is to see your brain splattered all over the floor. Say goodnight, asshole."
  He closed his eyes, preparing to shoot, when a quiet voice called out, "Yana? Sweet pea?"
  Yana instinctively jerked her pistol toward the voice and lined up with the silhouette of the man standing by the front door. She almost pulled the trigger, but realized she recognized the shape. Her mouth dropped open-it was Ames. She turned the barrel toward Rojas's skull.
  "Yana? It's me. This is your dad."
  "But..." she said, "You were on the estate when the bomb fell."
  "Please, baby, don't do this. He's unarmed." His voice was like cold milk on a hot summer day. Memories exploded in her mind-herself, a two-year-old girl, first standing on the couch and laughing as her father threw snowballs at the window outside, and then inside her fort, her special hideout on her grandfather's farm.
  But those images were replaced by a seething rage. "He's a monster," she said, looking at the top of Rojas's head. "Tortures people for information they don't have, rapes and kills women because he thinks it's fun."
  - I know, Sweet Pea. But...
  "He enjoys having power over women. He likes to tie them up, make them beg for their lives, dominate them," Yana said as the trembling in her right hand intensified.
  Though Rojas's eyes were still closed, he said, "The damn little sluts learned their lesson, didn't they?" He laughed until Jana thrust the gun into his head with such force that he winced.
  - Have you learned your lesson? Yana growled. - Well, let's see if you can learn this lesson.
  She straightened her arm in firing position and began to pull the trigger in earnest when her father said, "Bug? Buggy?
  Yana stopped and turned her head. "What did you say?"
  "Beetle," her father replied. "That's what I called you."
  Yana searched her memory for something that wasn't there. It was a desperate effort to understand why hearing a simple name made her throat tighten.
  Her father continued, "When you were little, I always called you Jana-Bagh. Don't you remember?
  Yana swallowed. "I was only two years old when they told me you died." There was venom in her words. "They were just trying to protect me from you going to prison!"
  He walked up to her. - You liked it when I read you "The Very Hungry Caterpillar". It was your favorite story. You pronounced it calli-pider. Then we read that other one. What was it? It was about a zookeeper.
  Memories came flooding back, flickering in fragments-sitting on her father's lap, the smell of his aftershave, the jingle of coins in his pocket, him tickling her before bed, and then there was something else, something she couldn't quite place.
  "You said it zip-eee-kur. Do you remember me from back then?" he whispered, keeping his voice tight. "You used to call me Pop-Pop."
  "Pop-pop?" she whispered, covering her mouth with her free hand. "Did you read that to me?" A tear rolled down her cheek as her inner turmoil spilled out. She turned to Rojas and clutched the Glock again.
  - Look at me, Bug.
  Yana clutched the pistol so tightly that she felt like she was about to crush it.
  Her father said, "Don't do it. Don't do it, baby."
  "He... deserves... this," she managed to swallow her clenched teeth and tears.
  "I know it is, but it's something you can't undo. It's something you can't take back. And it's not you."
  "I could have been one of those women," she said. "I could have ended up in his torture chamber. He's a monster."
  Roxas laughed. "And we can't have monsters roaming the quiet countryside, can we, Agent Baker?"
  "Don't listen to him, Bug," Ames said. He waited a moment, then added, "They didn't teach you that at Quantico."
  Images of her FBI training at the Marine Corps base in Quantico, Virginia, flashed before her eyes: the obstacle course run and its daunting final hill, Widowmaker; fighting a man playing the role of a bank robbery suspect in Hogan's Alley, a simulated city designed for training; driving at high speed around the Tactical and Emergency Vehicle Control Center as simulated bullets smashed into the driver's window, numerous glimpses of classrooms, and then back to the dorms.
  Yana's gaze clouded over, and she shook her head. "Do you know what I see when I look at this piece of shit?" she said. "I see death. I see horror. I wake up at night, screaming, and all I see is..."
  - Don't you see what you're doing, Bug? When you look at Roxas, you don't really see him. You're dating Raphael, aren't you?
  Her head turned sharply towards her father. "How do you know that name?"
  - Cade told me. He told me about the ordeal you went through, that Raphael knocked you out with gas, then kidnapped you and took you to that remote cabin.
  A vision of herself in the horrific scene in the cabin exploded in her mind-stripped to her underwear, her hands and feet tied to a chair, Rafael laughing as the world's most wanted terrorist at the time, Waseem Jarrah, pressed a blade to her throat. "Oh, yeah?" Jana said. "He told you what Rafael was going to do to me? Rape me and then cut my skin off while I was still alive? He told you that?" she screamed.
  "Bug, listen to me. No one knows the horrors you've been through. I don't blame you for shooting Rafael that day." He took a step closer. "But don't do it. Rojas may be just as much of a monster, but if you shoot him now, it'll be murder. And there's no coming back from that. The more you do things that aren't really you, the further you move from who you really are. Trust me, I know. That's exactly what happened to me. It will be something you'll regret for the rest of your life."
  "I have to," she said. But the conflict within her flared again. Her thoughts flashed back to the FBI Academy graduation ceremony. She was on stage, receiving the prestigious Director's Leadership Award from director Steven Latent, an honor given to one trainee in each graduating class. Then she returned to receive top honors in all three disciplines: academics, physical fitness, and firearms. She was clearly the best trainee to complete the new agent training program in recent years.
  "You and I, Bug," her father said, "we're the same. Don't you see?"
  "I've thought about it over and over again. Ever since I found out you committed treason. And I think about shooting Rafael again. I see how much I resemble you, a criminal! It's in my DNA, isn't it? When I joined the FBI, I didn't think so, but I was wrong."
  "No, that's where you're wrong," he pleaded. "Look at me. It's not in my DNA."
  - What would you know about this?
  "It's not like father, like daughter. It doesn't work that way. Listen to me, and listen carefully. You are not the sum of your biological parts."
  "Really?" Yana screamed. "How does it work then?"
  "You and I have lost track of who we really are. The difference is, I've spent the last twenty-eight years trying to fight my way back, while you're doing everything you can to run from yourself. You killed Raphael, and you've been running from him ever since." He paused, his voice shaking. "I've been in prison. But for you, this is different. You're in a different kind of prison."
  - What is this supposed to mean?
  "You carry your prison with you."
  - Got it all, right?
  Ames persisted. "Your grandfather wrote me letters. He told me that the two of you would be at the farm and hear a train whistle in the distance? There was a crossing about a mile away, and he said that if you listened hard enough, you could eventually tell whether the train was going left or right. He said that the two of you used to make bets on which one of them would win."
  Yana's thoughts returned. She could almost smell the salty ham. Her voice became quieter, and she spoke as one might at a funeral. "The loser had to wash the dishes," she said.
  "It's us, Yana. It's you and me. We're riding on the same train, at different times in our lives. But if you do this now, you'll make a mistake and won't be able to get off."
  "I'm doing what I think is right," she said, holding back tears.
  "There's no good in doing something you'll regret for the rest of your life. Come on, baby. Put the gun down. Go back to the girl you knew when you were a kid. Come home."
  She looked at the floor and began to sob, but a moment later she rose again, ready to shoot. "Oh God!" she sobbed.
  Father intervened again. "Do you remember the fortress?"
  Yana exhaled in a long, trembling motion. How could he know about this? she thought. "Fort?"
  "On Grandpa's farm. It was a cold autumn morning. You and I woke up before everyone else. You were so little, but you used the word 'adventure.' It was such a big word for such a little person. You wanted to go on an adventure."
  Yana's hand began to tremble more intensely and tears began to stream down her face.
  Ames began again. "I bundled you all up, and we went outside and into the woods. We found this big rock," he said as his hands formed the shape of a large granite outcrop, "and we laid a bunch of logs on top, and then pulled a big vine out in front to make a door." He paused. "Don't you remember?"
  Everything flashed through her mind: the images of the logs, the feel of the cold granite, the sun's rays streaming through the overhang, then she and her father in the little shelter they'd just built. "I remember," she whispered. "I remember all of this. This is the last time I remember being happy."
  For the first time, she realized that it was her father who built the fort with her. Her father was Pop-Pop. Her father was the one who read to her. Her father baked her pancakes. Her father played with her. Her father loved her.
  "Buggy, if you kill this man right now, you'll always regret it. Just like you regret killing Raphael."
  She looked at him.
  "I know you regret it," he said. "It sent you into a downward spiral. The same downward spiral I was in. But for me, once I started, everything spiraled out of control, and I lost all sense of who I was. There were people who died because of classified information I sold. And I ended up going to prison. It shouldn't be like that for you. You know something? Prison wasn't the worst place. The worst thing was that I lost you. You lost your dad, and your mom was eventually killed because of what I did."
  "I"ve hated you all my life," she said, looking at him.
  "And I deserve it. But this," he said, pointing at Rojas, "is your time. This is your choice." He walked up to her and carefully took the gun from her hand. "I've been waiting, Bug."
  "What are you waiting for?" she replied, her lower lip trembling.
  His voice grew tense and he pulled her into his arms. "I'm waiting for it."
  
  71 Knock on the door
  
  
  Rojas tried
  Rojas tried to get up, but Ames hit him over the head with the gun. "I've got him," he said, pushing Rojas to the floor. "Go help Buck. Put some pressure on that leg."
  Yana turned Buck over and rested her numb hand on the artery in his upper thigh.
  Ames grabbed his pistol.
  Rojas said, "There is nothing my organization cannot achieve." It was a blatant threat.
  "Oh, no?" Ames slammed his knee into Rojas's back. He then removed the belt and secured Rojas's arms.
  Yana heard something outside and turned to look. She found an armed man standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a black uniform and held a gun forward.
  "DEA," a steely voice called. "Team two," it said, "clear the building." Drug Enforcement Administration agents swooped in. Several disappeared into back rooms, while another handcuffed Diego Rojas. "Are you Agent Baker?" the commander said.
  "I'm Jana Baker," she replied.
  "Ma'am? You look like you need medical attention. Johnson? Martinez?" he called out. "We have two wounded here who need help." He knelt next to Buck. "And this one needs evac."
  Jana released Buck as one of the medically trained agents took over. Outside, she heard one of them call for a medevac helicopter. Her eyes took on a distant quality. "I don't understand. Where are you guys from?"
  - Point Udal, ma'am.
  - But how...
  "It was him," the commander said, nodding to the man standing just outside the door.
  Jana looked up. It was a short, round man with a thick beard. "Uncle Bill?" she said. She stood up and hugged him. "What are you doing here? How did you know?"
  His voice was his grandfather's. "That was Knuckles," he said, pointing out into the street. The teenager stood in the bright sunlight, his bulletproof vest dwarfing his pencil-thin frame. "We couldn't get you on comms, but that didn't stop us from eavesdropping. We intercepted a lot of phone calls. Hacked every security camera and computer on the island. We intercepted a lot, actually. When I put two and two together, I finally figured out what I think he knew." Bill looked at Pete Buck. "That CIA air strike was coming, and you're going after Kyle."
  Yana grabbed his hand: "Kyle, Stone! Where are they?
  He supported her. "Okay, they're fine. One of the Blackhawks is with them. Stone's wounds are being treated. Kyle seems to be in bad shape, but he'll be sent to the hospital and then to a rehab program. It'll take a long time to get over this drug addiction, but he'll be fine."
  The medically trained agent inserted an IV into Buck's arm and looked up. "He's lost a lot of blood. Chopper's getting closer. It looks like he has a concussion, too."
  - Will he be okay?
  - We'll fix it, ma'am.
  - And the woman?
  Bill smiled. "Thank you."
  "Bill?" said Jana. "Were we right? Al-Qaeda is laundering money through cartels?" She squinted at a tiny dot on the horizon-an approaching plane.
  Bill said: "Since we've shut down so many of the terrorists' banking connections, it's no wonder they've turned elsewhere to move their money."
  "But how do you know that al-Qaeda is not involved in the drug business?"
  Uncle Bill shook his head. "I have a feeling he's about to tell us," he said, pointing at Pete Buck. "Anyway, somehow these terrorist thugs think it's perfectly okay to behead someone or detonate a bomb that kills innocent children, but for them, drugs are against the will of Allah. This was a money-laundering operation from the start."
  attracted the attention of Bill and Yana.
  Bill said, "Sikorsky SH-60 Seahawk, here for Buck."
  A U.S. Navy twin-turbine engine hovered just above the road near a house. A rescue hoist leaned over the edge. The T700 engines roared, and dust flew in all directions. An aluminum-frame stretcher was lowered to the ground.
  Two DEA agents unhooked the stretcher and dragged it to where Buck had been loaded. Jana and Bill stood to the side and watched as he was lifted aboard. The helicopter turned and headed out to sea.
  - Where will they take him? said Yana.
  "George Bush Sr. There's an excellent hospital on board."
  is there an aircraft carrier?
  Bill nodded. "That's where the CIA air strike was born. The President wasn't too happy when he found out about it. But," Bill shifted from foot to foot, "to tell you the truth, he wasn't all that upset either."
  "Bill," Yana began, "they sent Kyle there. They were going to leave him behind."
  "It's called a release, Yana. When a mission is considered of great strategic importance, certain sacrifices have to be made."
  "Specific victims? Kyle is human. And the president is okay with that?"
  "Yeah, him. I hate to say it, but we're all expendable, kid. Still, when he found out it wasn't just some faceless CIA operative, and that you were involved, it pissed him off a little.
  "Me? Does the President know who I am?"
  "Same old Yana. You have a special tendency to underestimate your worth.
  Jana smiled, then hugged him. She plucked a tiny orange crumb from his beard. "That same old Bill. I thought Mrs. Uncle Bill wouldn't let you have orange crackers anymore."
  - Don't tell her, okay?
  Yana laughed. "You think we can catch a ride to the carrier? I think Buck can fill in some of the gaps for us."
  
  72 Here it is
  
  USS George H.W. Bush, seventy-seven nautical miles north-northwest of Antigua.
  
  VtChicken Yana
  And Uncle Bill walked into the recovery room, Pete Buck nodding at them. As they set up chairs around his hospital bed, he began to speak. His throat was dry and hoarse. "I know how this all started. You have to understand the backstory. Otherwise, you won't believe a word I say."
  "This should be fun," Bill said.
  "This is starting to feel like Pablo Escobar's days again, isn't it?"
  "You mean in Columbia?" asked Jana. "And you don't have to whisper, Buck. I doubt that place is bugged."
  "It's very funny. They stuck a tube down my throat," he said. Buck changed his tune. "It started last year when a suicide bomber entered a closed session of Congress in the Capitolio Nacional building in downtown Bogotá. He had two pounds of C4 strapped to his chest. He blew himself up. It wasn't major news in the Western world because only four members of the Colombian government were present at the meeting: three senators and one other person. I guess the death toll wasn't high enough to make it into WBS News."
  Uncle Bill said, "I remember that. But refresh my memory. Who were these four Colombians and what were they going to do?"
  "You get right to the point, don't you?" Buck said, smiling at Bill. "They were meeting to discuss the resumption of the drug trade. The Rastrojos cartel had the most to gain from the death of one of these officials."
  "Now I remember. Juan Guillermo," Bill said. "The head of the new drug police."
  "Right," Buck replied. "The assassination was a signal. With the support of the senators, Guillermo dealt with the new cartels. Destroyed their truck transport system. Apparently, Los Rastrojos were a little angry about it."
  Yana said, "Since when does the CIA secretly track drug dealers?"
  Buck said: "When it's not just money laundering."
  "Here it is," Bill said.
  Buck said: "The money was supposed to go to a new terrorist cell."
  Yana thought about the consequences. "A new terrorist cell? Where?"
  Buck's expression spoke volumes, and Yana knew a new cell was forming in the US. "But what was the connection?" She paused. "Let me guess, the suicide bomber in Bogotá was from the Middle East?"
  Buck didn't say anything.
  "With connections to known terrorist organizations?" Yana shook her head.
  "You have a gift for this job, Yana. It's what you were born to do," Buck said.
  "If I have to remind you again that I won't be returning to the Bureau, you'll find yourself with a thick lip. So, you've thoroughly researched the jihadist's biography. What terrorist organization was he associated with?"
  Al-Qaeda.
  "So the CIA found out the suicide bomber was linked to al-Qaeda, and now all the court press is about drug cartels."
  "Yes, we must stop the flow of funding."
  Yana stood up and leaned on a chair. "There's one thing that doesn't add up."
  - Just one? Uncle Bill joked.
  "Why do the cartels need al-Qaeda's services? Why couldn't they just do the killing themselves?"
  "A gift, Jana," Buck said. "You just forgot who you really are." She moved toward him as if she were about to strike, but he knew it was a bluff. "Exactly," he said. "Los Rastrojos tried and failed. When the cartel couldn't carry out the assassination themselves, they turned to al-Qaeda, which had already expressed interest in a partnership. Apparently, the key was getting all the players in the room at once. Before the suicide bomber walked in, those Colombian lawmakers thought they were going to greet a Saudi consular employee for diplomatic purposes. It turned out he was a jihadist with explosives strapped under his business suit. It was the first time they all agreed to be in the same place at the same time."
  "Okay, okay," she said. "What about the other side? Was al-Qaeda's interest in partnering simply because they were looking for a new source of funding?"
  "It's not so much this as a new way to launder existing funds. Interpol recently blocked several of their financial channels, so the terrorists were looking for a new way to launder and move cash."
  Yana said, "So, Al-Qaeda was looking for a financial partner, someone to launder money, and in exchange, they were offering assistance in assassinating the police chief and politicians. How convenient. One organization could transfer the money, while the other could supply an endless stream of jihadist suicide bombers who would do whatever was asked of them."
  "And that's where we come in. For the CIA, it's all about the money trail. Much of that funding will flow back into terrorist cells. Specifically, an al-Qaeda sleeper cell is infiltrating the United States. God knows what kind of chaos they could wreak on American soil."
  Yana frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
  "We need you, Yana," Buck said.
  "I'm never coming back, so drop it. But getting back to the point, you're telling me the CIA's response to a new terrorist cell is to destroy Diego Rojas's estate? Kill them all? That's it?" When Buck didn't answer, she continued. "What about Kyle? You were going to kill him too?"
  "Not me, Yana," Buck said. "Kyle was going to be taken off the island."
  She blurted out, "What do you mean?"
  "Kyle was the icing on the cake. The cartel was going to do a money-laundering deal with al-Qaeda, and al-Qaeda was going to get Kyle. He was either being tortured for information or used as a bargaining chip. Or both."
  "Are we too late?" Yana asked. "Has the funding already arrived at the new terrorist cell building in the US?"
  Uncle Bill looked at her hand and said, "Don't worry about it right now."
  Jana looked at Buck as he sat down. "Yes and no. There was a trial run that apparently took place last month. We just found out about it. Sort of a test run before we went full partnership."
  "How much money was lost?" Bill said.
  "About two million dollars. That's nothing compared to what was supposed to happen before we stopped it." Buck looked over his shoulder. "You should go now." He shook their hands. "That conversation never happened."
  
  73 Admission
  
  Safe House
  
  "You've always been
  "You're like a grandfather to me, Bill," Yana said when they were back inside. "And I know you still think of me as that guy, the green rookie agent. But I'm not a little girl anymore. You don't have to protect me."
  Bill watched her movements.
  "Two million dollars is a lot of money," she added.
  Bill's voice was broken. "Yes, it is. For a small terrorist cell, it's a lifeline."
  "Tell me the truth. Karim Zahir didn't die in the explosion, did he?
  "The Drug Enforcement Administration is combing through the rubble at the Rojas estate, looking for him."
  She rubbed her temples. "I can't track down another terrorist."
  Bill glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
  "Bill," Jana said, looking out at the bay. "All that's behind me now. My life is here, I mean."
  "You look... different."
  "I feel lost. Where am I going? What should I do?"
  - Do you remember what I told you the last time you asked me about this?
  - You said, I continue.
  He nodded.
  - I don't think I know how.
  "Of course you do."
  A tear formed in Yana's eyes and she couldn't hold it in. "I lost track of who I am."
  "Yes," Uncle Bill whispered. "But something is stopping you from coming back. Am I right?"
  - You remind me of my grandfather.
  - And what would he tell you right now?
  Yana thought back to her childhood. The farm, the wide porch, all the times her grandfather had given her advice. "I have to admit to myself that I was wrong to shoot Rafael, don't I?"
  - Were you wrong?
  Yana's stomach twisted. As if she somehow knew her answer would determine the future course of everything she had fought for.
  She caught a glimpse of Ames. He was at the water's edge. Her lower lip trembled, the scar burning, but she didn't let up. Her voice was a whisper. "I killed him, Bill. I killed Raphael in cold blood." She pressed her hand to her mouth. Uncle Bill hugged her. "I knew he was helpless. I knew what I was doing." She sobbed softly as the emotional turmoil spilled out. Through clouded eyes, she looked at Ames. "I even knew my actions would be justified by law, after the horror I went through. I knew what I was doing."
  "Shhh," Uncle Bill said. He held her. "I've known you a long time. What's in the past stays in the past." He turned and looked at Ames. "But sometimes we have to face the past to move forward. Will you tell me what you just told me? It's the bravest thing you've ever done. And it stays with me. I'll never tell anyone about it."
  Yana straightened up. The burning in her scar subsided, and she caught her breath. "And then him," she said. "My own father."
  "Yes," Uncle Bill answered. He waited. "He went to a lot of trouble to find you."
  "I know that's how it happened. And he risked his life for me. I still don't understand how he didn't die in that explosion."
  "I asked him about it. It was because of you. Once he realized you were safe, he headed into the forest after you. Apparently, there were several more motorcycles in that tunnel. He killed several of Rojas's men who were following you.
  - I know what you're going to say, Bill.
  He grinned, though it was hard to tell under his massive beard.
  Jana said, "You're going to tell me not to do something I'll regret for the rest of my life. You're going to tell me I should give my dad a chance.
  - Did I say anything? He grinned.
  She rubbed her scars. "You know, it always bothered me. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw them, and they reminded me. It was like a terrible past I couldn't escape. I kept wanting to go to a plastic surgeon to have them removed."
  - And now?
  "I don't know," she said. "Maybe the idea of removing them was just my way of escaping."
  "You've been carrying this baggage for a long time," said Uncle Bill.
  A slight smile appeared on her face. "These scars are a part of me. Maybe now they will remind me of something else."
  "And what is it?" Bill said as he chuckled.
  "They will remind me of myself."
  
  74 The Future of Confidence
  
  FBI Headquarters, J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C. Six weeks later.
  
  Jana received
  She stepped out of the Uber and stared at the building. Somehow, it seemed smaller than she remembered. The morning sun had risen, casting a bright glint on the glass. Traffic was heavy, and in the fresh air, people were moving purposefully along the sidewalk, some entering the building.
  She smoothed the jacket of her new business suit and felt a slight flutter in her stomach. Her fingers slid inside the top button of her white shirt until they found three scars. She swallowed.
  But then she heard a voice behind her-a voice from her past. "Are you sure you want to do this?" the voice said.
  She transformed. Without a word, she hugged him. "Hi, Chuck." It was Agent Chuck Stone, John Stone's father, and the man who had set her on this path all those years ago. Their embrace lasted only a moment. She smiled. "I can't believe you're here."
  "I couldn't help but be here. I dragged you into this."
  "I may have been just a trainee when you recruited me, but I made my own decision."
  - I know you did it.
  Yana grinned. "You look old."
  Chuck smiled. "Thanks a lot. But leaving the Bureau did me good."
  "How's Stone doing? I mean, how's John doing?
  "He's great. He's healed well from his injuries in Antigua. I can't believe you and my son ever met each other, let alone dated."
  "He turned three sheets of white when I finally realized he was your son."
  Chuck's face tightened. "That's your father there, isn't it?"
  "Yeah. He shows up everywhere. He really tries. He just wants to let me know he's there if I ever want to talk.
  - I think he thinks he owes you so much. Do you talk to him?
  "Sometimes. I try. There's still a lot of anger there. But..."
  Chuck nodded towards the building. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
  Yana looked at him again. "I'm sure. I feel good again. I'm scared, but I feel something I haven't felt in a long time."
  - And what is this?
  She smiled. "The goal."
  "I always knew you belonged here," Chuck said. "Ever since I met you during the Petrolsoft case, I could see 'agent' written all over you. Want me to walk you out?"
  Yana looked at the reflection of the sunlight on the glass. "No, this is something I have to do myself."
  
  End _
  
  Continuing the spy thriller series about special agent Ian Baker from Protocol One.
  Get your free copy today.
  NathanAGoodman.com/one_
  
  About the author
  NathanAGoodman.com
  
  Nathan Goodman lives in the United States with his wife and two daughters. He writes strong female characters to set a role model for his daughters. His passion is rooted in writing and all things nature. As for writing, the craft has always lurked beneath the surface. In 2013, Goodman began developing what would later become the spy thriller series Special Agent Jana Baker. The novels quickly became a bestselling collection of international terrorist thrillers.
  
  Insurrection
  John Ling
  
  Rebellion No. 2017 John Ling
  
  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.
  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
  Warning: Unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a $250,000 fine.
  
  Insurrection
  
  A kidnapped child. A nation in crisis. Two women on a collision course with fate...
  Maya Raines is a spy caught between two cultures. She's half Malaysian and half American. Her skills are razor-sharp, but her soul is eternally conflicted.
  Now she finds herself caught in a web of intrigue when a crisis erupts in Malaysia. A terrorist named Khadija has kidnapped the young son of an American businessman. This brazen act marks the beginning of a civil war that threatens to destabilize Southeast Asia.
  Who is Khadija? What does she want? And can she be stopped?
  Maya is determined to rescue the kidnapped boy and get answers. But as she tracks Khadija, scouring the backstreets and ghettos of a nation on the brink of collapse, she discovers her mission will be anything but easy.
  Loyalties shift. Secrets will be revealed. And for Maya, it will be a harrowing journey into the very heart of darkness, forcing her to fight for everything she believes in.
  Who is the hunter? Who is the hunted? And who will be the ultimate victim?
  
  Preface
  
  It is better to be cruel if there is violence in our hearts than to put on the mantle of non-violence to cover up powerlessness.
  - Mahatma Gandhi _
  
  Part 1
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  Khaja heard
  The school bell rang and I watched the children pour out the front gate. There was so much laughter and squeals; so many happy faces. It was a Friday afternoon, and the young people were undoubtedly looking forward to the weekend.
  Across the street, Khadija straddled her Vespa scooter. She wore a headscarf under her helmet. It softened her appearance, making her look like just another Muslim. Modest. Not dangerous. And among all the buses and cars arriving to pick up the schoolchildren, she knew she wouldn't be noticed.
  Because no one expects anything from a woman. A woman is always invisible. Always insignificant.
  Khadija scanned the scene, her gaze landing on a single vehicle. It was a silver Lexus with tinted windows, parked just around the corner.
  She hunched her shoulders, her fingers tightening on the scooter's handlebars. Even now, she had doubts, fears.
  But... there's no turning back now. I've gone too far. I've suffered too much.
  For the past three weeks, she'd spent every hour exploring Kuala Lumpur, studying its beating heart, analyzing its rhythms. And, frankly, it was a torturous task. Because it was a city she'd always hated. KL was perpetually shrouded in gray smoke, crammed with grotesque buildings that formed a soulless labyrinth, teeming with traffic and people.
  It was so hard to breathe here, so hard to think. And yet-shukur Allah-she found clarity amidst all the noise and filth. As if the Almighty were whispering to her in a constant rhythm, guiding her in the divine. And-yes-the gift of the path.
  Blinking hard, Khadija straightened up and craned her neck.
  The boy came into view.
  Owen Caulfield .
  In the bright sunlight, his blond hair shimmered like a halo. His face was angelic. And at that moment, Khadija felt a pang of regret, for the boy was flawless, innocent. But then she heard the Eternal's murmur pulsing within her skull, and she realized that such sentimentality was an illusion.
  Both believers and unbelievers must be called to judgment.
  Khadija nodded, obeying the revelation.
  The boy was accompanied by his bodyguard, who led him past the school gates to the Lexus. The bodyguard opened the back door, and the boy slipped inside. The bodyguard made sure the boy's seatbelt was fastened before closing the door, then he turned and got into the front passenger seat.
  Khadija tightened her jaw, clutched her cell phone, and pressed "SEND." It was a pre-prepared text.
  MOVING.
  She then lowered the visor of her helmet and turned on the scooter's ignition.
  The sedan pulled away from the curb, picking up speed.
  She followed him.
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  I was here
  There's no such thing as a bulletproof car. If an improvised explosive device were powerful enough, it would pierce even the toughest armor like a stiletto through paper.
  But in this case, the IED wasn't necessary because Khadija knew the sedan had soft skin. It wasn't armored. The Americans were undoubtedly pleased. They still considered this country safe; friendly to their interests.
  But today this assumption comes to an end.
  Her headscarf fluttered in the wind, and Khadija gritted her teeth, trying to stay three car lengths away from the sedan.
  There was no need to rush. She already had the route memorized and knew the sedan driver was used to it and unlikely to deviate. All she had to do now was maintain the right pace. Not too fast; not too slow.
  Directly ahead, a sedan turned left at the intersection.
  Khadija repeated his movement and remained on his tail.
  The sedan then entered the roundabout and went around it.
  Khadija lost sight of the sedan but was in no hurry to catch up. Instead, she maintained her speed as she circled the road, then turned twelve o'clock, and, sure enough, regained control of the sedan.
  Khadija passed another intersection. Just then, she heard the hum of a scooter joining the traffic behind her, approaching from her left. A glance in the side mirror told her what she already knew. The rider was Siti. Just in time.
  Khadija passed another intersection, and a second scooter pulled up from the right. Rosmah.
  Together, the three of them rode in tandem, forming a loose arrowhead formation. They didn't communicate. They knew their roles.
  Directly ahead, traffic began to slow. A crew of workers was digging a ditch on the side of the road.
  The dust blossomed.
  The cars started ringing.
  Yes, that was the place.
  Ideal choke point.
  Currently.
  Khadija watched as Rosmah accelerated, her scooter's engine roaring as she aimed for the sedan.
  She pulled an M79 grenade launcher from the bag slung across her chest. She took aim and fired the canister through the driver's side window. The glass shattered, and tear gas billowed and coated the sedan's interior.
  The sedan swerved left, then right, before slamming into the car in front and screeching to a halt.
  Khadija stopped and got off her scooter.
  She unbuckled her helmet and tossed it aside, striding quickly past the humming machines and shouting workers as she drew her Uzi-Pro assault rifle. Extending the folding stock, she leaned on it as she approached the sedan, a hot rush of adrenaline coloring her vision, making her muscles sing.
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  Tay surrounded
  sedan, forming a triangle.
  Rosmakh covered the front.
  Khadija and Siti covered the rear.
  The sedan driver stumbled out, coughing and wheezing, his face swollen and streaked with tears. 'Help me! Help-'
  Rosmah took aim with her Uzi and killed him with a three-round burst.
  The bodyguard appeared next, scratching his eyes with one hand and clutching a pistol with the other.
  He groaned and fired a series of shots.
  Double click .
  Triple touch.
  Rosmah convulsed and fell, blood splattering onto her baju kebaya.
  The bodyguard spun around, his balance wavering, and fired a few more shots.
  Bullets ricocheted off a lamppost next to Khadija, clicking and crackling.
  Close. Too close.
  Her ears were ringing, and she dropped to one knee. She switched the Uzi's selector to full auto and fired a continuous volley, the recoil of the weapon reverberating off her shoulder.
  She watched the bodyguard spin through the scope and continued stitching him up as he fell to the ground, emptying his weapon. The smell of hot metal and gunpowder smoke filled her nostrils.
  Khadija dropped her magazine and stopped to reload.
  At that moment, a boy emerged from the backseat of the sedan, sobbing and screaming. He swayed back and forth before collapsing into City's arms, writhing as he did so.
  Khadija came up to him and stroked his hair. "It's okay, Owen. We're here to help you." Opening the syringe, she injected the boy's arm with a sedative combining ketamine and midazolam.
  The effect was immediate, and the boy stopped fighting and went limp.
  Khadija nodded to Siti. 'Take it. Go.'
  Turning, she walked up to Rosmah. But from her unblinking gaze and blank face, she knew Rosmah was dead.
  Khadija smiled a sad smile, reaching down with her fingers to close Rosmah's eyelids.
  Your sacrifice is appreciated. Inshallah, you will see Paradise today.
  Khadija returned to the sedan. She pulled the pin from the incendiary grenade and rolled it under the car's chassis. Right under the gas tank.
  Khadija ran.
  One, a thousand...
  Two, two thousand...
  Three, three thousand...
  A grenade exploded and the sedan exploded in a fireball.
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  Khadiya and City
  did not return to their scooters.
  Instead, they fled the streets into a maze of back alleys.
  The boy was in City's arms, his head dangling.
  As they passed the Kopi Tiam café, an elderly woman peered out the window curiously. Khadija calmly shot her in the face and continued walking.
  An ambulance was parked in a narrow alleyway just ahead. Its rear doors swung open as they approached, revealing a young man waiting for them. Ayman.
  He looked at Khadija, then at Siti, then at the boy. He frowned. "Where is Rosmah? Is she coming?"
  Khadija shook her head as she climbed aboard. "Rosmah became a martyr."
  Ayman shuddered and sighed. "Ya Allah."
  The ambulance smelled of antiseptic. Siti placed the boy on a stretcher and tilted him sideways into a recovery position to prevent him from choking on his own vomit if he became nauseous.
  Khadija nodded. "Everything is ready."
  Ayman slammed the door. 'Okay. Let's get moving.'
  The ambulance accelerated, swaying from side to side.
  Khadija washed the boy's face with sterile saline solution and put an oxygen mask on him.
  He was dear.
  Oh, how expensive.
  And now, at last, the uprising could begin.
  
  Part 2
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  Maya Raines knew
  that the plane had just entered blackout mode.
  As the plane lurched and banked for its final approach, the interior and exterior lights were turned off. This was a precautionary measure to avoid rebel fire, and from that point on, the pilots would be making a combat landing, descending only with the aid of night vision goggles.
  Maya looked out the window next to her.
  The clouds cleared, revealing the cityscape below. It was a patchwork of light and darkness. Entire sections of the city were no longer connected to the power grid.
  crap...
  Maya felt like she was returning home, to a country she no longer recognized.
  Adam Larsen shifted in the seat next to her and lifted his chin. "This looks bad."
  "Yeah." Maya nodded, swallowing. "Yeah, Mom said the rebels have been hitting the power lines and transformers for most of the last week. And they're knocking them out faster than they can be fixed."
  "I think their operational tempo is increasing."
  'This. They're recruiting more recruits. More fedayeen.
  Adam poked his nose. "Well, yeah, nothing surprising. Given the way this government runs things, it's no wonder the country has screwed up beyond recognition."
  Maya inhaled, feeling as if her soul had just been pierced with a razor. Of course, Adam was just Adam. Bold and stupid. And, as usual, he was right in his assessment, even if she didn't want him to be right.
  She sighed and shook her head.
  Maya and Adam belonged to Section One, a covert unit based in Oakland, and they were making the trip at the request of the CIA.
  It was brief, but that wasn't what bothered Maya. No, for her, the emotional undercurrents ran deeper.
  She was born in New Zealand to an American father and a Malaysian mother. And her mother, Deirdre Raines, always felt it was important to connect her with her ethnic roots; to strengthen her...
  Maya remembered spending chunks of her childhood chasing chickens and goats in the kampung, cycling through rural plantations of oil palms and rubber trees, and wandering through city bazaars browsing counterfeit watches and pirated video games.
  Those were idyllic days, poignant memories. Which only makes it harder to accept how things have changed.
  Maya continued to look out the window as the plane banked to the starboard side.
  Now she could see the airport.
  The runway lights flickered, beckoning.
  She and Adam were the only passengers on the flight. It was classified, unofficial, and unlikely the rebels would discover them.
  But still...
  Maya let the thought die away.
  The plane circled and straightened, and she could hear its landing gear humming as it lowered and locked into place.
  Their descent was sharp.
  now quickly rose upwards.
  The landscape was blurred.
  Adam placed his hand on Maya's, squeezing it. The closeness was unexpected. It made her heart skip a beat. Her stomach clenched. But... she didn't reciprocate. She couldn't bring herself to.
  Damn it .
  It was the worst possible time. The worst possible place. So Maya pulled her hand away.
  There was a jolt as the plane's wheels touched the tarmac, then the engines roared as the pilot engaged reverse thrust, slowing the plane.
  Adam cleared his throat. 'Well, well. Selamat datang to Malaysia.'
  Maya bit her lip and nodded cautiously.
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  The plane was taxiing
  They made their way to a private hangar, far from the main airport terminal. There was no airbridge for disembarking, just a sliding ladder connecting to the plane.
  It was a discreet arrival; unpretentious. There would be no stamps in their real passports. No registration of their actual entry into the country. No hint of their true purpose.
  Instead, they had carefully constructed cover stories. Identities supported by forged documents and a digital trail showing they were humanitarian workers. Humble volunteers arriving in Malaysia on a cargo flight to alleviate the suffering of the civil war. Utterly innocent.
  To sell the story, Maya and Adam memorized and rehearsed detailed personal stories-where they grew up, what schools they attended, what their hobbies were. And, if pressed, they might even provide phone numbers for fictitious friends and relatives to answer.
  It was Mother, meticulous in her role as head of Section One, who insisted that they maintain the airtight cover.
  She had a good reason.
  Even before the uprising, Malaysian bureaucrats were notoriously corrupt, and by now it was easy to imagine their ranks already infiltrated. The civil service was a leaky boat, and one could never be sure who to trust. So, better safe than sorry.
  When Maya stepped off the plane, she found the air outside hot and humid. Her skin tingled, and she squinted under the sterile halogen light of the hangar.
  Just beyond the stairs, a man waited next to a dark blue Nissan sedan. He was casually dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and his hair was tousled like a pop-rocker's.
  Maya recognized him. His name was Hunter Sharif, and he was an operator in the CIA's Special Operations Division, the clandestine unit responsible for tracking Osama bin Laden.
  Hunter stepped forward and extended his hand to Maya and Adam. "I hope you had a good flight."
  Adam clicked his tongue. "No jihadists tried to shoot us down. So we're nice."
  'Fair enough.' Hunter chuckled. "I'm here to take you to the embassy."
  Maya glanced quickly at the Nissan sedan. It was a lower-end model, and the license plates were Malaysian. It was civilian, not diplomatic, which was a good thing. It meant the car wouldn't attract unwanted attention.
  "Just one car?" Maya asked.
  "The chief of station wanted to keep a low profile. He thought you kiwis would appreciate it."
  'Swept away. We don't need a circus.
  "No, definitely not." Hunter opened the trunk of the sedan and helped Maya and Adam load their luggage. "Now hop in. Best not keep the big kahunas waiting."
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  Hour of driving
  with Adam on the passenger side and Maya in the back.
  They took off from the airport and headed east.
  There was little traffic, almost no pedestrians. The streetlights glowed a dull orange in the pre-dawn darkness, highlighting the dust in the air, and sometimes they had to cross entire stretches where the streetlights weren't working at all, where total darkness reigned.
  The situation on the ground was exactly what Maya had observed from the air, and seeing it up close made her feel even more uneasy.
  Like most Southeast Asian capitals, Kuala Lumpur's urban planning was schizophrenic. What you got was a jumble of blind corners, unexpected detours, and dead ends, thrown together without rhyme or reason. This meant that trying to navigate by road signs was a fool's errand. You either knew the city well enough to navigate, or you'd simply get lost in the process.
  The architecture was also random.
  Here, ultra-modern buildings rose up next to older, creakier ones dating back to World War II, and you often came across entire blocks lying unfinished and abandoned, their shells exposed like skeletons. These were construction projects that had gone bankrupt because they ran out of cheap credit.
  In the past, Maya found all these imperfections charming, even endearing. Because it is precisely spontaneity and improvisation that have made Kuala Lumpur one of the world's great cities. Malay, Chinese, and Indian cultures collide in a sultry fusion. Nooks and crannies pulsate with vibrant street life. Spicy food and exotic aromas beckon.
  And now...?
  Maya clenched her jaw and felt a pulsation.
  Now, wherever she looked, she saw only silence, desolation, a ghostly atmosphere. The city had imposed an unofficial curfew that lasted from dusk until dawn. And all these urban eccentricities, once so enticing, now seemed only ominous.
  Maya's eyes darted around, spotting kill zone after kill zone. Fatal craters where rebels might hide in the shadows, awaiting an ambush.
  It could be something as simple as narrow passages between buildings-side alleys where rebels could simply emerge and open fire with machine guns and grenade launchers. And you wouldn't even see them corner you until it was too late.
  Alternatively, it could be something more sophisticated, such as insurgents perched high in an unfinished condominium, using elevated sightlines to remotely detonate an improvised explosive device from a safe distance.
  Boom. Game over.
  Fortunately, Hunter was a more than capable driver. He quickly navigated these problem areas, maintaining a constant speed and never slowing down.
  In particular, he tried to avoid the Stryker combat vehicles patrolling the streets. They belonged to the Malaysian army and were a magnet for contact with insurgents. And if an incident did occur, it was best to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.
  Maya and Adam were armed with SIG Sauer pistols and Emerson knives. Hunter had hidden HK416 rifles and grenades under the seats. So they weren't completely useless in a fight. But a fight was exactly what they needed to avoid.
  At that moment, Maya saw the silhouette of a helicopter zipping overhead, its rotors purring in a steady rhythm. It was an Apache, no doubt providing protection for military patrols on the ground.
  Maya took a breath, and she had to tell herself that yes, this had all been real. It wasn't a bad dream she could just forget.
  Hunter glanced at Maya in the rearview mirror. He nodded slightly, his expression grim. "The boss says you're Malaysian. Is that correct?"
  - I'm half Malaysian on my mother's side. I spent most of my childhood here.
  'Okay. Well, then it won't be easy for you to see all this.
  Maya shrugged as best she could. "A lot has changed in four months."
  "Unfortunate, but true."
  Adam tilted his head and looked at Hunter. "How long have you been working in Kuala Lumpur?"
  - A little over two years. Unofficial cover.
  "Long enough for the status quo to deteriorate?"
  "Oh, long enough to see that and more."
  'Meaning...?'
  "It means we were too focused on the Middle East. Too obsessed with finding, fixing, and destroying al-Qaeda and ISIS. And, yes, I'll be the first to admit it-we dropped the ball in Southeast Asia. We didn't allocate as many resources as we should have. We had a damn blind spot, and we didn't even know it."
  son of Robert Caulfield."
  'Yeah. And now we're trying to play catch-up. Not exactly optimal.'
  Maya shook her head. "You should have leaned on the Malaysian regime when you had the chance. Put your thumbs on. Demand accountability."
  "It may sound silly in retrospect, but Washington saw Putrajaya as a reliable ally. Reliable. And we trusted them implicitly. It's a relationship that goes back decades."
  "And how do you feel about this relationship now?"
  "Oh, man. It's like being stuck in a bad marriage with absolutely zero chance of divorce. How's that for a twist?"
  Maya sighed and leaned back in her seat. She caught herself thinking about her father.
  Nathan Raines .
  Dad.
  He tried to warn Malaysians about Khadija. He connected the dots and showed them what was at stake. But no one listened. No one cared. Not then. Not when the good times were still going on. And even after Dad was killed in a botched operation, they still chose to cover up the truth, censoring everything.
  But - surprise, surprise - now denial was impossible.
  And Maya felt bitterness rising in her throat, like bile.
  If only you bastards had listened. If only .
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  Tay was
  They had to pass through three checkpoints before entering the Blue Zone. This was fifteen square kilometers in the center of Kuala Lumpur, where the rich and powerful had gathered in a well-protected garrison. Blast-proof walls, barbed wire, and gun emplacements lined the perimeter.
  It was like landing on another planet.
  The energy inside was radically different from the outside.
  Maya watched the traffic, mostly luxury brands: Mercedes, BMWs, and Chryslers. Well-dressed civilians wandered the sidewalks, Western and Eastern faces mingling.
  Everywhere she looked, shops, clubs, and restaurants were open for business. Neon and fluorescent lights flickered. Music crescendoed and thumped. And amidst it all, the Petronas Twin Towers rose from the center of the area, monolithic and spiraling, visible from all sides.
  Maya used to think the structure looked beautiful at night, a powerful symbol of Malaysia's oil wealth. But now it looked simply grotesque; vulgar. A damning indictment of the country's arrogance.
  Adam frowned. "It's like the fall of the Empire, isn't it?"
  "Absolutely." Hunter tapped the steering wheel. "Rome is burning, and the top one percent are wining and dining all night long."
  - And the bottom ninety-nine percent may not exist at all.
  'That's right. The bottom ninety-nine percent might as well not exist.'
  They made their way along the boulevards and avenues, moving away from the commercial part of the zone, towards the diplomatic sector.
  Maya spotted a surveillance airship overhead. It was an automated airship, filled with helium and gliding like a silent sentry. It was equipped with a multitude of sophisticated sensors that saw everything and missed nothing.
  In theory, the airships offered real-time GEOINT collection. Geospatial intelligence. That's why authorities deployed them throughout the Blue Zone-to create a near-complete electronic blanket.
  But Maya wasn't reassured by the presence of eyes in the sky. No, it unsettled her. It was a sure sign of how Kafkaesque things had become.
  Eventually, Hunter stopped in front of the American embassy itself. It was a dense cluster of gray-painted, red-tiled buildings, guarded by staunch U.S. Marines.
  It wasn't attractive, but it was functional. A fortress within a fortress, located far enough from the main road to deter suicide bombers.
  They had to undergo another inspection, during which Marines would follow their car with sniffer dogs and examine the undercarriage with long-handled mirrors.
  Only after this were the barriers removed and they were allowed into the territory.
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  HOURunder the shore
  He walked down the ramp and drove the car through the underground lot. He parked in an empty bay, then they got out and took the elevator up to the embassy foyer.
  There, Maya and Adam had to surrender their weapons and cell phones and go through a metal detector, followed by a search using handheld wands.
  They were given visitor's passes, and Hunter led them to the wing of the embassy where the CIA offices were located.
  Hunter took the key card and leaned in for a retinal scan, and the steel door opened with a thud and a whoosh, like an airlock.
  What lay on the other side was a series of interconnecting corridors with glass partitions, and beyond them, Maya could see analysts sitting at their computers, processing data. Above them towered enormous monitors displaying everything from news feeds to satellite images.
  The mood was tense, and Maya could smell fresh plastic and new paint. This installation had obviously been assembled in a hurry. Personnel and equipment had been brought in from all over the region to cope with the crisis.
  Eventually, Hunter led them to the SCIF, the Sensitive Separate Information Facility. It was a sealed room, specifically built to block sound and jam acoustic surveillance.
  It was the nerve center of the operation, still and silent as a womb, and Maya saw two men already waiting for them at the negotiating table.
  Commanders-in-Chief ._
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  Tone two men
  got to their feet.
  On the left was Lucas Raynor, the CIA's chief of station, the highest-ranking spy in the country. He was bearded and wore a suit and tie.
  On the right was Lieutenant General Joseph MacFarlane, deputy commander of JSOC. He was clean-shaven and wearing a military uniform.
  Both men had incredible reputations, and seeing them right there was nothing short of remarkable. They were like two lions thrown into the same pen, and the energy emanating from them was ferocious. A combination of keen intelligence, pure adrenaline, and masculine musk.
  "Chief Raynor. General MacFarlane," Hunter acknowledged both men in turn. "This is Maya Raines and Adam Larsen. They just landed an hour ago."
  Raynor nodded. "General, they're friends from Section One in New Zealand. They're here to help us with the KULINT."
  KULINT was short for cultural intelligence - the esoteric art of deciphering local customs and beliefs.
  MacFarlane looked at Maya and Adam with a cold gaze before shaking hands. His grip was firm. "It's good you came all this way. We appreciate your presence here."
  Maya could hear the skepticism in MacFarlane's voice, and his smile was strained. He flashed his fangs, a subconscious sign of hostility. As if he were saying: I don't really like ghosts and I don't like it when they trespass on my territory.
  And just before MacFarlane broke the handshake, Maya noticed he placed his thumb directly on hers. The implication was: I'm the alpha here, and I'm going to show it.
  These were microexpressions; subconscious signals. They were so fleeting that the average person might blink and miss them. But not Maya. She was trained to observe, interpret, and respond.
  So she straightened up and looked back at MacFarlane. And she smiled widely and showed her own fangs, just to show him she wasn't going to be easy food. "It's an honor, sir. Thank you for inviting us."
  Raynor beckoned to him and they all sat down at the table.
  Maya stood directly in front of MacFarlane.
  She knew he'd be a tough nut to crack. But she was determined to influence him and win his favor.
  Hunter was the only one left standing.
  Raynor raised his eyebrows. "Not stay?"
  'I'm not afraid. Juno needs me.'
  'Okay. Then continue.
  - We'll catch up. Hunter left the room and closed the door.
  There was a whistling and a knocking sound. It reminded Maya of the airlock again.
  Raynor shrugged and reached for the pitcher of water on the table. He poured Maya and Adam a glass each. "You have to forgive us. We're still up to our necks in the organization."
  "It's okay," Maya said. "Everyone's playing catch-up. I can tell."
  - So, I hope you had a good look around the area when you came in?
  'We did. It's sobering,' Adam said. 'Really sobering. I didn't expect the power outages to be this extensive.'
  "The power outages are affecting about a third of the city." MacFarlane rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair. He clasped his hands together, his fingers forming a steeple. "Some days are better. Some days are worse."
  "It can't be good for the morale of the people living in these areas."
  "We had to prioritize. We'll limit ourselves to protecting only those nodes that are of key strategic importance.
  "Like in the Blue Zone."
  "Like in the Blue Zone."
  "Unfortunately, the insurgency is gaining momentum," Raynor said. "And it's like a game of whack-a-mole. We hit one terrorist cell, but we discovered there were two more we didn't know about. So the list just keeps getting longer and longer."
  "Your threat matrix needs to be constantly adjusted," Maya said.
  'Quite a lot. The situation is very fluid. Very changeable.
  - And may I ask how Robert Caulfield is coping with all this?
  'Not too well. He's locked himself in his penthouse. Refuses to leave the country. He calls the ambassador every day. Every single day. Asking for news of his son.'
  "I can only imagine the grief he and his wife must be going through."
  "Well, lucky for us, you Kiwis parachuted in to join the coalition of the willing." MacFarlane chuckled, low and hoarse. "Although it's not exactly the green, green grass of Hobbiton, is it?"
  Maya glanced at Adam. She saw his jaw clench, a blush spreading across his cheeks. MacFarlane's taunt had clearly angered him, and he was about to say something harsh in response.
  So Maya pushed Adam's leg out from under the table.
  Don't let the general drag you into a petty argument about semantics. It's not worth it.
  Adam seemed to get the message. He straightened his shoulders and took a sip of water. He kept his tone level and steady. "No, General. This isn't Hobbiton. Or Disneyland. This is war, and war is hell."
  MacFarlane pursed his lips. "Without a doubt."
  Raynor cleared his throat and rubbed his beard. "It's only been four months, and things are still changing." He nodded at MacFarlane. "That's why I invited Maya and Adam here. To help us sort this out."
  MacFarlane nodded very slowly. 'Get control. Of course. Of course.'
  Maya could tell he was being deliberately evasive. Playing the passive-aggressive role. Showing his metaphorical fangs and claws at every turn. And Maya couldn't blame him.
  Right now, the CIA-the Agency-was the kingpin when it came to hunting people. And, as an extension of that, it had covert action powers. Which included the ability to conduct intelligence-reconnaissance, surveillance, and reconnaissance. And Lucas Raynor ran it all from the US Embassy in the Blue Zone.
  Meanwhile, JSOC conducted the actual capture/kill operations. This meant Joseph McFarlane oversaw the badlands beyond the Blue Zone, and under his command, Delta Force and SEAL teams were based at two local airports. These were the door-knockers, the attackers-the ones who actually carried out night raids and attacked high-value targets.
  It all sounded simple enough in theory.
  Elegant even.
  The problem was that both Raynor and MacFarlane were there only as "advisers" and "trainers" to the local police and military, and this limited the American presence to less than a thousand men and women.
  To make matters worse, they could only carry out direct action missions after consultation with the Malaysians, meaning that opportunities for actual tactical deployment were few and far between.
  In most cases, they could only stand by and offer sensible advice while locals carried out counterinsurgency operations. This was far from ideal and far from what was happening in other countries.
  Yemen was a prime example.
  There, both the Agency and JSOC were given complete freedom to use kinetic force. They launched two separate programs. This meant two different kill lists, two different drone strike campaigns, and virtually no consultation with the Yemenis.
  Once they found the person they were looking for, they simply walked in and hit them hard. Find, fix, and finish. First come, first served.
  But the American president grew wary of this shooter mentality. There were too many civilian deaths; too much reckless competition; too much payback. So he streamlined the decision-making process. He introduced a system of checks and balances and forced the Agency and JSOC to work hand in hand.
  Unsurprisingly, MacFarlane was furious. His jurisdiction had been curtailed, and he was now operating under very strict rules of engagement. A soldier's worst nightmare.
  Maya understood all this and knew that if she wanted to win MacFarlane over to her side, she would have to go for the jugular.
  Maya remembered what her dad once told her.
  When in doubt, stick to your guns and project confidence. The power of the project will take you where you need to go.
  So Maya leaned forward. She placed her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together, resting them under her chin. "General, can I be honest?"
  MacFarlane bowed his head. "At all costs."
  "I think the president is a weakling."
  Maya heard Raynor inhale sharply, and his chair creaked as he sat up. He was stunned. Maya had crossed a line and broken the absolute taboo: mocking the Commander-in-Chief of the United States.
  MacFarlane's face frowned. "Excuse me?"
  'You heard me. The President is a weakling. He doesn't know Malaysia half as well as he thinks he does. He's been led to believe that diplomacy and preamble are a substitute for boots on the ground. But it's not true. It really isn't true.'
  MacFarlane's mouth hung open slightly, as if he were about to speak but couldn't find the words. And that's how Maya knew she had him hooked. She had his undivided attention. Now she just needed to reel him in.
  Maya shook her head. "Look, the president has grand plans. Projecting soft power and diplomacy. That's why he keeps saying Malaysia is a moderate, secular Muslim country. That Malaysia and the US are partners in the war on terrorism. Shared interests and a common enemy..."
  MacFarlane inhaled and leaned forward. His eyes crinkled. "And you question that."
  'Yes.'
  'Because...?'
  - Because it's a fairy tale. Tell me, sir, have you ever heard of the Al-Rajhi family?
  - Why don't you enlighten me?
  "The family runs Al Rajhi Corporation. It's the largest Islamic bank in the world, based in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. It does everything from takaful insurance to housing finance. It's a well-oiled machine. Very efficient. Funded almost exclusively by petrodollars. But while it looks bright and cheerful on the surface, what's really underneath is a front for the Wahhabis to spread their seventh-century poison. You know, the archaic laws about beheading infidels and banning couples from celebrating Valentine's Day. Are you still following, General?"
  McFarlane exhaled and nodded. "Yes, I know what a Wahhabi is. Osama bin Laden was one. Please continue."
  "So when the time came for the Al Rajhis to diversify and expand their interests beyond the Kingdom, they decided Malaysia would be a good bet. And they were right. The Malaysians welcomed them with open arms. By then, the country was deeply in debt and suffering from a credit crunch. They needed Saudi money. Badly. And the Al Rajhis were more than happy to oblige. It was a match made in heaven, literally. Both the Malaysian and Saudi regimes share a common origin. They are both Sunni. So consular ties were already established. However, the Al Rajhis didn't just bring their money to Malaysia. They also brought their imams. Invested in the construction of fundamentalist madrassas. Infiltrated government institutions..."
  Maya sighed at the dramatic effect, then continued, "Unfortunately, the president seemed oblivious to all of these events. And he continued to provide Malaysia with foreign aid and logistical support. Why? Because he saw the country as a reliable partner. One that would act against al-Qaeda and its affiliates with minimal oversight. But you know what? Instead of using American training and American weapons to fight terror, the Malaysians went in the other direction. They created terror. Using their secret police and paramilitary forces, they cracked down harshly on legitimate political opposition. I"m talking mass arrests; torture; executions. Anyone-and I mean anyone-who could conceivably challenge the authority of the Malaysian regime was purged. But the most serious human rights violations were reserved for a minority deemed unworthy of life."
  "Hint, hint," said Adam. "She's talking about Shiite Muslims."
  "That's right," Maya said. "The Shiites. They fared the worst because Al-Rajhi considered them heretics, and the Malaysians began to believe in this sectarian doctrine. Atrocity after atrocity mounts. Then, one day, the Shiites decide they won't suffer genocide anymore." Maya slammed her palm on the table, the glass in front of her shaking, spilling water. "And then the uprising began. The blowback. The Malaysians, the Saudis, and the Americans became targets of opportunity."
  MacFarlane was silent, simply looking at Maya. He blinked once, twice, then licked his lips, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I must say, you certainly know how to paint a vivid picture of the terrible truth."
  Maya leaned back in her chair too. She folded her arms. It was a technique known as mirroring-mirroring the body language of the person you're addressing to create synergy. 'Let's face it. Malaysians are dirty opportunists. They've exploited the president's largesse to create their own tyrannical fiefdom. And all this talk about fighting terrorism? It's just emotional blackmail. A way to extort even more aid from America. And ideologically, Malaysians are more interested in following the Saudis' example.'
  "Mm." MacFarlane wrinkled his nose. "I admit, the Malaysians have always struck me as... less forthcoming. They like our attack helicopters. Our skill sets. But our advice? Not so much."
  Maya nodded. "Look, General, if we put feudal politics aside, our objectives would be simple. One, recover Owen Caulfield. And two, find, fix, and finish Khadija. And those objectives aren"t mutually exclusive. Khadija is clearly using Owen as a human shield. Making us think twice about calling drone strikes on suspected rebel locations. It"s a smart move. And she didn"t go to all this trouble just to hide Owen in some random location. No, it"s safe to assume Khadija keeps Owen close. Maybe even right next to her. So why can"t we combine Objective One and Objective Two?"
  MacFarlane smiled. It was warmer this time. No fangs. 'Yes, indeed. Why can't we?'
  We can. It's doable. And for the record, my father-Nathan Raines-gave his life to try to stop Khadija before the uprising started. And Adam and I were with him on that mission. So yes, it's personal. I'm not going to deny it. But I can guarantee you, General, no one else knows as much firsthand as we do. So I'm asking you- with all due respect-to allow us to be your eyes and ears. Let's get down to business and do some knocking around. I'm offering you the chance to shoot Khadija. What do you say?
  MacFarlane's smile widened. He looked at Raynor. "Well, maybe bringing the kiwis on board wasn't such a bad idea. They're not as stupid as they look."
  Raynor shifted in his chair and forced a smile back. 'No. No, it's not.'
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  HOUR under mockery
  as he was taking Maya and Adam away from the embassy. "I hope you clowns are proud of yourselves. You almost gave the boss a brain aneurysm."
  Maya shrugged. "It's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Besides, Raynor is a family friend. He served with my father in Bosnia. Sure, he'll be a little upset about what I did, but he won't hold it against me."
  "I wish I was there to stop all your damn chatter."
  "The psychological chatter had to be done." Adam grinned and rubbed his nose. "General MacFarlane was a curmudgeon, and we had to give in to his sentimentality."
  - Even if it meant discrediting the President of the United States?
  "I have nothing against the president," Maya said. "But it's clear McFarlane doesn't want to toe the official line. He thinks Washington is being weak."
  "Oh my god. Some might call that insubordination. And some might also say it's bad form for you to encourage that.
  "I'm not saying anything that McFarlane hasn't already thought of."
  - It doesn't matter. It's still bad form.
  Maya shook her head. Spread her arms. "You know all those stories about him being a cadet at West Point?"
  Hunter snorted. "Yeah, who doesn't?"
  Tell me the best one.
  " What ...?"
  'Go ahead, keep going. Tell a better story. You know what you want.'
  'Okay. Okay. I'll joke with you.' When he was nineteen, he and a group of frat buddies, dressed in camouflage, stole antique weapons from the campus museum and created fake grenades out of rolled-up socks. Then they stormed Grant Hall just after 10:00 PM, scaring the living daylights out of a group of female students who happened to be visiting. Hunter sighed. 'And you're making me recount this heinous feat because...?'
  "Because I want to make a point," Maya said. "MacFarlane is the same old rebel he's always been. That's how he rose through the ranks, and that's why he sits at the top of the JSOC pyramid."
  "The general is prone to thinking outside the box," Adam said. "He likes to act completely outside the box. Adrenaline is his drug of choice."
  - Yeah, which makes him the perfect candidate to lead the best and brightest hunter-killers the U.S. military has to offer. And you know what? Right now, MacFarlane thinks all that talent is wasted. Worse, he thinks the Agency is full of fluff and political mothballs. He hates dealing with you guys. He hates playing nice. It's not his style.
  "Yeah. He's a snarling Doberman on a chain," Hunter said. "He's a pain in the ass and name-calling. And, damn it, he just can't figure out why the president won't let him go."
  'Correct. So I hope you understand why I did what I did.'
  - To soothe the general's ego and make him be friendlier with us ghosts? Of course. I understand. But you have a crazy approach to this.
  "We got what we wanted. His cooperation and his attention.
  - You say that as if it were a certainty. It's not.
  'Maybe. But at least it's better to redirect his hostility away from us. It will pay dividends later. Trust me.'
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  HOUR understretched
  in front of the Grand Luna Hotel. It was a forty-story building of gold-tinted glass and polished white steel, accented by swooping curves and warm lighting.
  It looked dreamy.
  Invitation.
  Hunter nodded to Adam and Maya. "Our last stop for the night. I'm sure you're tired as hell. So check in and get some sleep. I'll be back at 9:00 AM. And we'll meet Robert Caulfield."
  "I'm looking forward to it," Maya said. "Thank you."
  "Hooray, buddy," Adam said.
  Smiling porters opened Maya and Adam's doors and began unloading their luggage from the trunk.
  But Adam quickly stepped out and waved his hand. "We appreciate it, but we'll carry our bags ourselves."
  "Are you sure, sir?" The porter frowned. "They're heavy..."
  "Don't worry about it. We'll be fine.
  Adam gave Maya a knowing look, and she understood.
  It was bad practice to let strangers handle your luggage. All it took was a second for someone to plant a hidden listening device or tracking beacon. Or-God forbid-a bomb. You can never be too careful.
  So Maya and Adam dragged their wheeled suitcases behind them, and the porter, with a shrug, led them into the lobby.
  The interior was opulent. Smooth marble floors. Soaring, ornate pillars. An arched, domed ceiling. An impressive sight. But Maya didn't notice any of the cosmetic details. Instead, she focused on the apparent lack of security. Unlike hotels in, say, Baghdad or Kabul, the standards here were lax.
  There were no searches, no metal detectors, no uniformed guards. This was intentional, Maya knew. The hotel management didn't want the refined atmosphere to be marred by harsh reality. So their security guards wore civilian clothes, making them inconspicuous, though far from invisible.
  It didn't take Maya long to spot one of them. He was sitting in the corner reading a book, the bulge of a pistol visible under his shirt.
  Maya found this sloppy and unprofessional. Of course, it was better to have second-rate contractors than none at all. But apparently, this knowledge gave her neither confidence nor comfort.
  Well, damn...
  Under any other circumstances, Maya would have preferred not to stay here. But she remembered they had to maintain their cover. Blend in with the population and gather atmosphere. This was a fancy way of saying they should quietly go about their business and gather information without sticking out like a sore thumb.
  Yes, the conditions were far from ideal.
  But their job was to come to terms with it.
  Adapt. Improvise. Overcome.
  At the reception, Maya and Adam checked in under assumed names. Two standard rooms were reserved. Nothing complicated. Nothing that would arouse undue interest.
  Having received the key cards, they went to the elevator.
  Along the way, Maya caught a glimpse of the pool bar. She heard piano music, conversations, and laughter. She inhaled the aroma of alcoholic cocktails and smoky shashlik.
  The hotel had a reputation as a favorite hangout for expatriates congregating in the Blue Zone. It was a place where diplomats and con men could gossip, exchange contacts, cruise around, and close deals.
  Maya sucked her teeth and shook her head.
  Same-sex birds flock together.
  As she stepped into the elevator with Adam, she found herself reflecting on how colonial everything felt. As if the country's psyche had regressed three generations, and what had once belonged to a bygone era was now the status quo.
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  Maya and Adam
  reached the twenty-fifth floor.
  The elevator bell rang, the doors opened, and they stepped out. They walked down the hallway until they found their adjoining rooms.
  Adam hesitated, fiddling with the key card in his hand. "So..."
  Maya smiled thinly. "So..."
  They paused for a moment.
  The silence dragged on.
  The mood was timid and awkward.
  Maya could remember a time when it was easy for them to talk, and they could share their deepest thoughts and speak without fear.
  But the events of the last two years had made the situation precarious. And now, if the topic wasn't work-related, they often stumbled over words, trying to find a connection, like two people losing each other in a thick fog.
  what happened to them?
  Has she really changed that much?
  Or did you have?
  Adam cleared his throat. "You got along well with the general today."
  Maya sighed. "Let's hope that's enough."
  'It should be. So, we'll arrive at the base tomorrow at 08:00? Go down for breakfast?
  "Mm-m-m. Sounds like a plan.
  'Okay then. Goodnight.' Adam turned away. He jabbed the key card at the room's door, unlocking it with a ring and a click.
  Maya winced. She was hurt by his abruptness; how quickly he cut off their conversation.
  Damn it .
  Shifting from foot to foot, she wanted to touch him, ask him to wait. Just... wait.
  But her lips trembled, she faltered, and blinked hard as she watched Adam slide into his room, the door slamming behind him...
  Painfully, all she could squeeze out was the briefest whisper: "Good night. Sleep tight."
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  Shaking my head,
  Maya opened the door to her room and walked inside. She inserted the key card into the power outlet, and the power came on.
  The room's presentation was minimalist yet chic. Silver walls, wood-paneled floors, and subdued lighting. A king-size bed dominated the room, resting on an oval, earth-toned, plush rug.
  The air smelled of fresh lavender, and though Maya strained her ears, the soundproofing was exceptional. All she could hear was the steady hum of the air conditioner.
  Any other frequent traveler would have been pleased with this set-up. But not Maya. After setting down her suitcase, she grabbed a chair from the coffee table in the corner and propped it up against the door.
  This would act as an insurance policy. Since she wouldn't necessarily be able to hear an intruder trying to enter the room from outside, the chair would serve as both a barrier and a warning.
  Her dad taught her.
  Never assume. Always be prepared.
  Returning to her suitcase, Maya unpacked it and pulled out an object resembling a lighter. She pressed the button on the gadget, held it in her hand, and began walking around the room, waving it back and forth.
  Maya checked every nook and cranny, paying special attention to light fixtures and outlets. High. Low. Just to be sure.
  Her counterintelligence efforts had revealed nothing, and the insect repellent was still in her hand. It didn't vibrate.
  The room was clean.
  Good.
  Sighing, Maya turned off the sweeper and set it down. She headed to the bathroom. She undressed and took an ice-cold shower. Three minutes. Then she got out.
  Maya dried herself with a towel and threw on a terrycloth robe, kindly provided by the hotel. She had a rule never to take long showers in unfamiliar places. She couldn't allow herself to get too comfortable; too complacent. Luxury belonged to other girls, but not to her. Never hers.
  Maya picked up the hair dryer from the bathroom vanity. She returned to the bed. She sat down and turned on the hair dryer. She began blowing it on her damp hair. She closed her eyes and found her thoughts drifting back to Adam, the corners of her mouth twitching.
  I miss us. I miss what we had.
  Maya recalled everything that had led them to this moment. It all started with Dad being killed during an unauthorized operation in Kuala Lumpur. And amidst the grief and aftermath, Mama decided that Adam's court was to blame. So she issued a burn notice and sent him away from Section One.
  Yes, Maya understood the logic. The authorities wanted heads to roll, and Adam turned out to be the perfect guy to fall.
  Why didn't he set up a proper observer?
  Why didn't he notice the warning signs?
  Why didn't he notice the shooter until it was too late?
  Questions, questions, questions.
  damn questions.
  Of course, Adam had screwed up. That was undeniable. Yet, deep down, Maya believed her mother should have done more to protect him. She could have resisted the political pressure more strongly. But her mother didn't know, and it was this feeling that tore apart the relationship between mother and daughter.
  Maya had never felt so conflicted, so torn. Dad's funeral; Mom's coldness; Adam's departure. It was too much to bear. And in the end, Maya, too, left Section One.
  But the turning point came when Mama reached out and pulled Maya and Adam back into the counterterrorism network. Their mission? To protect Abraham Khan, a Muslim author whose life was under threat from extremists.
  It was a journey that pushed them both to their personal limits: Maya ended up losing a team member and Adam lost a confidential informant.
  More death.
  More tragedy.
  But somehow, in the midst of all this, Mama made peace with Maya, and Adam restored his reputation and was reinstated into Section One.
  Everything had returned to normal. And yet... the wounds were still so damn fresh. So many words remained unspoken. So many emotions remained tied up. And Maya found herself yearning for simpler times, for easier times.
  Perhaps she became melancholy because so much had changed.
  Maybe too much -
  Maya's thoughts were interrupted by three knocks on her room door. Her eyes widened with a start, and she turned off the hair dryer.
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  Maya stared at the door.
  She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. A slow rush of adrenaline warmed her stomach.
  Instinct took over.
  She set the hair dryer down on the bed and reached for her gun. She unbuckled the holster and checked it to make sure it was loaded. Then, with her free hand, she pulled out a knife. It was a tactical folder, and with a flick of her wrist, she unfolded the serrated blade. It unfolded with a loud click.
  Slowly, very slowly, Maya walked towards the door.
  Tempting as it was, she avoided leaning over to look through the peephole. It would have been a rookie mistake to let the person on the other side catch a glimpse of her shadow, making her an easy target.
  So instead she pressed herself against the wall next to the door.
  There were a few more blows.
  They came rhythmic, playful.
  "It's me," Adam said in a singsong voice. "Are you going to make me wait here or what?"
  Maya exhaled and cringed. She suddenly felt stupid. Still, she had to make sure Adam wasn't under any pressure, so she challenged him. "Carcosa."
  Adam chuckled. 'Are you kidding me? You think someone put a gun to my head?'
  "Carcosa," Maya repeated.
  'Good. You win. Countersign: Black Stars. Now open up before the food gets cold.'
  'Food?'
  - Yes, food. Dinner. Room service.
  Maya smiled, pleasantly surprised. She folded the knife and released the safety on her pistol. She tucked the gun into her robe pockets, then pulled out a chair and unlocked the door.
  Adam stood in the hallway, holding a tray with two plates of spiced nasi lemak and two cups of ice-cold teh tarik. He lifted his chin. "Tense, aren't you?"
  Maya chuckled. "You can't be too careful with all the weirdos around these days."
  'Yeah. You don't say.
  
  Chapter 16
  
  
  Maya didn't know
  If Adam had done a full one-eighty and changed his mind, or if this had been his plan all along - to play it smooth like Bogart and then surprise her with a very Malaysian dinner...
  In any case, she didn't care.
  She was just glad that he came.
  So they sat down at the coffee table.
  They ate, drank, talked, laughed.
  Unconsciously, they both avoided the fact that they were in the midst of a godforsaken war. Instead, they focused on the inconsequential and frivolous. Like the last bad movie they'd both seen. The exploits of the All Blacks rugby team. And the whereabouts of mutual acquaintances.
  "How's Kendra Shaw doing?" Maya asked, finishing her nasi.
  Adam used his straw to squirt ice cubes into his. "Funny you should ask. I just spoke to her on the phone last week. She's engaged."
  'Wow. Really?
  "Mmm-hmm. Seriously. A proposal on one knee and a ring. She seems happy.
  - Have they set a date yet?
  "They think it will be sometime next year."
  - And her work in the First Section...?
  - She says she's finished. There's no temptation to go back.
  Maya put down her spoon and pushed her plate away. She nodded slowly. "That must be... well, that must be nice."
  Adam tilted his head. "To be outside the scheme? Doesn't work?"
  - To be normal, yes. Like an ordinary civilian. It's good with her.
  'My my. Is that envy I hear in your voice?
  'Envy?' Maya threw her hair back. "No."
  'Yeah.' Adam smiled. "Of course."
  "I'm not jealous."
  'Right.'
  Maya hesitated, then groaned. She admitted defeat by holding up her thumb and index finger, an inch apart. 'Okay. You got me there. Maybe I'm just a little jealous.'
  "Just a little?" Adam teased, raising his thumb and index finger in imitation of her gesture.
  "Take your time." Maya grabbed his hand and chuckled softly. "Have you ever thought what it would be like? To be gone forever? To not have to deal with shadows, lies, and cruelty?"
  Adam shrugged. "Well, we were gone for a while, remember? And-oh God-we weren"t happy with it. Because that"s not what people like you and me are made for." Adam leaned forward. "Tell me, when you were a little girl, did you ever see your mother put on makeup? Did it ever inspire you to imitate her? Experiment with makeup?"
  Maya frowned. "What does this have to do with...?"
  Adam drummed his fingers on the table, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 'Come on. Indulge me.'
  Maya puffed out her cheeks and took a deep breath. 'I... Well, I don't really remember any girly makeup sessions. But I do remember something else...'
  'Scatter. You know what you want.'
  Maya felt a wistful smile cross her lips. "When I was a kid, I remember my mother coming home from surgery. And she'd have this ritual; this formality. She'd go straight down to our basement. Turn on the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. And she'd lay out her guns on the workbench. Start taking them apart. Cleaning and lubricating each part one by one. And I used to watch her from the top of the stairs. And I thought she looked... beautiful. Her movements were so smooth and graceful. And her concentration, it was almost... Oh, how to describe it? Hypnotic? Zen-like? I know I sound cliché, yes. But it's true. It was like quiet meditation. Inner reflection." Maya shook her head. Laughed. "And, of course, I tried to imitate my mother. Tried to do the same with this plastic revolver I carried with me. But in the end I only broke it..."
  - Well then. Adam nodded. - You weren't an ordinary girl. And you've never known any other life.
  "The funny thing is, I never thought of my upbringing as weird."
  "Some might call it bizarre. Now you've grown up and become the operator they call when civilization goes to hell. Don't pass by. Don't collect the two hundred dollars. You don't know how to do anything else."
  Maya frowned. "Well, that's rude."
  Adam threw up his hands. "Hey, someone's gotta clean up. How else can politicians sleep soundly in their beds at night? How else can they dream of being re-elected?"
  However, Kendra seems to have found a way out of this situation."
  'Really? Really? I wouldn't be so sure. I'd give her six months of marriage. Then she'll start to twitch. Feel the need for speed. And she'll go back to Section One. Because she's just like us. She doesn't know how to do anything else.'
  "Yeah, well, in my book she gets points for at least trying to do something else."
  "Okay, fair enough. But with her skill set? Her mentality? And what she's done? I'd say it'll take more than a fairytale wedding and a happy life to cleanse her of the killer instinct."
  Maya sighed and decided not to insist on it.
  They both leaned over their cups, finishing their tea.
  Once again, Adam was Adam. He offered cynical clarity, and, as much as Maya hated to admit it, he was right.
  They were almost prehistoric in their worldview, dependent on situations that were difficult, painful, destructive. And-by God-they fed on the worst humanity had to offer. And somehow, Maya felt strangely at ease with it. This was the reptilian world she knew well. The reptilian world she had always known. And its feral nature was so deeply ingrained in her psyche, in her soul, that it was almost impossible to extricate it.
  This is what it is, and we are who we are. We don't know how to do anything else. We can't.
  Finally, Adam cleared his throat. He looked at his watch and straightened up. 'Well, well. It's getting late. And it's time for us to take a nap. It's a long day tomorrow.'
  Maya blinked and ran her hands over her robe. 'Yeah. It's sleepy time. Hey, thanks for dinner. It was a real treat. I really enjoyed it.'
  "I aim to please."
  They pushed back their chairs and stood up.
  Adam started to put the plates and cups back on the serving tray, but Maya stopped him, covering his hand with hers. Their fingers intertwined, and she squeezed. 'That's fine. Leave it.'
  Adam hesitated.
  He looked at her and held her gaze.
  The moment stretched out.
  Then slowly, very slowly, he raised his free hand. He ran his fingers along her chin, along her jawline, gathering the loose strands of her hair and tucking them behind her ear.
  It was the simplest gesture, but so tender.
  Maya swallowed, her skin tingling under his touch.
  Adam brought his face close to hers. And in that moment, she thought he might kiss her. She had anticipated it, longed for it. But-no-he turned away at the last moment. He touched his cheek to hers and pulled her into an embrace.
  She blinked hard, her lips trembling.
  She was disappointed. Confused. But-damn it-she still allowed herself to reciprocate the embrace. She ran her hands over his muscular back and inhaled his salty scent, knowing that for the sake of sanity and professionalism, they couldn't go that far. No further.
  Adam whispered.
  "Mm." Maya's throat tightened, and she couldn't find the words. She could only nod.
  And they stood like that for the longest time, pressed against each other, perfectly sculpted. It was natural, the best kind of comfort, a silence broken only by their breathing.
  Adam sighed and pulled away from her, breaking the spell and, without even looking back, he was out the door. He played like Bogart, smooth and cool.
  All Maya could do was stand there, digging her nails into her palms and flaring her nostrils. She looked at the floor, looked at the ceiling, and rolled her eyes. She remembered what her mother had told her before leaving Auckland.
  Stay focused. Don't let your feelings for him cloud your judgment. That's a mistake you can't afford.
  Maya groaned and rubbed her face. She sobered up, then grabbed a chair and pushed it against the door, locking it.
  
  Chapter 17
  
  
  Khaja just woke up
  after four in the morning. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her mind was still reeling from the cobwebs of sleep.
  Sobbing and shaking, she rolled out of the sleeping bag. There was darkness. Darkness all around her. And instinctively, she reached for the AK-102 assault rifle. She snatched it from the corner and pulled the loading handle, chambering a .
  Breathing through her teeth, her heart pounding, Khadija dropped to one knee. She raised the rifle, pressed it to her shoulder, and froze as soon as her finger touched the trigger.
  Blinking through tears, she looked around. She remembered where she was. Yes, she was in a tent in the middle of the forest. No threats; no enemies. Her face twitched, and she realized...
  It was a dream. Just a dream. A figment of the past.
  Khadija whimpered, let her weapon sag, and fell to her buttocks. She wiped the fog from her eyes. As her throbbing heartbeat calmed, she listened to the sounds outside her tent. The buzzing and hissing of insects. Trees rustling and whispering in the wind. The gentle babble of a nearby stream.
  It was peaceful.
  Oh, so peaceful.
  And yet her soul was tormented by confusion.
  Khadija dreamed of the darkest day of her life. When the police burst into her home during lunch, smashing windows, overturning tables, pointing guns. They beat her husband until he bled, then handcuffed him, pulled a hood over his head, and dragged him away. And-by Allah-she tried to plead with them, to reason with them, but to no avail.
  It was always the same dream.
  Same outcome.
  The same fate.
  Khadija removed the safety catch from her rifle and set it aside. Then she clasped her head in her hands. She felt rage, regret, despair. More than anything, she wanted to turn back time.
  If only she were wiser.
  If only she were stronger.
  If only she were armed.
  If only...
  Khadija allowed herself a bitter laugh. She remembered how they used to engage in petitions, protests, political representation. How naive she had been, believing that all this would lead to progress or even protection. Because, in the end, it all led to nothing. Absolutely nothing.
  If we had chosen a different path...
  And it was at that moment that Khadija realized she had committed the gravest of sins. She shuddered and straightened up, as if struck by electricity.
  Only God has the power to dictate the ebb and flow of fate. No one else. Who are you to doubt His omniscience? Who are you to doubt His providence?
  Khadija clenched her jaw, feeling the Eternal's voice chastising her. She had let her pride get the better of her.
  Redemption. I must seek redemption. For if pride is the greatest sin, then humility is the greatest virtue.
  So Khadija reached for the flashlight and turned it on. Its colored lens cast a dim red glow. It was enough for her to see, but not enough for anyone outside the immediate vicinity to detect any extraneous light.
  Khadija prepared for prayer. She began by washing her head, hands, and feet with bottled water and a washbasin. Then she took out her prayer rug, followed by her turbah. This was her most prized possession-a clay tablet fashioned from the earth of the holy city of Karbala in Iraq. A gift from her late husband.
  Khadija unrolled the mat and placed the turba in front of her. She checked her compass to make sure she was facing the right direction.
  Then she knelt. In Arabic, she recited a passage from Surah Al-Imran: "Never think of those who are killed in the way of Allah as dead. Rather, they are with their Lord, receiving sustenance, rejoicing in what God has given them of His bounty. And they receive the good news of those who will be martyred after them..."
  Khadija felt her tears flow again, burning her cheeks as she bowed and touched her forehead to the turba.
  It was wonderful; perfect.
  Truly, her husband sacrificed himself so that she could become the Creator's instrument. And one day-yes-she knew she would see her beloved again in Paradise.
  This was the sacred promise of jihad.
  Khadija had to believe it.
  She had to cling to it.
  
  Chapter 18
  
  
  When Khadija finished her prayer,
  She unzipped the tent and went outside.
  The pre-dawn air was cool, and rays of moonlight filtered through the tropical forest canopy. Somewhere in the distance, monkeys screamed and croaked, their eerie cries echoing throughout the valley.
  It reminded her of why she'd chosen this location as her stronghold. The terrain here was sprawling and rugged, and the dense foliage hid her fedayeen from the prying eyes of drones and satellites. The abundant wildlife also served as a distraction, disrupting thermal imaging and ground-penetrating radar.
  Yes, this was the perfect place for a partisan hideout. However, Khadija knew how easy it was to become complacent. That's why she divided her men into small platoons, no more than thirty men and women each, and they were scattered in all directions. East. West. North. South. Constantly on the move. Never camped in one place for too long.
  She also strictly enforced radio discipline. They never communicated over the air unless absolutely necessary. Instead, they relied on a time-tested method: using a network of couriers to deliver coded messages on foot.
  Khadija knew these precautions came at a price. This meant the command structure of her forces was flexible and loose, and especially in our digital age, coordinating events could be difficult.
  She reconsidered her strategy more than once. She tried to find a better way, an easier path. But always-always-she came to the same conclusion. Operational security was key, and it was better to act slowly and cautiously than quickly and recklessly.
  She couldn't afford to underestimate the Americans or their allies. They were as cunning as snakes, and they had technology on their side. So she wouldn't take any chances.
  Nodding, Khadija walked through her camp.
  The tents fluttered in the wind, there were no open flames, no uncontrolled lighting. Just complete secrecy. Exactly how she wanted it to be.
  She approached the three fedayeen guarding Owen Caulfield's tent. They acknowledged her, straightening their backs and crossing their rifles across their chests.
  "I'm going to see the boy now," Khadija said.
  - Yes, Mother.
  One of the men reached over and unzipped it for her, and she leaned over and slipped inside.
  
  Chapter 19
  
  
  Owen twitched
  Waking up when Khadija entered, his eyes wide and his breathing harsh, he still clung to his sleeping bag and backed away. He pressed himself against the corner.
  Khadija felt sadness pierce her heart like a hot needle, but she understood the boy's reaction.
  To him, I'm a demon. I took him from everything he's ever known. And it's no wonder he should hate me for it.
  Shaking her head, Khadija dropped to her knees. She tried to maintain a nonthreatening pose and pulled a carton of drink from the bag she was carrying. It was orange juice. She tore off the attached straw and unwrapped it. She stuck it into the bag.
  Then slowly, very slowly, she approached the boy. She extended her hand and offered him a drink.
  The boy stared, his lips pursed, before lunging forward and snatching it from her. Then he darted back into the corner, sucking loudly on his straw, his eyes never leaving hers.
  Khadija looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "I won't hurt you. Please believe me."
  The boy continued to stare, his nostrils flaring. His eyes-oh my God-they gleamed with pure murder.
  Khadija rubbed the back of her head, feeling uneasy. She'd once read about something called Stockholm syndrome. It was a bond between captor and captive. But... such empathy didn't seem to exist here.
  Even after four months, Owen remained unusually brash. He rarely spoke and rarely showed any emotion other than contempt and hostility. At times, he seemed almost feral, eager to challenge, eager to fight.
  Khadija sighed and swallowed her disappointment. She realized she had made a mistake. She had tried to bribe the boy in exchange for his sympathy. But it had been a foolish idea, because the boy was stubborn, fiercely intelligent, and uncared for.
  So now Khadija took a different approach. She adopted a restrained smile. Not too tight. Not too loose. And she switched to a firm tone and spoke to the boy as if he were an adult. "Abraham Lincoln-he was the greatest American president, wasn't he?"
  The boy's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly, stopping sucking on the straw.
  Khadija knew she had his attention now. She had sparked his intrigue. And she nodded. "Yes, Lincoln was the greatest. Because he proclaimed that slaves should be free. And he pushed forward to make it so. But that journey was not without great sacrifice." Khadija paused, wondering if she was using words too grand for the boy to understand. But she went on anyway. "Thousands and thousands of Americans died. The republic was torn in two . There was fire. And blood. And sorrow. And in the end... well, in the end, it cost Lincoln everything. Even his life. But he accomplished what he set out to do. His dream became a reality. He made the slaves free..."
  The boy leaned forward, blinking hard, his fingers twitching around the bag of drink.
  Khadija leaned forward to match him. She let her voice drop to a whisper and lost her smile. "I want the same for my people. To be free. To be free from oppression. But... we have no Lincoln. No savior. Only fire. And blood. And sorrow. And so we fight. And someday-one day-I hope you will understand."
  Khadija studied the boy. There was no longer any hatred on his young face. Only curiosity and thoughtfulness. It was as if he was beginning to reconsider his feelings for her.
  Without a word, Khadija turned and slipped out of the tent.
  She left Owen with something to ponder. She planted the seed of a poignant idea. For now-insha'Allah-this simple philosophy should suffice.
  
  Chapter 20
  
  
  The part has broken,
  and Khadija met with Siti and Ayman in a grove just outside the camp.
  Tall grass swayed around them, and birds chirped as the sun rose over the jagged hills on the horizon. It felt like the beginning of a beautiful day. A day filled with promise.
  Khadija surveyed her calm surroundings before turning to her lieutenants. "What is our status?"
  "All couriers have registered," Ayman said. "All messages have been delivered."
  "Nothing is compromised?"
  - No, Mother. We have taken all precautions.
  'Good. And are the cameras ready?
  "We've got them all synchronized," Siti said. "That's confirmed. The operation will go ahead as planned."
  Khadija sighed and nodded. She felt a buzz of anticipation within her. She remembered what she'd learned about the Tet Offensive; how the Communists had used it to stun the Americans during the Vietnam War. And she hoped the same lessons applied here.
  Allahu akbar. May His will be done from this moment forward.
  
  Chapter 21
  
  
  Dinesh Nair didn't count
  the brave man himself.
  In fact, right now his palms were sweaty and his heart was pounding as he walked down the sidewalk. He had to remind himself to take his time, to keep his movements smooth, casual.
  It was just after seven o'clock, and the Kepong district of the city was waking up from its dusk-to-dawn curfew. Vendors and traders lined the narrow boulevards, open for business. Cars moved slowly, bumper to bumper. And overhead, a monorail train rushed past, emitting a hypnotic sound.
  Knock-knock. Knock-knock. Here, there.
  At first glance, it looked like just another day.
  But of course it wasn't like that.
  When Dinesh woke up this morning, he glanced at the classifieds in the New Straits Times. This had been his routine for the past year. He did this every day, scanning every ad line by line.
  By now, the habit had become comfortable. The repetition of squinting, searching, finding nothing. Always nothing. And after all this time, he allowed himself to lapse into a certain complacency. He concluded that the activation of his role, if it came to that, would likely occur in the distant future.
  Not today.
  Not tomorrow.
  Of course, not the next day.
  And that's what consoled Dinesh-the possibility that he'd never have to fulfill his duties. It was a pleasant fantasy. He'd remain eternally ready, appearing brave without actually doing anything brave.
  But today... well, today was the day when science fiction fell apart.
  Dinesh was sipping his coffee when he came across an ad for a business. The message was short and sweet - the owner was expanding into a franchise. He was only looking for serious investors, and the squeamish shouldn't apply. The business specialized in rat and cockroach extermination.
  Seeing this, Dinesh gasped and straightened up. Coffee was dripping down his chin. He felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach.
  Wide-eyed, wiping his mouth, he had to reread the ad again and again, just to be sure. But... there was no mistake. The phrase was exactly right. It was a secret signal. A signal to activate.
  It's happening. It's really happening.
  Dinesh felt a surge of emotions swirling inside him right then and there.
  Excitation.
  Intrigue.
  Fear.
  But there was no time to dwell on these feelings, because this was the green light he'd been waiting for. It was a call to action; a chance to fulfill the vow he'd made. And as a Catholic with a conscience, he knew he had to accept the challenge. No more flights of fancy, no more fairy tales.
  Now, as Dinesh walked along the sidewalk, he scanned the storefronts and the people passing by. He must have walked this path hundreds of times, but today, under the weight of the knowledge he carried, the cityscape seemed hyperreal, claustrophobic.
  The smells and sounds froze, and when he looked up, he saw a drone swooping past a high-rise building. Electronic surveillance peered down from the sky.
  The short hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and-Holy Mary, Mother of God-his anxiety grew. He sucked in a breath and counted the seconds, then exhaled.
  No, Dinesh did not consider himself a brave man at all.
  In fact, a quiet voice in the back of his mind was telling him to run as fast as he could. Seek cover and hide. But wringing his hands and swallowing, Dinesh suppressed the urge and lowered his gaze. He assured himself that it was best to stay the course. Perhaps the wisest move.
  He remembered what his handler Farah had told him.
  The alphabet soup agencies were always watching. The NSA, the ISI, the CIA. They had eyes and ears everywhere, making it impossible to completely evade their cover. And any clumsy attempt to do so would only single you out for even more surveillance.
  No, all that remained was to understand the scope of Big Brother and then voluntarily and fully embrace it. Farah told him that, despite all their data mining and interception capabilities, the Americans and their allies couldn't track every single person.
  No, the sheer volume of raw intelligence being gathered from multiple sources meant they were constantly inundated with information. Too many images. Too much chatter. Impossible to process it all at once.
  So they settled on a compromised workflow.
  First, they used computer algorithms to find patterns. Red flags. Clues to zero in on. And only after the metadata was organized and systematized were analysts tasked with examining it more closely. But even then, they still encountered a mountain of false positives that needed to be weeded out.
  It was obvious that the Americans and their allies didn't really know what they were looking for. So they collected all the information, stashing it all away for analysis.
  It was an obsession born of fear. Fear of what they couldn't control, what they couldn't foresee. And therein lay their weakness. By relying so heavily on automated technology, they unwittingly created blind spots, gaps, shadows.
  Dinesh knew the best way to use the system was to hide in plain sight. He needed to be as natural as possible and blend into the landscape.
  Kepong was the best place for this. It was outside the Blue Zone, an urban jungle, cramped and teeming, which created a million variables.
  Ideal.
  Dinesh felt calmer. He could breathe easier. He was more confident in the persona he needed to assume.
  I'm just an ordinary person. I'm going to have breakfast. I have no other motives. There's no reason to raise any red flags.
  With this in mind, Dinesh walked up the pedestrian overpass. He crossed the street and walked down the other side.
  A cluster of mamak stalls loomed. Oil sizzled and crackled. The rich aroma of roti and mee wafted in, and the morning crowd milled about, occupying the open-air tables.
  Dinesh pretended to look for a place to sit. He turned back and forth, but to no avail. So, shaking his head and sighing in mock disappointment, he approached the stall.
  He ordered a roti canai with curry and paid the man at the register. Dinesh told him to pack it for takeout. Then he stood at the counter and waited, arms crossed.
  Any moment now. Any moment now...
  At that moment, he felt a woman pass by him. She was so close that he could smell her sweet perfume and her hot breath on his hand.
  It was Farah.
  She put something in the back pocket of his trousers.
  Dinesh blinked but didn't react. He didn't even turn around to see who it was.
  Keep calm. Stay cool.
  He maintained his posture. He didn't touch his pocket. He kept his face impassive and continued to look straight ahead.
  He waited for his food order to be ready, then picked it up and backed away from the mamak stalls, hitting the sidewalk.
  surveillance-detection run.
  He rounded one intersection, then another. He slipped through an alley, crossed a street, then entered the market.
  He glanced around at the noisy vendors selling everything from counterfeit handbags to pornographic DVDs. He paused, turning left, then right, then left again, subtly checking his rear, then emerged at the far end of the bazaar.
  As far as he could tell, no one was following him.
  Dinesh decided he was clean and allowed himself to smile.
  Oh yeah.
  He passed the gauntlet and was proud of himself.
  
  Chapter 22
  
  
  Dinesh Nair
  The bookstore was located in an old heritage building built during World War II. It was a place of nostalgia; a place of memories.
  It had taken him only fifteen minutes to get here, and as he unfastened the barred door at the entrance and pulled it open on its creaking rollers, he felt a slight twinge of regret.
  What did Andre Berthiaume once say?
  We all wear masks, and there comes a time when we can't take them off without removing our own skin.
  Now, more than ever, Dinesh understood that feeling.
  He climbed the wooden stairs, the steps creaking. He approached the door on the landing. He squinted and discovered a few strands of hair stuck in the upper right corner of the door frame. He saw that they were intact; serene.
  Good.
  The previous evening, Dinesh had pulled out some of his hair and deliberately placed it there. It was a simple but effective trick. If anyone tried to pick the lock and break into his shop, the threads would fall out, alerting him to the intrusion and forcing him to take the necessary countermeasures.
  But - thank God - it didn't come to that. No one was spying on him; no one was setting up ambushes. At least not yet.
  He could have installed an old-fashioned alarm system. Maybe even infrared cameras or motion sensors. But then again, doing so would only signal to Big Brother that he has something to hide.
  No, it's better to be restrained.
  Opening the door, Dinesh shook the sweat from his brow and entered his shop. He enjoyed the muted sunlight filtering through the glass windows. He listened to the flutter of invisible pigeons taking flight from the roof and inhaled the musky scent of a thousand books.
  Dinesh sighed.
  This store was his pride and joy. He started it after retiring as an engineer, and it helped him cope with the grief of his wife's sudden death. It allowed him to come to terms with the tragedy and heal.
  The atmosphere here was unique. Quiet and still. It was a place to escape the harshness of the world; enjoy enchanting stories from bygone eras.
  His favorite novels were classic espionage tales by authors like Joseph Conrad and Graham Greene. He invariably recommended them to every new person who walked into his shop, even offering them tea and biscuits and inviting them to stay a while.
  Most of the time, he'd only meet them once and never see them again. His regular customers were few, meaning he barely made enough to cover the rent. Sad, but understandable. In this digital age of fast downloads and even faster consumption, old books held little appeal.
  Dinesh weighed the pros and cons of his calling more than once. And yes, he considered closing his shop, leaving, emigrating...
  He had two grown sons. They were doctors in Australia. One worked in Melbourne, and the other worked in Hobart. And during their Skype chats, they would constantly nudge him.
  Appa, we don't understand why you're so stubborn. Malaysia is a godforsaken country. Things are getting worse and worse. And we're very concerned about your safety. So please pack your bags and come to Australia. We'll take care of you.
  Dinesh was tempted by this offer. Seriously tempted. After all, he missed his sons and thought about them every single day.
  But he still refused to give up. He believed-no, he insisted-that there was still hope. Hope that the country would change; hope that things would improve. And it was this belief that sustained him. He was born a Malaysian and he chose to die a Malaysian.
  Of course, he was not a brave man.
  Not for real.
  But he had to behave as he was, at least in front of his sons.
  C'est la vie .
  Shaking his head, Dinesh walked over to his desk in the corner. He turned on the desk lamp to provide more light, then pulled an envelope out of his back pocket.
  He opened it and pulled out a piece of paper. At first glance, it looked like a fragment of someone's dissertation. In this case, it was an essay exploring the meaning of Captain Ahab's obsession with the whale in Moby-Dick.
  something more .
  He sat down and, hunched over, began to decipher the skip code embedded in the text. First, he selected and wrote down every fifth letter from the essay in a separate notebook. Then, having completed this sequence, he skipped each alphabet by one. For example, "A" became "B," and "M" became "N."
  He continued in this vein until he extracted the true message hidden beneath the surface. And as soon as he did, Dinesh felt his mouth go dry. He blinked hard and glanced at the large round clock hanging on the wall next to him. It was ten minutes to eight.
  Saint Mary, Mother of God.
  His eyes darted to the message. He read it a second time, a third. But... there could be no mistake. The instructions were ominously clear.
  Dinesh suddenly felt unsure and confused.
  It was as if the earth itself had shifted beneath him.
  This doesn't make sense.
  But then again, he was merely a conduit; a means to an end. He saw only one or two pieces of the puzzle. Not the whole thing. Never the whole thing. And he knew he had to see it through, even if he couldn't fully understand his role in it all.
  Rising from his seat, he turned off the desk lamp. He tore out the page he'd written in his notebook and crumpled the deciphered message and essay. He dumped them into the steel bin under the desk.
  He opened a bottle of alcohol and poured it onto the paper. Then, striking a match and throwing it inside, he ignited the paper. He watched it burn until nothing remained but ashes.
  Made.
  Muscles tense, heart pounding, he closed his shop. He placed strands of hair on the front door, then headed home, making sure to take a detour.
  Saint Mary, Mother of God.
  He had no doubt that what was about to happen today in the Blue Zone would be significant. Beyond the horrific.
  
  Chapter 23
  
  
  At 08:00 hours,
  Maya heard Adam knock on her door.
  When she opened it, she saw that he was a common swindler. He leaned against the doorframe, all casual, no softness, as if yesterday's intimacy had never happened.
  Adam lifted his chin. 'Good morning. Did you sleep well?'
  Maya had to stifle a giggle. She wanted to tell him that no, she had been a restless sleeper. She tossed and turned, but she could still taste the bitter aftertaste of the mixed signals he was giving her.
  She longed to confront him, to seek solutions. But-damn it-she wasn't in the mood for another soap opera.
  So she smiled a plastic smile and straightened up. She lied through her teeth. "Slept well. Thanks for asking."
  'Sweet as can be. Are you ready to come down for breakfast?
  'Swept away. Lead the way.
  
  Chapter 24
  
  
  Ton Hotel
  The restaurant was located on the tenth floor, surrounded by mirrored windows overlooking the city streets. The decor was sleek and stylish, draped in soft tones.
  There weren't many people at that hour, and only a third of the tables were occupied. But the buffet was impressive. It was a rich spread of various cuisines. Everything smelled delicious.
  Adam chose the full western - eggs, bacon, toast and coffee.
  Maya chose something lighter - Chinese fish porridge and tea.
  They then chose a seat in a quiet corner in an alcove right by the window. They had forty-five minutes before Hunter came to pick them up, so they could take their time eating and take their time.
  Adam spread raspberry jam on his toast. - So, back to business.
  Maya took a spoonful of steaming oatmeal and sipped it slowly. "Yeah, back to business."
  "Any thoughts on how we will conduct the interview?"
  Maya gritted her teeth. She knew they couldn't avoid this topic forever. It was the proverbial elephant in the room. Their mission. Their purpose.
  Hunter arranged an interview for them with Robert Caulfield. He was their main contact, their first point of contact. The man whose kidnapped son had sparked the Shiite uprising.
  A conversation with him will be, to put it mildly, delicate, and persuading him to tell more about his business interests will be even more difficult.
  Maya exhaled and leaned back. She ran a hand through her hair. "We'll have to tread carefully. I mean, the director is clearly upset. We don't want to add to his pain. But at the same time, we don't want to get his hopes up."
  "Well, my God, if the Agency and JSOC couldn't pinpoint his son with all their spy tricks and gizmos, what chance do we have, right?"
  "Thin or not."
  'Yeah.' Adam took a bite of his toast. He brushed crumbs off his shirt. 'Four months is a hell of a long time to come up with a penny.'
  "The trail has gone cold. And we must do everything possible to fix it."
  'Okay. Let's fix this. Where do you think Khadija is keeping the boy?
  Maya stopped and thought. "It can't be Kuala Lumpur itself. It must be somewhere outside."
  - Somewhere in the countryside? Kelantan? Kedah?
  "Negative. These states are too far away. He must be somewhere closer.
  "This location is probably difficult to track using drones or satellites."
  'Agreed.'
  'So...?'
  - I think... Pahang. Yes, Pahang sounds about right. It's fairly close, and it's the largest state on the peninsula. It's filled with tropical forest. The foliage there is multi-layered, providing optimal camouflage. And the terrain is rugged enough to be inaccessible by vehicle.
  Adam clicked his tongue and picked up his fork and knife. He began digging through his bacon and eggs. "A natural fortress. Easy to hide and protect."
  'Bullseye.'
  "It won't hurt either."
  Maya nodded. "It's a strategic advantage Khadija can't refuse."
  The Orang Asli were the indigenous people of the Malay Peninsula. They were hunter-gatherers, well-adapted to the wild environment, and over generations they developed skills that made them the best trackers in the region.
  In 1948, when the communist uprising took root in the countryside, it was the Orang Asli who came to the defense of their country. Their courage and fighting prowess tipped the scales in the jungle battles, ensuring victory over the communists by 1960.
  Unfortunately, any sense of national gratitude did not last long.
  The government they fought and died for quickly turned against them, wiping them off the face of the earth. Over the decades, logging and land clearing have destroyed their traditional way of life. This plunged them into poverty, and the government further alienated them by forcing them to convert to Sunni Islam.
  And now? Well, the old saying applies.
  The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
  With nothing to lose, the Orang Asli allied themselves with Khadija, and she likely found refuge among them in the rainforests of Pahang, perhaps the country's last great frontier. The irony was bitter.
  Adam said: "Such a wild area must be a frightening place for a city kid like Owen."
  'No doubt about it.' Maya sighed. 'But I read Owen's psychological profile, and he seems like a resilient boy. As long as Khadija doesn't mistreat him, I think he'll survive.'
  "Hey, if all the life-affirming videos we've seen so far are to be believed, Owen is healthy and well-fed. So it's safe to assume he's holding up just fine.
  "Small mercies".
  "Yeah, well, we can't afford to be picky right now. We'll take what we can get...
  And then Maya heard an explosion.
  Boom.
  It rumbled in the distance like thunder, and she felt her desk vibrate.
  Several restaurant patrons gasped and cringed.
  Maya looked out the window next to her. She saw a rising mushroom cloud, unfurling like flower petals, darkening the eastern horizon.
  She blinked and swallowed. She estimated the epicenter was maybe ten kilometers away. Just outside the blue zone.
  Close. Too close.
  Adam frowned. 'What is this? A car bomb?'
  "They must have hit one of the checkpoints."
  "Well, shit. Good morning from the Black Widows.
  Maya winced. She thought of all the casualties, all the collateral damage, and felt her stomach twist.
  Black widows...
  That's what everyone now called the rebels, apparently because most of them were women. They were the widows of Shiites whom Malaysian security forces had been killing for years.
  Black widows...
  Personally, Maya considered the name in bad taste. However, she couldn't deny that it sounded sexy-an Islamic militant group driven by a female personality cult, hell-bent on revenge.
  Maya glanced around the restaurant. She saw worried faces. Diplomats. Journalists. Aid workers. They had come from all over the world to take part in this, as if the current situation were a damned carnival. And she had to wonder how many of them actually understood what they were getting into.
  Outside the hotel, sirens wailed, reaching a crescendo.
  Maya watched as a Stryker armored personnel carrier sped past the intersection below, followed by two fire trucks, then an ambulance.
  Rapid reaction forces are now mobilizing, blocking the entire area around the attack, and clearing up the chaos.
  Adam shrugged and went back to eating, his expression casual. "I think Hunter's going to be delayed. Traffic's going to be heavy for the next couple of hours..."
  Maya turned back to Adam, her cheeks tense, wanting to say something in response.
  But then she was distracted by a flicker of movement to her right.
  A young waitress in a headscarf strolled past their table, holding a tray of drinks. She looked unassuming, unthreatening. But something about her posture was off. Specifically, something about her hand.
  Maya watched, her eyes narrowed.
  And - damn - she saw it.
  It was scar tissue between the woman's thumb and index finger. It was the telltale sign of someone accustomed to constantly shooting a pistol.
  Shooter . _
  The woman stopped mid-step, craned her neck, and met Maya's eyes. And in one fluid motion, she dropped her tray, spilling drinks, and reached under her apron.
  Maya jumped to her feet. "Gun!"
  
  Chapter 25
  
  
  Time slowed to a crawl,
  and Maya could hear her heart beating in her ears.
  She had no time to think, only to react. Her mouth was dry, her muscles were burning, and she threw herself onto the table in front of her, pushing it against the rebel just as she drew her weapon-a Steyr TMP.
  The table legs creaked on the marble floor. Plates and cups overturned and shattered. The edge of the table hit the rebel in the stomach, and she recoiled, pulling the trigger, firing her machine gun.
  The window behind Maya exploded.
  People were screaming.
  Adam was already up from his seat, drawing his pistol from its holster, raising it into a classic Weaver stance, gripping his weapon with both hands and thrusting it forward, elbows out, getting a sight picture.
  He fired once.
  Twice.
  Three times.
  Blood sprayed into the air, the fedayee spun and fell to the floor, her blouse shredded by bullets. She gasped and wheezed, scarlet drool bubbling on her lips, and Adam pumped two more bullets into her, vaporizing her face, ensuring she was neutralized.
  Maya looked at the dead woman. She felt stunned, confused. And - boom - then she heard another bomb explode in the south. And - boom - another explosion in the north. And - boom - another one in the west.
  It was a chorus of violence.
  Symphony of Chaos.
  And in that terrible moment Maya understood.
  The bombs are a distraction. They already have dormant cells located inside the blue zone. This is a full-fledged attack.
  Blinking hard, Maya pulled out her pistol and saw the chef emerge from the kitchen doorway just beyond the buffet line, crouched low. But-damn it-he wasn't a chef at all. He was a rebel with an Uzi Pro strapped to his shoulder.
  "Contact left!" Maya shouted. "To the left!"
  Tracking the moving fedayee with her pistol, she stepped aside and pulled the trigger, firing as many rounds as she could, her shots smashing into the buffet line, shattering silverware, sending sparks flying, exploding food...
  But - damn - the rebel was fast.
  He rushed about like a monkey and fired back in bursts of three rounds.
  Maya lunged for the column, wincing as bullets whizzed past her head, hissing like angry hornets, and ducked for cover as more gunfire followed, pounding the column itself, showering the air with flying plaster and concrete.
  Maya knew she was being pinned down.
  The rebel took up a superior position behind the buffet line.
  Bad. Very bad.
  Maya swallowed, her fingers tightening around the gun. But out of the corner of her eye, she could see Adam perched in the alcove just to her left.
  He jumped out, firing heavily, distracting the insurgent, then ducked back into cover as the insurgent returned fire.
  Adam rebooted. He dropped the spent magazine and inserted a new one. Then he looked at Maya, raised one finger in a circular motion, and then clenched his fist.
  Bait and switch.
  Maya understood and gave him a thumbs up.
  Adam jumped out again, exchanging shots with the rebel, keeping him occupied.
  Maya tore herself away from the column and dove onto the floor, breathing heavily, crawling and stretching, gliding on her belly, and - yes - she reached the dead rebel woman, still lying where she had been left.
  Maya pulled the Steyr TMP from the woman's lifeless fingers. Then she pulled spare magazines from the cartridge belt under the woman's apron. Then she rolled under the table and reloaded the machine gun.
  At that moment, Maya heard someone screaming to her right and looked out. She saw a civilian woman trying to reach the elevators, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. But before she could get far, her screams were interrupted by gunfire, and she slumped against the wall, turning it red.
  crap...
  Maya bit her lip. She knew they had to end this, and end it now.
  So she fired at the Steyr. She kicked the table for cover and crouched down. "Suppressing fire!"
  Maya leaned out, pulled the trigger of her machine gun, and it bucked in her hands like a wild animal as she opened fire on the rebel. She fired in continuous bursts, forcing him to keep his head down.
  Adam used the distraction to rush forward.
  He circled around and outflanked the fedayee, and before the bastard could even figure out what was happening, Adam had already slipped around the corner of the buffet line and pumped two rounds into his skull.
  Tango down.
  
  Chapter 26
  
  
  Maya inhaled and exhaled.
  She lowered the smoking weapon.
  The air smelled of gunpowder, hot metal, and salty sweat.
  The wind whipped through the restaurant's shattered windows, billowing tattered curtains and the sounds of sirens, helicopters, and gunfire echoed off the cityscape outside.
  Restaurant patrons huddled in corners, shaking, sobbing, traumatized.
  Maya reloaded her Steyr and looked them over. She kept her voice even. "Everyone stay down. Don't move until we tell you. Do you understand? Stay down."
  Maya shuffled forward, still cautious, her pistol at the ready.
  She joined Adam, who had already picked up the dead rebel's Uzi.
  He inserted a fresh magazine into the gun. He pointed to his eyes, then to the kitchen doors beyond the buffet line. They swung slightly, the hinges creaking.
  Maya gritted her teeth and nodded, and they took up positions on either side of the doors. She counted with her fingers, silently whispering.
  Three. Two. One.
  They swung into the kitchen.
  Maya aimed low.
  Adam aimed high.
  They cleared the doorway, then spread out and combed the aisles between the benches, stoves, and ovens. They cut corners, aiming their weapons this way and that.
  "Clearly to the left," Maya said.
  "That"s absolutely right," said Adam.
  All they found were the restaurant's cooks and waiters, stunned and cowering. However, they couldn't afford the luxury of making false assumptions. So they searched every man and woman, just to make sure they weren't armed fedayeen.
  
  Chapter 27
  
  
  The Tays were safe for now.
  Maya and Adam gathered all the civilians on the restaurant's ground floor. Using the first aid kit from the kitchen, they treated and stabilized those with body wounds.
  Unfortunately, not everyone could be saved. Four guests were killed during the shootout. Another, a waitress, suffered two severed arteries and bled to death shortly thereafter.
  For the sake of dignity, Maya and Adam grabbed tablecloths and spread them over the bodies of the fallen civilians. It was the best they could do, given the circumstances.
  Calling for outside help proved difficult. They had no cell phone service, no Wi-Fi, and none of the regular phones in the restaurant worked.
  Maya guessed that the rebels had disabled the cellular networks in the Blue Zone and had also cut the landline telephones inside the hotel itself.
  Insidious.
  Maya checked the dead fedayeen in the restaurant, and they both had walkie-talkies. However, the radios were locked with a four-digit PIN and couldn't be bypassed, meaning they couldn't receive or transmit data. Disappointing.
  Adam clicked his tongue. "What now?"
  Maya shook her head. "The smart thing to do would be to duck. Create a defensive wedge here." She looked at the civilians. "Our first priority should be ensuring their safety. But..." Maya hesitated.
  Adam nodded. "But you want to call in the cavalry. You don't want to wait idly; you twiddle your thumbs."
  "Yeah, well, we don't know what the opposing force is. We don't know how long this will go on...
  hissing whistle boom .
  As if to confirm Maya's words, another explosion thundered near the hotel. She frowned, shifting from foot to foot, nervously.
  She looked out the window and saw black smoke rising from the streets below. She could almost make out the ongoing battle between the police and the rebels.
  hissing whistle boom .
  Another explosion thundered at the intersection ahead.
  A rocket-propelled grenade hit a police patrol car, which caught fire and crashed into a lamp post.
  The wind from the street blew into Maya's face, and she inhaled the acrid stench of burning gasoline.
  Shit.
  It looked bad.
  Adam cleared his throat. 'Okay. Fine. I'll stay here. Fortify this position and guard the civilians. You go and get the satellite phone from your luggage.'
  Maya turned to face him. "Are you sure?"
  "We don't really have a choice." Adam shrugged. "The longer we wait, the more this shit will get. Okay?"
  Maya pursed her lips and sighed. She saw no reason to dispute this assessment. "Well, copy it."
  'Good. Let's get moving.
  
  Chapter 28
  
  
  Restaurant elevators
  didn't work.
  As well as the service elevator in the kitchen.
  Maya didn't know who had disabled them-the rebels or the hotel security. But she decided that frozen elevators were both a good and a bad thing.
  Good, because anyone trying to break into the restaurant would have to do it the old-fashioned way-through the stairwells. And these were natural chokepoints that could easily be barricaded, blocking a direct assault. But it was also bad, because it meant Maya would have to use the same stairs to get to her room on the twenty-fifth floor. It was a long way, and she could think of several things that could go wrong.
  She could encounter rebels descending from the upper floors. Or rebels ascending from the lower floors. Or rebels approaching from both sides simultaneously, trapping her in a pincer movement.
  Scary.
  Still, on the balance of probabilities, Maya knew that taking the stairs was a much better option than taking the elevator, because she didn't like the idea of being locked in with no room to maneuver, never knowing what she'd encounter when she got up. The elevator doors opened. There was no way she was going to be a sitting duck.
  No fucking way.
  So it was a stairwell. But which one? The main staircase led from the restaurant, and the secondary staircase led from the kitchen.
  After thinking for a bit, Maya chose the secondary one.
  She figured there would be fewer pedestrians on this route, giving her the best chance of avoiding trouble. It was a shaky plan, of course, but it would work for now.
  "Stay frosty." Adam touched her hand and squeezed it gently. "Don't make me follow you."
  Maya smiled. "I'll be back before you have time."
  "Hey, I'll hold you to this."
  "Promises, promises."
  Maya took a deep breath, checked her weapon, and stepped out into the stairwell. Behind her, Adam and several civilians, groaning and breathing heavily, were pushing a refrigerator toward the doorway, blocking it.
  There is no turning back now.
  
  Chapter 29
  
  
  Maya began to rise.
  She kept her machine gun at the ready and stayed on the outside edge of the stairs, away from the railing, closer to the wall.
  She moved at a measured pace, not too fast, not too slow, always maintaining her balance, step by step. And she turned her head from side to side, widening her field of vision, concentrating, listening...
  Maya felt unprotected and vulnerable.
  Tactically, the stairwell was one of the worst places to be. The line of sight was limited, and the firing angles were narrow. It was just too cramped. Definitely not the best place for a firefight.
  Maya felt sweat break out on her forehead, and her skin turned red. There was no air conditioning in the stairwell, making it incredibly hot.
  At that moment, it was oh so tempting to rush forward, pushing herself forward, taking two or three steps at a time. But that would be a mistake. She couldn't afford to upset her balance. Or make too much noise. Or strain herself to the point of dehydration.
  It turns out easy...
  So Maya walked, maintaining her smooth, shuffling gait. She climbed every flight of stairs, swaying on each landing, counting off the floor numbers.
  Fifteen.
  Sixteen.
  Seventeen.
  The muscles in her legs began to burn, but Maya didn't dwell on it. Instead, she practiced what her dad had taught her.
  When we get out of here, Adam and I will have a long vacation on Langkawi's beautiful sandy beach. We'll drink coconut water. Enjoy the sun and surf. And we won't have a thing to worry about. Absolutely nothing.
  It was neurolinguistic programming. Using the future tense. Predicting a healthy outcome. It eased Maya's discomfort and kept her going.
  18.
  19.
  20.
  The door opened with a bang.
  
  Chapter 30
  
  
  May froze.
  Footsteps echoed in the stairwell.
  Several items.
  They were several levels below her, and because she stood far from the railing, they did not see her at first.
  However, when she listened to the rhythm of their movements, it was obvious that they were moving up, not down, which meant that they would soon be close to her.
  Maya gritted her teeth, tensing her shoulders. She leaned toward the railing and quickly glanced around. Once. Twice.
  Five floors below, she caught a glimpse of men moving, gunmetal glinting in the fluorescent light. They were definitely armed.
  Are they rebels? Or hotel security?
  Maya remembered the contractor she'd seen in the lobby the night before. She remembered his apathetic attitude, his lack of skill, and she knew what could have happened.
  The security contractors would have been the first to be singled out and targeted. And the militants would have eliminated them immediately. Hell, that's what I would have done if I'd launched an assault.
  Maya shook her head, frowning. She wasn't expecting a miracle.
  When there is doubt, then there is no doubt.
  She had to assume the subjects approaching her were fedayeen. For now, she held the high ground. It was a tactical advantage. She was above. The rebels were below. And if she initiated contact by shooting at them, she could easily kill one or two before the others could respond.
  And then what? A running gunfight in the stairwell?
  She reminded herself that her goal was to get to her room. Get the satellite phone and call for help. Anything beyond that was reckless sabotage.
  Don't take stupid risks.
  So Maya made her decision. She freed herself, crept up the remaining steps, and slipped through the door on the twenty-first floor.
  
  Chapter 31
  
  
  Maya stepped
  further into the corridor, and she almost tripped over the woman's body.
  She winced, her breath caught in her throat. The woman lay face down, sprawled out, her back riddled with bullets, and next to her was a man with similar wounds.
  Maya leaned over and pressed her fingers to the woman's neck, then to the man's. Neither of them had a pulse.
  Damn it .
  It looked as if the couple had been cut off mid-flight while desperately trying to reach the secondary staircase.
  Maya swallowed, straightened up and stepped over their bodies.
  Sadness gripped her heart.
  She hated leaving them lying like this. It seemed... unworthy. But she had no choice. She had to keep moving. She was exactly four floors below where she needed to be, and now her best bet was to leave the secondary staircase behind and try to reach the main staircase ahead.
  So Maya moved deeper into the corridor, her eyes narrowed, her gaze darting from side to side. And then she heard the sound of approaching footsteps ahead.
  Single subject.
  
  Chapter 32
  
  
  Mu ayi had very few options.
  She couldn't return to the secondary staircase, because doing so would only lead her into the rebels climbing up behind her. And she also couldn't continue moving forward, because whoever was approaching was approaching quickly.
  Maya didn't like the idea of engaging in close combat in a narrow corridor. It would be a shooting gallery; a fatal vortex. It was unlikely to end well.
  So Maya decided the only thing left to do was to return to the intersection just outside the door to the stairwell, where the corridor splits into two parts.
  She ducked around the corner on the left.
  She sat down and waited.
  The footsteps were getting closer and louder.
  Maya heard heavy breathing and sobs.
  It sounded like a woman, confused, scared.
  Civil . _
  Maya exhaled. She was about to go out and help the woman when she heard the door to the stairwell swing open.
  Numerous footsteps were heard in the corridor ahead.
  The voices muttered.
  Maya tensed up.
  Damn it .
  The rebels chose this floor as their exit. Maya heard the woman being grabbed and forced to her knees. She cried, begging for mercy.
  The rebels were going to execute her.
  Maya felt the red-hot adrenaline rushing through her stomach, blurring her vision and heightening her senses. She couldn't allow this atrocity to happen. She had no choice but to intervene.
  
  Chapter 33
  
  
  The oysters flare up,
  Gritting her teeth, Maya turned and dodged left to right, opening fire on the fedayeen in controlled bursts, knocking two of them down with shots to the head as the remaining two rebels realized what was happening and dove for cover.
  The woman screamed and cowered, tears streaming down her face.
  'Run!' Maya screamed. 'Damn it! Run!'
  The woman had the good sense to comply. She jumped to her feet and ran down the corridor, fleeing in the same direction she had come.
  Keep working! Don't stop!
  The surviving rebels returned fire, but Maya had already catapulted out from around the corner, bullets clicking and crackling against the walls.
  The ceiling light exploded into sparks.
  Maya aimed over her shoulder and fired blindly until her Steyr ran out. Then she burst out of the corner and ran, reloading as she went, gulping air, her legs pumping.
  Maya had saved a civilian, but at her own expense. Now she could hear the fedayeen chasing her, shouting obscenities.
  Maya ran to another intersection in the hallway, turned the corner, kept running and came across another intersection, rushed past it, and then suddenly stopped, her eyes wide and her heart frozen.
  Maya looked at the wall.
  Dead end . _
  
  Chapter 34
  
  
  Tone is the only place
  All that was left was to go to the door of the hotel room to the right of her.
  Maya didn't think. She just reacted.
  She fired her machine gun into the door frame, emptying her Steyr's magazine and splintering the wood, and in a desperate leap, she slammed her shoulder into the door, feeling the bone-piercing blow.
  The door gave way just as gunfire erupted behind it, bullets piercing the carpet just inches away.
  Gasping for breath, Maya fell into the doorway of the room.
  She drew her pistol and fired blindly to keep the rebels at bay while she reloaded her Steyr. Then, switching weapons, she fired blindly with the Steyr while she reloaded her pistol, until eventually she ran out of Steyr ammo.
  All Maya had left was her gun.
  Bad. Very bad.
  She knew she was in dire straits. She was trapped in a room with no way to escape. And then she heard the telltale sound of a fragmentation grenade bouncing and rolling down the hallway.
  One, a thousand...
  The grenade rested against the doorframe. Maya stared at it. She knew it had a timer fuse. She only had a couple of seconds.
  Two, two thousand...
  Gasping, she reached out, grabbed the grenade and threw it back.
  Three, three thousand...
  The grenade exploded in the air, and Maya covered her head, feeling the shock wave roll down the corridor.
  The walls were shaking.
  The cosmetic mirror fell and broke.
  But that didn't stop the fedayeen. They continued to advance, shooting furiously, attacking furiously, and Maya had no choice but to leave the doorway and retreat further into the room.
  She darted behind the bed and fired back, but her pistol was no match for their automatic weapons. Now they were right in the doorway, shooting everywhere.
  The bed exploded into fluff.
  The chair overturned and fell apart.
  Maya dove into the bathroom. She rushed into the tub just as the shots ricocheted off the ceramic. Her ears were ringing, her mouth was dry.
  Good God.
  The bastards had her pinned to the ground. Now she could hear them entering the bathroom. They were almost next to her-
  Then another barrage of gunfire erupted from behind the fedayeen, and-damn it-they both flinched mid-motion and fell.
  Maya heard a flurry of voices.
  "X-ray down."
  "Clearly left."
  "Purely correct."
  "Everything is clear."
  Maya blinked and looked up, breathing in short bursts, her heart still pounding.
  Commandos in dark combat uniforms stood over the bodies of dead rebels, looking like high-tech ninjas. They were JSOC operators. General MacFarlane's boys. They aimed their rifles at Maya.
  So she dropped the gun and raised her empty hands, grinning wearily. 'Friendly. I'm friendly. And, hey, I've got a bunch of civilians holed up in the restaurant on the tenth floor. They really, really need your help.'
  The operators exchanged glances, then lowered their weapons, extended a hand, and helped Maya out of the bathtub.
  
  Chapter 35
  
  
  It was evening,
  and two Apache helicopters circled in the hazy sky, keeping watch, their hulls shimmering in the fading light.
  Maya studied them for a moment before looking down. She was sitting with Adam in what remained of the hotel's ground-floor bar.
  A nearby swimming pool was stained a sickening red with spilled blood, and around them, rescuers were busy tending to the wounded and loading the dead into body bags.
  The air smelled of antiseptic, ash and gunpowder, and somewhere in the distance, sporadic gunshots crackled, a reminder that pockets of rebel resistance still remained elsewhere in the city.
  For the most part, however, the siege was over. A measure of calm descended on the hotel. But it didn't feel like victory.
  Maya took a long swig from the bottle of vodka. She wasn't much of a drinker and hated the taste, but the pleasant burn of the alcohol helped calm her frayed nerves. It took the edge off the adrenaline and eased her thinking.
  It took Delta Force and Navy SEAL operators almost the entire day to complete their sweep of the hotel. Room by room, corner by corner, they dislodged and neutralized the enemy, freeing the hostages held in the basement.
  Overall, it was a decent operation. It was accomplished in numbers. And now... well, now comes the inevitable cleanup.
  Maya set the bottle down on the bar. She hunched over and rubbed her temples. "Damn day."
  Adam shrugged. "It could have been a lot worse if we hadn't stopped the attack on the restaurant."
  Maya puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. "Well, hurray."
  - You're starting to doubt yourself. Don't.
  "We could have done more. Much more. And, damn it, we should have seen it coming.
  'Maybe. Maybe not.
  'Ugh. I love your pearls of wisdom. I really do.
  It was then that Maya noticed Hunter approaching. A woman stood beside him. She was tall, fit, and fair-haired, moving with the confident grace of a dancer.
  Adam waved at them. "Hello, comrades. Join us. It's happy hour."
  "Happy hour, my ass." Hunter chuckled weakly. His face was tired and drawn. He looked like he'd just been through the seventh circle of hell. "Maya, Adam, I'd like you to meet my partner, Yunona Nazareva."
  Juno shook their hands, her grip firm and enthusiastic. "It's nice to finally meet you two. My, the JSOC snake-eaters are so full of platitudes. I call you the Dynamic Duo."
  Maya smiled as everyone sat down. "Is this good or bad?"
  Juno tossed her hair back and laughed. "Well, yowza, when those archers give you such a nickname, it's good. Definitely good. You should wear it as a badge of honor."
  Juno spoke with a slight Californian accent, but Maya could see the darkness lurking behind her bright eyes. Juno wasn't just another frivolous surfer girl. Hell no. That sparkling greeting was just an act, a masquerade designed to confuse the uninitiated and the uninitiated.
  Beneath it all, Maya considered Juno cunning and clever. Very clever, even. Definitely not someone you could afford to underestimate.
  also earned the good general's favor."
  Maya raised her eyebrows. "MacFarlane?"
  "Mm-hmm. That's why he sent two teams of operators after you when you didn't answer your satellite phone. It wasn't really under his jurisdiction, and the Malaysians are annoyed that he didn't trust them enough to retake the hotel himself. But, oh, you've clearly taken a liking to the man. So he's willing to break a few balls to make it happen."
  Maya exchanged a knowing glance with Adam. 'Well, well. Looks like we'll have to thank the good general when we see him.'
  Adam grinned. 'Yeah. Copy that.'
  Hunter rubbed the back of his head. His shoulders were tense. "We would have gotten there sooner. But, you know, we faced that embassy firestorm ourselves. They threw mortars, RPGs, rockets at us. And we lost three of our Marines."
  "Damn it." Adam winced. "Sorry to hear that."
  Juno snapped her fingers. "Closest fight I've ever seen. Hair-raising. But hey, we gave better than we got. That's gotta count for something, right?"
  Hunter sighed and shook his head. "We were luckier than most. The sleeper bombers hit bus depots, supermarkets, even a medical school. They had students who were supposed to graduate today. And then-boom-a fucking suicide bomber blew herself up in the middle of the ceremony. Vaporized those poor kids."
  'Damn.' Maya breathed in. 'The scale and coordination of this thing... I mean, how did Khadija even do that?'
  Juno threw her hands up in frustration. 'The short answer? We don't know. This is a complete intelligence failure. Sure, we got a little bit of terrorist chatter last week, but nothing that would point us to any serious asymmetrical activity. I'm telling you, Chief Raynor is pissed. After this, we're going to have to kick some ass and take names. Like, for real. Difficult. No stone left unturned.'
  Adam pointed. "The fact that Khadija was able to accommodate so many sleepers in the Blue Zone is proof of a major security breach. The way the Malaysian administration is running the show doesn't exactly inspire confidence."
  Hunter snorted. "What are you talking about, buddy?"
  At that moment, Maya noticed a familiar face. It was the woman she had previously saved from the fedayeen. Medics loaded the woman onto a stretcher and took her away. She appeared to have been shot in the leg.
  The woman smiled at Maya and waved weakly.
  Maya nodded and waved back.
  "Who is this?" Hunter asked.
  - The civilian I saved. She was seconds away from being eliminated.
  "Mm. Her lucky day.
  "After that she'll have to buy a lottery ticket."
  - Well, no way. Adam crossed his arms and cleared his throat. - But too much for our unofficial cover, huh? We're not going to be known as humanitarian workers anymore. Not after our little adventure.
  "I can't help it." Maya shrugged. She turned and looked at Hunter and Juno. "But listen, we still need to interview Robert Caulfield. Is that feasible? Is the man still up for it?"
  "Right now?" Hunter asked.
  - Yeah, right now. We can't afford to wait.
  Juno pulled a satellite phone out of her bag. 'Okay. Let's call ahead and find out, okay?'
  
  Part 3
  
  
  Chapter 36
  
  
  Dinesh Nair was sitting
  in the living room of his apartment. He was surrounded by lit candles and listening to his battery-powered radio.
  Reports from the Blue Zone were speculative and fragmentary, but it was clear that the fighting had subsided. It took most of the day, but security forces had finally brought order to the chaos.
  As expected.
  Dinesh rubbed his face. His jaw was tense. He'd heard enough. Rising from the couch, he turned off the radio. He padded to his balcony and opened the sliding door, stepping out and leaning against the railing.
  The sun had almost set, and there was barely a breath of wind. The air was humid, and without electricity, Dinesh knew he couldn't rely on the air conditioner to bring him any relief tonight.
  Sweat beaded under his shirt as he stared out at the urban landscape beyond. A dusk-to-dawn curfew was in effect, and only in the distance could he discern any significant light, mostly from the Blue Zone.
  Dinesh clasped his hands around the railing.
  Frankly, he couldn't remember the last time Kepong had lost power. Until now, he'd been fortunate to live in one of the few areas untouched by the rebels, and he almost took his good fortune for granted.
  But no more.
  The front lines of this war have shifted and hidden plans have been put into action.
  Dinesh sighed.
  What did Tom Stoppard once say?
  We cross our bridges as we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except the memory of the smell of smoke and the assumption that our eyes once watered.
  Oh, yes. Now he understood the torment of this feeling.
  Still, Dinesh couldn't fully comprehend his role in all of this. Yes, part of him was proud that Khadija had activated him. He felt honored by her trust. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to prove himself.
  But another part of him was restless and dissatisfied, because what he'd been called to do seemed too simplistic. He'd been ordered to stay home and wait until the assault on the Blue Zone was over. Wait for Farah to get in touch.
  And when exactly will this happen? And in what form?
  He was eager to find out, because the stakes were now higher than ever. And yes, he felt vulnerable and scared.
  The brutality of the uprising was now palpable, like a powerful scent in the air. It was so thick he could almost taste it. It was sickeningly real, no longer abstract, no longer hypothetical. Not like yesterday.
  Yes, Dinesh knew he was now part of the plan. He just wasn't sure to what extent. And that's what troubled him-his own inability to appreciate the depth of his involvement.
  But... maybe he was looking at this thing wrong. Maybe it wasn't his place to ask so damn much.
  After all, what did his handler, Farah, once tell him? What term did she use? OPSEK? Yes, operational security. The plan was isolated and fragmented, and no one was supposed to know everything.
  Exhaling, Dinesh leaned back from the balcony railing. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stared at it. There was still no reception.
  He groaned. He knew his sons would have heard the bad news by now and would undoubtedly try to contact him. They would be alarmed.
  He suspected that if he didn't get in touch soon, his sons might resort to something drastic, like taking the first available flight out of Australia. They would do it out of love, without hesitation, without preamble.
  Normally, that would be a good thing. But not now; not like this. Because if they really come, it will only complicate matters and throw everything out of balance. And once again, they will push him to leave Malaysia, to emigrate. And this time, he might not have the strength to say "no."
  I can't let that happen. Not now. Not when we're so close to achieving something special.
  Dinesh shook his head. He had a satellite phone hidden under the kitchen tiles. Farah had given it to him only in emergencies.
  So... is this an emergency? Does that count?
  He frowned and rubbed his forehead. He struggled with himself, weighing the pros and cons. In the end, he gave in.
  I need to be sure. I need to be sure.
  Dinesh returned to the living room. Yes, he would use the satellite phone to call his eldest son in Hobart. Dinesh assured him everything was fine. And he would discourage either son from flying to Malaysia, at least for the time being.
  But Dinesh knew he had to be careful with this. He had to limit his communication. No idle chatter. He had to keep it under ninety seconds. Any longer, and the Americans could intercept the call, maybe even trace it.
  Dinesh walked into the kitchen. He approached the stove and leaned his weight against it, pushing it aside. Then he crouched down and began ripping tiles from the floor.
  Dinesh knew he was breaking protocol and taking a risk. But the circumstances were exceptional, and he trusted Farah would understand.
  I can't let my boys come here and find out what I'm doing.
  Dinesh removed the tile. He reached into an empty compartment under the floor. He pulled out a satellite phone and tore open the bubble wrap.
  Returning to the balcony, he turned on the satellite phone and waited for it to connect. Then, suppressing his anxiety, he began dialing.
  Dinesh reminded himself of discipline.
  Ninety seconds. No more than ninety seconds.
  
  Chapter 37
  
  
  Maya and Adam
  They loaded their luggage into Hunter's Nissan and left the Grand Luna Hotel. For operational security reasons, they decided they would not return.
  Sitting in the backseat with Juno, Maya watched the cityscape flash by. Street after street was pockmarked with battle damage. The burned-out hulks of civilian vehicles. Paramilitary forces cordoned off and sealed off entire blocks.
  Maya ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head.
  Incredible.
  In any case, today's offensive proved that Khadija was ready and willing to go all the way. And now she was clearly upping the ante. She wanted to show the world that nowhere-not even the Blue Zone-was safe from the rebels. It was a psychological victory.
  Victory of Khadija.
  But that wasn't the message that was conveyed to the mainstream. Of course not. It was too complicated; too destructive.
  So something else had to take its place. Something simpler. So the official story was that Malaysian police and military successfully repelled the attack, killing most of the fedayeen, taking a few into custody, and saving the lives of thousands of innocent civilians.
  It was a heroic story, easily digestible, easily summarized, and every news agency eagerly picked it up and ran with it. CNN, BBC, Al Jazeera, everyone.
  Unfortunately, this was just a propaganda ploy.
  Yeah, political nonsense.
  Because the real truth was uglier.
  When the first explosions occurred this morning, Malaysians didn't react quickly enough. They were confused, disorganized, and overwhelmed. Then, incredibly, several police and military officers actually turned their guns on their colleagues, and the situation quickly deteriorated.
  The ecclesiastical chain collapsed, and the Blue Zone plunged into near-total anarchy. And the fog of war thickened. Conflicting messages led to information overload, leading to battlefield paralysis.
  There was no single solution, no formal strategy.
  Finally, amidst the orgy of violence, General MacFarlane and Chief Raynor had to intervene and assume direct control. They established discipline and organized a counterattack, and perhaps it was a good thing they did. Because if they hadn't, the siege would have been longer, bloodier, and God knows what the final losses would have been.
  But damn it, the world can't know about this. They couldn't be allowed to know that it was JSOC and the CIA that ended the siege. Because if they did, it would undermine confidence in the Malaysian regime.
  Washington, for its part, was determined to prevent this. The administration in Putrajaya-corrupt and ailing-had to be kept in place by any means necessary, regardless of the cost.
  The most important asset here was the Strait of Malacca. It was a narrow waterway that cut a sliver between the Malay Peninsula and the Indonesian island of Sumatra. Its width at its narrowest point was just under three klicks, but its small size belied its enormous strategic importance. It was one of the busiest sea routes in the world, serving as a gateway between the Indian and Pacific Oceans.
  This made it an ideal bottleneck.
  The fear was that if the Malaysian regime collapsed, it could lead to a domino effect, and soon the entire region could be consumed. Or so the thinking went.
  Maya inhaled and looked at Juno. "Hey, do you mind if I ask, what's the game plan right now? How will the main bosses react to what happened today?"
  Juno craned her neck and shrugged. "Well, with all the crap that happened, the rules of combat are going to change. Radically."
  'Meaning...?'
  "This means that JSOC used to strike one or two locations a night. But McFarlane has secured the president's approval to expand the list of high-value targets. Now he intends to hit at least ten locations. And he wants to do it faster. Harder. Unilaterally.
  Adam, sitting in the front passenger seat, nodded slowly. "So... the general wants to kick down doors and drag suspected rebels out of their beds without consulting the Malaysians."
  Hunter tapped the steering wheel. 'Absolutely right. He certainly won't wait for their approval. If there's information that can be used, he'll get to it right away. And he'll do it with his own ninjas, if necessary.'
  - And what does Raynor think about all this?
  'The Chief? He's cautiously optimistic. He wants to drain the swamp as much as MacFarlane does. So he's all for accelerating capture/kill operations. The Agency and JSOC will work hand in hand. Total synergy. Total symbiosis.
  - Aren't you worried about the alienation of Malaysians?
  "Oh, who cares about the Malaysians? Let them throw their tantrums. What are they going to do? Drive us out of the country? Of course not. They need us, and we won't let them forget that."
  Maya frowned and shook her head. "Excuse me, but don't you think you're being a bit hasty with this?"
  Hunter glanced at Maya in the rearview mirror. He looked annoyed. 'Too fast? How?'
  "I mean, you say you're going to expand your list of important targets. But how do you decide who's a legitimate target and who's not?"
  "Who qualifies? Hell, it's simple. Anyone who aids or abets the rebels, directly or indirectly. That's the standard we use. That's the standard we've always used."
  'Okay. But I just question the methodology of this. Because it takes time to gather human intelligence. Develop assets. Check what's real and what's not...'
  Hunter snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "That"s in the past. And it"s too slow. Now we"re going to get real-time intel. We"ll swoop in. Kill anyone who resists. Capture anyone who complies. Then we"ll interrogate those prisoners. Sweat them. And we"ll use any information we gain to go on the road and conduct more capture/kill operations. It"s a noose, don"t you see? Absolutely surgical. The more night raids we run, the more we learn. And the more we know, the better we"ll analyze terrorist cells."
  Adam shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm assuming... well, there will be additional resources allocated to all of this?"
  Juno grinned and began to sing-song, "Bingo. More cash. More operators. More fireworks."
  - Sounds serious.
  - Worse than a damn heart attack, baby.
  Maya stared at Juno, then at the Hunter, her throat tightening. It was clear her emotions were running high. They were thirsty for escalation, thirsty for blood.
  But damn it, by rushing things and rushing things, they only increased the likelihood of mistakes, increasing collateral damage and paving the way for greater returns.
  This was mission creep at its worst. A recalibration so far-reaching, so total, that there would be no turning back. And Maya had a bad, bad feeling about it.
  But, pressing her cheeks together, she sucked in a breath and decided not to press the issue any further. It sounded as if the powers that be had already made their decision, and the war was about to enter a completely new phase.
  What did dad love to say?
  Oh yeah.
  Our question is not why. Our business is to do or die.
  
  Chapter 38
  
  
  Robert Caulfield was
  a wealthy person.
  He lived in Sri Mahkota, a gated community favored by wealthy expatriates. The architecture of the villas there was reminiscent of the Mediterranean-all stucco, arches, and palm trees. Even at dusk, everything looked imposing, larger than life.
  As the Hunter herded them into the walled complex, Adam whistled. "If that's not elite exclusivity, I don't know what is."
  - Well, jeepers. Juno giggled. "If you've got it, flaunt it."
  - While Rome burns?
  "Especially when Rome is burning."
  Maya noticed that security had been tightened here.
  The perimeter was dotted with guard towers and machine gun nests, and patrolled by men in tactical uniforms, armed with assault rifles and automatic shotguns, their faces serious.
  They belonged to a private military company called Ravenwood. Yes, they were elite mercenaries. Nothing compared to the cheap hired cops at the Grand Luna Hotel.
  Maya usually hated the thought of being surrounded by soldiers of fortune. Even in the best of times, she was wary of their motives. And why shouldn't she be? These were people who fought not out of duty or patriotism, but in pursuit of the almighty dollar. Moral restraints, if they had any, were subordinated to speculation. And this always irritated Maya.
  But damn, she had to put her prejudices aside and make an exception here. Because greed, at least, was easier to predict than religious ideology, and if she had a choice, she'd rather deal with foreign mercenaries than local police or military, especially given the current political climate.
  Time give me a cool professional instead of a religious defector.
  Maya continued to explore the surroundings and noticed the lack of battle damage. Everything here looked pristine, neatly maintained, and fully functional.
  It was obvious the rebels hadn't attempted to attack this location at all. Perhaps it was because they couldn't get any sleeping quarters inside. Or perhaps it was because they had exhausted all their resources attacking other locations.
  In any case, Maya was not about to fall into a false sense of complacency.
  She will remain vigilant; assume nothing.
  Hunter turned down an alley. He stopped at a checkpoint. Just beyond it was Robert Caulfield's mansion, easy to miss. It was large, imposing, decadent.
  Five mercenaries surrounded Maya and her team as they exited the car.
  A mercenary with sergeant stripes on his shoulders stepped forward. He held an Apple iPad and swiped his finger across the touchscreen. "Hunter Sharif. Juno Nazarev. Maya Raines. Adam Larsen." He paused and checked the photo IDs on the screen again. He nodded briefly. "Mr. Caulfield sent us to escort you."
  Maya smiled thinly. 'Good to know. Please lead the way, Sergeant.'
  
  Chapter 39
  
  
  Maya the chicken stepped forward
  When she walked into Robert Caulfield's house, she thought it looked chic. The interior is neoclassical-clean lines and open spaces, adorned with Impressionist art and Scandinavian furniture.
  Everything here was in perfect symmetry, perfect balance.
  Everyone except the man himself.
  When they entered the living room, Caulfield was pacing back and forth, his massive frame radiating an uneasy energy. He was wearing a three-piece suit, tailored, Italian, and expensive. A bit showy, considering the time and place.
  It was then that Maya knew Caulfield was a Type A personality. He was a consummate perfectionist. A man who preferred others to wait for him rather than him waiting for others.
  "It's about damn time. Totally!" Caulfield grinned when he saw them, his meaty face twisting like a bulldog's. He spun on his heel. "You clowns have kept me waiting all damn day. Waiting and waiting and waiting." He made a 'tsok-tsok' sound and pointed a finger at each of them in turn. "But you know what? I guess I'll have to forgive you, right? 'Cause you were up there playing Jason Bourne, taking care of all the jihadist bastards that kept showing up everywhere. Well, hallelujah! Great job! Excellent! No wonder you're fashionably late." Caulfield threw his hands up and plopped down in a wing chair. "But see, here's what irritates me - jihadist bastards in the Blue Zone. I mean, in the Blue Zone. My God! When a disaster like this happens, and you can't even defend your own territory, how can you expect me to believe you can find and save my son? How? Caulfield slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. "My wife drinks too much and sleeps all day. And on the rare occasions when she doesn't sleep, she walks around in a permanent daze. Zombified. Like she's given up on life. And nothing I say or do changes that. Do you know how hard this has all been for me? You? Well, do you?"
  Caulfield finally-finally-ended his tirade, breathing heavily, clutching his face in his hands and groaning like a mighty locomotive stalled and losing speed. For such a large man, he suddenly seemed terribly small, and in that moment, Maya couldn't help but feel sorry for Caulfield.
  She bit her lip and stared at him.
  In business circles, Caulfield was known as the King of Oil Palms. He had a major stake in hundreds of plantations producing and exporting refined oil, which was used in everything from potato chips to biofuels.
  It was a position of immense power, and Caulfield had a reputation as an apex predator. He was always hungry, always berating his subordinates, always pounding the table. Whatever he wanted, he usually got, and no one ever had the sense to contradict him. That is, until Khadija did. And now Caulfield was faced with his worst nightmare.
  Khadija was someone he couldn't threaten. Someone he couldn't bribe. Someone he couldn't do business with. And it drove him crazy.
  Maya glanced at Adam, then at Hunter, then at Juno. They all froze in place, as if they couldn't figure out how to deal with this brash tycoon.
  Maya clenched her jaw and stepped forward. She knew she had to take charge of this interview.
  Sharpen iron with an iron.
  Slowly, very slowly, Maya sat down in the wing chair across from Caulfield. She took a breath and spoke in a level, even tone. "Frankly, sir, I don"t care about your ego. You"re a bully through and through, and that usually works in your favor ninety-nine percent of the time. But right here, right now, you"re facing a personal crisis unlike anything you"ve experienced before. But you know what? You know all about counterterrorism work. You know all about the sacrifices my colleagues and I have made to get to this point. And your assessment of us is not only unfair, it"s downright insulting. So maybe, just maybe, you should stop whining and show us some respect. Because if you don"t, we can just walk. And, hey, maybe we"ll be back tomorrow. Or maybe we"ll be back next week." Or maybe we'll decide you're too much trouble and won't come back at all. Is that clear enough for you, sir?
  Caulfield removed his hands from his face. His eyes were red, and his mouth trembled, as if he were on the verge of another tirade. But he clearly had changed his mind, so he swallowed hard and tempered his anger.
  Maya studied Caulfield's posture. She saw that he was settled in his chair, his hands on his crotch. A subconscious sign of male vulnerability.
  He was clearly not used to being put in his place, and certainly not by a woman. But this time, he had no choice but to accept it, because he was a smart man and knew what the score was.
  Caulfield muttered through clenched lips, "You're right. I'm so sorry."
  Maya tilted her head to the side. - What is this?
  Caulfield cleared his throat and fidgeted. "I said I was sorry. I was just... upset. But damn, I need your help."
  Maya nodded slightly.
  She kept her poker face.
  Deep down, she hated the thought of acting like a cold bitch, coming across as unfeeling. But that was the only way to deal with Type A personalities. You had to establish ground rules, establish authority, and calm any outbursts. And right now, she had Caulfield exactly where she needed him. He was on an imaginary leash, reluctantly compliant.
  Maya spread her hands. It was a placating gesture, generous but firm. "I know you hired a kidnapping and ransom consultant. I tried to contact Khadija. They offered to negotiate. And you did it, despite the FBI and the US State Department warning you not to. Why?"
  Caulfield's face turned red. "You know why."
  - I want to hear it from you.
  "America... does not negotiate with terrorists. That is the official policy of the president. But... this is my son we are talking about. My son. If I have to, I will break every rule to get him back."
  - But so far it hasn't produced any results, has it?
  Caulfield said nothing. His blush deepened, and his right foot began to tap the floor, a sure sign of desperation.
  Like a drowning man, Maya could see he was itching to grab onto something. Anything. She was counting on giving it to him. "You're wondering what makes Khadija different from others. Why she's rejecting all your attempts to communicate with her. Why doesn't she simply agree to ransom your son?"
  Caulfield blinked and frowned. He stopped fidgeting and leaned forward. 'Why...? Why not?'
  Maya leaned forward, mimicking his pose, as if sharing a secret conspiracy. "That's her name."
  'Which?'
  "Her name." Maya raised her eyebrows. "Here"s a little history lesson. A little over fourteen hundred years ago, there lived a woman named Khadija on the Arabian Peninsula. She was a businesswoman, belonging to a powerful tribe of merchants. She was self-sufficient. Ambitious. And at the age of forty, she met a twenty-five-year-old man named Muhammad. About the only thing they had in common was that they were distantly related. But other than that? Well, they couldn"t be more different. She was rich and educated, and he was poor and illiterate. A total mismatch. But hey, what do you know? Love took root and blossomed anyway. Khadija found herself drawn to Muhammad and his prophetic message of a new religion. And she became the first convert to Islam." Maya paused. Raised a finger for emphasis. "Well, that"s the key point." Because if Khadija had never married Muhammad, if she had never used her wealth and influence to advance her husband's message, then it's likely that Muhammad would have remained a nobody. Doomed to wander the desert sands. Likely to fade into the annals of history. Never leaving his mark..."
  Maya stopped immediately and leaned back in her seat. She let the silence underscore the moment, and Caulfield was now rubbing his hands, looking at the floor, deep in thought. No doubt using his renowned intellect.
  Finally, he licked his lips and gave a hoarse laugh. 'Just let me get this straight. You're saying that... Khadija-our Khadija-models herself after the historical Khadija. That's why she won't compromise with me. I'm evil. I'm an infidel capitalist. I represent everything that contradicts that woman's beliefs.'
  Maya nodded. "Mm-hm. That's correct. But with one crucial difference. She actually believes God speaks to her. For example, she claims to hear the voice of the Almighty. And that's how she attracts followers. She convinces them she sees their past, present, and future."
  'What kind? For example, a psychic?
  - Yes, foresight. Clairvoyance. Call it what you will. But the thing is, she took Owen because she has a grand plan. A divine plan...
  Caulfield snorted. 'So? How does this gibberish help us?'
  Maya sighed and glanced at Adam. She decided it was time to shift gears and change the rhythm. Add another authoritative voice to the equation.
  Adam crossed his arms. He took this as his cue to speak. "Sir, this isn't just gibberish. On the contrary, understanding Khadija's beliefs is vital. Because they form the basis of everything-her beliefs guide her thoughts; her thoughts guide her words; and her words guide her actions. By analyzing all of this, we were able to create a Myers-Briggs psychometric profile. And Khadija falls into the ISFJ personality type-introverted, sensing, feeling, judging."
  Maya turned to Caulfield. "In simple terms, Khadija has a protective personality. And she sees herself as a caregiver. Like Mother Teresa. Or Rosa Parks. Or Clara Burton. Someone who strongly identifies with the oppressed and downtrodden. Someone who will do anything to correct a perceived social imbalance." Maya nodded. "And for Khadija, the motivation is much stronger. Because she believes her people are being killed. Their traditional heritage is being destroyed."
  Adam lifted his chin. "That's why she posts life-affirming videos straight onto the internet. The son of a known American infidel? Oh, right. That's what makes a story newsworthy. Otherwise, what's happening in Malaysia would be just another civil war in another Third World country. It's easy for the world to ignore. It's easy for the world to forget. But Khadija can't have that. She needs her case to be special. Memorable."
  Maya said, "She also knows that as long as she has Owen, the United States will avoid retaliatory air strikes for fear of harming him. He's a human shield, and she'll keep him close. And by close, I mean close to her. Because right now, he's the best propaganda tool she has."
  Caulfield gritted his teeth now. He ran a hand over his bald head. "But none of this gets us any closer to getting my boy back."
  Adam grinned. "On the contrary, profiling Khadija is the first step to getting him back. And we can say with some certainty that she's holding him somewhere in the rainforests of Pahang."
  Caulfield stared at Adam incredulously. "How do you know that?"
  "Strategically, it makes sense. It's close enough to Kuala Lumpur, but far enough away. And it offers plenty of cover and concealment. The topography is difficult to observe or penetrate."
  "So how the hell does this woman upload all these videos?"
  "It's simple-she avoids electronic communication as much as possible and relies on a network of couriers to transport information in and out of the wilderness. That's her command-and-control structure. Old school, but effective."
  Caulfield slapped his hand on his knees, laughing bitterly. 'Oh, great. So that's how she runs around the CIA. Being a Luddite and using prehistoric methods. Fantastic. Fascinating. Are you bored? Because I'm damn sure...'
  Hunter and Juno exchanged confused glances but said nothing.
  Maya leaned forward and gave Caulfield a guarded smile. "It's not a dead end, sir. Because I can promise you: relying on a courier network is, essentially, a chink in Khadija's armor. And if we can crack that vulnerability and exploit it, we have a good chance of tracking her down."
  Adam nodded. "And if we can find Khadija, then we can find your son, too. Because this whole thing is like a ball of yarn. All we have to do is find one tiny thread and pull it. And it will all unravel."
  Caulfield inhaled sharply and leaned back in his seat. He shook his head very slowly, a look of resignation crossing his face. "Well, I sure hope you secret agents know what you're doing. I sure as hell hope so. Because my boy's life depends on it."
  
  Chapter 40
  
  
  The hour gave
  a tired groan as he drove them away from Robert Caulfield's house. "I hate to break it to you, but I think you're pushing your luck too far. This man is a major Super PAC donor in Washington circles. Trust me, you don't want to promise him something you can't deliver."
  "Caufield was confused and irritated," Maya said. "I needed to calm him down. Reassure him that we were doing everything we could to resolve the situation."
  - Giving him false hope?
  - This is not false hope. We have a plan to bring Owen back. And we will see it through.
  Juno pursed her lips. "Hey, there's the truth, titmouse-we don't have any real data right now. We don't even have a clue how Khadija manages her couriers."
  "Not yet." Adam pointed. "But we can start with the obvious-with today's assault on the Blue Zone. First, the sleepers cleared security. Then they secured some sweet weapons and equipment. And then they unleashed the violence in a synchronized manner. And the fact that Khadija coordinated all of this without causing any danger shows a certain degree of sophistication, don't you think?"
  "God, this shows how corrupt the Malaysian administration is. And whatever we decide to do from now on, we'll have to do it without relying on these clowns."
  "I agree," Maya said. "Local politicians are playing a two-faced game. At least some of them are complicit. There's no argument there. But still, how come your field agents didn't notice any warning signs in advance?"
  "Well, hey, because we weren't paying enough attention to what was happening on the ground," Juno said. "We were too busy with what was happening outside the Blue Zone to what was happening inside. And Khadija apparently took advantage of that and moved her sleeping quarters without us noticing."
  Hunter straightened his shoulders. "Yes, she used the neckline."
  Maya nodded. "Maybe a few clippings."
  In intelligence parlance, the undercover agent was a go-between, responsible for transmitting information from the handler to the sleeper, part of a secret chain of command. And, by design, this agent was often isolated; he worked only on a need-to-know basis.
  Hunter sighed. 'Okay. What kind of cutouts do you mean?'
  "It could be something as simple as a postman working a dead drop during his daily routine. Or it could be something as complex as a shopkeeper sweeping a broom while running a legitimate kedai rankit. The point is, the network needs to look natural. Ordinary. Integrated into everyday life. Something your cameras, blimps, and agents wouldn't notice."
  'Fair enough. Khadija's agents are hiding in plain sight. So how do we find them?
  - Well, no one throws a stone into a lake without leaving a ripple. It doesn't matter how small the stone is. It still leaves a ripple.
  "Ripple? What? You're going to give us Stephen Hawking's dissertation now?
  "Look, at the strategic level, Khadija typically avoids electronics. We've established that. That's why there were no phone calls to listen in on before the attack; no emails to intercept. But what about the tactical level? And during the attack itself? I mean, I can't imagine Khadija with couriers running back and forth while bombs are exploding and bullets are flying. It's just not realistic."
  "Okay," Juno said. "So you're saying she still uses electronic communication when she needs it?"
  "Selectively, yes." Maya unzipped her backpack and pulled out one of the walkie-talkies she'd taken from the dead fedayeen in the hotel restaurant. She handed it to Juno. "That's what I'm talking about. An encrypted two-way radio. That's what the Tangos used during the assault."
  Juno stared at the radio. "That's sophisticated equipment. Do you think Khadija actually used it for real-time command and control?"
  Khadija herself? Unlikely. I think she would have used couriers to convey instructions before the attack. And during the actual attack? Well, she would have been inattentive. Those sleeping on the ground should have been responsible for coordination. Of course, Khadija gave them an overarching strategy, but they had to implement it at the tactical level, improvising if necessary.
  - Hmm, if that's not a trick, then I don't know what is...
  "Check the serial number on the radio."
  Juno tilted the radio and checked the bottom. 'Well, what do you know? The serial number has been erased and cleaned. It's smooth as a baby's bottom.'
  'Yeah.' Adam grinned. 'We've seen this kind of thing before. And we know who to talk to.'
  Hunter glanced to the side. 'Really? Who?'
  
  Chapter 41
  
  
  Tay did it
  their way to the city center in Chow Kit.
  This was the seedier side of the Blue Zone, where open-air night markets and sweatshops jostled for space next to brothels and massage parlors, and in the middle of it all stood apartment buildings, grey and faceless, rising like monuments from another era.
  It was a workers' ghetto, where people were crammed into block-sized apartments and urban decay festered everywhere.
  Looking out the car window, Maya noticed the neighborhood was swarming with a surprisingly large number of cars and pedestrians. It was as if the locals weren't overly concerned about the Blue Zone being invaded. Or perhaps they were simply fatalistic in their outlook, oblivious to the event and accepting it calmly.
  Maya couldn't blame them.
  These people were the lower class-peddlers, laborers, servants. They were the ones who kept the wheels of civilization turning, doing all the hard work that no one else wanted to do. This meant maintaining roads and buildings, transporting food and supplies, cleaning up after the rich and privileged...
  Maya's eyes scanned the area, but she couldn't find any signs of battle damage. Apparently, the fedayeen had focused on attacking more prosperous areas, leaving Chow Kit out of the picture.
  Maya thought about it.
  Unlike Robert Caulfield's heavily guarded residence in Sri Mahkota, security here was minimal. After all, no one wanted to waste resources on caring for the poor. In any case, the poor were expected to fend for themselves.
  So Khadija avoided Chow Kit not because she feared resistance. No, her reasons were deeper. Maya believed the woman was following a Robin Hood strategy: strike the rich but spare the poor.
  By targeting the richest one percent, she demonstrates solidarity with the poorest ninety-nine percent. She makes the oppressed root for her, and in the process, she fuels even more resentment against the ruling elite.
  These were classic psychological operations.
  To shake hearts and minds.
  Divide and conquer.
  This means we're falling behind, playing catch-up. And we damn well need to fix this ASAP.
  Maya unbuckled her seatbelt as Hunter steered the car into a dirty alley. He parked behind a dumpster and turned off the engine.
  When Maya came down, she inhaled the smell of rotting garbage. Cockroaches scurried around her feet, and drainpipes gurgled nearby.
  ear audio receiver .
  Since cellular networks were still down, they couldn't rely on their phones to stay in touch. Radio transmitters would serve as the next best thing.
  Next to her, Hunter had similarly equipped himself and put on a songkok, a traditional Malay cap.
  Their Asian features allowed them to pass as a local couple and blend in. It was a technique known as profile reduction-using cultural nuances to conceal one's true intentions.
  Adam and Juno would also be paired. Of course, their Western features meant they would stand out a bit, especially in this area, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
  Clinging to the shadows, Maya slipped past a dumpster and peered out of the alley. She looked into the distance, then up close, observing the pedestrians on the sidewalk and the cars driving by. She paid particular attention to the motorcycles, which locals often rode helmetless, squeezing between the cars.
  Maya remembered what her father taught her about counter-surveillance.
  Feel the street, baby. Use all your senses. Absorb the aura, the vibrations. Immerse yourself in it.
  Maya sighed, her face furrowed in concentration, trying to determine if anything felt out of place. But so far, nothing had registered as a threat. The immediate vicinity seemed clear.
  Maya exhaled, then nodded. 'Okay. Game time.'
  "Okay. Moving." Adam held Juno's hand as they emerged from behind Maya. They darted out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, pretending to be an expat couple out for a leisurely stroll.
  Their very presence created a raised signature, leaving behind ripples.
  That's what I was counting on.
  She waited, giving Adam and Juno a fifteen-second head start, before leaving with Hunter. They weren't holding hands, of course. They were pretending to be a conservative Muslim couple.
  As she walked, Maya relaxed her muscles, feeling her skin tingle with the humidity. She listened to the rhythm of the urban ghetto, the honking of cars around her, the chatter of people in a multitude of dialects. The smell of exhaust fumes hung heavy in the air.
  Straight ahead, Adam and Juno were making good progress. They crossed the street and were already on the other side.
  But Maya and Hunter didn't follow them. Instead, they retreated, taking up a diagonal position at their end of the street, following Adam and Juno at a distance of twenty meters. It was close enough to keep them in sight, but far enough away to not arouse any suspicion.
  Soon Adam and Juno reached an intersection and turned the corner. The pasar malam was straight ahead. The night bazaar. It was brightly lit and colorful. Vendors shouted, offering their wares. The smell of spicy food and exotic aromas wafted through the air.
  But Adam and Juno remained on the outskirts of the bazaar. They hadn't yet dived into the crowd. Instead, they moved in an elliptical loop, skirting the block.
  As expected, they attracted curious glances from the locals around them.
  Maya felt the vibrations.
  Who were this Mat Salleh couple? Why were they wandering around Chow Kit after dark? Were they looking for exotic thrills?
  Yes, Westerners are decadent and strange...
  Maya could almost sense the subconscious thoughts of the locals. It was as tangible as electrical energy. Now she was in the zone, fully focused, her internal radar ticking.
  She pursed her lips, watching the lines of sight, searching for signs of hostile intent. She checked the pedestrians, whether they were trying to mimic Adam and Juno's movements or pretending otherwise. And she scanned the cars around her-parked or passing. She checked to see if anyone had tinted windows, as tinted windows were a surefire lure for secret observers.
  Maya knew how important it was to stay alert.
  After all, their potential opposition here could be the Special Branch.
  They were Malaysia's secret police, tasked with protecting the state and suppressing dissent. They had a habit of sending undercover field teams, colloquially known as pavement artists, to prowl Chow Kit.
  Officially, they did this to keep an eye out for subversive activity. Unofficially, however, their routine was designed to intimidate local residents.
  The Special Branch, like most institutions in Malaysia, was thoroughly corrupt and profited illicitly through "licensing." This was a polite way of saying they ran a racket, extorting regular payments from street vendors and landlords.
  If they paid, life remained bearable.
  But if you don't, your legal documents will be torn up and you risk being kicked out of the Blue Zone.
  Yeah, "license".
  It was a ruthless choice.
  This was the Special Branch's playground, and they were the ultimate bullies. They had a lucrative account, and they would defend it fiercely. This made them sensitive to any intrusion from outsiders.
  In intelligence parlance, Chow Kit was no-go territory - a place where you couldn't hope to survive for long without getting burned.
  Under any other circumstances, Maya would have avoided this area.
  Why tempt fate?
  Why anger their supposed allies?
  This went against the established craft.
  However, Maya knew her asset was a nervous guy. His call sign was "Lotus," and he sent a coded message insisting on meeting only in Chow Kit.
  Of course, Maya could have rejected his request and instructed him to move on. But what would have been the point? Lotus was like a turtle, burying its head back in its shell when it gets agitated.
  Well, we can't have that...
  Maya knew that the asset had to be handled with care.
  She had to make an allowance for that.
  Moreover, Lotus had a compelling reason to insist on Chow Kit. After the Blue Zone offensive, the Special Branch would be preoccupied with forensic and investigative work. They would be focused on combing the high-profile areas where the attacks had occurred, meaning their presence there would be virtually nonexistent.
  There was no better time to meet.
  If we do this correctly, then the risk is managed...
  At that moment, Adam's voice crackled in Maya's earpiece: "Zodiac Real, this is Zodiac One." How are we feeling?
  Maya took another look at her surroundings, then glanced at Hunter.
  He stretched and scratched his nose, which was the signal for a full retreat.
  Maya nodded and spoke into the pinhead microphone, "This is the Current Zodiac." The path is still cold. No observers. No shadows.
  'Copy this. Let's shake things up a bit.'
  'Sounds great. Keep going.'
  Ahead, Adam and Juno began to accelerate. They swerved left, only to turn right at the last moment. Then they crossed the street at the next intersection, turning right, only to go left. They moved in a chaotic orbit, aggressively taking the turns. Then they reversed, moving clockwise and counterclockwise, crossing the street again.
  It was a choreographed dance.
  Maya felt the adrenaline warming her belly as she went through the motions, keeping the movements fluid, checking, checking, and rechecking.
  This surveillance run wasn't designed to evade any pavement artists. No, they used Adam and Juno as bait for a reason. The goal here was to tease a response and eliminate any possible exposure.
  As much as Maya trusted Lotus's judgment that there was no special branch here, she felt it best to test that belief.
  Yes, trust, but verify...
  "How is our thermal state?" Adam asked.
  Maya turned her head, taking another swing. "Still cold as ice."
  'Okay. We're getting back on target.
  'Roger.'
  Adam and Juno slowed their pace and returned to the bazaar, strolling along its outskirts.
  "Are we black?" Adam asked.
  "We are black," Maya said, finally confirming that they were safe.
  'Copy this. Go into the belly of the beast when you're ready.'
  Maya and Hunter quickened their pace and overtook Adam and Juno. Then they entered the bazaar, diving straight into the crowd.
  Maya inhaled the scent of sweat, perfume, and spices. It was hot and stuffy, and vendors all around gesticulated and shouted, selling everything from fresh fruit to counterfeit handbags.
  Maya craned her neck. Directly ahead was a mamak eatery with portable tables and chairs set up.
  She looked from far away to close.
  And... that's when she saw him.
  Lotus.
  He sat at the table, hunched over a plate of ais kacang, a local dessert made of crushed ice and red beans. He wore a sports cap with sunglasses perched on top. It was a pre-arranged signal-he had completed his own SDR and was out of range.
  it was safe to approach.
  
  Chapter 42
  
  
  Runaway
  The man once again awakened raw memories in Maya.
  It was Dad - Nathan Raines - who first hired Lotus as an asset and then turned him into a valuable resource.
  His real name was Nicholas Chen, and he was an assistant superintendent in the Special Branch. He served for twenty-five years, handling everything from geopolitical analysis to counterterrorism. But eventually, he hit a glass ceiling, and his career came to an abrupt halt, all because he was ethnically Chinese, an oddity in an organization predominantly composed of Malays. Worse still, he was a Christian, which put him at odds with his colleagues, all of whom adhered to Wahhabi doctrine.
  Of course, he could have made his life easier by converting to Islam. Either that, or choose early retirement and a move to the private sector. But he was a stubborn man, and he had his pride.
  Dad once told Maya that getting someone to betray their employer isn't that hard. All you need is a simple acronym. MICE - money, ideology, compromise, ego.
  Lotus ticked all these boxes. He was middle-aged and frustrated, feeling like his career was stalling. Moreover, his eldest daughter was about to graduate from high school, and his second wasn't far behind, meaning he needed to think about their future.
  Enrolling in the local university was out of the question. The quality of education offered was abysmal, and racial quotas existed, meaning Malays were given preference over non-Malays.
  Lotus didn't want to stoop so low. He dreamed of sending his daughters to the West for higher education. That's what every good parent aspired to. But when the value of the local currency plummeted due to hyperinflation and instability, he hit a brick wall.
  It will cost my daughter at least three million ringgit.
  This meant a total of six million for both of his children.
  It was ridiculously astronomical, and Lotus simply didn't have that kind of money.
  So Dad analyzed this man's vulnerability and approached him with an offer he couldn't refuse-the promise of a fully funded scholarship for his children in New Zealand, along with the assurance that the family would eventually be able to settle into a comfortable new life there. They would be given new identities; a clean slate; a chance to start over.
  Lotus jumped at the opportunity. And why not? He'd grown to despise his country and what it stood for. So stealing information and passing it on was a natural progression for him. This made him the perfect asset - a double agent in the Special Branch.
  Maya could almost hear her dad's words echoing in her head.
  It's human nature to want the best for your family, baby. Most Malaysians with money are already leaving the country. At least they're hedging their bets and sending their kids abroad. Why shouldn't Lotus get a chance? The system has failed him, and he's out for payback. So he gives us what we want, and we give him what he wants. It's a fair exchange. Simple and straightforward. Everyone leaves happy.
  Maya gritted her teeth.
  Yes, it was simple and straightforward, right up until the moment Dad was killed. That's when all the damn politicians back home abruptly froze Section One, suspending all active operations pending a parliamentary investigation.
  Fortunately, however, the mother-Deirdre Raines-had wisely created a slush fund and used it to continue paying Lotus his monthly retainer. This was enough to ensure the man's loyalty until they could reactivate him.
  Well, that time was now.
  Maya inhaled. With Papa gone, she'd been thrust into charge of Lotus. Her nerves were strained, but she couldn't let it get the better of her.
  Focus...
  And with that, Maya exhaled and broke away from Hunter. She approached Lotus. "Zodiac Team, asset confirmed as black. We're moving to contact them."
  "Okay," Adam said. "Just give us a shout if you need us."
  Maya nodded. "Copy."
  She didn't need to look. She already knew Adam and Juno would spread out, covering her from behind, acting as security. Meanwhile, Hunter lingered nearby, turning on the portable radio frequency jammer he carried in his belt pouch.
  This would serve to disable any illegal frequencies, blocking eavesdropping devices and recording equipment, just in case. However, the group's communications continued uninterrupted. They operated on an encrypted bandwidth that was unaffected by the jammer.
  Maya pulled up a chair and sat next to Lotus. She pointed to the bowl of ice kacang and challenged, "This looks like a nice treat for such a hot night."
  Lotus looked up and smiled faintly. He gave the correct answer: "It's the best treat in town." My favorite.
  Having established their good faith, Maya leaned closer. "How are you holding up?"
  Lotus sighed. His shoulders were hunched and his face was tense. "I'm trying to stay sane."
  "The attack on the Blue Zone was bad."
  "Very bad ".
  - How is your family?
  "They're scared, but safe. They heard explosions and gunfire, but they never came close to any real danger. Thank God."
  Maya decided it was time to give him some much-needed good news. 'Okay. Look, we're making progress getting your kids out.'
  Lotus blinked and straightened up, barely holding back a sigh. "Really?"
  'Very much so. Their student visas have just been approved, and we're arranging homestay accommodation for them.'
  "Homestay? You mean... foster care?
  'That's it. The adoptive parents will be Steve and Bernadine Havertin. I've checked them out myself. They are good Christians, and they have children of their own, Alex and Rebecca. This is a loving home. Your children will be well cared for.'
  'Wow. I... I didn't expect that.
  Maya walked over and patted his hand. "Hey, I know you've been waiting and hoping for this for a long time. And I apologize for the delay. There were a lot of kinks to work out, hoops to jump through. But we appreciate your service. We really do. That's why we keep it going."
  Lotus's eyes grew wet, and he swallowed, his cheeks trembling. It took him a moment before he could regain his composure. 'Thank you. Just... thank you. You don't know what this means to me. I never thought this day would come.'
  "We always keep our promises. Always. And here's something to help your family with the transition." Maya pulled a Rolex from her pocket and passed the Lotus under the table.
  Luxury watches were a portable form of wealth. They retained their value regardless of the economic situation and could easily be sold on the black market for cash. More importantly, there would be no digital trace; no paper trail.
  Maya smiled. "All you have to do is take your children to Singapore. Our people at the High Commission will pick him up from there."
  Lotus wiped his wet eyes. He sniffled and grinned. "Yes, I can do that. I have a brother in Singapore. I'll send my girls to him."
  'Good. We'll contact your brother.
  "What are the deadlines?"
  "One month."
  Lotus laughed. "Then we have plenty of time to get ready. My girls will be thrilled."
  - I'm sure there will be. You'll have a lot of shopping to do. A lot of preparation.
  - Oh, I can't wait. It's happening. It's really happening. Finally..."
  Maya saw that Lotus was overjoyed and full of hope. It gave her a certain satisfaction that she had been able to do this for him.
  Being a good handler meant caring for your agent's well-being; doing everything possible to nurture and protect them. It was a true friendship, and you had to maintain an empathic connection.
  This was the essence of HUMINT - human intelligence.
  Maya ran her hand over her handkerchief. She'd seen to Lotus's needs. Now she could get down to business. "Listen, we need your help. I was there, at the Grand Luna Hotel, when it was attacked this morning. The rebels we took out had highly sophisticated equipment-encrypted radios with their serial numbers erased."
  Lotus shrugged and stabbed his spoon into the ai kacang. It was now a slush and looked unappetizing. He pushed the bowl aside. "Well, the Special Branch is dirty. We all know that. So I wouldn't be surprised if those radios showed up in our inventory. Maybe someone inside stole them and then auctioned them off on the black market. It wouldn't be the first time."
  "That's why the serial numbers were erased."
  'Absolutely correct. To disguise the place of origin.
  'Okay. What about the phones? Do you know of any missing persons?
  "Things go missing all the time, and employees often don't report them. So there's no accountability. But I managed to dig up the next best thing." Lotus handed Maya a flash drive under the table. "Here you'll find spreadsheets detailing our equipment and supplies. They don't list what's missing or missing because, as I said, no one bothers to record any discrepancies. However, I believe the IMSI and IMEI numbers listed here will still be of interest to you..."
  Maya nodded, understanding.
  IMSI was short for International Mobile Subscriber Identity, a serial number used by SIM cards operating on a cellular or satellite network.
  Meanwhile, IMEI was short for International Mobile Station Equipment Identity, another serial number encoded into the handset itself.
  Lotus continued: "If you can match them to any signals you intercept in the field, well, you might be in luck."
  Maya raised an eyebrow. "Mm. Could lead to something effective."
  "Perhaps. I'm sure you know that encrypted radio transmissions are difficult to track. However, it's much easier if you're trying to locate a house using a satellite phone. If someone is actively using it, you can easily obtain the IMSI and IMEI numbers as they're transmitted over the network."
  'Sounds like a plan. Well, I'm impressed. I really am. Thanks for going the extra mile.'
  "It's not a problem at all. I want to do everything in my power to help. Whatever it takes, to bring Owen Caulfield back to his family."
  'Of course. That's what we all want. I'll keep you updated on our progress.' Maya pushed back her chair and stood up. 'We'll talk again soon, my friend.'
  Lotus gave her a two-fingered salute. "Until next time."
  Maya turned, slipping back into the crowd. She turned on her microphone. "Team Zodiac, the package is secure. Time to go."
  Adam said, "Roger, we're right behind you.
  Hunter walked up to Maya. "Did you get anything good?"
  She thrust the flash drive into his hand. "Something potentially good. You should get your eggheads to analyze this right now. We could have a treasure trove here."
  Hunter grinned. "Well, about damn time."
  
  Chapter 43
  
  
  Owen promised
  to himself that today would be the night he ran away.
  The only problem was time.
  Lying awake in his sleeping bag, he listened to the conversation and laughter coming from outside his tent. The terrorists seemed happy, which was surprising. Usually they were quiet and serious.
  But something had changed. Something big. And so they celebrated. Some of them sang in Arabic. He didn't understand the language, but he recognized the rhythm. His Muslim friends at school sang like that. They called it nasheed-reciting Islamic poetry.
  Owen ignored the singing and focused on the other terrorists, who were conversing with each other in Malay. His command of the language was basic, and they often spoke too quickly for him to fully understand. But he caught them mentioning the Blue Zone, and they continued to use the words kejayaan and operasi, meaning "success" and "operation."
  Their excitement was obvious. Something important was about to happen. Or had something important already happened?
  Owen couldn't be sure.
  He exhaled heavily and sat up. Slowly, very slowly, he crawled out of his sleeping bag, bent forward on his knees, and peered through the mosquito netting at the entrance to his tent. His eyes darted around the camp.
  The terrorists weren't at their usual posts. In fact, they seemed to be huddled in small groups, eating and drinking. Their movements were random, indicating they were less vigilant.
  Owen's lips twitched. He looked beyond the camp's perimeter. The desert beckoned.
  Could he really do it?
  Could he?
  Owen hated to admit it, but he was afraid of the jungle. They'd kept him here for months. But he still hadn't gotten used to the stickiness of his skin, the damp smells, the hissing and grunting of wild animals, the shadows that constantly shifted.
  The jungle was both mysterious and ominous to him. It was filled with terrible creatures, poisonous creatures, and it became even worse as the sunlight faded and darkness fell. Because every sense was heightened. He saw less, but he felt more, and fear gripped his heart like a ring of thorns, squeezing, squeezing.
  He missed his mom and dad. He was rooting for them. How far were they? A hundred miles? Two hundred?
  Owen couldn't imagine it because he didn't know where he was in relation to the city. No one had bothered to tell him. No one had shown him a map. As far as he knew, he was in the middle of nowhere.
  His only point of reference was that the sun rose in the east and set in the west. This was his only certainty; his only consolation.
  So every morning, as soon as he woke up, he would try to get his bearings and determine the position of the sun. Then he would explore the world beyond his tent. Giant trees. Hills. Cave valleys. He would remember them.
  But details were often useless because the terrorists never stayed in one place for long. Seemingly at random, they would set up camp and move on, marching for hours before settling in a new location.
  This upset Owen.
  This made his efforts controversial.
  Fortunately, he was never expected to walk on his own. Strong men took turns carrying him on their backs as they navigated the narrow, windy paths.
  He was glad he didn't have to march, but he was never grateful. Sure, the terrorists fed and clothed him, even gave him medicine when he was sick. But he wasn't about to fall for their false gestures. They were the enemy, and he continued to harbor hatred for them.
  In fact, his secret fantasy was that American helicopters would suddenly dive in, the Navy SEALs would quickly swoop down, catching the terrorists off guard and sweeping them all away, like a scene straight out of a Michael Bay movie.
  Loud gunfire.
  Big Bangs.
  Oh yeah.
  But as the months passed and the locations continued to change, Owen became disillusioned and disoriented. And he was no longer sure the cats would come for him.
  They probably didn't even know where he was.
  Khadija took care of this.
  Owen bit his nails and, blinking hard, turned away from the entrance to his tent. He couldn't hope for a miraculous rescue. Not at this moment.
  No, it all depended on him, and if he wanted to escape, he'd have to do it tonight. There wouldn't be a better chance. It was now or never.
  
  Chapter 44
  
  
  Ou wena had a small backpack.
  He poured a flask of water and a few cereal bars into it and decided that was enough.
  He needed to travel light. After all, he knew about the rule of three. People can survive three minutes without air. Three days without water. Three weeks without food.
  So all he really needed now was the bare essentials. Nothing bulky. Nothing that would weigh him down.
  Ideally, he would also have a few other items on hand-a compass, a knife, a first aid kit. But no, he had none of those. All he had with him now was a flashlight in his pocket. It was the kind with red lenses.
  Khadija had given it to him not long ago. She told him he could use it if he was afraid of the dark. It wasn't that impressive, but it would do the trick. A flashlight was better than nothing.
  Still, Owen was uneasy about leaving camp without a compass. But he took a deep breath and cast aside his doubts. He knew what he was doing.
  He studied the sun as it rose today, and also watched it as it set, so he knew which way was east and which way was west.
  He also knew Malaysia's geography quite well. It didn't really matter where he was in the country. If he headed east or west long enough, he was sure to come across a coastline, and from there, all he had to do was search along the shore until he found help. Maybe he'd stumble upon a fishing village. Maybe the locals would be friendly. Maybe they'd give him shelter.
  There could be a lot.
  Could he really do it?
  It wouldn't be easy. He'd likely have to walk an awfully long way to reach the shoreline. Many, many miles of rugged terrain. And that made him hesitate. It made his heart clench.
  But then he thought of his mom and dad again. He pictured their faces and straightened up, clenching his fists, his resolve renewed. He'd been held hostage long enough, and he needed to break free.
  Be brave. Be tough.
  Owen slung his backpack over his shoulder. He shoved his feet into his boots, laced them tightly, and crept to the entrance of his tent. Slowly, very slowly, he unzipped the tent with trembling fingers.
  He looked left and looked right.
  Everything is clear.
  Swallowing his fear, he crouched low and slipped out.
  
  Chapter 45
  
  
  Forest canopy
  The fog was so thick that moonlight barely filtered through, and the terrorists hadn't lit any fires. This meant there was enough light for Owen to make out the contours of the terrain around him, which suited him just fine.
  Sweating under his shirt, his hair plastered to his forehead, he relied on instinct. He'd already memorized the camp's layout and decided he had a better chance of escaping through its eastern border. It was closer, plus there seemed to be fewer terrorists on that side.
  Owen could spot them by the flashlights dancing a dull red in the darkness. Avoiding them would be easy enough. At least that's what he told himself.
  Be like Sam Fisher. Hide this.
  Muscles tense, nerves strained, he shuffled forward on his feet, trying to minimize the noise he made. It was difficult, as the ground was littered with leaves and branches. He winced every time something crunched and cracked under his boot. But fortunately, all the singing and talking around him masked his movements.
  Owen settled into a cautious rhythm.
  Step. Stop. Listen.
  Step. Stop. Listen.
  He walked around one tent.
  He dodged another one.
  Stay in the shadows. Use stealth.
  Mosquitoes buzzed in his ears, but he resisted the urge to swat them. He could now see beyond the camp's eastern perimeter. It was where the desert thickened and the terrain dropped sharply into a ravine. It was probably less than fifty yards away.
  So close.
  the skin was pricked by nettles.
  Turning his head, he checked the terrorists around him. He'd identified their positions, but he didn't want his gaze to linger on any one of them for too long. He'd read somewhere that looking at someone only alerts them to your presence. Some kind of voodoo.
  Don't turn off their sixth sense.
  Owen swallowed, his lips pressed together, his mouth dry. He suddenly wanted to reach into his backpack and take a sip of water. But-oh God-there was no time for that.
  At any moment, someone could check his tent, and as soon as they did, they would realize that he was no longer there.
  Owen sighed, hunching his shoulders.
  Go. Step. Move.
  Walking like a crab, he broke away from the bush.
  He took aim at the edge of the camp.
  Closer.
  Closer.
  Almost there -
  And then Owen froze, his heart sank. To his right, streetlights flashed, and the silhouettes of three terrorists emerged.
  Shit. Shit. Shit.
  How could he have missed them? He assumed they must have been patrolling the camp perimeter and were now heading back.
  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
  Owen desperately wanted to change course and return to the bushes behind him. But it was too late. He was caught off guard, his eyes wide, his knees shaking, his own golden rule forgotten-he was looking straight at the terrorists.
  And indeed, one of them froze mid-step. The terrorist turned, raised his flashlight, and focused its beam.
  And Owen went berserk and started running as fast as he could, his legs shaking violently, his backpack bouncing wildly behind him.
  
  Chapter 46
  
  
  Owen no
  dare to look back.
  Panting and sobbing, he dove into the jungle, tall grass and vines flapping at him as he hurtled down the slope. The slope was steeper than he thought, and he struggled to stay on his feet, barely able to see what lay ahead.
  It doesn't matter. Just keep moving. Keep moving.
  Owen dodged one tree, then another, jumping over a log.
  Behind him, the terrorists pushed through the undergrowth, their voices echoing. They no longer used flashlights with red lenses. No, the beams from these were bright white, piercing the darkness like strobe lights.
  Owen was gripped by the fear that they might open fire on him. At any moment, the bullets could start hissing and crackling, and he didn't stand a chance. But-no, no-he remembered. He was dear to them. They wouldn't risk shooting at him-
  Hit.
  Owen yelped as his right foot hit something hard. It was the exposed root of a passing tree, and, arms outstretched and swirling in the wind, he lunged forward and-oh shit-he was thrown into the air, tumbling...
  His stomach clenched and the world became a dizzying kaleidoscope, and he could hear the air whistling in his ears.
  He pushed through a group of low-hanging branches, his backpack bearing the brunt of the impact before it was ripped from his shoulders.
  Then he hit the ground and landed on his back.
  Owen gasped, teeth chattering, and saw stars. His momentum carried him down the slope, dust kicking up, earth and sand filling his mouth and nostrils, making him choke and wheeze, his skin chafed raw.
  Waving his arms, desperately trying to stop his uncontrolled descent, he clawed at the ground as it whipped past, trying to brake with his boots. But he only went faster and faster until-oh God-he crashed into the bushes and came to an abrupt stop.
  Now Owen was crying, spitting dirt out of his mouth, his whole body aching. His head was spinning, his vision was blurry, but he could see lanterns hovering above him on the hillside, rapidly approaching.
  More than anything in the world, he wanted to just curl up and lie still. Close his eyes and rest for a while. But - no, no - he couldn't give up. Not here. Not now.
  Groaning and shaking, Owen forced himself to stand. His muscles tensed and throbbed. His skin was damp. Was it blood? Sweat? Jungle moisture? He didn't know.
  Wincing, he hobbled forward, shifting from one side to the other. He struggled to stay upright. The voices grew louder. The flashlights drew closer.
  Don't... get caught.
  Desperately, Owen forced himself to move faster.
  Crunch.
  The forest floor beneath him suddenly gave way as if it were hollow, and he fell, pain shooting up his left leg, radiating down his entire leg.
  Owen screamed.
  Everything dissolved into shape-shifting grey, and before the abyss caught up with him, the last thing he thought about was his mom and dad.
  He missed them.
  Oh, how he missed them.
  
  Chapter 47
  
  
  Accommodation
  The American embassy was as simple as it could be. It was just one cramped room in a dorm with shared bathrooms down the hall.
  But Maya didn't complain. All Adam and she needed now were two beds, four walls, and a roof. That was enough, considering the limited space.
  At this point, fresh CIA officers were arriving from other stations in Bangkok, Singapore, and Jakarta, and Chief Raynor was accelerating a dramatic expansion.
  More surveillance.
  More analytics.
  More firepower.
  As a result, the embassy staff nearly doubled, becoming a veritable hive of activity.
  But no, Maya wasn't complaining. At least they had a safe place to spend the night, which was reassuring, especially considering all the terrible things that had happened today.
  As Maya stretched out on her bed, the mattress beneath her feeling soft and lumpy, she stared at the ceiling fan swinging overhead, barely keeping the heat in. She'd just showered, but she already felt sticky with sweat. There was no escaping the humidity.
  Adam sat on the bed across from her, a Samsung Galaxy tablet in his hand, watching Owen Caulfield's life-affirming videos over and over again.
  Finally, Maya sighed and turned to face him. "You've been doing this for a long time. It's getting old."
  'Sorry.' Adam glanced at her sideways and winked. "Just seeing if we missed anything."
  - Well ?
  'Maybe. Maybe not.
  - Oh, tell me, Sherlock.
  - Okay, Watson. Adam tilted the tablet, swiping his finger across the screen. 'Watch closely. Here's the first video Khadija uploaded of Owen. Notice how scared he is? His eyes are downcast. He's nervous. He's not even looking at the camera.' Adam swiped his finger again and again. 'And here's the next video. And the next. Notice how things are progressing? Owen is becoming more confident. More established. He's even starting to look at the camera. Showing off his best tough-guy persona.'
  Propped up on her elbow, Maya studied the images on her tablet screen. 'Right. We've been through all this with Mom. Owen's being defiant. Rebellious.'
  - It's quite strange, don't you think?
  - As in...?
  - Well, there is such a thing as Stockholm syndrome...
  - Yes, tie-up. Where the hostage begins to identify with and sympathize with the captor. But this only happens in a tiny fraction of kidnappings. Less than ten percent.
  'Fair enough. But what if the opposite is happening here?
  "The opposite of Stockholm syndrome?"
  "Well, instead of identifying with Khadija's cause, what if he starts to resent her? Maybe even harbor ideas? I mean, four months is an awfully long time for a city kid like him to be stuck in the rainforest surrounded by rebels.
  "So..." Maya pursed her lips and inhaled. "You're saying he wants to escape. And that desire is getting stronger and stronger."
  "Bingo. Do you think this is plausible?
  - Well, that's plausible. The only question is, will he fulfill this wish?
  Adam turned off the tablet and set it aside. "I hope not, for Owen's sake. Even if he somehow manages to break free and escape, he won't get far. Khadija and her Orang Asli trackers will track him down in no time."
  "That's not a good idea." Maya sat up, her bed creaking beneath her. "Okay. Okay. Let's assume Owen did get brave enough-desperate enough-to try to escape prison. So how would Khadija react if she caught him doing it? Would she punish him? Would she hurt him?"
  Adam rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Um, I doubt it. I just can't imagine her hitting a kid with water to punish him. I mean, she's shown incredible self-control and foresight so far. That won't change."
  - You are sure ?
  - Based on her mental profile? Yes, quite a lot.
  "Maybe she wouldn't resort to corporal punishment. What about something more psychological? Like refusing to eat? Or restraining Owen and putting a hood over his head? Sensory deprivation?
  Adam hesitated. 'Maybe. I don't know. It's harder to say.'
  Maya raised an eyebrow. "It's hard to say because our psychological profile doesn't extend that far?"
  "Well, we have no idea how much stress she's under. No one is infallible. Everyone has a breaking point.
  "So it's entirely possible that Owen could go from being an asset to a liability. A hostage who's lost his freshness.
  - Give Khadija a reason to treat him badly?
  - Not consciously, no. But perhaps she stops paying attention to him. Starts to be indifferent to his needs.
  - God, that would be radical, don't you think? Remember: Owen is the only thing stopping the Americans from launching drone strikes on suspected rebel positions.
  'I know. So she does the bare minimum to keep him alive.
  - Minimum, huh? Well, shit, I hate the sound of that.
  Maya gritted her teeth and fell silent. She knew how high the stakes were, and the longer this situation dragged on, the more unpredictable Khadija would become.
  Getting Owen back was paramount, yet there was no clear way to achieve it. In the back of her mind, she toyed with this fantasy of the Malaysian military and JSOC invading the rainforest. Break in fast and hard and extract Khadija.
  But it was unreal.
  First, they'll be looking for a needle in a haystack, and they don't even know where the haystack is. Blindly combing thousands of square kilometers is simply not an option.
  Secondly, the rebels would be well prepared for any invasion. This was their territory, their rules, and in any guerrilla clash, the losses they could inflict would be unimaginable.
  And thirdly, there was no guarantee that Owen wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. He could be wounded, even killed, which would negate the entire purpose of the jungle offensive.
  Damn it .
  Maya sighed. She leaned back against the pillow. She ran her hands through her hair. "You know, at times like these, I really wish Dad were here. We could use his guidance right now. His intuition."
  "Hey, your dad taught us well enough," Adam said. "We just have to keep the faith. And do what we have to do."
  Maya smiled bitterly. "We've only been in the village for twenty-four hours. And already we're seeing a seismic shift. The Blue Zone is under attack. Our cover as humanitarian workers has been compromised. And Khadija actually seems to be winning. Could things get any worse?"
  Adam cleared his throat, his voice low and raspy. He was doing his best Nathan Raines impression. "Our question isn't why. Our question is do or die."
  'Ugh. Just like Dad would say. Thanks for reminding me.'
  " Please ".
  "I was being sarcastic."
  "Same here."
  "But I wonder if there's something we're not seeing. It's as if-just maybe-there's some foreign influence here. A larger player. And Khadija is acting as a proxy."
  "Let me guess - a proxy for Iran?"
  "Yeah, VAJA. They hate the Saudis with a passion. They'll do anything to undermine them. And the fact that the Malaysians are so closely tied to the Saudis must piss them off. So, VAJA orchestrates a covert intervention. Provides Khadija with material and logistical support-"
  Adam frowned. He raised his hands, palms up. 'WHOA, WHOA. Easy on the conspiracy theories. Sure, the Iranians may have motive and means. But the methods for such interference just don't add up.'
  'Meaning...?'
  'Have you forgotten? Kendra Shaw and I dealt with VAJA when they were trying to set up that operation in Oakland. So I've seen them up close. And believe me, they are the most misogynistic bastards. They hate women. They believe women are incapable of anything except slavery to men. So how is it possible that VAJA is funding Khadija? To them, she would be a heretic. Crazy. It just doesn't add up.'
  Maya opened her mouth to object, but immediately hesitated.
  Iran was predominantly Shiite, making it a natural enemy of Saudi Arabia, which was predominantly Sunni. But was that enough for Iran to send VAJA-an intelligence agency staffed by fanatics-to sponsor Khadija as a fifth columnist inside Malaysia?
  It just didn't seem plausible.
  Worse, it sounded like a bad novel.
  Maya groaned. "Damn it, you're right." She rubbed her eyes. "My mind is tired and confused. I can't even think straight."
  Adam stared at Maya for a moment. He sighed and reached for the light switch on the wall. He turned it off and stretched out on his bed in the darkness. "What we need is sleep. We've been riding on adrenaline all day."
  Maya stifled a yawn. "You think so?"
  "It's easy to overestimate the situation. Go chasing ghosts that aren't here. But that's the last thing we need to do."
  - Sometimes... well, sometimes I wonder what Dad would do if he were faced with a crisis like this. And I know he's gone. But somehow I feel like I'm a disappointment to him. His failure. I'm just not living up to his legacy...
  - Hey, don't think that. Your father was proud of you.
  - Was ?
  'Come on. I know he was. He made a point of telling me.'
  'Dealt with. If you say so.
  Adam chuckled. "That's what I'm saying. And listen, tomorrow is another day. We'll do better."
  Maya closed her eyes. "For Owen's sake, we'll have to try harder."
  
  Chapter 48
  
  
  Khaja knew
  She had only herself to blame.
  She allowed her fedayeen to relax, to celebrate, to let their guard down. And Owen seized the opportunity and tried to escape.
  I am Allah.
  When Ayman carried the boy back to the camp, Khadija couldn't help but shudder at the cuts and bruises on his skin. But the most horrific injury, without a doubt, was the wound on the boy's leg.
  Even under the tourniquet Ayman had tied to stop the bleeding, the wound was still a horrible mess, the result of stepping on a punji stake. It was a disguised trap, made of sharpened wood, set as an anti-intruder device. It was intended only to deter trespassers from approaching the camp, not to stop someone fleeing the camp in a blind panic, which is what Owen was doing.
  Khadija shook her head, feeling her stomach clench.
  Everything went wrong. Horribly wrong.
  Ayman placed the boy on a makeshift gurney.
  Battery-powered lanterns were set up around the area. This was a violation of the light discipline Khadija had previously imposed. But rules be damned. They needed light.
  Owen's leg was still weeping, the crimson stain soaking into the tourniquet. Several women set to work, cleaning and disinfecting his wounds. The smell of antiseptic was pungent.
  Khadija fought the urge to look away. "How bad is it?"
  It was Siti who reached for Owen's eyelids and parted them. She shone the flashlight into both eyes. "His pupils are reactive. So I don't think he had a head injury."
  'Fine.'
  - And I don't feel any broken bones.
  'Good.'
  "So the biggest danger now is sepsis. Blood poisoning.
  - Can you cure him?
  'Here? No, no. We don't have the necessary equipment. And we don't have antibiotics.' Siti touched Owen's forehead. 'Unfortunately, he already has a fever. And soon the toxins will attack his kidneys, liver, heart...'
  That was the last thing Khadija wanted to hear. Frowning, she threw her head back, sucked in a trembling breath, and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. She struggled to contain her emotions.
  I am Allah.
  She knew all too well that the punji stake was coated with animal feces and poison derived from a poisonous plant. These were intended to increase the risk of infection and incapacitate the enemy. Which, given the current circumstances, was an inconvenient fact.
  Ayman spoke in a quiet voice: "We need to get the boy to a fully equipped medical facility. The sooner the better."
  Khadija couldn't help but chuckle. "The Americans and their allies are on full alert right now. If we leave the rainforest, we risk exposing ourselves."
  'Does it matter? If we don't do anything, the boy's condition will worsen.'
  Khadija bit her lip, clenching her fingers. She looked at the rustling tree branches above. She could barely make out the crescent moon beyond, framed by a constellation of stars.
  She closed her eyes.
  She concentrated and tried to meditate. But... why hadn't the Almighty spoken to her? Why hadn't he offered her any guidance? Was this a reproach? Divine judgment for her complacency?
  Khadija wasn't sure. All she knew was that she could feel an emptiness inside her that hadn't been there before. There was a hole in her consciousness, and it left her confused, adrift.
  Which direction should I move?
  Finally, Khadija exhaled, her nostrils flaring.
  She opened her eyes and looked at the boy. Even now-even after everything-he still looked like an angel. So innocent and pure.
  With her shoulders slumped, Khadija knew she had to make a decision. She had to speed up her plans and improvise. For the boy's sake.
  
  Chapter 49
  
  
  Dinesh Nair read
  The Bible when he heard the roar of engines and the screams of people.
  He tensed, his hand frozen as he turned the page. He was studying Matthew 10:34. One of Jesus' most controversial statements.
  Do not think that I came to bring peace to the earth. I came not to bring peace, but a sword.
  Dinesh closed his Bible with a feeling of dread. Putting it aside, he rose from the sofa. It was already past midnight, but the candles in his living room still burned, flickering and casting an orange glow.
  The sounds came from outside his apartment, from the streets beyond.
  Dinesh shuffled toward his balcony, and that's when he heard gunshots echoing like thunder, accompanied by screams. It was a sickening cacophony that startled him and made his muscles clench.
  Dear Lord, what's going on there?
  His heart fluttered, his cheeks tensed, he lowered his posture.
  He leaned against the balcony railing and looked inside.
  His eyes widened.
  The scene below was straight out of a nightmare. Halogen floodlights pierced the darkness, and soldiers descended from armored personnel carriers, storming nearby buildings.
  Holy Mary, Mother of God...
  Dinesh recognized the soldiers' yellow berets and green uniforms. They were members of the RELA Corps, a paramilitary unit.
  An icy chill ran down his spine.
  They are a death squad. They are here to bring death.
  Dinesh watched as a family was led out of their home at gunpoint. A boy-no more than thirteen years old-suddenly broke away from the group and tried to escape. A gray-haired man-probably his grandfather-shouted and waved at him to stop.
  The boy darted about fifty yards before the soldier in the armored personnel carrier turned and took aim, opening fire with his machine gun, and the boy wobbled and exploded into a red mist.
  His family screamed and cried.
  Dinesh pressed his palm to his mouth. Hot bile burned his throat, and he vomited, doubling over. Vomit poured through his fingers.
  Oh my God...
  Gasping for breath, Dinesh leaned against the balcony railing.
  His insides were seething.
  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then turned and made his way back to his living room. Puffing heavily, he blew out all the candles, extinguishing their flames. His eyes darted wildly, adjusting to the darkness.
  Are they coming here? Will they storm this apartment building too?
  Dinesh rubbed his pained face, digging his nails into his cheeks. He had no illusions. He should have known he was no longer safe here . The entire area was compromised. He had to leave now.
  Yet Dinesh faced a dilemma. If he left now, there was no guarantee Farah would be able to reestablish contact with him. He had no contingency plans beyond that.
  All he had now was her final set of instructions-he was to remain in his apartment until she came to him. That was the agreement. Clear as crystal.
  But how can she expect me to sit here and wait while a bloodbath rages around me? This is madness.
  Dinesh shook his head, fidgeting.
  He walked into his kitchen. He walked up to the stove and leaned his entire body on it, knocking it aside. Then he crouched down and began picking up tiles from the floor, removing them and reaching into the hollow compartment underneath. He pulled the satellite phone out of its hiding place again.
  Dinesh hesitated for a moment, looking at him.
  He made a decision.
  He was getting ready to leave, and he was taking the satellite phone with him. So Farah had a way to contact him. It was against protocol-against operational security-but at that moment, he no longer cared.
  His immediate survival was more important than pursuing foolish spy tactics. Otherwise, he couldn't serve Khadija.
  
  Chapter 50
  
  
  Dinesh was seduced
  Call my youngest son in Melbourne, just to hear his voice. But damn it, such sentimentality would have to wait. There was no time.
  Dinesh quickly locked his apartment and, with a flashlight, approached the elevator in the hallway beyond. He was completely alone. None of his neighbors dared to emerge from their units.
  Dinesh pressed the elevator control button. But then he cringed and realized his mistake. There was no power, so the elevator wasn't working. Panic rattled his brain and overwhelmed him.
  Dinesh turned and pushed open the door to the stairwell. He quickly descended the steps, and by the time he reached the first floor, he was breathing heavily and sweating.
  Has the shooting and screaming become louder?
  Or did it just seem that way to him?
  With trembling lips, Dinesh muttered a prayer. "Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."
  Dinesh turned off his flashlight.
  He walked out of the building and around the apartment building. Breathing through his teeth, he avoided looking in the direction of the carnage. All this was happening maybe five hundred yards away.
  So damn close.
  But he didn't want to think about that. All he was focused on was getting to the open parking lot in the back. A Toyota sedan was waiting there. It was the car he only used on weekends.
  With trembling hands, Dinesh pulled the remote out of his pocket. He pressed the button, unlocking the car. He opened the door, but then hesitated. He snorted and slammed the door.
  Stupid. Damn stupid.
  Rubbing his forehead, Dinesh realized he wouldn't be able to use his car at all. A citywide dusk-to-dawn curfew had been imposed. He couldn't drive unless he wanted to be stopped at the RELA checkpoint.
  Dinesh fidgeted with the strap of the bag on his shoulder.
  If they find me with a satellite phone, there's no telling what they might do to me.
  In his mind's eye he imagined himself being hung up and whipped with a rattan cane, each blow splitting his flesh and drawing blood.
  He shuddered. Torture might still come, and he was prepared for it. But who was to say that a soldier who loved to shoot wouldn't simply shoot him? If that happened, all would be lost.
  Dinesh frowned, hunching his shoulders. He pressed the button on the remote and locked the car again.
  He desperately needed to escape, but he had to do it in a less conventional way. He walked quickly across the parking lot and approached the chain-link fence at the far end.
  He stared at him.
  I can do it. I must do it.
  He calmed his nerves, tensed his jaw, and launched himself at the fence. It swayed under his weight, and he caught it for a moment, but then lost his balance and, with sweat-slicked palms, fell back down, landing on his buttocks.
  Frustrated, Dinesh groaned, wiping his palms on his shirt.
  Don't lose faith. Not now.
  He stood up and backed up. He gave himself a longer run-up, then threw himself at the fence again. The impact was harder. His chest ached. But this time, by moving his legs, he managed to get the traction he needed, and he flipped up and over.
  He fell awkwardly into the alley, gasping for breath, his shin scraping the edge of an open drain. His foot splashed into the dirty water, and the smell of rotting garbage assaulted his nostrils.
  But he ignored the pain and the stench.
  He straightened up and ran forward.
  At the end of the alley, he stopped. He crouched down and pressed himself against a crumbling brick wall. An armored vehicle drove past, its halogen spotlight aiming first one way, then the other. He could hear the voices of the soldiers riding on it. They were laughing.
  Dinesh took a deep breath and whispered a prayer. "Saint Michael, Archangel, protect us in battle. Be our defense against evil and the snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray. And you, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God cast Satan and all the evil spirits who roam the world, seeking the destruction of souls, into hell. Amen."
  The spotlight beam crept dangerously close to Dinesh. He felt his heart pounding in his ears, but at the very last moment the beam swung away. It had missed him. Just barely.
  As soon as the armoured vehicle turned the corner and disappeared from sight, Dinesh took the opportunity to dash across the road.
  He entered the playground, his boots slipping on the grass, his skin bristling. He took cover behind the carousel. Blinking hard, sweat pouring into his eyes, he surveyed his surroundings.
  The gunshots and screams were behind him, and if he could reach the cluster of school buildings just across the field, he figured he'd be safe. Those buildings offered plenty of hidden spots where he could hide. At least until sunrise.
  Dinesh inhaled and exhaled.
  And with a dry mouth he ran.
  
  Chapter 51
  
  
  Two hundred meters.
  One hundred meters.
  Fifty meters.
  Dinesh reached the school perimeter. He squeezed past the broken fence and found himself inside the complex. His breathing was hoarse, and his chest burned with tension.
  Oh God Almighty...
  He was at least ten years too old for that.
  Bent over, hands on his knees, Dinesh found himself surrounded by trash and debris. To his left, he saw a rusty refrigerator, cracked and lying on its side like a dead pack animal. To his right, he saw a pile of rotting clothes, piled so high it formed a mini-pyramid.
  Neighbors have started treating the schoolyard like a convenient dumping ground. And why not? The city council hasn't collected trash for months.
  Wincing, Dinesh straightened and moved forward, the overgrown weeds and wildflowers flapping around him. He surveyed the school blocks looming ahead. Each building was four stories tall, with classrooms on each level, surrounded by open corridors and balconies.
  He chose the last block. It was the farthest from the main road, and he believed it would give him more safety, more cover.
  He stepped onto the concrete path and turned the corner, approaching the stairwell, wanting to go up. But-oh God-that's when he realized the foot of the stairs was blocked by a barred door.
  With a groan, Dinesh grabbed the wrought-iron bars and shook them until his knuckles turned white. But it was no use. The door was locked tight.
  In desperation, he pulled away and checked the next landing, then the next.
  But it was all the same.
  No. Hell no.
  Panting, Dinesh rounded the school block, and that's when he stumbled upon an alternative. It was a one-story laboratory at the back of the complex, looking rundown, its walls covered in graffiti. It was in the shadow of the larger buildings, making it easy to miss.
  Dinesh checked the front door and found it chained and padlocked, but daring to hope, he walked around and found a broken window at the back.
  Yes. Oh yes.
  Dinesh crawled inside and fell into a dusty, cobweb-covered interior.
  Turning on the flashlight, he saw that almost everything of value was gone.
  No devices.
  No equipment.
  There are no chairs.
  Only larger pieces of furniture remained - workbenches and cabinets.
  At that moment, a movement caught his attention, and Dinesh turned around. He shone his flashlight back and forth and saw rats scurrying in the corner, hissing and scratching their claws in a staccato rhythm. Their threat gave him pause, but then he shook his head and allowed himself a nervous laugh.
  The pests are more afraid of me than I am of them.
  Nervous and sweating, Dinesh walked to the far end of the room, away from the rats, and after searching, found a good place to hide.
  He bent down and squeezed under the workbench, then rocked left and right, getting as comfortable as possible.
  Then, pressing his back against the wall, he turned off the flashlight.
  I'm safe. I'm okay.
  Breathing shallowly, dust tickling his nostrils, Dinesh reached for the St. Christopher pendant he wore around his neck. He twirled it between his fingers and listened to the gunshots echoing beyond the school grounds.
  He felt like an animal, cornered and desperate. It was a terrible feeling. Yet, he assured himself, the death squad wouldn't come here. They had no reason.
  This school once had over two thousand students and a hundred teachers. But after the government cut funding, attendance dwindled, until it was eventually abandoned, left to rot and crumble.
  Damn shame.
  Closing his eyes, Dinesh almost felt the ghostly atmosphere of the children who used to frequent these halls. He imagined the footsteps, the voices, the laughter. He imagined his own boys, who had studied here so long ago.
  Those were the best days.
  Happier days.
  Nostalgia brought a smile to his lips -
  Boom.
  It was then that an explosion in the distance shattered his thoughts and his eyes flew open.
  What was that?
  Grenade? Rocket? Mortar? _
  Dinesh wasn't an expert, so he couldn't say. But now he was gripped by the fear that soldiers would bomb this school. Maybe by accident. Maybe on purpose. Maybe for pure pleasure. It was illogical, of course, but he couldn't resist such painful visions.
  What was worse? Being shot down by bullets? Or being torn apart by artillery?
  Boom. Boom.
  Now Dinesh was shaking, breathing heavily.
  Oh God. Please...
  He thought about his sons again. Part of him was glad they were in Australia, away from all this madness. Another part of him was terrified, wondering if he'd ever see them again.
  He clutched his head in his hands and felt a gnawing feeling of regret.
  Why didn't I leave this country when I had the chance? Why?
  He was undoubtedly inclined to idealism. The opportunity to embark on a grand and noble adventure; the fight for democracy.
  How interesting.
  How romantic.
  But now, as he sat huddled under that table, bent over and whining, he began to realize that there had been nothing heroic about his choice.
  What a fool I was.
  He wasn't cut out to be a freedom fighter. On the contrary, he was just a middle-aged man with bookish interests, and he'd never been so afraid.
  Holy Mary, Mother of God...
  With his nerves strained, Dinesh began whispering every Catholic prayer he knew. He asked for mercy, strength, forgiveness. And once he had exhausted all these prayers, he started all over again.
  He began to stutter and skip words, making mistakes in combinations. But, for lack of a better option, he kept going. This gave him the opportunity to focus.
  The minutes dragged on painfully slowly.
  Finally, thirst overcame him, and he stopped praying and reached into his bag. He pulled out a bottle of water. He removed the cap and tilted his head back, swallowing.
  And then-sweet, merciful Jesus-he heard gunfire and explosions, which gradually died down. Stopping mid-sip, he lowered the bottle, not daring to believe it.
  But sure enough, the shelling had gone from a furious pace to sporadic bursts before dying down completely. And now, as he wiped his lips and listened closely, he could discern the sound of a roaring engine and the screech of tires fading into the distance.
  God bless .
  Dinesh blinked, shaking with relief.
  His prayers were answered.
  The bastards are leaving. They're really leaving.
  Feeling dizzy, he took a final sip from his bottle. Then, crawling out from under the workbench, he stood up and stretched, swaying unsteadily, hearing his joints creak. Leaning against a creaking cabinet, he pulled out his satellite phone and plugged in the battery.
  That's when he froze.
  The gunshots and explosions began again. This time, however, the shrill cacophony was even further away. A kilometer. Maybe two.
  They didn't leave. They just moved on to a new position. They're still searching. They're still killing.
  With his lips trembling in despair, Dinesh felt damned. Reluctantly, he returned his satellite phone to his bag. Then he bent down and crawled back under the workbench.
  He was eager to contact Farah and arrange an evacuation.
  But - oh God - he'll have to wait.
  He was not safe.
  Not yet .
  
  Chapter 52
  
  
  Khaja felt relieved
  when Owen regained consciousness.
  Even though the boy was feverish and shaking, he could still answer all the questions Siti asked him - his name, his age, the current year.
  Inshallah.
  His cognitive functions were intact. And when Siti asked him to move and bend his limbs, the boy did so without difficulty. So nothing was broken. Nothing was stretched.
  Now all they had to worry about was the puncture wound on his leg. They cleaned the wound and sucked out as much venom as they could, and the Orang Asli prepared and applied a herbal ointment to ease the boy's suffering.
  It was the best they could do. Yet Khadija knew they were only delaying the inevitable. The heat and humidity of the jungle were now their worst enemy. It was a breeding ground for infection, and it was only a matter of time before the toxins spread and overtook Owen's young body.
  How long did they have before he showed signs of organ failure?
  Six hours?
  Twelve?
  Khadija shuddered at the thought. She didn't want to play a guessing game. It wasn't in her nature to gamble, especially with a life as fragile as Owen's. She knew they needed to make contact with the fedayeen stationed in the valley below.
  So Khadija turned to Ayman and nodded briefly. "It's time."
  Ayman pulled the radio out of its waterproof case and attached the battery. But then he stopped, bowing his head. "Mom, are you sure?"
  Khadija paused. She was asking him to break radio silence and send a transmission. He was nervous, but why not?
  The Americans have always monitored wireless frequencies. There were even rumors that they had aircraft orbiting Malaysian airspace day and night, equipped with sensors designed to collect intelligence.
  The shadowy military unit that carried out such operations was called "Reconnaissance Support." However, it also went by a number of other sinister names: Center Spike. Graveyard Wind. Gray Fox.
  It was difficult to separate fact from myth, but Khadija must have assumed that their SIGINT capabilities were formidable.
  Of course, she knew that the radios her fedayeen used were encrypted. But since they transmitted in the standard UHF/VHF range, she had no doubt the Americans would be able not only to intercept but also to crack the encryption.
  It was a disturbing thought.
  Of course, Khadija would have preferred not to communicate by radio at all. It would have been much safer to use a courier. It was a tried and tested method, but it would have been too slow.
  Time is of the essence. We must not waste it.
  Khadija sighed and placed her hand on Ayman's shoulder. "We must take this chance. God will protect us. Trust Him."
  'Very good.' Ayman turned on the radio. He spoke into it, his words sharp and precise. "Medina. Please copy."
  The static crackled and hissed, and the female voice on the other end of the line answered just as curtly. 'Copy that. Medina.'
  With these words, Ayman turned off the radio.
  It was done.
  The broadcast exchange was ambiguous and lacking in detail. This was done for a reason. If the Americans did manage to intercept it, Khadija wanted to leave them with as little chance as possible.
  The code name Medina referred to the holy city to which the Prophet Muhammad fled to escape assassination attempts by his enemies. It was an ancient metaphor.
  The fedayeen below would have realized that this meant Khadija planned to transport Owen to an emergency collection point, and they would have made the necessary arrangements to facilitate the process.
  Nevertheless, Khadija felt uneasy about the course of action she had chosen. Now there was an emptiness in her soul, a paralyzing silence, as if something was missing. So she closed her eyes and sought solace.
  Am I doing it right? Is this the right path? Tell me. Please advise.
  Khadija strained to listen, her face flushed.
  But, as before, she couldn't catch the Eternal's voice. Not even a whisper. In fact, all she could hear was the unearthly sound of bats screeching in the rainforest canopy above, like ghosts in the night.
  Were the devilish creatures mocking her? Or was it just her imagination?
  Oh, this is a curse.
  Breathing heavily, her lips pressed together, she pressed her palms to her face and wiped away the sweat. She wanted to throw her head back and slam her fist into the sky, scream and demand answers.
  But-ya Allah-with hunched shoulders and a hunched body, she restrained herself from committing such a blasphemous act. Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around herself and swallowed the bitterness in her mouth.
  If the greatest sin is pride, then the greatest virtue is humility.
  Khadija told herself this must be a test from the Almighty. A divine test. She couldn't understand the rhyme or reason behind it, but the Creator seemed to be placing an obligation on her now, giving her the burden of making her own choices, forging her own path.
  But why here? Why now?
  Khadija opened her eyes and straightened up. She glanced at her fedayeen, and it unnerved her to see them looking at her with great anticipation.
  Yes, they were waiting for a decision. She could even hear several voices muttering sacred passages from the Quran, symbols of faith and devotion.
  Khadija suddenly felt insecure and shy. Like a fraud. The conviction of her compatriots pierced her heart, and it was enough to move her to tears.
  After her husband's beheading, her only consolation was the Shia ummah. They were widows; widowers; orphans. Outcasts of society. And despite everything, they waged jihad and shed blood together, bound by the crucible of hopes and dreams.
  Everything has brought us to this moment of moments. It's an honor. An opportunity. I shouldn't doubt it. I should never doubt it.
  Khadija inhaled sharply, her nose wrinkled, anxiety turning to determination. She wiped her shining eyes, nodded, and forced a smile.
  So be it.
  
  Chapter 53
  
  
  Khaja ordered
  Her fedayeen set up camp and they began to march down the slope.
  It wasn't ideal - the slopes were steep, the paths were winding, and the darkness added an element of uncertainty.
  So, as a precaution, she made every member of her platoon wear a cap with a reflective strip attached to the back. It was a classic field technique. It ensured everyone would maintain an orderly formation, with each person following the one in front. No one would be left wandering blind.
  So they descended in single file, two of the strongest fedayeen carrying Owen, who lay on a makeshift stretcher. Siti constantly monitored his vital signs and kept him cool and hydrated. Meanwhile, Ayman acted as a point man, daring to walk ahead of the platoon, ensuring the path was clear.
  The red beams of their flashlights cut through the darkness.
  It was creepy.
  Claustrophobia.
  It would have been easier to use regular lighting, but Khadija decided it was the best way to avoid drawing attention to herself. Unfortunately, this also led to their progress being slowed to a deliberate pace.
  Descending the slope, picking your way through the foliage, it was all too easy to slip on a loose piece of gravel or get tangled in an overhanging vine. And their dim red illumination didn't always make it easy to spot obstacles in the rough terrain.
  always maintain a firm position.
  Fortunately, Ayman was a skilled marksman, alerting Khadija to potential obstacles on the way forward. Still, it wasn't easy. The descent was tiring, her knees and shoulders heavy, causing her face to twist into a grimace. She was sweating profusely, her clothes clinging to her skin.
  But finally, finally, they approached their destination. It was a river at the bottom of a valley, filled with the croaking of frogs and the buzzing of dragonflies.
  As expected, the second platoon of fedayeen was already waiting for Khadija.
  They used a gasoline generator to inflate several rubber dinghies, which were now being dragged along the muddy river bank.
  They threw the boats into the turbulent water and kept them afloat. Then, carefully, very carefully, they lifted Owen from the stretcher into one of the boats.
  The boy's eyelids fluttered and he groaned, his body twitching with fever. 'Where...? Where are we going?'
  Khadija climbed onto the boat and hugged him like a son. She kissed his cheek and whispered, "Home, Owen. We're going home."
  
  Chapter 54
  
  
  Alodki
  As the engines roared and they rushed down the river, Khadija could not help but feel a sense of pitiful sadness.
  She watched the trees fly past, the wind blowing through her hair. She knew she was leaving behind a beautiful desert. She might never see it again.
  Khadija sighed.
  She spent months constructing artificial wells to supply her fedayeen with fresh water. She collected food caches throughout the jungle. She set up emergency collection points.
  And now?
  Well, now it seemed like she was just giving up on it all.
  This was not at all what she had planned from the very beginning; nothing like what she had imagined.
  But when Khadija looked at Owen and stroked his hands, she realized it was the right choice. She had to accept it and come to terms with it.
  Alhamdulillah. Everything that has a beginning has an end.
  
  Chapter 55
  
  
  Maya woke up
  to the sound of a telephone ringing.
  Bleary-eyed, she rummaged under her pillow, grabbing her cell phone. But then she realized it was the wrong one. Of course not. The cell service was still down.
  Blunt ... _
  The phone that was ringing was lying on the bedside table. The one connected to the landline.
  With a groan, Maya reached up and lifted him from the cradle. "Yes?"
  'Hello. It's Hunter here. I hope I don't wake you.'
  She stifled a yawn. 'Too bad. You're already done. What time is it?'
  03:00 And we have development.
  'Really?' She blinked and sat up straight, her drowsiness gone. 'Good or bad?'
  "Well, a little bit of both." Hunter's voice was tense. "Would you guys mind walking to the office? I think this is something you'll want to see for yourself."
  'Copy this. We'll be there soon.'
  'Outstanding.'
  Maya placed the phone back on the stand. She glanced at Adam and saw that he had already gotten up and turned on the light in the room.
  He lifted his chin. "Something fresh?"
  Maya exhaled, anxiety pooling like acid in her stomach. "Looks like we might have a breakthrough."
  
  Chapter 56
  
  
  The non-commissioned officer waited for an hour.
  for them in the embassy foyer. His arms were crossed, and his expression was serious. "Step forward, step right. Welcome to the greatest show on earth."
  Maya shook her head. 'It's three o'clock. The witching hour. And nothing good ever happens during the witching hour.'
  Hunter frowned even more. "Witchcraft... what?"
  Adam smirked. "The witching hour. You've never heard of it? It's the exact opposite of the time Jesus Christ died, which was three o'clock in the afternoon. So three o'clock in the morning is when all the ghouls and demons break out. Just to spite Jesus and corrupt everything good and holy in the world."
  "Hmm, never heard that before." Hunter rubbed the back of his head. "But then again, being a Muslim, I wouldn't."
  - A good metaphor, isn't it?
  - Unfortunately, yes. Hunter led them through the usual security checks and brought them to the CIA office.
  Upon entering, Maya noticed that the TOC-the tactical operations center-was more hectic than last time. There was more equipment; more people; more noise. It was quite surreal, especially considering it was so early in the morning.
  Juno was already waiting for them at the entrance to the TOC, holding a Google Nexus tablet. "Well, yousa. It's good that you've graced us with your presence."
  Maya smiled thinly. "You must have a damn good reason for interrupting our beautiful sleep."
  'Aha. That's what I do.' Juno tapped the tablet and made a false curtsy. 'And... let there be light.'
  The enormous monitor above them came to life. A bird's-eye view of the city appeared, buildings and streets rendered in a 3D wireframe, and hundreds of smoothly animated icons scrolled across the virtual landscape.
  Maya stared at the interface with a mixture of fear and unease. She could make out video feeds, audio intercepts, and text fragments. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before.
  Adam whistled slowly. "Big Brother incarnate."
  "We call it Levit," Juno said. "This algorithm allows us to systematize and integrate all the observation data. Create a unified workflow."
  Juno ran her thumb and index finger across the tablet. On the monitor, the city map rotated and zoomed in on the Kepong district. Just outside the blue zone.
  "Here's what we wanted to show you," Hunter said. "This area has seen some of the aftermath of yesterday's attack. The power's out. There's no cell phone coverage. And then, uh, yeah, this..."
  Juno swiped her tablet again, and the video expanded to fill the screen. It was clearly from an airborne drone circling the suburbs, its camera transmitting images in the thermal infrared range.
  Maya could make out what looked like Stryker armored fighting vehicles cordoning off the surrounding streets, while dozens of soldiers fanned out, their heat signatures glowing white-hot in the darkness as they tightened their noose around the block. From this height, they looked like ants scurrying about with purpose.
  Maya swallowed dryly. "What"s going on here?"
  "Something's astronomically wrong," Juno said. "One of our drones was on a routine flyby when it came across this scene."
  The hunter shook his head and pointed. "What you're looking at is a RELA device. The size of the company. They're breaking into houses. Shoot anyone who resists or tries to escape..."
  As if on cue, Maya watched as a symphony of bright flashes erupted on the screen. Gunfire erupted, and she saw civilians running out of their homes only to be massacred in their own backyards, their bodies falling one after another.
  The blood they spilled appeared as silvery stains, gradually fading from view as it cooled on the grass and ground. Thermal imaging only made the atrocity even more terrifying.
  Maya nearly choked, and she felt her insides cramp. "Did MacFarlane authorize this? JSOC down there?"
  "The Malaysians are doing this unilaterally. The general had no advance warning." Hunter shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "So did Chief Raynor."
  - Well, how the hell is this possible?
  Juno spoke up: "After the attack on the Blue Zone, things became tense. The Malaysians and we... well, let's just say we don't have the best working relationship right now."
  'Meaning...?'
  "This means they no longer allow JSOC to act as 'trainers' and 'advisors.' They don't need our direction, and they certainly don't want our presence.
  The hunter cleared his throat and spread his hands. He looked sheepish. "The chief and our ambassador are in Putrajaya now. They're trying to get an audience with the prime minister. Get to the bottom of it."
  Adam pointed his finger at his nose in irritation. "And how does this happen?"
  - Well, the Prime Minister's Chief of Staff says he's sleeping and can't be woken up.
  Maya snorted and slammed her palm on the nearest table, her cheeks flushing. "That bastard is deliberately keeping quiet. Invasions into Kepong don't happen without the Prime Minister's permission."
  - This is a fluid situation, Maya. We're trying...
  "Whatever you do, it's not damn good enough." Maya gritted her teeth now, clenching her jaw so hard it hurt. She couldn't believe this was happening. It felt like the most disgusting of cosmic jokes.
  The prime minister came to power thanks to foreign patronage. He was supposed to be the chosen one-a man the West could work with. Smart, responsible, and rational.
  But in recent months, his behavior became increasingly erratic, and he began barricading himself in his residence, protected by layers of bodyguards, tanks, and artillery. He was convinced that the rebels were trying to kill him, and, incredibly, he also believed that his own cousin was plotting to overthrow his leadership.
  As a result, he rarely appeared in public anymore, and on the rare occasions when he left his mansion, he did so only in heavily armed escorts. There were even rumors that he resorted to using body doubles simply to make himself a harder target. Such was his fear of assassination or a coup.
  Maybe the attack on the Blue Zone had completely thrown him off balance. Maybe he'd truly lost his grip on reality.
  Whatever.
  All Maya knew was that he was looking more and more like another schizophrenic tyrant, hiding behind an ever thinner veneer of pseudo-democracy.
  It was a pretty shitty result, especially considering the international media had once dubbed him the Mandela of Southeast Asia. The last hope for honesty and decency in a besieged region.
  Yes, that's right. It didn't quite work out that way, did it?
  It was then that Maya felt Adam's hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. She flinched, struggling to control her emotions.
  "Are you okay?" Adam whispered.
  'I'm fine.' Maya pushed his hand away, sucking in air through her nose.
  One, two, three...
  She exhaled through her mouth.
  One, two, three...
  Civilians were being killed there, and it was very, very bad. But she knew that hysteria right now wouldn't change the situation.
  After all, what was JSOC going to do? Fly in and challenge Operation RELA? Resort to a Mexican standoff?
  If this were to happen, it would be safe to say that the already fragile relationship between Americans and Malaysians would only further diverge. And God only knows how the Prime Minister would react, finding his back to the wall.
  Damn it .
  As difficult as it was, Maya realized she needed to remain impartial about this. Remain objective. It was the best way-perhaps the only way-to navigate this mess.
  Hunter said, "I promise you, Maya, we will register our strongest objections with the Prime Minister. But so far, all his chief of staff is saying is that this is a legitimate counter-terrorism operation. They're targeting specific buildings. Rooting out sleeper agents. And-get this-he even claims that RELA came under direct fire when they entered the area. So that seems to justify the aggressive stance we're seeing."
  Maya spoke quietly and evenly. "The Prime Minister knows he's only in power thanks to foreign aid, doesn't he?"
  "I think he knows and isn't afraid to call our bluff. He understands that we won't let him go, despite his hysterics and mood swings. Because we still need him to maintain some stability in the country."
  - Oh, charming.
  Adam looked at Hunter, then at Juno. "Look, this doesn't make any sense. The suburbs of Kepong are mostly Christian, Buddhist, and Hindu. Which makes this one of the few places in the city where Muslims are a solid minority, and they've always been ardently Sunni. Same birds and all. So Shiite philosophy never really took hold here. And Khadija never tried to force the issue."
  "Good assessment," Juno said. "Historically, this area has been clean and quiet. Staunchly pro-government."
  - So what does it give?
  Juno sighed and tapped her tablet. The drone's video feed was zoomed out, and the virtual image of Kepong was enlarged and rotated. What looked like an apartment building was highlighted in red. "Earlier in the evening, our analysts picked up a signal from a satellite phone. It was very brief-only ninety seconds. Then it got dark."
  Hunter shrugged. "Coincidence or not, ninety seconds is how long it took our eggheads to intercept the conversation. Which, of course, they weren't allowed to do."
  Adam clicked his tongue. "So... someone was practicing basic OPSEC."
  - It looks like it.
  - But you managed to geolocate the phone.
  - Yes, but it's not an exact castle. We know the general area, but we can't say which apartment exactly or even what floor.
  "Were you able to record the IMSI or IMEI of the phone?" Maya asked.
  IMSI was short for International Mobile Subscriber Identity, a serial number used by SIM cards operating on a cellular or satellite network.
  Meanwhile, IMEI was short for International Mobile Station Equipment Identity, another serial number encoded into the handset itself.
  Maya's asset, Lotus, provided them with a list of IMSI and IMEI numbers associated with phones possibly stolen from the Special Branch. She believed that if they could match this information, they might have a chance of identifying who was using that particular device.
  Hunter replied, "Yes, we recorded the IMSI, but it wasn't of much use to us. The SIM card is registered to a fictitious name and address. It almost certainly came from the black market. As for the handset itself? Well, good luck with that. It turns out the IMEI matches a satellite phone that's in the Special Branch warehouse."
  'Yeah. You're not saying...
  "Was the call incoming or outgoing?" Adam asked.
  "He's leaving," Juno said. "International. We tracked him to Hobart City."
  'Tasmania...'
  "Bingo. We're inviting our Australian friends at ASIO to take care of this. However, the question is, why would anyone in Kepong need a satellite phone? It's a restricted item, especially one stolen from Special Branch.
  Maya studied the map on the screen. "Have the RELA soldiers searched the apartments yet?"
  "No," Hunter said. "They came within a few hundred meters of it once. But since then they've drifted south. Now they seem to be concentrating on a group of houses about two kilometers away."
  Maya bit her lip and considered. "It can"t be a coincidence. I mean, what if the Malaysians just decided to play it tactical in Kepong? For what? A leisurely fox hunt? Hey, I"m not buying that. I think they have a person of interest on their radar. But they don"t know exactly who he is or even where he is. All they have right now are the vaguest ideas. Which means they"re looking in the wrong place. At least for now." Maya exchanged a knowing look with Adam, her spidey sense tingling. "But, look, we have better intel than the Malaysians at the moment. And maybe-just maybe-this is the opportunity we"ve been waiting for." Maya looked at Juno. "Any chance you can find apartment rental records?"
  "I believe I can, titmouse." Juno's fingers flew across the tablet, typing rapidly.
  "Filter out Muslim residents. Focus only on non-Muslims. Then compare the results with those who have traveled to Australia in the last twelve months."
  "Why non-Muslims?" Hunter asked.
  "I'm playing on a hunch," Maya said. "Khadijah has shown a willingness to work with the Orang Asli. So perhaps she's doing the same here. Communicating with an asset who is Christian, Buddhist, or Hindu."
  Adam nodded. 'Yeah. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'
  A spreadsheet appeared on the screen and began scrolling vertically. The first column contained a list of names, the second column contained photo ID, and the third column contained metadata taken from passports.
  Strictly speaking, Maya knew their actions were illegal. They were hacking the country's national registry and telling the Malaysians nothing. However, at that point, diplomatic courtesies no longer mattered.
  Maya understood that one of the peculiarities of the Malaysian regime was the need to classify everyone by race and religion . This was done at birth, and from the age of twelve, every citizen was required to carry a biometric card.
  Job application? You needed this card.
  Buying a home? You needed this map.
  Hospital checkup? You needed this card.
  Through this bureaucratic process, the government could determine who was Muslim and who was not, and, more importantly, they could separate Sunnis from Shiites. This was the very essence of social engineering-cataloging every citizen and then tracking them from cradle to grave.
  The irony of this wasn't lost on Maya. In the past, she would have condemned such a practice. It was a violation of privacy and dignity. But now-surprise, surprise-she relied on this vile system to get things done, civil liberties be damned.
  "We have three positive matches." Juno smiled, swiping her finger across the tablet. "Wong Chun Oui. Helen Lau. And Dinesh Nair."
  Maya studied the photographs isolated on the screen. If she felt any guilt, she didn't notice it. All three faces were painfully ordinary. No dark voodoo. Her eyes darted back and forth. "Any one of them could be of interest to us."
  "I'll have our analysts dig deeper into their background. We'll see if we find any red flags."
  'Good. The more information we have, the more accurate our aim will be. Then we can get down to business.'
  Hunter frowned. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just wait a second. We've never been stationed in Kepong before. There's never been a reason to."
  "Aye, buddy," Adam said. "We know the area. And, for crying out loud, this is the opportunity we've been waiting for. It's actionable. Let's get him."
  - And the Malaysians?
  "Well, my God, they were kind enough to keep us out of it and become scammers. So I figure we should return the favor. A favor for a favor. Fair enough?
  The hunter hesitated and rubbed his forehead. Then he chuckled. 'Good. Good. You win. I'll try to clear this up with Chief Raynor and General MacFarlane.'
  Maya sucked her teeth. "Well, sooner is better."
  
  Chapter 57
  
  
  Ton from the CIA
  The armory wasn't the most inviting place to visit. It was all lines, steel shelving, and sterile lighting. Pure functionality, no aesthetics.
  This was the room where you were prepared for war.
  Maya donned a Dragon Skin vest, tactical gloves, and elbow and knee pads. She then used a marker to scribble her blood type on her shirt and pants, along with the initials "NKA"-short for "No Known Allergies."
  precautionary measure .
  God forbid she should run into a hail of bullets and be shot. But if that were the case, she wanted the doctors treating her to provide the best possible care. No preamble, no guesswork. Just straight to the point.
  Today is the day it will happen.
  It was fatalistic thinking, yes, but necessary. It was exactly what her parents had instilled in her since she was a little girl. She should never be afraid to think the unthinkable and anticipate every possibility.
  It's always better to be safe than sorry.
  Maya walked over to one of the gun cabinets. She selected an HK416 rifle and disassembled it into its individual parts. She checked the components for dirt and corrosion, making sure everything was clean and lubricated, then reassembled the gun and tested its functionality.
  She pressed the selector on the floor, then to burst, then to full automatic. She worked the charging handle and the bolt, pumping the trigger, each time producing a smooth click.
  Good to go.
  Maya rested her rifle on her lap. Strands of her hair were loose, fluttering in the flow of her breath. There was nothing more primal, more visceral than hunting humans. She knew the routine well enough. You gather information on a fugitive, then you chase him down and pin his ass to the wall.
  Find.
  To correct.
  End.
  The mechanics of it were cold and simple. It had been that way since time immemorial. Claws and fangs. Adrenaline and blood. The only part of the brain that mattered was the reptilian one.
  But something about this mission made Maya pause. She felt an emotional heaviness in her soul; a heavy burden she couldn't shake off.
  She thought about everything that had led her to this moment.
  Owen's kidnapping.
  Storming the Blue Zone.
  RELA massacre.
  None of this occurred in a moral vacuum. On the contrary, each incident was like a stone thrown into a once tranquil pond, causing violent turmoil, the consequences of violence spilling outward, ruining lives.
  Doing this hunt would only add to that.
  Another rock...
  Maya had no illusions about a fair and honest fight. Damn it, there was no such thing. Ever since she landed in Kuala Lumpur, she'd been given a crash course in human depravity.
  She witnessed all the cruel and cynical calculations that were made. The rich consolidated their privileges, while the poor suffered simply because they found themselves on the wrong side of an abstract equation.
  And what is this equation? Democracy? Freedom? Justice?
  It was enough to make her head spin.
  When she was a soldier, she was shielded from such difficult questions. When you were told to jump out of a plane, you jumped. When you were told to defend a hill, you defended it.
  Yes, you were simply following orders and doing so to the best of your ability. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And if you violate the code of conduct, you can be damn sure you'll be court-martialed and court-martialed.
  But now she was a ghost of Section One. An underground operator. And suddenly everything didn't seem so clear and dry anymore.
  What were the rules of participation?
  Where were the checks and balances?
  Geneva Convention?
  The atmosphere of the situation frightened her a little, for these were dark, barren lands into which she was venturing, balancing on the cutting edge of geopolitics.
  Well, damn...
  Maya narrowed her eyes and pushed her hair back, rubbing her temples.
  Sitting next to her on the bench, Adam loaded cartridges into the rifle magazine. He paused and glanced sideways at her. "Oh, oh. I know that look. You're thinking dark thoughts again."
  "Don't try to read my mind."
  - I won't have to. Because you're going to tell me what exactly is bothering you.
  Maya hesitated, wringing her hands. 'Okay. Okay. Are we good here? I mean, are we really?'
  "Is that a trick question?" Adam smiled tightly. "I didn't know that was existentialism 101. Otherwise, I'd brush up on my Kierkegaard and Nietzsche."
  "Aren't you worried about what we saw at TOS? The RELA soldiers did what they did..." Maya struggled to find the words. "It was mass murder. Fucking senseless."
  "Ah, yes. Not exactly the prime minister's finest hour." Adam shrugged. "If I had to guess, I'd say his pride was hurt by the attack on the Blue Zone. He can't believe a woman-a Shiite-managed to outsmart him. Hell, in Asian terms, you could say Khadija made him lose face."
  'That's right. He's humiliated. So he sends his squad of thugs to Kepong, the last possible place where the Black Widows might be. He shoots civilians who can't fight back...'
  "Well, this man has already carved his way to power. Maybe now he's trying to carve his way to peace."
  "Killing for the sake of peace is as rational as raping for virginity." Maya pursed her lips. "Let's face it-we're supporting the filthy regime in Putrajaya. We're perpetuating the problem..."
  - We shouldn't ask why...
  "Our job is do or die, yeah. But have you ever wondered how it's all going to work out? I mean, let's say we track down this criminal with a satellite phone. Keep an eye on the crackers. Bring Owen back. Finish off Khadija. Then what?
  "Well, hmm, we"ll see." Adam rubbed his chin and looked up at the ceiling. He pretended to be deep in thought. "First, Owen"s parents will be thrilled to have their son back safe and sound. Second, we"ll be able to cut off the viper"s head and cripple the rebels. And third, the politicians in Washington and Wellington will rest easy knowing their approval ratings are steadily rising." Adam nodded exaggeratedly, shaking his head. "In conclusion, we can chalk one up to the good guys. Hooray."
  Maya chuckled. 'No. Not a big deal. We'll still be stuck with the tyrant in Putrajaya. Back to square one. And that certainly doesn't make us the good guys.'
  "Be that as it may, this man won the election by a landslide..."
  "Elections that were rigged and paid for. Mainly in the West.
  "Because the alternative was worse. Much worse. And we couldn't afford it."
  "That's not what Dad was fighting for. He wanted a real, functioning democracy...
  Adam groaned. "And he paid the ultimate price for his beliefs."
  Maya immediately fell silent, looking down and clutching the rifle in her fingers. Now she was angry at Adam, not because he was wrong, but because he was right.
  In an ideal world, liberal democracy would be the answer to all problems. A government of the people, for the people. But not here, not now.
  At some point, democracy self-destructed, and now this country has become a cauldron of hatred and injustice. No one was interested in building metaphorical bridges for peace anymore. Nope. They were only interested in blowing them up, and the more fireworks, the better.
  Who exactly was to blame for this predicament?
  Malaysians? _
  Americans? _
  Saudis? _
  Khadija?
  The line between right and wrong-moral and immoral-became increasingly blurred. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to say who had thrown the first stone that set this endless cycle of revenge in motion.
  Maya felt her stomach turn over.
  Maybe no one is innocent of any of this. Because everyone is involved in corruption, lies, and murder. Even us.
  Adam shook his head slightly and sighed. He raised his palm in a penitent gesture. "Maya, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Your father was a good man..."
  Maya blinked hard and gave Adam an ice queen look. 'Oh, yes. He was. And he would be ashamed of all this bloodthirstiness and carnage we got into.'
  "Bloodlust? What?
  'There we go. We've become armed imperialists trying to bluff our way to victory. But you know what? We have no long-term strategy and no moral high ground. All we have is a psycho-dictator.'
  Adam winced, the ligaments in his neck tightening. "Look, we're not imperialists. That's leftist bullshit, and you know it. We're fighting for what's right-getting Owen back and stabilizing the country."
  - And then ...?
  "And then maybe we can have another round of elections. Get some proper leadership in place. But the timing has to be right...
  "Democracy, democracy," Maya said sardonically. "It all starts with moral proclamations, but then everything turns into a quagmire. Remember Iraq? Afghanistan? Hey, what did someone once say about those who refuse to learn from history?"
  Adam stared at Maya, anger coloring his cheeks.
  The edges of his mouth trembled, as if he wanted to protest, but then he looked down and continued shuffling rounds into the rifle's magazine. His movements were sharp and furious. 'Enough. Let's just finish this operation and dust it off. We can argue about damn semantics later.'
  Maya sighed heavily and looked away.
  They'd never argued like this before. Not for as long as she could remember. But this mission had driven a wedge between them, revealing fault lines she'd never even suspected existed.
  Yes, she was beginning to resent Adam. His tone was dismissive; his gaze too cavalier. But then again, what did she expect? Adam was an unrepentant nihilist. He didn't care about the nuances of geopolitics. All he wanted-all he craved-was to track down the terrorist. Everything else was moot.
  But Maya knew better.
  She understood that there would be consequences for this kind of arrogance. There were only so many kinetic actions you could perform before you experienced the inevitable backlash.
  What's the point of eliminating one terrorist if you'll end up creating three more? It's like playing fucking whack-a-mole.
  A worried Maya decided there were no easy answers. All she could do was focus on the task at hand and concentrate on the problem at hand.
  So she sighed and placed the rifle on the bench next to her. She pulled out her smartphone and opened the images of the three unknown individuals. She created an animated slideshow and let it run, studying each face again and again.
  Frankly speaking, she didn't have much to do.
  Juno was still in TOC, working with analysts to mine information, while Hunter was in SCIF, on a conference call with Chief Raynor and General MacFarlane, trying to get execution authority.
  At that moment, all Maya had was her gut instinct, and it made her pause the slide show. She was drawn to the third suspect-Dinesh Nair. He looked like an ordinary pensioner. Salt-and-pepper hair. A trimmed beard. A potbellied chin.
  But there was something in his eyes.
  A hint of sadness.
  She couldn't put her finger on it, but it seemed like he was someone with a void in their soul. Someone who craved a reason to follow. Maybe he needed a sense of purpose, or maybe he just wanted to feel young again.
  May be...
  Maya tilted her head, wondering if it was Dinesh.
  
  Chapter 58
  
  
  Dinesh Nair listened attentively.
  Now he could barely hear the shots. They had receded even further into the distance, crackling and popping like harmless fireworks, almost insignificant.
  Yes...
  Sweaty and exhausted, he kissed his St. Christopher pendant.
  Thank God. The bastards won't come back.
  He decided he'd waited long enough. He crawled out from under the workbench, fumbled for his satellite phone, inserted the battery, and turned it on. Rising to his feet, he walked over to the broken window and, bracing his elbow against the ledge, leaned out and received a signal.
  With a trembling finger, he dialed the number Farah had made him memorize. The line connected, and he let it ring exactly three times before hanging up.
  distress code .
  Now all he had to do was wait for a call back.
  Blinking and swallowing, Dinesh wiped his face with his sleeve. He wasn't sure what would happen next. Would he be ordered to move to the extraction point? Or would Farah come straight and get him?
  It doesn't matter. Just get me out of here. Please.
  His head was spinning, his body was limp. But he couldn't move from the window. He knew his satellite phone had poor reception unless there was a clear sky, and he couldn't afford to miss a return call.
  So Dinesh waited. Leaning against the windowsill, wavering between wakefulness and sleep, he thought again of his boys. His precious boys. And he felt a pang of grief.
  Oh, merciful, merciful Jesus...
  He spent most of his adult life working hard, saving money to send his sons to Australia, telling them never to return to Malaysia.
  And yet... here it is. Getting involved in this dirty war. Deceiving oneself with the rhetoric of change.
  His eyes grew wet, and his chest heaved. Was he a naive dreamer? Or was he a complete hypocrite? He was no longer sure.
  All he knew was that the hope he had cherished-once so powerful and tantalizing-was now fading like a shimmering mirage in the desert. All that remained was fear and despair.
  What a fool I was. What a fool...
  At that moment, the satellite phone in his hand rang and vibrated. He tensed and wiped his runny nose, then answered. "Hello?"
  Farah's voice challenged him: "But I, a poor man, see only my dreams. I spread my dreams under your feet."
  "Tread softly..." Dinesh faltered, stumbling over his words. "Tread carefully, because you're treading on my dreams."
  - Are you home ?
  'No, no. I'm at school. An abandoned school.
  "This is not where you should be." Farah paused. "You went against protocol."
  - I... please, I had no choice. RELA soldiers were killing people. I was scared. I didn't know what to do...
  'Understood. Stand by. I'll call you back with instructions.'
  The line went down.
  Dinesh winced, his face flushed, his lips trembling. She didn't ask him how he was. She didn't even try to reassure him.
  Damn. How dare she hang me? I deserve better than this.
  Frustrated, he clenched his fist and slammed it on the windowsill. Groaning, he made a promise to himself.
  If I survive this, I will leave the country. Leave forever.
  
  Chapter 59
  
  
  Khaja
  and her fedayeen reached the village.
  Kampung Belok .
  Here the tropical forests ended and the mangrove swamps began, where fresh water turned salty. Wooden houses on the riverbank stood on stilts, and around them, dense tiers of trees grew out of the emerald swamps.
  In the distance, Khadija could hear the murmur of waves, and the air was filled with a salty aroma. The sea was close.
  It made her smile. She'd once grown up in a village much like this one. Yes, she was a seaside girl at heart. Always had been. Always would have been.
  Khadija looked at the boy. He was still shaking with fever. She touched his forehead, then stroked his hair. "Just a little longer, Owen. You'll be home soon."
  Their boats slowed as they rounded a half-submerged tree and floated toward the pier.
  Khadija looked up and saw the Orang Asli waiting for them on the platform, crowded with red lanterns. It was as if the entire village-men, women, and children-had announced their arrival.
  I am Allah.
  She was humble.
  It was such an early hour.
  As their boats drifted close, the young Orang Asli reached out for help, and with a taut rope they tied the vessels to the pier.
  Carefully, very carefully, Ayman and Siti helped them lift Owen.
  Then Khadija stepped onto the platform, and the adoring crowd pushed her forward. Children grabbed and kissed her hands. Women hugged her, chatting excitedly. Their lanterns swayed. The experience was hypnotic; almost spiritual.
  For them she was both a caliph and a sayyida.
  The leader came from the lineage of the Prophet himself.
  Finally, the village elder stepped forward. He bowed his head, his smile highlighting the wrinkles on his withered face. "Peace be with you."
  "Peace be with you too, Uncle." Khadija nodded. "It was a long time ago."
  Of course, the village chief wasn't really her uncle. The greeting was honorable, because that was how things were in that part of the country.
  Adat Dan tradisi.
  Custom and tradition.
  Always.
  
  Chapter 60
  
  
  Jtolk under
  The villagers dug a network of tunnels across the surface of Kampung Belok.
  Their painstaking work began long before the uprising. Inch by inch, meter by meter, they dug directly beneath their homes, concealing their labor from the prying eyes of reconnaissance aircraft.
  They now had an extensive network that extended far beyond their settlement, its design based on the infamous Cu Chi network used by guerrillas during the Vietnam War.
  Such tunnels could be used for shelter, regrouping and resupply, and to outwit and outlive the enemy.
  The possibilities were endless.
  The mayor led Khadija through a hatch beneath his house, and she descended the ladder. The tunnel walls were narrow-barely shoulder-width apart-and when her feet touched the bottom of the passage, the ceiling was so low that she had to drop to her elbows and knees. She crawled behind the mayor, who led her through the winding labyrinth, his flashlight bobbing and spinning.
  Left.
  Right.
  Left.
  Gone again.
  Which way was north? Which way was south?
  Khadija could no longer speak. All she knew was that they seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of the earth.
  She breathed in short gasps, the air here painfully thin, the smell of earth assaulting her nostrils. Worse, she could see insects crawling around her in the dim light. More than once, she crashed headfirst into cobwebs, spitting and coughing.
  I am Allah...
  Just when she thought she couldn't bear it anymore, the narrow tunnel miraculously disappeared and they found themselves in a glowing cave.
  It was the size of a small living room. Strings of lights hung on the walls, and a generator hummed in the corner.
  While the ceiling was still low, Khadija could at least stand hunched over. The air here, too, seemed fresher, and she took a breath and sighed gratefully.
  The elder smiled and gestured. "We've installed vents that lead to the surface. That's why the air here is so much sweeter." He turned and pointed to the computer equipment sitting on a crate that served as a makeshift desk. "We've also prepared a secure laptop and a satellite modem, which is connected to an antenna on the ground."
  Khadija wiped her face with her scarf, examining the equipment. "Spread spectrum and signal hopping?"
  - Yes, as you requested. Besides, the generator we use is low-power. It operates at just under two thousand watts.
  'Ideal.'
  The headman nodded humbly. "Do you need anything else?"
  'Not at all. This configuration will suit my purpose perfectly.
  'Very well. Then I will leave you to your task.
  - Thank you, uncle.
  Khadija waited until the chieftain shuffled back into the tunnel, then walked over to the laptop on the crate. She touched it hesitantly, then disconnected it from the modem and pushed it aside.
  No, she will not use this computer.
  She trusted the headmistress, of course, but only up to a point. She didn't check the equipment personally. So there was always a risk that it could be infected with malware. Perhaps at the time of purchase. Or during transportation. Or during installation.
  Yes, Khadija knew she could run an antivirus scan on it. She had the right software. But really, why risk it? Why run a system you didn't even trust?
  No, operational security must come first.
  Sitting cross-legged, Khadija unzipped her backpack and pulled out another laptop she'd brought with her. This one was definitely clean. It had already been checked. That reassured her.
  Khadija connected her laptop to the modem and configured it with the usual precautions, then dialed the satellite link. The bandwidth she was using was beyond the normal range. The Americans would have had difficulty detecting the modulation, even if they were actively searching for it. The low output power was also a good countermeasure.
  Satisfied, Khadija used the onion router to connect to the darknet - the secret underbelly of the internet - and logged into her email account through an encrypted gateway.
  This was how she contacted her operatives in urban centers if she needed immediate access. She would type a text message, then use a steganography app to encrypt it and hide it in a digital image. She typically chose high-resolution cat photos, each containing thousands of pixels. She only needed to select one pixel to hide her message.
  Khadija then saved the image as an email draft without sending it.
  The operative, in turn, would log in and access the draft, then decrypt the image to read the message.
  The process will be repeated to send the response.
  This virtual cutout was the perfect way to avoid detection. Since nothing was actually transmitted over the internet, the chances of interception were slim.
  However, Khadija knew that this method was not reliable.
  The darknet was constantly monitored by law enforcement agencies such as Interpol and the FBI. They were looking for counterfeiters, smugglers, and pedophiles.
  The network's sheer size and anonymity made it virtually impossible to track down any individual user. You couldn't access the darknet through regular web browsers. You couldn't find it through regular search engines. Everything had to be done through secret gateways and portals.
  However, on rare occasions, law enforcement agencies were lucky, usually through sting operations and decoys. They preyed on greed and lust, promising deals that were too good to be true. In this way, they coerced potential suspects into coming out of hiding and revealing themselves.
  It was a classic trap.
  Yes, you can change many things, but you cannot change human nature.
  With this in mind, Khadija always tried to stay on the beaten path. She always refrained from communicating in real time. Everything would be done in draft form. Just in case.
  However, cyberspace was not her only concern.
  In the real world, Khadija knew the Americans had deployed equipment to collect COMINT - communications intelligence. They primarily intercepted radio transmissions and phone calls. That was their primary obsession. But, to a lesser extent, they also used sniffers to capture data packets. Yes, they were accustomed to connecting to local internet providers.
  They didn't know what they were looking for. Not exactly. That's how they looked at everything. Perhaps a better analogy would be trying to find a needle in a haystack.
  All these efforts were concentrated in cities where total surveillance was possible. This didn't directly affect Khadija, but it exposed her agents in urban areas to the greatest risk, especially if they had to use internet cafes or Wi-Fi hotspots.
  So she learned to be cautious in her use of technology. Yes, it was a great tool, but she didn't want to rely on it too much. The Dark Web would expand her use of human couriers, but it would never replace them.
  Better safe than sorry.
  There was another reason for Khadija's wariness.
  Perhaps it was personal bias.
  She knew all too well that saving drafts to an email account was a technique used by organizations like al-Qaeda and ISIS, the Sunni thugs responsible for the massacre of Shiites around the world.
  Yes, Khadija hated them passionately. So much so that she celebrated the death of Osama bin Laden. Others might have seen him as a shahid, but she saw him only as a monster, the very embodiment of evil.
  That was the irony. In fact, she was relying on a craft perfected by the late emir and his bloodthirsty relatives. Indeed, it was their asymmetrical operations-September 11 and beyond-that laid the foundation for her own insurgency.
  Do the ends justify the means?
  Khadija frowned. She didn't want to dwell on such moral quandaries. Not here, not now. As it was, she'd already gone too far down the rabbit hole, both literally and figuratively.
  The end will justify the means. I have to believe that.
  Taking a deep breath, Khadija opened the drafts folder in her email account and scrolled through it. As expected, dozens of images had accumulated since she last logged in. She began deciphering them, discovering text messages hidden within.
  Most of it was old news - updates she had already received through her regular couriers.
  However, the last message was new.
  It came from Farah, one of her spies who had infiltrated the Special Branch in Kuala Lumpur. In coded language, she confirmed that the asset-Dinesh Nair-had been activated. He was already there, ready to serve as bait.
  Khadija felt a hot rush of adrenaline in her stomach. With a trembling breath, she checked the timestamp on the message. He had been rescued just a few minutes ago.
  Yes, it's real. It's happening now.
  Khadija leaned her elbows on the crate in front of her, her head bowed, and in that moment she felt her resolve waver. This was the opportunity she'd been waiting for, and yet she felt uneasy.
  Am I willing to make this sacrifice? Am I really?
  Tensing her jaw until it hurt, Khadija closed her eyes and cupped her face in her hands. Then she heard the Eternal's murmur pulsing within her skull, and she realized that the Almighty was speaking to her again.
  Now is not the time to ask questions. Now is the time to act. Remember, the world is a battlefield, and both believers and unbelievers must be called to judgment.
  The divine light exploded in her mind like a phantasmagoria, burning like several suns, so immediate and real that she had to dodge and flinch from it.
  She saw a tsunami of faces and places. She heard an avalanche of voices and sounds. Everything merged together, like a fierce wind, rising to a crescendo. And all she could do was whimper and nod, arms outstretched, accepting the revelation, even if she didn't understand it all.
  Alhamdulillahi Rabbi Alamin. All praise be to God, the Lord of all that exists.
  It was then that the images melted, dissolving like dust, the ferocity giving way to serenity. And in the silence of that moment, Khadija felt dizzy and breathing heavily, bright spots still dancing before her eyes, and a ringing in her ears.
  Tears streamed down her cheeks.
  She was grateful.
  Oh, so grateful.
  When God is with me, who can be against me?
  Yes, Khadija knew that her path was blessed.
  will do what is needed.
  
  Chapter 61
  
  
  Khaja heard
  There was movement from the tunnel behind her, and she quickly wiped away her tears and smoothed her hair. She regained her composure.
  The village headman returned accompanied by Siti and Ayman.
  Khadija spread her legs and stood up. She kept an impassive expression on her face, although her knees were shaking slightly. "How's the boy?"
  Siti smiled and gestured enthusiastically. "The doctor at the clinic treated him with antibiotics, as well as injections for meningitis and tetanus."
  "So... his condition is stable?"
  - Yes, the fever has gone down. Alhamdulillah.
  Ayman leaned against the cave wall and crossed his arms. He shrugged. "This is just a short-term solution. He needs the best medical facility."
  Siti looked at Ayman. "Another move only increases the risk."
  'I know. But for his well-being, we still have to do it.'
  - This is stupid. It was dawn in a few hours.
  - Yes, but the poison is still in his blood...
  - No, he doesn't have a fever anymore...
  "Enough." Khadija raised her hand. "Owen's well-being must come first."
  Siti winced, her lips pressed together, her expression angry.
  Ayman tilted his head, his eyes wide and hopeful. "So we're moving him? Yes?"
  Khadija hesitated. Her mouth was dry and her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
  She suddenly longed for a cigarette, even though she hadn't smoked one since she was a wild and sinful teenager. How strange that at a time like this she should be craving the remnants of her youth.
  Sucking the inside of her cheek, Khadija suppressed the urge and cleared her throat. She lowered her voice to the softest she could manage. "No, we won't move the boy. He must stay here."
  "What?" Ayman scrunched up his face in an irritated tone. 'Why? Why should he stay?'
  "Because I received news from Farah. The asset is already in place. We will continue our strategy.
  Ayman blinked once, twice, the color drained from his cheeks, his gloom gave way to despair, and his shoulders slumped.
  Siti reacted much more violently, gasping and covering her mouth with both hands.
  The village elder, who had remained silent until now, merely bowed his head, the heavy wrinkles on his face curved in deep thought.
  The atmosphere in the cave suddenly became darker, heavier.
  The silence dragged on, filled with anxiety.
  Khadija felt as if she might collapse and shatter at that moment. Her emotions were raw, piercing the very core of her soul. Part of her wished she could put this harsh reality aside. But another part of her accepted that this was her destiny, her calling.
  Everything led to this day of days.
  "Yes..." Khadija sighed and smiled with dignity. "Yes, as soon as initial contact is established, we will return the boy to the Americans. It"s time." Khadija looked at the village elder. "Uncle, please gather your people. I will address them and lead them in prayer."
  The chieftain looked up, his wrinkled eyes narrowing to pinpoints. There was calm in his expression. "Is this the event we've been preparing for?"
  "Yes, this is an event. I believe that God will help me get through this." Khadija bowed her head. "I expect you all to keep your faith. Remember what I taught you.
  - Mother... - Ayman rushed forward, began to fall to his knees, a sob escaping his lips. "No..."
  Khadija took a quick step and grabbed him in her arms. Despite her best efforts, her voice broke. "No tears, my son. No tears. This is not the end. Only the beginning of something new. Inshallah."
  
  Chapter 62
  
  
  Juno brought
  Maya and Adam return to SCIF.
  The whole gang was here. Hunter. Chief Raynor. General MacFarlane. And someone else - a civilian bureaucrat.
  Everyone pushed back their chairs and stood up.
  Raynor looked tired as a dog, but managed a thin smile. "Maya, Adam. I'd like to introduce you to David Chang, our ambassador.
  Maya glanced at Chang. He was a career diplomat, and he looked the part. Winged boots. A tailored suit. An American flag lapel pin.
  Chang leaned forward and shook Maya and Adam's hands vigorously, sporting a politician's grin that was too wide and too plastic. "Miss Raines. Mr. Larsen. I've heard so much about you. I'm thrilled. I really am. It's a privilege to finally meet you in the flesh."
  Maya played along, pretending to be flattered. "The same, Mr. Ambassador. We've heard a lot about you, too."
  He laughed. - I hope only good things.
  - Nothing but good, sir.
  Breaking the handshake, Maya glanced past Chang and saw MacFarlane roll his eyes and smirk. The microexpression was fleeting, but the meaning was clear enough. MacFarlane resented Chang, viewing him as a Washington carpetbagger eager to score political points but too uptight to handle the heavy lifting.
  Perhaps this assessment is not so far from the truth.
  Maya glanced at Raynor and saw that his expression had become more neutral. However, his jawline was tense, and he continued to smooth his tie with his hand. A restless twitch. It was clear he wasn't a big fan of Chang either.
  Maya took a slow breath.
  This is a damn political minefield. I have to watch where I step.
  Maya knew all about the turf wars raging between the CIA, the Pentagon, and the State Department. It had been going on since September 11th.
  The CIA preferred secrecy.
  The Pentagon preferred force.
  The State Department advocated for dialogue.
  Their strategies were often contradictory, provoking disagreements. And Maya could feel the tension building in this very room. Raynor and MacFarlane were ready to confront Chang.
  Not a good mix.
  Maya realized that here she would have to be both insightful and perceptive, because overcoming all the bureaucracy and reaching a compromise would be a balancing act. Tough.
  Raynor gestured for everyone to sit down. "Well, guys, shall we get down to business?"
  "Absolutely." Chang slid into the chair, sleek as a cat. His chin lifted, and he clasped his hands together, fingertips touching. "Let's get this ball rolling."
  "Good." Raynor took a sip from his coffee mug. "As you know, the ambassador and I were trying to meet with the Malaysian Prime Minister. We wanted to raise the issue of what's going on in Kepong."
  Adam said, "Let me guess - not joy?"
  "Unfortunately, no," said Chang. "The Prime Minister did not grant us an audience. We waited an hour before surrendering."
  "That's not surprising," MacFarlane said. "The man is a paranoid schizophrenic. What do you think was going to happen when you showed up on his doorstep?"
  "Obviously, he didn't greet us with a red carpet and rose petals. But we had to try, Joe.
  - Well, Dave, you've failed. The Prime Minister is both incomprehensible and insufferable. He's been a pain in the ass ever since we got here. Dictating what we can and can't do. Well, I say we'll go around him. Take off the kid gloves and get on with the programme.
  "Yeah, I know you're itching to get started." Chan sighed and wagged his finger. "Full Rambo with night raids and capture/kill missions. Screaming hurrahs all the way. But you know what? You may have presidential approval to expand this operation, but it's not a blank check. You can't just jump over the Malaysians. They're our allies."
  "Well, hurray," said Juno. "They haven't been acting quite like that lately."
  "Be that as it may, Washington has expressed a desire to keep saber-rattling to a minimum. This means we remain outwardly polite and don't rock the boat."
  'Rock the boat?' MacFarlane rapped his knuckles on the table. 'Let's get rid of this bullshit Beltway politics. How about we stand up for ourselves for once?'
  'Well, I am. I am doing my job.
  "It doesn't look like it from where I'm sitting."
  Jesus Christ. You snake eaters are all the same, aren't you? Unless it involves kicking down doors and shooting terrorists, you don't want to know about it. But, listen, there is such a thing as diplomacy. Negotiation. It's what we adults do. You should try it sometime.
  - So says a pencil pusher who has never risked his life to defend his country. High-flown words. High-flown words indeed.
  "We all have our roles. We can't all be cavemen.
  Raynor cleared his throat before the argument could get any worse. "Gentlemen? Gentlemen. Please. You both make good points, but we're wasting precious time here."
  MacFarlane and Chang turned to look at Raynor. Maya could see their faces were flushed, their chests bulging with masculinity. With so much at stake, neither of them wanted to back down.
  Raynor rubbed his beard in confusion. "As you know, we have a possible high-value target. His name is Dinesh Nair. A Malaysian citizen. We believe he is Khadija's guide."
  "Outstanding." MacFarlane nodded and smiled crookedly. "I can deploy my men and assist in the takedown. All I need is the green light."
  'No.' Chang raised his hand. 'Let's not get ahead of ourselves. All I've heard so far is guesswork and guesswork.'
  "That's why we need to call the subject in. Interrogate him."
  "Uh, that's the last thing we should do. The RELA militia is in Kepong, right? That means he's their target, not ours. We need to share any information we have with them. Try to come to a mutually beneficial agreement..."
  MacFarlane chuckled. "You're a party animal. You really are."
  "Look, I'm not going to just keep going without something solid. Do you know what the consequences could be if this goes wrong? We're talking about a diplomatic shitstorm."
  "Always cover your ass, Dave. Always cover your ass.
  "You may not know it, Joe, but I've got your back, too."
  Raynor shifted in his chair and exhaled sharply. It was clear he was close to losing his cool. 'Okay. Okay. I hear you.' Raynor glanced at Hunter. 'Show the ambassador what we have.'
  Hunter shrugged and rose to his feet, holding a Google Nexus tablet. He tapped it, and the huge monitor in SCIF flickered. Icons danced across the screen. "Dinesh Nair runs a used bookstore," Hunter said. "It's his day job. But we think it's a front. In fact, we're almost certain it is."
  Chang glanced skeptically at the monitor. "And you know this because...?"
  Hunter swiped his finger. A video feed appeared. It was grainy, street-level footage. "This is from a closed-circuit camera overlooking the subject's storefront."
  Chang's expression turned sour, as if he'd just been forced to suck a lemon. "You mean you hacked Malaysia's CCTV system? Really?"
  'Yes, indeed.' Raynor looked at Chang impassively. 'That's what we do. It's called intelligence gathering.'
  'Yeah, Dave. You should shut up and watch.' MacFarlane smirked. 'You might even learn a thing or two from the pros.'
  'Very good.' Chang inhaled, chastisingly. 'Go on.'
  Hunter continued, "Every morning at half past six, the subject arrives to open the case. And every day at four thirty, he closes up and leaves work. A solid eight hours. He does it without fail. Like clockwork. Look.
  Hunter swiped his finger across the screen and the video skipped forward, skipping frames.
  At the start of each day, Dinesh would arrive at work, unlatching the barred door at the store's entrance before disappearing up the stairs. And at the end of each day, Dinesh would descend the stairs, locking himself in before leaving.
  "The subject's routine is predictable." Hunter compared the two events, the date stamp on the footage ticking. 'Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. He works six days. He only rests on Sunday.'
  Juno said: "We can confirm that this has been his lifestyle for the last two months. That's how far back the footage goes."
  Hunter fast-forwarded a full minute, skimming through the weeks. Finally, he paused and pressed play. "Here's what happened yesterday. This is where his routine changes."
  The video again shows Dinesh arriving at work, looking enthusiastic and bouncing along. Nothing out of the ordinary.
  Hunter fast-forwarded a bit and pressed play.
  Now Dinesh was closing his shop, but his body language had changed dramatically. He seemed restless and anxious. He was eager to leave. It was a devastating image.
  "Look here." Hunter paused the video and pointed to the timestamp. "The subject leaves his store just half an hour after arriving. And he doesn't return for the rest of the day. This is inconsistent with the lifestyle we've established."
  "He leaves ten minutes before eight," Juno said. "And we all know what happens shortly after eight."
  "Boom," said Raynor. "The assault on the Blue Zone begins."
  "This can't be a coincidence." Adam clicked his tongue. "Hell, no."
  Chang swallowed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stared at Dinesh's image on the monitor. He rested his chin on his clenched fingers, looking almost thoughtful.
  The silence dragged on.
  It was a eureka moment.
  Yet Maya knew Chang was unwilling to give in. Perhaps it was pride. Perhaps it was fear of the unknown. So she decided to give him a little nudge in the right direction.
  "Mr. Ambassador?" Maya leaned forward, maintaining a soft but firm tone. "The situation is fluid, but we've taken a break. The satellite phone Dinesh Nair uses is now up and running. It appears he's moved to a new location-an abandoned school across from his apartment building. And we can confirm he made a call, and then received a call. For some reason, it's staying put, but I don't think that will last forever. We need executive powers. We need it now."
  Chang blinked hard and turned to look at Maya. He sighed. "Miss Raines, I know all about the good work your late father did for us. All the miracles he performed. And, yes, I'd like to think some of his magic rubbed off on you. But this? Well, that's a terrible situation." He let out a throaty chuckle. "You want to designate Dinesh Nair as a high-value target. Carry out the interdict under the noses of our allies. Excuse me, but do you know how many international laws we'd be breaking?"
  Maya felt a pang of anger, but did not show it.
  Chang teased her with a rhetorical question.
  She understood why.
  Dinesh wasn't involved in the fighting. He was someone who assisted in the fighting but didn't actually participate. His bank statements, his travel logs, his lifestyle-all of it was strictly circumstantial. This meant his exact role in Khadija's network was still unknown, and yet they considered him guilty until proven innocent. This was the complete opposite of how the law was supposed to work.
  Dad would hate this. Violation of civil liberties. Disregard for the rules of war. Collateral death.
  But Maya couldn't allow herself to dwell on it.
  It was too damn complicated.
  Right now, the only thing she could focus on was getting a decision out of Chang, and she simply wasn't about to get into an intellectual debate about the legality. No way.
  So Maya settled on the blunt and simple. She went for the emotional jugular. "Sir, with all due respect, Robert Caulfield has been calling you every single day since this crisis began. Asking for news of his son. You consider him a friend, don't you?"
  Chang nodded cautiously. 'Yes. Close.'
  - So what's more important to you right now? The mood of our Malaysian allies? Or the pain your friend is feeling?
  "Take your time, Ms. Raines." Chang frowned, his lips curling. He turned to examine Dinesh's image on the monitor again. "I saw what the kidnapping did to Robert and his wife. I saw how they suffered." Chang spread his arms, gripping the arms of his chair, the leather creaking. His voice was tense. "If I could bring their boy home right now and end their grief, I would..."
  Maya waited a moment. She had Chang on the hook. Now she needed to persuade him. "Mr. Ambassador, you are the only one with the authority to make executive decisions here. So what will it be? Are we ready to go?"
  Chang hesitated, then shook his head. "Hell yeah. You've got the green light." He glanced at Raynor, then at MacFarlane. "But to be clear, this will only be a limited deployment. You understand? Limited."
  
  Part 4
  
  
  Chapter 63
  
  
  Dinesh Nair was worried.
  The sun would rise in a few hours, and he still hadn't heard back from Farah. This was bad. Very bad. He knew the longer he kept his satellite phone on, the greater the risk of his position being compromised.
  Why is she making me wait? Why?
  Still hunched on the windowsill, he rubbed his bleary eyes. He didn't know what the logistics of exile were supposed to be, but he hated the feeling.
  At the mercy of one call.
  Hoping.
  Horror.
  Finally, he groaned and straightened up. He left his satellite phone lying on the windowsill, where it could still receive a signal.
  He paced the room restlessly. His stomach was churning. He was both hungry and thirsty. The water had run out half an hour ago. He knew he couldn't stay here forever.
  Then a rebellious thought came into his head.
  He who was born out of despair.
  What if... What if I just forget about Farah? Run away on my own?
  Dinesh fidgeted, wringing his hands.
  Leaving Kepong wouldn't be that difficult. After all, he knew the neighborhood intimately. Every nook and cranny. All he had to do was stay off the main streets, sneak through the back alleys, and stick to the shadows.
  Of course, he wasn't as fit as he used to be. He wasn't as fast, either. But he had one advantage: he was just one man and could move quietly and carefully if necessary.
  In contrast, the RELA soldiers were clumsy and noisy. They were also limited by the armored vehicles they rode in. Their movements were linear; predictable.
  All he had to do was keep his eyes and ears open.
  He will anticipate the bastards and avoid them.
  Yes, it will be easy. I just need to focus. Dedicate yourself to it.
  Licking his lips, Dinesh thought about the friends he had in other parts of the city. If he could reach one of them, he could find shelter and lay low for a couple of days, then get out of the country.
  Dinesh was now pacing back and forth, nodding as he went. He considered modes of transportation, schedules, and escape routes.
  Now everything was crystallized in his mind.
  His heart was full and he dared to hope.
  Yes, I can do it. I can do it...
  Dizzy with excitement, he reached into his bag, searching with his fingers for the familiar form of his passport.
  Where was it?
  He felt around this way and that.
  No...
  He tensed and frowned. He turned his bag over and shook it violently, scattering its contents across the floor, then dropped to his knees, turning on his flashlight and rummaging through his things.
  No. No. No...
  He was gasping for breath, his movements were frantic.
  That's when the terrible realization came.
  I didn't have my passport with me.
  At first, he panicked, his chest tightening, wondering if he'd dropped it somewhere along the way. But then he realized the answer was much simpler: he'd left it in his apartment.
  Stupid. Damn stupid.
  Dinesh, sweating, leaned back, slapped his palm on the floor, and burst into raucous laughter. Oh, yeah. All he could do was laugh.
  He hatched all these grandiose plans and prepared himself for false bravado.
  But who was he kidding?
  He was just a bookish man with no street instincts; a wannabe spy. And now he'd made the most fundamental mistake of all.
  Without a passport, he would never have been able to pass through border control. Getting a plane ticket would have been impossible, and boarding a train to escape to Thailand or Singapore was also out of the question.
  Dinesh snorted at his own carelessness, rubbing his forehead sheepishly.
  I'll have to go back to my apartment. Get my passport.
  And what a damn inconvenience that would be.
  He will have to retrace his steps and delay his escape from Kepong...
  Then the satellite phone on the windowsill rang and vibrated, startling him. He blinked and looked at it.
  Oh my God.
  He almost forgot it was there.
  Dinesh rose to his feet and half stumbled, reaching for the phone and fiddling with it as he answered the call. "Hello?"
  "Are you still at school?" Farah asked.
  - Oh, yeah. Yes, I'm still here.
  - Where exactly?
  - Uh, the lab is behind the school. It's a one-story building.
  'Good. I want you to maintain your position. I'll send a squad after you. The sign and countersign will remain the same. Keep your phone on silent, but make sure it's active. That's all.'
  Wait, wait. I have a problem. My passport...
  Click.
  The line went down.
  Dinesh winced, his hand shaking as he hung up the phone.
  Should I stay? Should I go?
  He felt torn.
  If he left Kepong without a passport, what then? Could he count on Farah to provide him with fake travel documents? Would she be able to get him to Australia?
  To be honest, he didn't know.
  They never discussed such an unforeseen circumstance.
  That was never part of the equation.
  Frustrated, Dinesh clenched his jaw until it hurt, then kicked the cabinet next to him. The wooden panel cracked and splintered, and rats squealed and scurried from the edge of the room.
  kicked the cabinet again.
  The blows echoed.
  Shit. Shit. Shit.
  Eventually, his anger gave way to resignation, and he stopped and leaned against the wall. He shook his head, his breath escaping through his teeth.
  Dear Lord Jesus...
  Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to believe Farah was acting in his best interests. All she'd done so far was patronize him, and even if he begged her to let him leave Khadija's case, he wasn't sure she would.
  Because to her I'm just a pawn. A piece she moves around the chessboard.
  His rebellious thoughts returned, and he knew he had very few options left. If he wanted to reunite with his sons in Australia, he needed to muster the courage to take charge of his destiny.
  Well, screw Farah's orders. I'm going back to my apartment. Right now.
  
  Chapter 64
  
  
  When Dinesh left
  He crawled out into the night, a breeze blew through the lab, and suddenly discovered the air was smoky and smelled of ash. His eyes stung and watered, and his mouth filled with a burnt taste.
  This surprised him.
  Where did this come from?
  As he circled the school blocks, he noticed an orange glow on the horizon ahead, accompanied by a constant whistling sound.
  Dinesh swallowed, feeling the short hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He was afraid, but he didn't know why. He whispered a Hail Mary, needing all the divine grace he was about to receive.
  When he reached the broken fence around the school's perimeter and slipped past it, all the pieces fell into place and he saw the horror in all its fullness.
  Just across the field ahead, houses were burning, flames dancing and soaring, belching plumes of smoke. A handful of residents stood out against the inferno, desperately trying to extinguish the flames with buckets of water. But it was no use. If anything, the flames seemed to be growing more ferocious, spreading greedily.
  With a loud crash, the house rocked and collapsed into a pile of rubble, followed by a second, then a third. Fiery embers and powdery soot choked the air.
  Dinesh could only watch, his stomach turning.
  Oh, God. Where are the firefighters? Why aren't they here yet?
  That's when the realization hit him. The firefighters hadn't arrived. Of course they hadn't. The regime had taken care of that. Because they wanted to punish the residents of Kepong.
  What for? What have we ever done to them?
  It was disgusting; distressing.
  Dinesh was suddenly overcome with fear that the soldiers might roar back in their armored personnel carriers. They would seal off the area again and start shooting and bombing again.
  It was an irrational thought, of course. After all, why would the death squad return? Hadn't they caused enough damage for one night?
  But still...
  Dinesh shook his head. He knew that if the worst happened and he backed himself into a corner, the game would be over. He couldn't rely on Farah to save him.
  But damn, he's already made his decision.
  Do it. Just do it.
  Nostrils flaring, face scrunched up, Dinesh took one last look around and then dashed across the street, cutting through the field.
  He ran at a steady pace, his bag swinging and flapping against his side. He felt the hot flames wash over him, causing his skin to tingle.
  Two hundred meters.
  One hundred meters.
  Fifty meters.
  Gasping and coughing, he approached his apartment building. He caught a glimpse of it through the billowing smoke and was relieved to see it still intact, untouched by the flames raging through the surrounding area. But he knew it wouldn't last long, so he quickened his pace, feeling a sense of urgency.
  Dinesh left the field behind and rushed into the street after him, and that's when he heard the most unholy scream. It was deafeningly painful, more animalistic than human.
  Stunned, Dinesh felt his heart sink in his chest.
  He slowed and craned his neck, and he wished he hadn't, because what he saw on the sidewalk to his left was horrific.
  Under the wrathful light of hell, a woman bent over the man's body. He looked as if he had been cut in half, his stomach ripped out, his intestines spilling out. The woman seemed in a trance of grief, rocking back and forth, wailing.
  The scene was stunning; heartbreaking.
  And all Dinesh could think of was the movie quote.
  This barbaric slaughter that was once known as humanity...
  He began to choke. Nausea gripped the back of his throat. It was too much for him, and clenching his mouth, he averted his eyes and staggered into the alley ahead, whimpering and refusing to look back.
  There's nothing you can do to help her. Not a damn thing. So just keep moving. Keep moving.
  
  Chapter 65
  
  
  Maya was flying
  above the city.
  The wind blew in her face, and below her lay the cityscape, a blur of streets and rooftops.
  It was a dizzying ride, completely intuitive.
  She sat on the Little Bird helicopter's port-side outer bench, strapped in with her seatbelt, her legs dangling. Adam was next to her, and Hunter and Juno were right behind, occupying the starboard bench.
  It had been a while since she'd done this, and yes, she had to admit she'd been nervous as they took off from the embassy. But once the helicopter had gained altitude and reached cruising altitude, the tension dissipated, and she achieved a zen-like focus, taking measured breaths.
  Now they were leaving the Blue Zone, crossing into the barren lands beyond. And the pilots were flying in blackout mode, without lights, relying solely on night vision for maximum stealth.
  This will be a secret introduction.
  One hello. One team.
  Easy in. Easy out.
  This was precisely what Ambassador Chang insisted on. And Chief Raynor worked out a compromise with General MacFarlane: if the CIA was allowed to capture and interrogate Dinesh Nair, then JSOC would be responsible for rescuing Owen Caulfield and killing Khadija.
  That is, if the information received turns out to be applicable to actions, but Maya knew that there was no absolute guarantee that this would be...
  It was then that she felt Adam tap her knee, breaking her thoughts. She turned to face him, and he extended his hand, pointing to the horizon.
  Maya stared.
  The Kepong horizon was straight ahead, and the eastern half was a fiery ribbon, pulsing and pulsating like some living creature. It was a repulsive sight, enough to take her breath away.
  Yes, she already knew RELA had caused terrible damage, but nothing prepared her for the scale of the flames she now witnessed. It was big and angry. Unstoppable.
  At that moment, her earpiece crackled, and she heard Chief Raynor's voice over the radio. "Zodiac Team, this is TOC Actual."
  Maya said into the microphone: "This Zodiac is real. Come on. _
  "Attention - the target is now on the move. He left school.
  "Do you have a visual?"
  'Roger. We have a target. The drone feed is blurry due to the fire and smoke, but we're compensating with hyperspectral imagery. He appears to be heading back to his apartment. He's about two hundred meters away.'
  Maya frowned. "Is there a chance this could be a mistake? Maybe it's someone else you're looking at?"
  "Negative. We also geo-tagged the signal from his satellite phone. It's definitely him.
  'Okay. Got it. What about the fire in the area? How bad is it?'
  "It's pretty bad, but the building itself isn't affected by the flames. However, with the prevailing winds, I don't think it will last long."
  Maya shook her head. She didn't understand why Dinesh Nair was returning to his apartment. It seemed illogical, especially given the spreading fire, but she didn't want to rush to judgment.
  So Maya radioed her team. "Break, break. Team Zodiac, as you heard, the target has turned around. So, what are your thoughts? Tell me straight."
  "Hey, I'm not a mind reader," Adam said. "But my gut tells me he's forgotten something important. Maybe his pet goldfish. So he's retreating to get it back."
  "Makes sense," Hunter said. "And look, even if he moves indoors and we can no longer track his signal, it doesn't matter. We still have a lock on his location."
  "Copy that," Juno said. "It's important we get down there and begin the destruction before the situation gets any worse."
  Maya nodded. "Understood. Break, break. TOC: Actually, we're all in agreement here. We're changing the operation and deviating from the school. We'll need a new insertion point. I'm thinking the roof of an apartment building. Is that feasible?"
  'Hold on. We're making a pass with the drone and checking it out now.' Raynor paused. 'Good. The landing zone looks clear. No obstacles. You're good to go. Break-break. Sparrow, the new LZ will be on the roof of the apartment building. Please confirm?'
  From the cockpit, the lead helicopter pilot said, "This is the real Sparrow. Five by five. We're recalibrating the flight path. The roof of the apartment building will be our new LZ."
  "Ten four. Do this.
  The helicopter lurched to the side, its engine purring, and Maya felt the G-forces pressing her into her seatbelts. She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline in her stomach.
  The mission parameters had just become unpredictable. Instead of landing on an open school field, they were now about to descend onto a rooftop, and a raging inferno certainly wouldn't help matters.
  Maya put on a gas mask and night vision goggles.
  Raynor's voice returned. "Zodiac Team, I have a status update. Target has reached the apartment building courtyard. And wait. We've lost sight of him. Yes, he's indoors now. Satellite phone signal is down as well."
  "Okay," Maya said. "We'll go in there and close it."
  
  Chapter 66
  
  
  Tue hello hello
  hit the surrounding area, the smoke was so thick that visibility was reduced to less than a hundred meters.
  The heat was unbearable, and Maya was sweating. Breathing in the filtered air, she saw everything through the green hues of her night vision. Amidst the raging flames and collapsing houses, dead bodies lay strewn in the open air, and survivors ran here and there, their faces mutilated and their voices howling.
  Maya watched the civilians with a heavy heart, wanting to do something to help them, but knowing it was not her role.
  The helicopter's co-pilot said, "Zodiac Team, standby for deployment. ETA one minute."
  "One minute," Maya repeated, raising her index finger and pointing at her team.
  Hunter raised a finger to confirm. "One minute."
  As the helicopter descended, the downdraft from its rotor blades parted the smoky air, and a residential building came into view. The scorching wind created some turbulence, and the helicopter shook as it tried to maintain its trajectory.
  Maya inhaled, her hands tightening around her HK416 rifle.
  The co-pilot said, "Five, four, three, two, one..."
  The helicopter's landing skids touched down sharply on the concrete roof, and Maya unclipped her harness and leaped off the bench, leaning on her rifle, its infrared laser cutting through the darkness visible only to her night vision.
  She ran forward, scanning for threats. "Northeast sector clear."
  "The southeast is clear," Adam said.
  "Clear to the northwest," Hunter said.
  said Juno.
  "Everything is clear with the LZ," Maya said. "Team Zodiac has been deployed."
  From the cockpit, the lead pilot gave a thumbs-up. "TOC Actual, this is Sparrow Actual. I can confirm the element deployed safely."
  "Excellent," Raynor said. "Break away and maintain the holding pattern."
  "Accepted. Will await expulsion.
  The helicopter rose and began to circle away from the roof, disappearing into the foggy night.
  The team formed a tactical train.
  Adam served as the marksman, taking first place. Maya took second. Juno took third. And Hunter was the last, serving in the rearguard.
  They approached the door that led to the building's stairwell.
  Adam tried the handle. It turned freely, but the door clanked and refused to budge. He backed away. "Protected by a padlock on the other side."
  Maya jerked her chin up. "Break it."
  Juno unslung the shotgun. She screwed the silencer onto the barrel and tightened the bolt. "Avon calling." She fired over the handle, shattering the padlock with a metallic thud and a puff of powder.
  Adam threw the door open and they flowed through the gap, down the stairs.
  "TOC Actual, this is Zodiac Actual," Maya said. "We're in. I repeat, we're in."
  
  Chapter 67
  
  
  When Dinesh stepped back
  When he entered his apartment, the first thing he noticed was how smoky it was. He realized he'd left the sliding door to his balcony open, and now a gusty wind was blowing, blowing away all the bad air.
  Coughing and wheezing, he went out onto the balcony, and then he saw the hell spread out before him, covering the surrounding area like a sea of fire.
  It was a terrible sight.
  How did this happen? How?
  Dinesh touched his St. Christopher's pendant and, trembling, closed the sliding door. He knew he didn't have much time. The flames were getting closer, and the temperature was rising. Even now, he felt as if he were being baked in an oven. His skin was raw. He needed a passport, then water and food...
  It was then that he felt the satellite phone in his bag vibrate.
  Wincing, Dinesh pulled it out and hesitated. Part of him was tempted not to answer, but given how dire the situation was, he realized he had no choice. He needed Farah's help. So he picked up. "Hello?"
  Farah's voice was angry. "You're not in the lab. Where are you?"
  - I... I had to go back to my apartment.
  'Which one? Why?'
  "I needed my passport. I wanted to tell you about it earlier, but...
  'You fool! You need to stay put! Don't you dare move this time!'
  - But all my neighbors have already left, and I can see the fire spreading...
  - I said stay! I'm redirecting the team to get you out. Do you understand? Tell me you understand.
  'Okay, okay. I'll stay in my apartment. I promise.
  'You're an idiot.' Farah hung up.
  Dinesh fidgeted, stung by her words. Maybe he shouldn't have answered the phone. Maybe he shouldn't have told her. But-ugh -what did it matter now? He'd had enough running around for one night. He was tired of this. So, yeah, he'd stay put and wait for the command.
  Dinesh convinced himself that this was the right decision.
  Farah will let me go to Australia. She must...
  Returning his satellite phone to his bag, he took out a flashlight and turned it on. He went into his bedroom and opened the closet.
  Kneeling down, he reached into the drawer on the bottom shelf and pulled it out. He opened the false bottom just beneath it and pulled out his passport.
  He sighed, feeling better.
  He stuffed his passport in his pocket and headed to the kitchen. He was thirsty and hungry, and he couldn't stand it anymore. He turned on the sink faucet. There was a gurgling sound and he heard the pipes rumble, but no water came out.
  With a groan, he turned to the kettle on the stove. He picked it up, and yes, there was still water in it. So he drank straight from the spout, swallowing heavily, savoring every sip.
  He put down the kettle and used it to fill a water bottle from his bag, then opened the kitchen pantry, pulled out a packet of Oreo cookies, and tore them open. He stuffed two into his mouth and chewed vigorously. He allowed himself to smile and think happy thoughts.
  Everything would have worked out.
  He will see his sons again in Australia.
  I'm sure of it -
  Clap.
  At that moment he heard his front door slam.
  Startled, Dinesh turned just in time to catch movement-a gloved hand was flinging something small and metallic through the doorway. It landed with a dull thud on the living room floor and rolled, hitting the sofa.
  He stared at it, his mouth agape, and the flashbang grenade exploded with a searing flash.
  The shockwave hit him, and he stumbled back, crashing into the pantry. Food and utensils fell from the shelves, raining down on him. His vision was washed out, as if someone had pulled a white curtain over his eyes. His ears throbbed and rang. Everything sounded empty.
  Dinesh stumbled forward, clutching his head, and just then he felt someone grab his arm, knocking his legs out from under him and he hit the floor face first, bruising his cheek.
  He writhed, and someone else kneed him in the back, pinning him to the ground. He was choking and wheezing, barely able to hear his own voice. 'I'm sorry! Tell Farah I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it!'
  He felt duct tape being pulled over his mouth, muffling his desperate cries. More tape was wrapped around his eyes, while his arms were pinned behind his back, his wrists bound with plastic flex cuffs.
  He whimpered, his skin itched, his joints ached. He wanted to plead with these people, to reason with them, but they were merciless. They didn't even give him a chance to explain.
  Whatever happened, Dinesh couldn't understand what was happening.
  Why did Farah's team treat him like that?
  
  Chapter 68
  
  
  'Who the hell is Farah?
  - Adam asked. He blindfolded Dinesh, and Maya held the boy's hands.
  Hunter shrugged. "No idea. Maybe someone higher up the chain."
  "Well, yousa," Juno said. "When we get him back to headquarters, we'll soon know for sure."
  Maya nodded and tightened her flexicuffs. "TOC Actual, this is Zodiac Actual. Jackpot. Repeat, jackpot. We have a secured HVT. We'll be executing SSE in a minute."
  SSE stood for "Security Site Exploitation." It meant searching the apartment for anything of interest. Magazines, hard drives, cell phones. Anything the mind could come up with. Maya was eager to get to work.
  But what Chief Raynor said dashed those hopes. "Negative. Cancel the SSO. Fire has reached the building's courtyard. This looks bad. You must stand down immediately. Break, break. Sparrow, we are exorcising now. Repeat, we are exorcising."
  The helicopter's co-pilot said, "This is Sparrow One. Five by five. We are now in orbit and returning to the landing zone."
  'Roger. Break, break. Team Zodiac, you need to move.'
  Adam and Hunter grabbed Dinesh under the arms and lifted him to his feet.
  Maya picked up his bag from the floor. She opened it and quickly examined it. The satellite phone was inside, along with a few other things. It wasn't exactly the best SSE, but it would do.
  - You heard this man. Maya slung her bag over her shoulder. "Let's double the time."
  
  Chapter 69
  
  
  Du Ines felt dizzy.
  He felt them pulling him along, and his legs were floating as he struggled to keep up. He couldn't see a thing, but he felt himself being pushed out of the apartment and into the stairwell.
  He was forced to stand up, and his foot tripped on the very first step. He stumbled, but the rough hands of his captors lifted him up and pushed him to continue climbing.
  His ears were still ringing, but his hearing had recovered enough that he could make out their foreign accent.
  They sounded like Westerners.
  Dinesh felt a pang of fear, he couldn"t breathe, he couldn"t think.
  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
  It was as if his entire world had tilted and been thrown off its axis. Because this was definitely not the command Farah had sent. He couldn't understand how or why, but he knew he was in a lot of trouble right now.
  Please don't take me to Guantanamo Bay. Please don't. Please don't...
  
  Chapter 70
  
  
  Maya took a position,
  ahead as they climbed the stairs.
  Adam and Hunter were right behind, Dinesh was sandwiched between them, and Juno was last in line, acting as a rearguard.
  They reached the roof, and Dinesh's coughing and shortness of breath worsened. He fell to his knees, bent double.
  Adam knelt down and pulled a spare gas mask from his combat chest plate. He placed it over Dinesh's face. It was humane; a small mercy.
  Maya, Hunter and Juno separated, capturing three corners of the roof.
  "The southeast sector is clear," Maya said.
  "Clear to the northwest," Hunter said.
  said Juno.
  "Sparrow, this is the Actual Zodiac," Maya said. "Element" is on the landing pad. Waiting for loading.
  The helicopter's co-pilot said, "Roger. We're on our way. In forty seconds."
  Maya pressed herself sideways against the railing at the edge of the roof, peering out and checking the street below. Through her night vision, she could see civilians moving through a cauldron of smoke and fire, desperately hauling furniture and belongings.
  It was enough to make her heart ache.
  Damn. It's always the innocent who suffer.
  It was then that Raynor spoke up, "Zodiac Team, this is TOC Actual. Be advised, we see multiple entities converging on your position. Three hundred meters. Coming from the south."
  Maya straightened up and stared into the distance. It was difficult to see anything in the smoky air. "RELA soldiers?"
  "The drone video is blurry, but I don't think they're wearing RELA uniforms. Plus, they're coming on foot.
  - What are they armed with?
  "I can't say. But they're definitely moving with hostile intent. I'm counting six... No, wait. Do eight tangos..."
  Hunter and Juno approached Maya, their lasers flickering.
  Maya looked at them and shook her head. "No lasers. From now on, we're sticking with holoscopes only."
  "Gotcha," Juno said.
  "Confirmed," Hunter said.
  They turned off their lasers.
  Maya had a very good reason for this. She knew that if the opposing forces were equipped with night vision devices, they would be able to target infrared lasers. Consequently, any advantage of using them would be lost, and the last thing Maya wanted was for her team to paint themselves as visible targets.
  So the only real option now was to use holographic sights on their rifles. Of course, they weren't as fast when it came to target acquisition. You had to raise your rifle to eye level to get a sight picture, which meant you couldn't fire from the hip. But all things considered, it was a minor issue. A small price to pay for operational security.
  Nodding, Maya switched her goggles from night vision to thermal mode. She tried to focus on Tango's body heat, but the ambient temperature was too high, and the flames were draining her optics. Everything appeared as blurry white spots.
  "See anything?" Hunter asked, peering through the holoscope.
  "Nada," Juno said. "I can't get a clear picture."
  "No joy," Maya said.
  "Zodiac Team, we can provide fire support," Raynor said. "Just give us the word, and we'll neutralize the threat..."
  Maya switched her goggles back to night vision. She knew the drone was carrying a payload of Hellfire missiles, and a preemptive strike seemed the smartest move.
  him uncertainties.
  Who was the opposing force?
  How were they equipped?
  What was their plan?
  Well, right here and now, launching missiles seemed like the fastest way to resolve all these pressing issues.
  Burn and forget...
  Maya clenched her jaw and inhaled. It was simple, clinical. But then she looked at the civilians below, listened to their crying voices, and felt her conviction waver.
  No...
  The splash damage from the missile strikes would be horrific, and her conscience wouldn't allow her to allow that possibility, convenience be damned.
  So Maya sighed and shook her head. "It's negative, TOC Actual. The potential for collateral damage is too high."
  "So no escalation?" Raynor asked.
  "No escalation."
  Maya turned and glanced at Adam and Dinesh. They were still huddled by the door to the stairwell. She assured herself she had made the right choice.
  Prudence is the better part of valor...
  Just then, a Little Bird helicopter burst through the smoke, circling overhead, its downdrafts creating a strong wind.
  From the cockpit, the pilot gave a thumbs-up. "This is Sparrow Two. We're at LZ. Landing now."
  "Copy that, Sparrow." Maya returned the gesture. "Break, break. Team Zodiac, we're shutting down. Let's load the HVT..."
  The helicopter began to descend, and that's when Maya heard a hissing and whistling sound. It was a familiar sound, and her heart sank.
  She turned and saw it - two rockets, launched from the street below, shot up into the sky, sending up trails of steam.
  Hunter pointed. "RPG!"
  Maya's eyes widened as she turned to the helicopter and waved her arms. "Abort! Abort!"
  The helicopter banked sharply, and the first missile streaked past its left side, narrowly missing, but the second missile struck the windshield, exploding the cockpit in a shower of metal and glass. Both pilots were torn apart, and the burning helicopter flew sideways, spinning out of control, its fuselage crunching as it hit the edge of the roof, ripping through the guardrail.
  Oh my God...
  Maya dove for cover just as the helicopter flipped over the roof, its rotor blades slamming into the concrete with a screech and a shower of sparks. She felt shards of rock hit her helmet and goggles, and, gasping, she recoiled and curled into a ball, trying to make herself as small as possible.
  The helicopter thundered past, its tail section split in half, a severed fuel line spraying flaming gasoline, and it crashed into the fence at the opposite end of the roof. For a moment, it balanced on the edge, rocking back and forth, its fuselage groaning, but finally, gravity prevailed, and with a final howl of protest, it capsized, plunging...
  The helicopter crashed into a car in the parking lot below, causing a secondary explosion and a shock wave that rolled through the building.
  
  Chapter 71
  
  
  Dinesh didn't understand
  what was happening.
  He heard the helicopter hover overhead, descending, but then his captors started screaming and someone pushed him to the ground.
  There was an explosion, followed by the sounds of screeching metal and shattering glass, and then a bone-shaking impact.
  In the chaos, Dinesh's gas mask fell off and the tape over his eyes loosened. He could see again.
  Twisting and rolling, he found himself surrounded by fire and debris, and he saw the helicopter just as it crashed over the edge of the roof.
  There was another crash from below.
  There was an even bigger explosion.
  The car alarm started to sound.
  Lying on his back, gasping for breath, Dinesh managed to wave his handcuffed hands under and above his feet, and he tore off the tape covering his mouth.
  Dinesh stood up unsteadily.
  My head was spinning.
  The smell of burning fuel hit his nostrils.
  He saw one of his captors lying on the ground nearby, clutching his side and groaning, apparently in pain.
  Blinking hard, Dinesh turned around, but saw no one else. The air was thick with smoke, black and thick. He was confused and frightened, but he wasn't about to doubt divine providence.
  God bless ...
  This was his chance.
  Gasping for breath, Dinesh pulled the gas mask back down over his face and staggered toward the stairs.
  
  Chapter 72
  
  
  ' Status report?
  Chief Raynor shouted into the radio. "Can anyone give me a status report? Anyone?"
  Maya was stunned and shaking, wiping dirt from her glasses. She crawled over and leaned over the broken railing at the edge of the roof and stared at the flaming wreckage below. "This is the Actual Zodiac. Sparrow is down." She swallowed, her voice breaking. "I repeat, Sparrow is down. Both pilots are dead."
  "We're mobilizing a rapid reaction force now," Raynor said. "You need to get off this roof. Find a new LZ."
  "Copy. Will do. _
  Maya leaned back, struggling to contain her pain. They had just lost the initiative. They were reacting, not acting, which was very bad. But she couldn't allow herself to dwell on it. Not now.
  Gain control. Focus...
  Maya turned around, assessing her surroundings.
  Hunter and Juno were next to her.
  They looked normal.
  But she couldn't see either Adam or Dinesh. Burning fuel from the helicopter crash was billowing black smoke, obscuring her line of sight...
  That's when she heard Adam's groans over the radio. "It's Zodiac One. I got hit and I think I might have broken a rib and... Oh, shit. Fuck! HVT is going for it." Adam took a shuddering breath and groaned. "He disappeared up the stairs. I'm coming after him!"
  Maya jumped to her feet, rifle raised. Hunter and Juno were right behind her as she raced through the smoke, weaving past burning debris.
  The staircase was straight ahead, its door ajar and swinging in the wind.
  But Maya couldn't reach him.
  Fragments of the helicopter's tail blocked her path.
  She circled left, trying to avoid the obstacle, but a streak of fuel suddenly burst into flames in front of her, sending out a plume of fire. She recoiled, shielding her face with her hand, her skin tingling with heat.
  Damn it ...
  Gasping for breath, she lost precious seconds spinning to the right before she could reach the stairwell. Desperate to make up for lost time, she ran halfway down the first flight of stairs before lunging forward, hitting the landing below, her boots stomping heavily as she half-stumbled and flipped around the railing, hitting the second flight of stairs, adrenaline propelling her.
  
  Chapter 73
  
  
  Dinesh has reached
  first floor and rushed through the foyer.
  He rushed out of the building's entrance and encountered a raging blaze in the courtyard. It was diabolical in its power, and the flames roared forward, burning through the lawn and flower beds.
  Holy Mother of God...
  Dinesh took a hesitant step back, and then remembered his car. A Toyota. It was in the parking lot, and if it was still in one piece, it would be his best chance of getting out of here.
  With both hands still cuffed together, Dinesh reached into his pocket, groping anxiously, and yes, he still had the keychain with him.
  Do it. Just do it.
  Dinesh turned and headed towards the back of the building.
  At that moment he heard the characteristic sound of a silenced weapon operating on automatic, and the bullets hissed and crackled as they cut through the air like angry hornets.
  Dinesh winced and ducked around the corner. Breathing heavily and cowering, he realized that two armed groups were now fighting each other-the Westerners and someone new.
  
  Chapter 74
  
  
  May reached
  foyer just in time to see Adam backing away from the entrance with his rifle raised, firing a long volley into the courtyard.
  "Contact made!" Adam crouched near the doorway. "To the left!"
  Outside the windows, Maya could see dark figures swaying and twisting through the smoke and ash, taking up positions behind the flower beds, infrared lasers shining.
  Maya felt a sickening realization.
  Tango has night vision, just like us...
  Muffled gunshots rang out, and the foyer exploded with hundreds of bullets. Windows exploded inward, and the chandelier from the ceiling buckled and fell. Plaster flecked the air like confetti.
  Hunter and Juno moved to the windows, turning their rifles and returning fire.
  Maya lowered her head and walked like a duck. She came up behind Adam and touched his arm. 'Are you okay? How's the rib?'
  Adam patted his side and winced. "It hurts every time I breathe."
  "Let's fix this."
  Maya helped Adam lift his vest and shirt and used duct tape to stabilize the broken rib, tying it tightly. It wasn't fancy, but it would work.
  'Better?' Maya asked.
  Adam lowered his shirt and vest again, breathing in and out. "Yes, better."
  - Where is Dinesh?
  - I saw him running to the right. I tried to follow him, but these partygoers showed up and interrupted me...
  Maya spoke into the microphone, "TOC Actual, this is Zodiac Actual. We need help locating HVT.
  Raynor said, "He's directly southeast of your position. Just around the corner. And we're keeping an eye on the enemy as well. They're west, northwest. Just say the word, and we'll provide fire support."
  Maya hesitated. It would be so easy to say yes and launch Hellfire missiles. But then again, with civilians all around, she couldn't risk it. So she shook her head. "That's a negative, Actual. I need you to focus on tracking the HVT. Don't lose it. Whatever you do, don't lose it."
  "Copy. We'll keep it marked and labeled.
  rapid reaction forces?
  "Ten minutes..."
  More tango shots scorched the foyer.
  The table behind Maya toppled over, sending wood shavings flying.
  Hunter shouted, "What do you want to do? We can't stay here forever.
  Maya considered the situation. The fact that the opposing forces had night vision was a problem. It meant they couldn't rely on the dim light for cover when they went out into the courtyard.
  But Maya knew something else, too. Most night vision goggles had an auto-dimming feature that reduced the brightness whenever a flash of light occurred. This was intended to protect the user from permanent blindness. However, in this case, she figured it could be put to good use.
  'Get ready.' Maya nodded to Hunter and Juno. "Hit and move."
  'Flash.' Juno pulled the pin on the flashbang grenade and, with a grunt, threw it out the window from above.
  One, a thousand.
  Two, two thousand.
  A flashbang grenade exploded in the courtyard, and Juno and Hunter opened suppressive fire.
  The distraction worked.
  The Tangos stopped shooting back.
  'Moving.' Maya squeezed Adam's shoulder, and in perfectly synchronized movement they rose as one, buttoning their way through the entrance to the foyer.
  They reached the pillars outside, slipping into cover just as the Tangos started shooting again.
  'Flash.' Maya pulled the pin on another flashbang grenade, waiting a full second for the fuse to light, and then tossed the grenade into the sky.
  One, a thousand...
  The grenade exploded in the air.
  The flash was more blinding than the first, like a lightning strike, and Maya and Adam leaned out, firing continuous bursts.
  "Moving," Hunter said. He and Juno walked out of the foyer and into the courtyard, slipping into the shelter of the flower beds just behind the columns.
  It was a leapfrog strategy, and it worked. But Maya knew they didn't have an endless supply of flashbangs. So they had to make every move count. There was no room for error.
  
  Chapter 75
  
  
  Dinesh was horrified
  he has nothing to lose.
  I will not allow myself to be captured again. I will not...
  He rounded the corner and continued running, reaching the parking lot to see the crashed helicopter crush the car ahead, leaving a crater in the ground. The chorus of alarms from surrounding vehicles was raucous, a deafening rhythm.
  As he skirted the flaming wreckage, Dinesh dared to hope.
  Please. Please...
  His Toyota came into view, and he was relieved to see that it was still in one piece. He pressed the remote, unlocking the car. He opened the door and got in. He turned the ignition, and the engine roared to life.
  He slammed the door, and with his hands cuffed, he had no choice but to twist his entire body to reach the gearshift and engage reverse. It was awkward, trying to drive like that. He released the handbrake and pressed the accelerator, but he was too hasty, didn't have time to grab the wheel in time, and ended up backing into another parked car, metal crunching on metal.
  The blow shook Dinesh.
  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
  With a groan and sweat, he arched his back and shifted the gear lever again, reminding himself not to press the gas pedal until his hands were properly on the wheel.
  
  Chapter 76
  
  
  MP Ai's pistol ran out,
  and she dropped her magazine, slapping the new one.
  Looking left, then right, she saw the tango split into three elements.
  The first one provided covering fire from behind the flower beds, the second one deviated to the left, and the third one to the right.
  "They're trying to flank us," Adam said.
  'I know.' Maya ducked and winced as bullets hit her column.
  Raynor said, "The HVT is on the move. He's going after his car."
  Damn it ...
  Maya winced. This was a tactical nightmare. Her squad was outnumbered and outgunned, and now they were about to be attacked from three sides at once.
  They needed to get to Dinesh, and they needed to do it now.
  'Prepare.' Maya jerked her chin. 'Sting and cleanse. Give it all you've got.'
  "Roger," Hunter said. "On your signal."
  Maya unclipped the sting grenade from her chest plate. It was a non-lethal munition designed to launch hundreds of tiny rubber balls at high speed. Enough to cause pain but not death, which was exactly what was needed, especially with civilians in the area.
  "On my signal." Maya pulled the pin from her grenade. 'Three, two, one. Execute.'
  Maya and her team threw their stingers. The grenades whizzed over the flowerbeds and exploded, their rubber balls ricocheting through the fog, creating a wild drumbeat.
  The gunfire from the tango stopped, replaced by screams and groans.
  Maya knew their pincer advance had stalled.
  "Clear one." Juno disengaged and retreated a few meters before turning back and dropping to one knee, resuming suppressive fire.
  'Clean.' Hunter disengaged and took up position behind Juno.
  'Clean.' Adam moved behind Hunter.
  'Clean up. I'm going for the HVT.' Maya freed herself and ran towards the parking lot, the rest of the team covering her.
  She rounded the corner of the building, striding quickly past the burning wreckage of the helicopter, firing her rifle back and forth, and saw Dinesh.
  He was already in his car, engine roaring, tearing out of the parking lot. His tail wagged wildly as he disappeared into the foggy gloom.
  Fucking hell...
  Adam, breathing heavily, approached Maya from behind. "We need to catch up with him."
  Disappointed, she glanced to her left and saw a Volkswagen SUV parked nearby. She immediately dismissed it. The SUV's design provided a high center of gravity, making it a poor choice for navigating the sharp turns in a car chase.
  Maya looked to the right and saw a Volvo sedan. It had a low center of gravity. Yes, a much better choice as a pursuit vehicle.
  Maya made a decision. 'Cover me!' She rushed to the car just as bullets began to hiss and crackle around her.
  The Tangos were on the offensive again, attacking with renewed determination, and Adam, Hunter, and Juno took up defensive positions behind the surrounding vehicles, firing back.
  Maya walked to the driver's side of the sedan. Crouching down, she pulled out her smartphone and launched the app to wirelessly connect to the car's computer. All she had to do was select the make and model of the car and forge the correct code. Simple in theory, but difficult to implement in the heat of a firefight.
  It took her thirty seconds to figure out the software exploit, but it felt like an eternity.
  But finally, finally, the sedan opened with a chirp.
  Maya opened the door and climbed inside.
  She removed her night vision goggles. They were good for visual clarity, but bad for depth perception. If she was going to drive, she needed to be able to discern speed and distance. So goggles were definitely not necessary.
  Maya turned the ignition keyless, and the engine roared to life. She put the car in gear and turned it around, beeping the horn twice to get her crew's attention. "People, we're leaving! I repeat, we're leaving!"
  Juno was the first to disengage, throwing herself into the front passenger seat. Adam and Hunter were next, both shot in the back.
  'Go!' Juno slammed her palm on the dashboard. 'Go! Go!'
  Maya floored the gas, the tires squealing.
  Through the rearview mirror she could see the tangos chasing them, racing ahead, firing wild shots.
  Bullets hit the car body.
  The rear windshield was cracked into spiderweb-like shapes.
  Maya jerked the steering wheel, cutting the corner.
  Now the tangos were lagging behind.
  Maya pulled away from the apartment building, then turned again at the intersection ahead. There were civilians in her path, and she had to navigate around them, honking and flashing her headlights.
  Maya looked in her mirror.
  Tango was no longer visible.
  "Nice driving, titmouse," said Juno.
  Maya swallowed dryly. "Everything okay?"
  "I'm fine." The hunter brushed the shards of glass from his uniform.
  Adam inserted a new magazine into his rifle. "Shaked it, but didn't stir it."
  Maya nodded. "TOC Actual, this is Zodiac Actual. We've commandeered a transport vehicle. What's the status of our HVT?"
  Raynor said, "Hold on. We're zooming out on the drone's camera. Refocusing. Okay. Take the next right, then the next left. You'll be right on his tail. Three hundred meters and closing."
  Maya rounded the bends.
  The air was thick with ash and embers, and a firestorm burned houses in all directions.
  Visibility was deteriorating.
  Maya strained to see the road ahead.
  "Fifty meters," Raynor said.
  And sure enough, Maya saw Dinesh's Toyota, its taillights glowing red in the murky fog.
  'Okay. I have a visual.' Maya pressed the gas pedal, aiming at Dinesh. 'Preparing for the ban.'
  Closer.
  Closer.
  She was almost alongside him now, turning left. She wanted to perform a PIT-a precision immobilization technique. She glanced at the right side of Dinesh's rear bumper. It was a sweet spot. All she had to do was give him a gentle nudge and then drive into him, disrupting his center of gravity. That would send him drifting and off the road.
  Quite simple.
  So Maya closed.
  She was just a second away from performing a PIT.
  But damn, Dinesh was a tough target.
  He suddenly accelerated, crossed the center line of the road, and then turned back again. It was a reckless act born of desperation. He was clearly trying to shake her off his tail.
  Maya winced and pulled back. She couldn't perform a PIT. Not when Dinesh's speed and trajectory were so erratic. The last thing she wanted was to cause a fatal accident.
  Maya shook her head and was tormented by this.
  At that moment, Juno leaned forward and unslung the shotgun. She slid the latch and began to roll down the window. "What do you say we rip out his tires?"
  Maya hesitated, then took a breath and nodded. 'Roger. Let's do this.'
  She knew Dinesh's Toyota was rear-wheel drive, meaning the car's acceleration came solely from the rear wheels. If they could deflate even one tire, they could reduce Dinesh's speed and agility and force him to slow down. Then she could finally disable his car with a PIT.
  It was a shaky plan, and it came with a fair amount of risk. But damn, it was worth a try.
  So Maya pressed the gas pedal and crept up on Dinesh again. She mimicked his movements, swaying left, swaying right, her anticipation growing...
  And then Raynor said, "Watch out! You have incoming contacts on your six!
  'What?' Maya glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see a Ford sedan, its engine roaring, burst through the fog behind them, followed by a Hyundai SUV.
  She caught a glimpse of the passengers and felt ice in her veins. These were damn Tangos, with insect-eyed, night-vision goggles. They had commandeered their own vehicles.
  "Hit them with hellfire!" Maya screamed.
  "That's a negative!" Raynor said. "Can't do that without hitting you too!"
  At that moment, a Ford sedan slammed into the car, and Maya realized too late that the driver had pitted. He came in from the right, crunching the left side of Maya's bumper.
  The impact wasn't strong. It felt more like a love blow, but the location was well chosen, enough to upset her center of gravity.
  Maya gasped as she felt her car jerk sideways, going into a spin.
  At that moment, Tango leaned out from the passenger side of the Hyundai SUV, firing three-round bursts from his rifle. Maya's rear windshield, already damaged from the previous encounter, completely exploded.
  Glass squealed.
  Hunter groaned. "I'm hurt. I'm hurt."
  Damn it ...
  Maya felt her stomach twist, but she couldn't allow herself to check on Hunter. She had to focus on the here and now. Her car was sliding, and she had to resist the urge to slam on the brakes and fight the momentum. Because if she did, her wheels would only lock up, and she would completely lose control.
  No, the only way to resist PIT is to embrace the momentum.
  Go with the flow. Go with the flow...
  With her heart pounding in her ears, Maya forced herself to steer into a skid, the tires squealing and smoking.
  Time slowed down.
  Adrenaline was burning her senses.
  Maya let the car spin around, spinning dizzyingly. Then she downshifted at the very last moment. The car jerked violently, but the tires regained traction and it skidded off the grassy shoulder, narrowly missing a lamppost.
  Maya turned back onto the road, regaining control.
  The Hyundai SUV was now in front of her, and the Tango on the passenger side swung his rifle around, preparing to fire another burst.
  Maya felt her throat tighten, but Juno had already reacted. She leaned out the window, gun raised. She fired several shots-one, two, three.
  sparks flew across the SUV and Tango shuddered, dropping his rifle, his body going limp.
  The SUV swerved, frightened by Juno's attack.
  Maya looked ahead. An intersection was approaching, and she saw Dinesh's Toyota make a sharp left turn, followed by a Ford sedan.
  Maya glanced back at the SUV, assessing its trajectory. She knew this would happen, and she saw this as her chance to even the odds.
  So she let the SUV enter the turn, exposing its side to her.
  It was a nice place.
  - Get ready, people! - Maya shouted.
  She floored the gas, slammed forward, and slammed her car into the SUV's midsection. Metal screeched. Her headlights shattered. She jumped in her seat, feeling a jolt in her spine, her teeth chattering painfully.
  The SUV lifted on one side, its high center of gravity working against it, and it slid forward, balancing on only two wheels. Then it hit the curb at the edge of the road and flipped over.
  Maya watched as the SUV flipped over and over again before slamming into a fence and crashing into a burning house. Bricks and masonry collapsed, engulfing the car in flames.
  The bastards were done and dusted.
  Gone, baby, gone...
  
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