She had paused near what might be a crumpling machine-gunner's nest--it was hard to tell with all the erosion and overgrowth. In the distance she thought she saw something, a figure in silhouette. No, not one. Two.

And then they'd heard the muffled thump of something from deep inside the bunker. A gunshot? Grenade?

"Ben, where are you guys?"

No answer.

"Ben, you there?"

"Hey, check this out," called Ames. "I got a hatch right here. . . ."

NOBORUtensed as he listened to Gillespie trying to call Hansen. He'd heard the dull boom from behind those thick stone walls, too. He decided that if Hansen didn't answer within the next twenty seconds, he'd go into the bunker after them. It wasn't just Hansen he was worried about, of course.

He ticked off another ten seconds, then started toward the bunker door, when a voice came from above. "Nathan!"

Squinting up into the darkness, Noboru could not see the man at first--but he'd recognized that baritone voice.

Horatio.

Even as his heart sank and he lifted his pistol, Gothwhiler's unmistakable British accent came from behind him. "Good boy, Nathan. Don't move."

Noboru froze.

How had they managed to draw so close to him? Well, he'd been a fool, daydreaming about a life with Maya Valentina, about romantic, candlelit dinners and long days at the beach. She'd dulled his senses, softened him, left him vulnerable to much more than her perfume and charm.

And now his old "friends" had exploited his lack of focus and current position. They didn't want to face the rest of the team. They'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity to capture him alone.

And now they had him.

Or not.

After living with them on his back for so long, Noboru had come to the realization that, if push came to shove, he wouldn't be taken alive--and in a way death would be welcome and represent the end of the paranoia, the fear . . . finally . . . forever.

He judged Gothwhiler's distance behind him at three meters. Horatio was now coming down the rocks: distance nine meters and closing.

Gothwhiler no doubt had a gun pointed at Noboru's head, while Horatio kept his pistol up but was more concerned with judging his footing as he descended to the shoulder of the road, near the bridge.

Footfalls grew louder from behind. Closer. Noboru thought of making his move, but Horatio already had his pistol trained on him.

Abruptly, his Trident goggles were ripped off, and then the hard steel muzzle of a pistol made contact with that knobby bone covered by stubble on the back of his head.

"Just toss your weapon into the mud right there," said Gothwhiler, his voice squeaking like a mouse's. "Right there." He relieved Noboru of his rifle, sliding the V-TRAC sling easily off his shoulder.

"I did a job for you," Noboru said, his voice coming in a hiss. "I deserved to be paid. You ripped me off. I took back what was mine. There is nothing left between us. I told you that. I told you. . . ."

Horatio started forward. His pistol was a semiautomatic, to be sure, and he raised it to Noboru's belly.

"Nathan, it ends tonight. You've made a fool out of us. And now we'll send a message that no one can do that. Not ever. Now . . . hands behind your head! Kneel!"

Noboru tensed. "I've been your life's work, huh? What're you going to do without me? Who're you going to chase?"

"You haven't called your parents recently, have you?" said Gothwhiler.

Noboru began to lose his breath. "We had an agreement from the very beginning about them."

"You gave them the money. They spent it. They paid the price."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not." Horatio raised his gun and pointed it at Noboru's forehead.

Noboru took a deep breath. He was going to spring up and attack Horatio, taking his chances--knowing full well he would probably be shot--but perhaps the round would not kill instantly the way a head shot would. He would not be executed. He would fight. And death would, as he'd promised himself, bring relief.

"Pathetic boy," Gothwhiler sang. "My grandfather was shooting you people out of trees during World War II."

Noboru was about to reach out when a short clap from nearby echoed down into the ravine.

An odd look came over Horatio's face. Then he just dropped to the ground.

Noboru craned his head in time to see Gothwhiler take a round two inches behind his temple. The gaunt man's head wrenched back as he toppled to the ground and lay there, immobile, blood pouring from his wound.

The two perfectly executed shots, from a remarkable sniper, left Noboru breathless. Absolutely breathless.

Yet even through the shock, he still recognized the sound of an SC- 20 rifle and its 5.56mm ammo. There was no mistaking it. Someone on the team had just saved his life.

Or someone who just happened to have an SC-20 rifle.

Noboru stared off to his right, narrowing his eyes toward the shadows running along the cliff. He focused on a fallen log overlooking the lip of the ravine. That had to be the sniper's nest. Slowly, he lowered his hands from behind his head and pulled himself up into a crouch, still wary as he shifted right toward where he had tossed his pistol.

A round punched into the mud not six inches from his hand.

He lifted both palms and slowly stood.

It was Fisher. Had to be.

All Noboru could do was shrug. The man could easily kill him now.

Noboru just stood there, waiting for some sign or indication that it was okay for him to move. None came. Then he spotted movement near the bridge, just twenty feet from it, and turned his head for a better look.

A voice rang out. "No. Face the cars."

Definitely Fisher.

Noboru complied. "Was that you?"

"Was that me, what?"

Noboru jerked his head toward Horatio and Gothwhiler. "Them."

"I needed their car. Something told me they weren't cooperative types."

Noboru swallowed. Fisher had no idea what he had just done, no idea of the immeasurable burden that had just been lifted from Noboru's shoulders, and all he could manage at the moment was a simple "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Fisher said curtly.

Noboru opened his mouth, about to ask a half dozen questions about Fisher's mission, about what the hell was really going on, when he felt the Cottonball make contact with his right shoulder, and the world went dark.

32

VALENTINAhad been farther away from the flash-bang grenade when it went off, so she'd been able to recover more quickly than Hansen and now helped him back outside, through the main bunker door. He still couldn't see much, and she had a few sparklers winking in her peripheral vision.

Having heard a pair of gunshots from outside, Ames and Gillespie had taken up sniper positions and had reported frantically that they thought Noboru had been killed. He was on the ground and not answering their calls.

As her heart raced and eyes began to ache, Valentina guided Hansen out the door and told him to sit down there, under cover. Noboru was up near the cars, and she'd be right back. He barely heard her, saying his ears were ringing loudly, and she understood, the explosion still echoing in her head.

With her mind screaming that this kind and gentle man might be dead, she climbed up to the road and knelt before him. Her trembling hand touched his neck, and she searched for a pulse. Nothing . . . Wait, there it is.She sighed and gasped, and for a moment a wave of dizziness passed through her, or, rather, a wave of relief so strong that she thought she might pass out. She checked him for a gunshot wound. Nothing visible.