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Camille saw the plane racing toward her, seconds away. It was beginning to lift into the air, but it wouldn't clear her, not with the gear hanging down. Just then the plane's nose seemed to lift high—too high. The tail scraped the tarmac as it barreled toward her. She dropped with a prayer, covering her head and face with her arms. There was a blast of blistering heat as the engines roared over her, then a small sandstorm scoured her.

Within seconds, she opened her eyes. The plane was already hundreds of feet in the air in a steep climb. Camille's spirits crashed as she watched Hunter fly away from her.

 

All Hunter could see was blue sky, but he didn't feel anything strike the plane. He tried to exhale, but the yoke was buried in his gut. The stall warning shrieked and he knew he had burned precious time. He slammed the throttles forward and shoved the nose over. He was still flying, just barely.

“Come on, punch it damn it,” he shouted over the alarms.

The engines seemed to take forever to respond to firewalling the throttles. A few long seconds later he felt the thrust coming on line.

The alarm stopped.

He eased the nose back up a little and let up on the thrust, making sure he was still in controlled flight before he started a gentler climb. He had always wanted to learn how to fly a Glufstream, but had never had the chance beyond twenty hours of simulator time. It was all just roll, pitch and yaw, he reminded himself as sweat poured off his body. The glass cockpit that he had once admired was now pretty damn intimidating. The basics were displayed by default—artificial horizon, airspeed, fuel—and they all looked good, best he could tell. All of the engine gauges were running parallel.

The desert sky was cloudless and that would help him visually navigate back to Stella. The Gulfstream was a beautiful piece of engineering and most likely came standard with GPS mapping capabilities, but he couldn't take the time to fiddle with the monitors to figure it out. Right now he just needed to get it to a safe altitude, level out so he could pry the emergency axe from the copilot's fingers and free himself from the damn zip-ties. But more than anything at that moment, he wanted to quit giving the captain's corpse a lap dance.

Gora Muruntau, Kyzyl Kum Desert, Uzbekistan

Camille ran back for the Dragunov, then sprinted down the runway toward G
ENGHIS
. She now didn't care so much about being seen by an invisible enemy. She was more concerned about being shot by disoriented friendlies. She pulled her hat off and let her hair fall to her shoulders, aware that her gender might be what convinced him not to shoot her, in case he didn't recognize her at a distance. Now she couldn't see G
ENGHIS
, but only several bodies. As she neared, she could sense someone watching her. She could always feel it when she was prey. She just hoped it was only Iggy following her with his scope.

“Friend! L
IGHTNING
S
IX
!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. She waved her hands in the air as she approached the bodies.

G
ENGHIS
and a prisoner she didn't recognize lay behind corpses of the guards, using them for cover. Their hands were plastic cuffed, but they managed to point assault weapons at her. As soon as G
ENGHIS
identified her, he lowered the gun and instructed the other guy to do the same.

“No offense, ma'am, but you're the prettiest thing I ever saw,” G
ENGHIS
said as she got closer. He pressed on the wound on his upper left arm.

Flies swarmed around her face, fighting the wind to get to the blood soaking her gritty hair. She was so thirsty she could barely swallow. Sand was a second skin. “You've lost a lot of blood. You're hallucinating.” Camille turned to the prisoner. “Make absolutely sure they're dead.” To G
ENGHIS
she mouthed, “Who's he?”

G
ENGHIS
shrugged.

Just because the guy had been a Rubicon prisoner didn't mean she trusted him around her with a weapon; she would have to disarm him. She handed G
ENGHIS
her sidearm, a 9mm Makarov with a KGB emblem on the handle which she'd picked up in Tashkent. It would be easier for him than the AK. “Keep an eye on this for me, will you?” Camille kneeled beside G
ENGHIS
and sliced through the plastic ties around his wrists and ankles, then cut away the blood-soaked sleeve.

“You got it,” G
ENGHIS
said. He held the gun as he used the palm of the same hand to press on the gunshot wound.

“They're all dead,” the prisoner said as he shuffled toward Camille, carrying a shorty AK. His hands were bound, but that wouldn't stop him from pointing and spraying.

“Come over here and I'll cut you free,” Camille said without taking the bloody knife from the holster.

As soon as he was near her, Camille rushed him, closing the distance. She pivoted her body from the line of fire right before she grabbed the butt of the weapon and twisted it away from his bound hands. At the same time she smacked her knee into his groin. He stumbled to the ground like a civilian. She turned the weapon around and pointed it at him.

“Bitch” he said, doubled over.

“Get up and walk ten feet that way and sit up on your knees. If you so much as stand, one of us will shoot you. And I have a guardian angel on the dunes, so keep that in mind.”

“We share the same enemy—Rubicon. I'll help you,” he said as he struggled to his feet. “I'm no threat to you.”

“But until I have time to figure out who the hell you are, you're our prisoner.” Camille kept the AK-102 trained on him as she backed toward G
ENGHIS
.

 

Camille grabbed the radio. “T
IN
M
AN
, break camp and join me. Bring your gear.”

“Negative,” Iggy said. “Will maintain overwatch.”

She knew that Iggy was very worried they didn't have an overwatch position providing security, even though she didn't think there was any reason to believe that Rubicon would somehow approach them by surprise.

“We have a man down. I need your medic kit. Bring it.”

“Negative.”

“Dammit, G
ENGHIS
will die. Bring it down, then you can reassume your position. We'll see a dust cloud well in advance of any approaching vehicles. Come, on.”

After a pause, Iggy said, “Affirmative.”

Camille squatted beside G
ENGHIS
, the AK slung around her shoulder. She pulled off her shooting glove. “Iggy has QuikClot, but I don't want to wait. You're losing too much blood.”

“Don't bother with me. I'm fine.” G
ENGHIS
tried to stand, then sat back down again.

“Dizzy?” Camille said as she glanced at the prisoner, who seemed to be compliant.

“Yeah.”

The hole was smaller than she expected for a second-hand steel-core cartridge. It must have hit a lot of bone, which slowed it down as it went through the guard. She had learned long ago not to second-guess gunshot wounds. Shots that should never kill often did and others that should've inflicted substantial damage sometimes barely slowed a target down. “Sorry. You moved a split-second after I squeezed off.”

“If I'd moved a few more inches, you would've had one shot, two kills—doesn't get better than that in this business,” G
ENGHIS
said, his voice stressed. He kept the Makarov pointed at the prisoner, although his aim wasn't steady.

Sand was caked onto her fingers. She raked them across his pant leg, then she stuck them into her mouth and sucked as much sand and dirt off them as she could. She spat onto the ground, then pulled back on the edges of the wound. “This is going to hurt like hell. Brace yourself,” she said as she thrust her fingers into the wound and pressed. It was warm, wet and soft. “How the hell did you get a ticket for that flight with Hunter?”

“Pete set me up. She's your traitor.”

“I know. How you doing?”

“Alive,” G
ENGHIS
said in a whisper, his jaws clenched. “Just keep talking.”

“You're in good hands. Daddy trained me well for combat wounds. You know he used to shoot my pet goats? It was up to me to save them or else they were Sunday dinner.”

“Sounds like Charlie. The man understood motivation.” G
ENGHIS
smiled, but it was strained as he fought the pain. “You ever lose one?”

“Not many.”

 

Camille looked up as Iggy approached, lugging his gear. Hers was still on the dune. He kept his AK aimed at the prisoner as he dropped his pack near G
ENGHIS
. “What the hell are
you
doing here?”

“Pete sent me,” G
ENGHIS
said.

“What are you talking about? Where is Pete?” Iggy glanced around as he pulled the medic kit from his rucksack.

“Dead.” Camille sighed. The bleeding was under control as long as she kept the pressure up. “She made a move on me.”

“She's always making moves on you,” Iggy said with a laugh as he used his teeth to tear open a foil packet of QuikClot. “I hope for once this shit lives up to its sales pitch. So where is Pete?”

“I'm serious. She tried to kill me. I didn't have a choice.” Camille pulled her fingers from the wound and Iggy handed her the packet. She poured the grains directly into the hole. The substance turned dark. “This stuff always reminds me of kitty litter.”

“Jesus. Pete's our mole?”

“Whoever she was working for must not want me comparing notes with Hunter. And I'm guessing that's the CIA.” Camille stopped pouring the grains into the wound when the top layer quit soaking up fluid and remained light beige.

“Who the hell is our prisoner?” Iggy said as he gathered weapons from the dead guards, all the while looking around for any movement.

“Dammed if we know,” G
ENGHIS
said.

“You ask him?”

“We've been busy getting this bleeding under control. I can sew the artery up later.” Camille took a piece of gauze and applied pressure. The QuikClot made the wound give off so much heat, she had to add an extra layer to insulate her hand. When she was convinced the coagulant had worked its wonders, she wrapped a dressing around his arm to maintain the pressure.

Iggy yelled to the prisoner. “You got a name?”

“Larry Ashland.”

“I've heard of you.” Iggy laughed. “You're the French spook the Agency nabbed yesterday, aren't you?”

“Yes, but I'm on your side in this. Cut me free,” Ashland said, kneeling exactly as Camille had instructed him.

“I have a hard time imagining me being on the same side as the French,” Iggy said.

Camille squinted. Even with her dark sunglasses, the sun was glaring. Her undershirt was completely drenched between her breasts and her skin was burning. “No way is the Agency going to nail some French mole, then hand him off to Rubicon, even if Rubicon is running some of their rendition flights. It doesn't add up.”

“Nothing about Rubicon adds up,” Ashland said.

“You got that right,” Iggy said.

Camille pulled out an IV bag of saline from the medic kit. It was hot. Too hot. She broke open an instant ice pack and duct-taped it to the bag. “I'm going to get G
ENGHIS
into the shadow of that dune, then start the IV as soon as it cools.” Camille stood. “I want off this runway when Hunter makes it. If he's alive, he'll be back. I'm not sure if he saw me, but he'd never leave a man behind. He'll be back for G
ENGHIS
and the others.”

“My legs are good.” G
ENGHIS
stood slowly, then plopped back down.

An oily puddle had collected underneath him.
One down, four to go
. She was surprised he wasn't going into shock. G
ENGHIS
was one tough mother.

“You grab the weapons and keep an eye on the prisoner.” Camille reached under G
ENGHIS
' arms, careful not to re-injure him and took a deep breath. He must have weighed over two hundred pounds—all muscle. She turned to Ashland. “Tell me something I don't know about Rubicon and we'll let you come into the shade with us. Otherwise, you're going to bake here until that plane comes back and runs you over.”

“As I said, we're on the same side. I'll share all I know.” Sweat rolled down Ashland's forehead.

“Start talking.” Camille started walking away, supporting G
ENGHIS
.

“Rubicon is working with al-Zahrani. I don't know exactly how or what, but the project's called S
HANGRI-LA
.”

Camille stopped when she heard a code name Chronister had used in the intercepted conversation. “What do you know about S
HANGRI-LA
?”

“I've spent nearly two years at Rubicon trying to find out about S
HANGRI-LA
. It's highly compartmentalized. I only know the Iraqi side. Rubicon ships weapons seized from insurgents for use in the project.”

“Where is S
HANGRI-LA
?”

“Uzbekistan.”

“You're joking.” Iggy chuckled. “S
HANGRI-LA
is in this hellhole? At least they have a sense of humor.”

Camille walked G
ENGHIS
to a strip of shade, a dune's thin shadow. Even without the direct sun, the temperature was agonizing. She eased him down, praying the QuikClot didn't pop out.

 

Iggy carried the scavenged weapons to the shady spot, piling them beside Camille. She knew the only reason he wasn't in a greater hurry to get back to the overwatch position had to be because he wanted to move out immediately. She wanted to give Hunter more time, though she couldn't imagine what could be taking him so long to circle around and land the damn plane unless the pilots had somehow taken him out first. But it was Hunter. He had to be fiddling around with some cool gadgets, making sure he mastered them before he set it down. He had to be.

She harvested a pair of cheap sunglasses from one of the guards and handed them to G
ENGHIS
.

“Thanks,” G
ENGHIS
said as he put them on.

Iggy started checking the weapons one by one. “Get him mobile. I want to egress and get to that LZ. Someone from Rubicon is going to come looking for their buddies.”

Camille tightened G
ENGHIS'
belt and raised his feet onto a rucksack to slow down the onset of shock. Cutting back on circulation to the lower body was usually not a good idea, but in this case she was more worried about the vital organs. “I've got to pump fluids into him. And I don't want to move. Hunter will be back.”

“Cam,” Iggy said as he shoved a magazine back into an AK. “It's been twenty minutes. That's about two hundred miles in a Gulfstream.”

“It's fifteen minutes and he'll be back.” She was certain of it. Hunter had convinced her of his loyalty and that loyalty would extend to his fellow prisoners. She wasn't going to doubt him again.

“We need to send a burst to our contact in Zarafshan and get the hell out of here.”

“He
will
be back.”

“We can't wait.”

“I'm not moving.”

Iggy shook his head as he stared at her. “You've got fifteen minutes and that's it.”

 

She scanned the area, ready to provide cover fire as Iggy climbed back to an overwatch position. Then she touched the IV bag and decided it was good enough. She tore open a needle packet and pushed the needle into G
ENGHIS
' forearm to start the IV. She studied Ashland, unsure what to make of him.

Camille said to him, “What do you really think S
HANGRI-LA
's all about? You have to have a theory.”

“I can't prove it, but I'd bet everything I own that Rubicon is helping al-Zahrani train terrorists.” Ashland wiped sweat from his brow. His wrists were still bound.

“This al-Zahrani guy isn't exactly a politico who can be bought off. He's a true believer.”