“Time to go,” Sam said. “We’ll retrace our steps to the Rover and-”

Outside, an alarm began whooping.

Sam and Remi froze for a moment, then he said, “Behind the door!”

They pressed themselves flat against the wall. Outside, doors banged open, footsteps pounded on gravel, voices shouted.

Sam asked Remi, “Can you make out anything?”

She closed her eyes, listening intently. Her eyes sprung open again. “Sam, I think they found the Range Rover.”

LANGTANG VALLEY, NEPAL

Before Sam could reply, the trailer door swung open. Using his fingertips, Sam stopped the door a few inches from their faces. One of the guards stepped across the threshold, his flashlight skimming through the space. The guard stopped. Sam saw his shoulders begin to pivot, signaling a turn in their direction.

Sam hip-bumped the door closed, took a single stride forward, then lashed out with a toe kick that stuck the guard behind the knee. As he fell, Sam grabbed his collar and heaved forward, smashing the man’s forehead on the edge of the desk. He groaned and went limp. Sam pulled him backward and dragged him behind the door. He knelt down, checked the man’s pulse.

“He’s alive but won’t be waking up anytime soon.”

He rolled the man over, tugged the slung rifle off his shoulder, and stood up.

Wide-eyed, Remi stared at her husband for several seconds. “That was very James Bond-ish.”

“Dumb luck and a steel desk,” he replied with a shrug and a smile. “An unbeatable combination.”

“I think you deserve a reward,” Remi replied with a smile of her own.

“Later. If there is a later.”

“I’d like there to be a later. You have a plan?”

“Auto theft,” Sam replied.

He turned around, moved to the nearest of the trailer’s rear windows, and pulled back the curtain. “A tight squeeze, but I think we can make it.”

“You check the front,” Remi said, “I’ll get the back window.”

Sam walked to the front window, fingered back the curtain, and peeked outside. “The guards are assembling in the clearing. About ten of them. I don’t see the Dragon Lady.”

“She probably just stopped by to do King’s dirty work.”

“It looks like they’re trying to decide what to do. We’ll know in a second if they realize they’re missing a man.”

“Window’s open,” Remi said. “It’s about an eight-foot drop to the ground. There are some thick trees about ten feet away.”

Sam let the curtain slip back into place. “We might as well go now before they have a chance to get organized.” He unslung the rifle and examined it. “This is state-of-the-art.”

“Can you handle it?”

“Safety, trigger, magazine . . . hole where the bullet comes out. I think I’ll manage.”

Abruptly the alarm went silent.

Sam walked to the front door and locked it. “It might delay them,” he explained.

He grabbed the nearest chair and carried it to the rear window. Remi climbed up and began squeezing out the window. Once she was down and clear, Sam followed.

They ducked into the tree line and began picking their way toward the Quonset hut. When the rear wall came into view through the trees, they stopped and took a few moments to scan their surroundings. In the distance they could hear the guards still shouting over one another.

Sam and Remi moved forward, Sam in the lead, his rifle lowered and tracking back and forth. They reached the Quonset hut. Remi whispered, “Door,” and pointed. Sam nodded. Remi now in the lead, they slid along the wall until her shoulder bumped the jamb. She tried the knob. It was open. She opened the door silently and peeked her head through. She pulled back.

“There’s two trucks inside, parked side by side. They look military-green, double tires, canvas sides, a tailgate.”

“Feel up to driving?” asked Sam.

“Sure.”

“You get behind the wheel of the one on the left. I’ll disable the other one, then join you. Be ready to start the engine and tear out.”

“Got it.”

Remi opened the door just wide enough for them to slip through. They were halfway to the trucks when they heard footsteps pounding on the road outside. Sam and Remi skidded to halt against the right-hand truck’s tailgate. Sam peeked around the corner.

“Four men,” he said. “They’re climbing into the trucks, two in each cab.”

“Part of their emergency plan?” Remi suggested.

“Probably,” Sam replied. “Okay, Plan B. We stow away.”

Almost in unison, the trucks’ engines rumbled to life.

Stepping carefully lest their shifting weight alert the guards, Sam and Remi mounted the truck’s bumper, then high-stepped over the tailgate. With a loud thunk, the transmission engaged, and the truck surged ahead. Arm in arm, Sam and Remi stumbled and fell face-first into the bed.

Their truck was in the lead. Lying flat in the relative darkness of the bed, with the second truck’s headlamps glowing green through the tailgate’s canvas flap, Sam and Remi allowed themselves to take a full breath for the first time in ten minutes. On either side of them, wooden crates of various sizes were strapped to eyebolts in the truck’s bed.

“We made it,” Remi whispered.

“Cross fingers.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I’m pretty sure this is a Chinese Army truck.”

“You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

“I am. It seems clear King is in bed with someone in the Chinese military. The guards are Chinese, and so are their weapons probably. And we know what’s in these crates.”

“How far to the border?”

“Twenty miles, maybe twenty-five. Four hours, give or take.”

“Plenty of time to make our exit.”

“The question is, how far from civilization will we be?”

“You’re starting to spoil my otherwise sunny disposition,” she said, then laid back in the crook of Sam’s shoulder.

Despite the hardness of the truck’s bed and the constant jostling, Sam and Remi found the muffled growl of the engine soothing. They half dozed in the twilight, Sam occasionally waking to check his watch.

After an hour of traveling, they were jolted awake by the squeal of the truck’s brakes. The following truck’s headlights enlarged and brightened through the rear flap. Sam sat up and pointed the rifle toward the tailgate. Remi sat up beside him, her eyes questioning, but she said nothing.

The truck slowed, then ground to a halt. The following truck’s headlights went dark. Cab doors opened, slammed shut. From either side of the bed came the crunch of footsteps. They stopped at the tailgate, and voices began murmuring in Chinese. Sam and Remi could smell cigarette smoke.

Sam turned his head and whispered in Remi’s ear. “Stay perfectly still.” She nodded.

Moving slowly, carefully, Sam curled his legs beneath him, then rose into a crouch onto the balls of his feet. He took two crab steps toward the tailgate and turned his head to listen. After a moment, he turned back to Remi and held up four fingers. Four guards were standing on the other side of the tailgate. He pointed to his rifle, then in the direction of the soldiers.

She handed him the rifle. Sam laid it across his legs, then pressed his wrists together. She nodded. He gestured for her to lie flat. She did so.

Sam made sure the rifle’s safety was off, adjusted himself and took a deep breath, then reached up with his left hand, grasped the canvas, and jerked it aside.

“Hands up!” he shouted.

The two soldiers closest to the bumper spun around while simultaneously backpedaling. They stumbled into their comrades, who were struggling to unsling their rifles.

“Don’t!” Sam said, and raised his rifle to his shoulder.

Despite the language gap, the soldiers got the message and stopped moving. Sam gestured with the barrel of his rifle several times until the men got the message. Slowly each man unslung his rifle and let it drop to the ground. Sam backed them up a few feet, then climbed over the tailgate and hopped down.