“This is true,” said the passport officer softly.

“Perhaps we could do that in this situation.”

“Very well.”

“What is the fee?” asked Lawson.

“One hundred euro.”

Lawson didn’t bother trying to talk the man down. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two fifties. The customs man’s face fell—he realized he could have gotten more.

The rest of the transaction was completed swiftly. Kharon handed over his passport, and got it back stamped—and a hundred euros lighter.

“Not that I think he’ll change his mind,” Lawson said, starting away. “But let’s not give him a chance.”

“Is Dr. Rubeo in Tripoli?”

“He’s waiting for us outside.”

Rubeo saw the young man trailing along after Lawson, looking a bit sheepish. He was smart, undoubtedly, but a bit naive. Surely a simple bribe would have gotten him out of trouble immediately.

But perhaps he didn’t have the money.

“Neil, I didn’t think you were coming to Africa,” said Rubeo, opening his window as he approached. “What brings you here?”

“I thought, since I was so close, I should see what was going on,” said Kharon. “You actually inspired me.”

“How is that?”

“I thought if a famous scientist like you was going to visit the country, then I should, too. An adventure.”

“This is hardly the place for an adventure. We’ll take you into town. Do you have a hotel?” Rubeo asked.

“The Majesty, in the old section.”

“I’m sure we can do a little better than that,” said Rubeo. He turned to Jons. “What about the Citadel?”

“Yeah, something along those lines.” The foreign hotels in the new sections had much better security.

“I, uh, really can’t afford that—”

“You’re my guest. Think of it as part of the interview travel. Unfortunately, I have to do some more traveling, but I’ll be back by tomorrow, and then we can talk. Some of my men will come with us and you can see the city, and have your little adventure.”

Kharon slid into the truck. A dark-skinned Filipino sat next to him. The man was silent, but had an AR–15 between his legs, pointed at the floor.

The closed space of the unfamiliar SUV began to bother him. He felt the first tingle of fear rising along the back of his neck. He turned toward the window.

“I need some fresh air,” he told the others, and opened the window.

They weren’t paying attention. In front of him, Rubeo adjusted his ear set and told the men in the second car that they would meet them on the highway south. The driver, Jons, was clearly unhappy.

“I’d rather they rode behind us.”

“I don’t want the bots exposed,” said Rubeo. “The less they’re seen, the better.”

“They’re tarped. It just looks like equipment in the back.”

“And that won’t raise questions?”

Jons didn’t argue. Rubeo was the boss.

They drove away from the terminal, heading toward the Al Amrus Highway.

“I don’t want the truck driving all through the city,” Rubeo told Jon as they reached the highway.

“I don’t like splitting up.”

“It’s only for a few minutes. The bots are safer at the airport.”

The traffic was light. The truck sped around the circle and onto the highway.

Kharon sat back, waiting.

Rubeo realized he was getting testy, and that was affecting his judgment. He ought to let Jons do his job.

“I’m sorry,” he told him. “Call them to catch up.”

“Good,” said the driver. He took his foot off the gas and reached for the mike button on his ear set.

A moment later there was a sharp pop at the front of the truck. Jons gripped the wheel tightly, holding the truck steady as it jerked to the right.

“Blowout,” muttered someone.

There was a flash. Rubeo felt himself lifted into the air, then spinning.

“Damn,” he said, cursing for one of the very few times in his life. Then everything went black.

PRISONER OF CONSCIENCE

1

Tripoli

T his isn’t the way it’s supposed to go!

The voice screaming in Kharon’s head refused to be quiet. He pressed his arms over his head, trying to run away, even though he was held tight in his seat as the SUV tumbled over.

It was the closet, cramped and dark, the hiding place he had run to years before.

No. I’m not a child anymore!

The truck’s engine revved. There was another explosion nearby.

Time to get out! Get out! Go!

He was upside down. Kharon managed to undo his seat belt and push to the right. His window was still open and he half fell, half crawled out.

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to go!

The fresh air relieved his claustrophobia and his head began to clear. He went back to the SUV and struggled with the front door, finally pulling it open. Rubeo dropped out of the truck. The scientist was coughing, only semiconscious. Kharon took hold of him under his arms and pulled him away from the wreck.

For a few seconds his animosity disappeared. In the confusion and chaos, Kharon sought to get them both to safety.

Guns were firing. Cars screeched. Something had gone wrong, completely wrong—the kidnapping was supposed to take place after he gave the signal at the hotel.

Why the hell had they tried to blow them up?

Rubeo crawled up the side of the road, away from the SUV. He tried to fight through the mental fog, focusing his thoughts on what he saw before him.

Dirt. Sky.

Kharon pulling him away.

Rubeo coughed. Jons was back by the vehicle, firing his weapon.

Rubeo pushed at Kharon. The young man released him and Rubeo got to his feet, pulling his gun out from under his jacket. Two men were running toward him. They had rifles.

On his side?

They were wearing brown fatigues. His men wore Western clothes.

Rubeo pointed and fired twice. Both fell.

“Neil—Neil stay with me!” Rubeo shouted. He rose to his feet. A dozen men swarmed from the other side of the road. Jons was firing ferociously.

Rubeo spun around. There was no one nearby. He could see a wall with houses behind it some forty or fifty yards away.

“We can retreat to cover!” he yelled to Jons. “Let’s go!”

A fusillade of bullets sent him diving for cover. Kharon crawled next to him.

“Stay near me,” said Rubeo. He began to run. He sensed Kharon near him, but temporarily lost track of Jons. He threw himself down as he reached the wall.

Jons ran to him. “Over the wall, over the wall!” yelled the bodyguard. As he yelled, he picked Rubeo up and boosted him over the wall. Rubeo tried to land on his feet but stumbled, his legs giving way. He fell onto his back, momentarily stunned.

Kharon scrambled over the wall next to him.

“Guns!” yelled Kharon.

Rubeo pushed over, trying to get up. He couldn’t see what Kharon was pointing at, but raised his weapon anyway. Then he turned back to see Jons jumping over the wall.

“Our other SUV is coming,” yelled the bodyguard. “Go right.”

Rubeo started in that direction, then realized that Kharon was still behind him. “Come on.”

They began running toward a dirt alleyway twenty yards away. They cut up it to the left, Jons trailing behind to watch their backs. Rubeo ran toward a cemetery filled with mausoleums and surrounded by a low wall. Winded, he collapsed against the wall.

Kharon helped him to his feet. Clambering over the wall, Rubeo steadied himself against a nearby tomb, taking stock.