“They didn’t take anything.”

“Yeah, I know. Stand by.”

Danny had MY-PID replay the translated conversation. It sounded as if the African Kimko was with knew where Li Han was.

“What’s going on?” asked Melissa.

“They didn’t want to wait for Li Han,” Danny told her. “I think they’re going to find him.”

“Shouldn’t we go there?”

“Let’s let them get there first,” said Danny. “If I bring the Osprey in, Li Han may run.”

“It would be easier to talk to you if you didn’t have the helmet on,” Melissa said. “At least flip the shield up.”

“I’m watching them,” he told her.

“Oh.”

He flipped the shield up anyway. “I’m not trying to be rude.”

“I know. I just—I’m not familiar with your gadgets.”

MY-PID told Danny the car was stopping at the house where they had placed the initial bug. He flipped down the screen again and watched the UAV feed as the men went to the door. The African who’d been talking to the Russian took the lead. Their two escorts fanned out around them. There was a flash, then they entered the building.

“Shit,” said Danny. “Whiplash team—Osprey, get to that building! Flash, let’s go.”

He turned and started to run. Melissa climbed out of the ditch and sprinted just behind him.

“What?” she gasped between breaths. “What’s going on?”

“Looks like they’re trying to get a discount on the price,” said Danny.

Kimko gripped his pistol as Girma leapt from the jeep, gun blazing. The gunfire had actually started from the house, but that was immaterial—the whole thing was bollocks.

Damn, damn, damn.

Kimko started toward the front door, then realized that was exactly the last place he wanted to be. Even if he managed to get the UAV now, Girma was sure to shoot him. He was just too unstable.

If he was going to get out, he was going to get out now.

Without the UAV?

Without the UAV. But with his life.

“I’ll cover the back,” he yelled, bolting from the front of the house.

Danny was about fifty yards from the back of the house when the Osprey swept in, pivoting around to the street side and depositing the team. The Russian’s people had gone through the door; there was gunfire inside the building, a metal staccato of Kalashnikov rifles.

“Left!” Danny yelled to Flash. “Take the left.”

“Subject running eastward,” warned MY-PID.

“Zoom.”

The system ID’ed the figure as the Russian. He was about sixty yards from the house, running toward the warehouses.

“Was he inside the building?” Danny asked MY-PID.

“Negative.”

“What does he have with him?”

“One handgun, unidentified.”

“Radio?”

“Uncertain. No transmissions.”

“Track him. Stay on him.”

“Tracking.”

Danny decided they could ignore the Russian for now; obviously he’d panicked.

“Osprey, take out all the vehicles around the target house,” he radioed. “Team, stand back.”

The chain gun under the MV-22’s nose began to revolve. A spray of black and red began to spit from the mouth of the 30mm twin cannons, chewing the vehicles into pieces with the staccato jabs of a boxer hitting a speed bag. The quick and brutal rhythm eliminated the jeep and the two white pickups parked at the side.

Suddenly the Osprey jerked hard on its wing, fire igniting behind it—flares.

Someone inside the house had fired a missile.

Chapter 24

Duka

The woman Nuri carried seemed to gain ten pounds with every step. She was slung over his shoulders and inert, like a sack of rapidly hardening cement. His pace slowed as he ran down the hill toward the road, and even the inspiration provided by the mortar shells that were starting to fall in the field near the house began to wane. He squeezed the woman’s legs tighter as the shaking ground caused him to lose his balance. He caught himself, only to jab his left foot into a hole a moment later. He tumbled forward, trying to send his free shoulder to the ground first and avoid crashing onto the woman.

The next thing he knew, he was in Boston’s arms. The trooper broke their fall and set them on the ground.

“Damn, you’re heavy,” he told Nuri.

“Thanks.”

Boston scooped up the woman and hurried across the nearby road. Nuri followed, out of breath. It was now dark, and in the uneven field Nuri tripped again and fell flat on his face. As he rose, he heard machine gun fire back near the slaughterhouse.

By the time he reached the others, Boston had organized them into a little clump behind some brush at the edge of a thick layer of woods.

“Osprey will be here soon,” said Boston. “They just went in.”

“Good,” said Nuri, getting his breath.

The women clustered around Bloom, hugging her for warmth or perhaps protection.

“Shit,” said Boston, looking back toward the slaughterhouse.

“They’re coming down toward the road,” he said. “They must have seen us.”

One of the small buildings near the slaughterhouse erupted in fire. The red light silhouetted three figures with guns coming down the side of the hill.

“We can get deeper into the woods,” suggested Nuri.

“Don’t want to get too deep,” said Boston. “Who knows what the hell’s in there?”

“Whatever it is, it’s better than what’s in front of us.”

“I’m going to draw them away.” Boston got to his feet.

“Wait!”

“Don’t worry. Take them into the woods. I’ll get them from the side. When the Osprey is clear, I’ll hear and come back.”

“Boston! Hey! Stop.”

But Boston was gone.

Chapter 25

Duka

The Osprey pirouetted in the sky, its propellers straining. In level flight it was at least twice as fast as the average helicopter and considerably stronger. But in a hover it was not much more maneuverable than the average Blackhawk, and a somewhat bigger target.

The Stinger that had been launched at it sniffed its decoy flares, homing in on them rather than the baffled exhaust from the MV-22’s engines. It quickly realized it had been duped and exploded, spraying the air with shrapnel. Fortunately, the Osprey pilots were able to get the aircraft far enough away from the warhead so the hot metal fragments completely missed.

But they had a much more difficult time with the simpler rocket-propelled grenade, launched from a different window. Aimed by sight, it was fired as the MV-22 swung away from the Stinger, and by luck or well-trained design, it crossed the path the aircraft was taking. It struck the fuselage a glancing blow. The effect was not unlike what would have happened had the shell hit a caged armor arrangement, greatly decreasing the weapon’s impact. Nonetheless, it sent pieces of metal through the side of the aircraft and one of the propellers.

The MV-22 shuddered abruptly, a frightened horse trying to buck its rider at the sight of a rattlesnake. The two pilots settled her quickly, easing off the stricken engine and trimming their controls to compensate. They edged the aircraft into a wide bank as gently as they could, then found a place to land in a field opposite the railroad tracks, about eight hundred yards away.

In the few seconds it took for the Osprey to right herself, Danny located the room the missiles had been fired from. Hopes of recovering the Raven without damage were no longer operative; he pumped a grenade into the launcher attached to his SCAR, took aim, and fired the 40mm shell into the house.