I’m a scientist, not a soldier. Can I do this?

You can do anything you need to, to survive.

Jons came over after them.

“If we go up this way there’s another street,” he told them. “Our other truck will meet us there. I have the helicopter coming in case.”

“Who attacked us?” asked Rubeo.

“I don’t know.”

“Were we hit by a missile?”

“May have been a grenade. Or maybe an IED,” said Jons. “God damn place is going all to shit.”

“What about Joker?” asked Rubeo. The Filipino had been in the back with Kharon.

Jons shook his head. “Can you run?” he asked Rubeo.

“Yes.”

Jons turned to Kharon. “You?”

“Yup.”

They sprinted for a hundred yards or so, running up the hill to the knoll at the center of the cemetery. But once more Rubeo began to tire, and after another ten yards his pace was nearly a walk.

“The helo is coming,” Jons told him. “Come on. We’ll wait out by the street.”

They ran under a row of trees and stopped at the edge of a walled yard. Rubeo dropped to his knees, holding the gun. Kharon moved back next to him. He wore an angry expression.

“It’s all right,” Rubeo told him.

“Truck is coming up,” said Jons. “Let’s move to it. Helo can shadow us.”

They rose together and began running toward the road. As they did, there was more gunfire. Rubeo ducked back and turned. A gunman wielding a pistol jumped over a low wall in the alley behind them. Rubeo zeroed his pistol and fired.

The man fell. Kharon took off, running to him despite Rubeo’s shout. The young man scooped up the gun and returned. Rubeo pushed his legs in the direction of the helicopter’s heavy beat. After he’d gone about twenty yards, he looked behind him, but couldn’t see Jons.

Kharon caught up. He pointed his gun at Rubeo.

“Careful where you’re pointing that,” Rubeo told him. He took a step back against the wall. There was a flash above—Rubeo glanced toward the sky in time to see a red fireball flash and turn into a black fist above him. Then metal began raining down.

The helicopter had just been shot down.

“You’re mine,” Kharon said, jumping on him.

Stunned, Rubeo raised his gun. Kharon hit him in the temple, then stepped on his wrist. Rubeo squirmed to get away, but Kharon hit him again. This time Rubeo’s eyes closed for a moment.

When they opened, two men were next to him, AK–47s in their hands.

2

Sicily

Being a senator had a number of advantages, and one of them was immediate access to any military officer who had even the faintest dream of making general—by law and long tradition, promotion to the star rank required approval by the Senate.

Colonels tended to be very aware of this. So when Ginella’s aide in the outer office told Zen that he didn’t think the colonel was available, Zen told him to pick up the phone and try anyway.

The colonel appeared so quickly Zen wondered if she had even bothered to hang up.

“Senator, I’m pleased that you’re interested in our squadron,” she told him. “Won’t you come in?”

“Glad to.”

Zen couldn’t remember meeting Ginella when he was in the service, but he nodded agreeably as she mentioned several generals he knew, deciding he had nothing to lose by letting her drop names.

“Would you like to see the aircraft?” she said finally, running out of names.

“I’d like to, but unfortunately I’m pressed for time tonight,” said Zen. “I have to catch a flight in ten minutes.”

“I see.”

“I’m interested in the incident yesterday, when your squadron was covering the retrieval of the allied commando unit.”

“Yes, the SAS troops. We were up for quite a while,” said Ginella.

“And then you lost one of your planes.”

Ginella’s face clouded. “I did.”

“Why was Captain Mako flying in your squadron?”

“Captain Mako? He was a substitute pilot,” she said defensively. “He . . . came to the squadron at my request.”

“That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?”

“Not if you’re undermanned. I think he was an excellent pilot. He had experience in the A–10E before any of my pilots, or myself. And I think he’s clearly a good combat pilot.”

“So do I,” said Zen. “So what happened on the mission?”

“Are you here in an official capacity, Senator? Your tone seems a little formal.”

“I’m interested in knowing what happened,” said Zen. “I’m interested in making sure that Captain Mako gets a fair shake.”

“He’s not in any trouble that I know of,” said Ginella.

“Good.”

“I assume you’re referring to the fact that he passed over the area the missile was fired from just prior to the shoot-down,” said Ginella.

“I understand he did.”

“He missed the missile launcher. Whether he would have seen it in time or not, I don’t know.”

“You’re sure he missed it?”

“I have to tell you, Senator, it’s difficult to believe the missile wasn’t launched from that point. So by definition, if he didn’t see it—”

“What do the reconnaissance videos show?”

“Unfortunately, the closest UAV was not in a position to capture that portion of the battlefield. The others show just the general area. And the images from his plane are inclusive as well.”

“I think any account of the incident should indicate that,” said Zen. “But it should also indicate what he said.”

“I’m sure it will.”

“None of your other pilots saw the missile.”

“We weren’t close enough.”

Zen nodded. “As for personal feelings, I hope none will enter into any of your reports, or actions. One way or another.”

Ginella stared at him but said nothing.

“Great,” said Zen finally. “I’m glad that will be the case.”

He started to wheel away.

“Personal feelings have no place in battle,” said Ginella.

“Agreed, Colonel,” said Zen, not bothering to look back. “Though in my experience, they often seem to intrude.”

3

Tripoli

Kharon kicked the gun away from Rubeo, then pulled the scientist to his feet. His arms were shaking.

The revenge he’d dreamed about since he was a child was in front of him now. The only question was how to take it.

The two thugs who’d run up from the highway shouted at him in Arabic to put the gun down.

“You idiots. I hired you,” Kharon answered. “Fezzan works for me.”

“But they don’t work for Fezzan,” said a voice from up on the hill, back in the cemetery. He was speaking English, with a Russian accent.

Foma Mitreski.

“You are a foolish young man. Put the gun down or they will shoot you,” said Foma.

“What are you doing?”

“Gun down,” said Foma. He told the others to take aim.

Kharon thought of pointing the gun at the Russian, then, dejected, he let it drop.

As the gun fell, Rubeo saw his chance. He dove after it, planning to grab it and shoot the man who’d come down the hill—he was sure Jons would be up the alley and take care of the men with rifles. But as his fingers touched the cold metal, the butt stock of one of the guns smacked him in the side of the head.

He felt the air rushing through his mouth, then slid forward in the dirt, scraping his chin as he lost consciousness.

I’m a scientist, not a soldier . . .

“What are you doing? Why did you blow up the truck?” Kharon asked Foma as the goons trussed Rubeo.