“I thought you said it would be done without gunfire,” said Nuri.

“They’re trying.”

One of the Rattlesnakes buzzed overhead.

“What was that?” asked Lacu.

“A helicopter.”

“There are three of them.”

“Yes.”

“They look—very small.”

“They are. They’re flown by remote control.”

“Are they necessary?”

As if in answer, the gunfire at the house stoked up.

“I don’t think it’s going too well,” said Lacu.

“No, no, it’s going according to plan,” said Nuri.

In the next moment a rocket was fired from the ground. Nuri looked up to see one of the UAVs turn into a fireball.

Danny saw the men jumping from the building, but they ran so fast he couldn’t even raise his gun to fire. He jumped to his feet but then fell back as a series of explosions rocked the ground. Missiles began firing from the woods—antiaircraft weapons that had been secreted so well in the trees they hadn’t detected them. One took down a nearby Rattlesnake; the others crisscrossed in the air, trying to find the other targets.

The Rattlesnakes shot flares, ducking away from the attack. By the time they regrouped, the two men who’d escaped the house were inside the training building.

Gunfire began raining from one of the windows on the second floor. Danny pumped a grenade inside, then ducked as the bullets somehow continued to fly.

Who the hell were these guys?

Tiny felt himself falling to the ground, shaken by the force of several explosions. He rolled to his stomach and groped for his weapon, sure that he was about to be killed at any moment.

The light that had blinded him came from a flash-bang grenade prepositioned in the hallway. A string of them exploded on every floor of the house, designed to break up an attack.

Tiny tried to shake off the confusion. He pushed himself to his feet, then crouched back down, still without his bearings. The circuitry in the goggles had recovered, but his eyes hadn’t, and smoke pouring into the room made it even harder to see.

“Bean, Bean, what the fuck?” he shouted.

Not hearing a response, he reached up and found his ear set missing. His microphone was gone as well—the entire headset had blown off his head when he fell. He pulled it back up, cupping his hand over his ear as he tried to make sense of the cacophony of voices competing over the Whiplash frequency.

“There are three people moving toward the stairs on the second floor,” Flash was warning. “Three people.”

“What about the third floor? Third floor,” said Tiny.

If there was an answer, it was overrun.

Tiny moved back to the door, then threw himself out into the hallway. Smoke was curling everywhere. He began crawling forward on his elbows, moving to the room where the men had been watching TV.

The door was open. He pushed his shoulder against the wall, sidling up the doorjamb. Then he flew forward into the open space, half expecting to be met by machine-gun fire.

Nothing happened. He rose on one knee and saw the two men on the couch, passed out or dead, he couldn’t tell.

Tiny jumped up and ran to the couch. Holding the barrel of his gun at the head of the man on the right, he reached into his back pocket and grabbed the heavy-duty zip-tie cuffs. He reached down and pulled the man’s wrists together, locking them. Then he went around the couch and tied the man’s legs.

Tiny was just starting to rise when something hit him on the side of the head. He flew across the room, against the wall. The force of the blow took his breath away.

He’d been hit by the man whom he had handcuffed. Hands and feet still bound, dazed from the gas but not completely unconscious, the man rose from the couch. He shook his head several times, then raised his arms in front of his chest. He tugged at the restraints. They gave on his first pull.

Tiny pushed to his left, trying to escape. He found his rifle on the floor in front of him and grabbed it, rearing back to fire as he moved away.

Something flew at him, then gripped his ankle. It felt like an iron clamp, squeezing against his bones, crushing them.

It was the Wolf. Tiny flailed with his elbow and the butt of the gun. He hit the man’s face and felt the grip loosen. Then something pounded his left side. He pushed up the gun and began to fire.

The bullets crashed through the man’s face, shattering his nose and the bones of his forehead. But his attacker continued to pound his side. The pain was excruciating. Tiny collapsed as the gun clicked empty.

He lay on his back for what seemed like hours, unable to breathe. Finally he felt himself being pulled to his feet.

“Bean, Bean, get the other guy,” he croaked. He turned, looking over his shoulder.

It wasn’t Bean. It was one of the Wolves.

Tiny was too weak to resist.

“Got two more guys going to the window,” Flash shouted to Danny.

Danny rose and pumped a 40mm grenade into the open window. He saw the flash and smoke, then watched dumbfounded as a man jumped through the window toward him.

He raised his rifle and began firing. The first few bullets hit square in the man’s chest, but didn’t slow him down. It was only as the bullets came up and struck the man’s neck and face that there was any noticeable effect. The man wobbled, then spun and fell to the ground.

Just in time. Danny’s magazine was empty.

“Hit them in the face,” Danny said over the radio.

“MY-PID says they’re moving to the tunnel,” yelled Flash. “They may be trying to leave the property.”

“Nuri—you on the line?” asked Danny. “Nuri?”

There was no answer.

“Can you get Nuri?” Danny asked Flash.

“I’m trying.”

“Boston, move up,” Danny said over the radio. “I’m going back to the perimeter where the tunnel opens.”

For a few seconds there was no answer. Finally, Boston acknowledged. Danny jumped to his feet and began running for the woods.

Nuri couldn’t see everything that was going on at the house, but it was pretty obvious the situation had not gone even remotely like they’d planned.

The deputy minister was walking back and forth near the armored car, wringing his hands as if they were sodden dish towels. His enthusiasm had quickly waned, and his frown grew longer as the gunfire continued.

“It won’t be too long,” said Nuri. “They’ll be done any second.”

Nuri’s sat phone saved him from Lacu’s dubious glare.

“What’s going on?” he asked as the line connected.

“Close down the tunnel entrance,” said Flash, shouting to make himself heard over the gunfire. “Blow it up!”

“Blow it up? Where is it?”

“Two hundred meters from the southeast corner, near the road. The sewer grate. You’re only about seventy meters from it.”

“You want us to ambush them as they come out?”

“Destroy it!”

Nuri turned to Luca.

“There’s a storm sewer near the road up in that direction,” he said, getting his bearings. “We have to destroy it.”

“A sewer? Why?”

“To cut off the escape,” said Nuri. “We need the armored car.”

He began trotting up the road. The grate wasn’t easy to find; he had to pull out the MY-PID control unit for a reference, and even then almost missed it in the low brush.

“There are no shells,” said Luca. “The only gun is the 7.2 machine gun.”

“The big gun isn’t loaded?”

“No shells.”

“Roll the armored car wheel over the opening,” said Nuri, without time to argue. “We can at least do that, right?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, he ran to the truck and started waving at the commander, who was sitting at the top turret.

“Go on the sewer hole. Move!” yelled Nuri, first in English, then in his rickety Moldovan. “Go. Go! Forward!”

The gunfire seemed to calm as Danny ran toward the woods in the direction of the tunnel exit. He’d taken a few steps when he realized he had momentarily forgotten where the minefield was. The prudent thing to do would have been to stop and ask MY-PID for help. But his brain was racing, and he plunged on, running toward the trees.