“The program began to work on its own.”

“Exactly. Which is not something it should do.”

He isn’t completely ignorant, Li Han thought. He might be taught; he could be useful.

“I don’t entirely understand it yet,” continued Li Han. “I think it is some sort of control unit that is plugged into the brain and then programmed. But the programming is very involved. My face and a file of information about me was there.”

“Why?”

“Good question. I’m not sure. It is clear I was its target. These weren’t surveillance images. So was the aircraft programmed to watch me? I think so. How did they do it? How is this connected to the rest of the software, the part I haven’t seen? I’m not sure. That is what I am pondering.”

“Why is all this useful?”

Li Han couldn’t help but smirk. Amara was not stupid, but there were clear limits.

“Let’s say we want to watch someone,” he explained. “Let’s say we want to target the President of the United States for surveillance. If we gave the computer all of the information, could it do it? That is my question—because the information about me is in the command deck, the portion of the program that is supplying controls. Why would it be there otherwise? I don’t know,” added Li Han. “We must do more work.”

“You are going to sell it to the Russian.”

“Not that part,” said Li Han. “Not the brain. The brain is self-contained.”

Li Han explained how he had pulled it from the aircraft.

“I believe it could work in another aircraft,” he added. “I’m not entirely sure. I need to experiment more.”

They took a left turn off the main highway moving west, away from the city.

“Where are you going?” Li Han asked.

“You told me you wanted a new place.”

“True,” said Li Han.

Suddenly, a host of suspicions fell on him. Paranoia surged back. Where was Amara taking him?

Li Han put his hand down casually, letting it rest on his holster.

They drove about two miles, climbing up a low hill. Li Han’s suspicions grew, then eased. If Amara had wanted to kill him, any place would do. They had already passed plenty of abandoned fields.

“It’s just ahead,” said Amara. “Twill will be there. If he waves, then we must go on by. You should duck then,” he added. “It will be a signal that he is being watched.”

“Why so far away?” asked Li Han.

“We expect fighting in the city. We don’t need to be caught.”

Li Han stared out the window. It was reasonable, but he wasn’t sure—it still might be a trick.

Too elaborate for Amara. But he was being more assertive than before—far more assertive.

There was a small building near the road on the left. Twill, the thin man with the close-cropped hair, stepped out from the shadow.

He didn’t wave.

“There he is,” said Li Han.

Amara slowed, then pulled off the side of the road, stopping just in front of Twill. Li Han got out. There were two pickups parked near the building. Even in the dark it looked like a good burst of wind would knock it down.

“This isn’t much of a building,” he said, starting toward it.

“Too bad if you don’t like it,” said Amara, suddenly next to him.

Li Han, surprised by the sharp tone, started to turn.

Amara’s first bullet caught him in the side of the head. By the time the second struck his forehead, he was already dead.

Targets Unknown

Chapter 1

Duka

Danny Freah turned onto the hard-packed road, gingerly pressing his foot against the Mercedes accelerator. Their subject was only two hundred yards ahead.

“I have a full connection,” said Nuri. “Everything’s being routed back through MY-PID. All right. He’s heading east . . . Whoa, slow down. He turned off onto a dirt road. I think there may be a lookout about fifty yards away. MY-PID, analyze and identify this position.”

Danny concentrated on the road as Nuri pointed at the screen and talked to the computer.

“One of the bugs I set isn’t in the proper location,” Nuri told him. “It’s in the truck we’re following.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I’m listening to a conversation in Russian.”

“Russian?”

“Shhh.”

MY-PID provided the translation on the fly, almost instantaneously. It heard not only the caller in the car, but was able to amplify the conversation on the other side.

Voice 1 (in car): . . . I don’t know exactly what it is. I have photos on a camera. I will upload them when I am at a safe location.

Voice 2 (phone): How did he obtain it?

Voice 1: It crashed somehow. I don’t know. I can find out, if it’s important.

Voice 2: The price is ridiculous.

Voice 1: I told him.

Voice 2: These Africans think any scrap of metal is valuable.

Voice 1: I need to meet him at dusk at the old stationmaster house. If you’re not interested—

Voice 2: We’ll send someone. Who is he?

Voice 1: He’s Chinese. He’s connected with the Brotherhood.

Voice 2: Ah—I think I know who it is. Call at the usual time.

Voice 1 hung up. The man in the truck said nothing else.

“MY-PID, can you ID either of the voices?” asked Nuri.

“Call was made to a phone registered to the Stalingrad Export Company,” reported the Voice. “Caller voice patterns are being compared to Russian SVG and GRU known agents.”

“Good.”

“Caller 1 is identified as Milos Kimko, known operative with Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki,” said the Voice a few seconds later. “He was posted to Africa 03-02-13. Dossier available.”

“Hold it for me,” said Nuri. “Where’s the old stationmaster house?”

“Insufficient data.”

“Is there a stationmaster house in Duka?”

“Two possible buildings identified,” responded the computer. “Both are near the railroad tracks.”

“Place them under constant surveillance.”

“Are you talking to a person, or a machine?” asked Melissa.

“Nuri can fill in the details later,” said Danny. “Right now we have to decide which way we’re going. The turnoff the truck took is ahead.”

“Don’t turn,” said Nuri. “Keep going. We’ll have to head back to follow Li Han. This guy doesn’t have the UAV. Not yet, anyway.”

Chapter 2

Duka

They dumped Li Han’s body inside the building, raked over the dirt where he had fallen, then climbed into the trucks.

Amara started away. He drove quickly, exactly as he had rehearsed, moving toward the main road south. It was dark but he didn’t use his headlights. The fewer people who noticed him, the better.

He’d driven nearly halfway to the road when his hands began to sweat. Until now he’d been completely calm, unmoved by what he had done. Li Han was nothing to him, an infidel and worse. Ali Aba Muhammad had told him to kill Li Han and take the item back; obeying was as easy as breathing.

But his body began to rebel. The sweat was the first sign. It wouldn’t stop. He wiped his right hand on his pants, put it back on the wheel, then wiped his left. The sweat kept coming.

“There is no God but the true God,” he said to himself, beginning to pray.

The prayer calmed him, but only slightly.

By rights, he should hate Li Han and feel no remorse. His killing of Swal—a man whom Amara had, admittedly, despised—showed that he was a sinner and infidel of the worst sort. But for some reason Amara remained disturbed.