Bodyguard Lockdown (16 page)

Booker grunted, but let the comment pass. “So this has nothing to do with the oil site. There is a lot of oil under that ground. If Taer is destroyed, that ground and everything around it might
become contaminated. That means a lot of money to the United States.”

“It does,” Aaron agreed. “While it might be Mercer’s motivation, it is not mine.”

“Last question,” Booker said and raised the pistol, once more pointing at Aaron. “Who told Trygg that Sandra was leaving for Tourlay?”

Aaron put his hands high in the air. “So you can shoot the messenger?”

Booker thumbed the
hammer back on the pistol.

“All right, damn it. I did,” Aaron confessed. “Under orders.”

“From who?”

“President Mercer. It secured my place in Trygg’s plans.” Aaron stared straight down the barrel. “But in the spirit of full disclosure, Mercer ordered me to protect her. And with her help, recover the cylinders before Trygg. I just figured you would do a better job.”

“That doesn’t
sound like you,” Quamar observed wryly.

“Unless...” Quamar took a long, curious look at Booker. The brown eyes softened, thoughtful. “I understand.”

“Understand what?” Booker demanded.

“You are in love with Sandra,” Quamar stated.

Aaron grinned. “Just call me Cupid.”

“You son of a bitch,” Booker bit out, and took a step forward.

“Boss,” Madu yelled, and rushed into
the tent. He stopped dead in his tracks; his eyes ran up and down Aaron. “You?” The smuggler glanced from one man to the next, taking in the situation. “You are Minos.”

Aaron ignored the surprise. “What do you have, Madu?”

“We picked up the signal on Doctor Haddad’s chip. The jamming disengaged about three minutes ago. We also picked up the frequency on the airbus. Both are in opposite
directions and at least a dozen hours from here by vehicle.”

Quamar stepped in front of Booker’s gun. “Well, it is a good thing that I chose to come here by helicopter.”

* * *

“G
ENERAL
?” J
IM
R
AYO
stormed into the tent. “Doctor Pitman has informed me that Sandra Haddad has been moved to an undisclosed location.”

The general set down his pen on the desk, took off his glasses
and leaned back in his chair.

“Yes. That was my order. Sandra Haddad is fine, for the time being.” He studied the colonel for a second or two. “How is Doctor Pitman coming along with his lab?”

“He just informed me that he needs another six to eight hours to get the cylinders ready for disbursement.”

“Good.” Trygg paused a moment, frowning. “And the tracking chip for the plane?”

“A hundred miles away, dropped somewhere over the desert as ordered, sir.”

“Thank you, Jim.” Trygg sat back in his chair. “How long have we worked together, Jim?”

“Twenty-five years, sir.”

“Twenty-five years,” Trygg repeated, then sighed. “It never seems as long as it sounds.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you proud of your life? Are you proud of your career, and what we’ve accomplished
over all these years?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m not so sure.” Trygg studied the man before him. “You’re a good man, Colonel Rayo. The best soldier I’ve known. And I’ve known many.”

“Likewise, sir. I’ve always trusted your judgment. I’ve followed your orders for the past thirty years, General.”

“And you have concerns with this mission—am I correct?”

Jim gave him a sharp, affirmative
nod. “Taer holds well over fifty thousand people.”

The general placed his elbows on the armrests. Linked his fingers in front of him. “Not all will die, Jim. We have only two cylinders to drop.”

“Half will die,” Jim answered, his stance widening. “We have no idea of the effect on others. There are women and children who will be killed, General.”

“So you do have a problem with my
decision,” Trygg observed. “This isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with collateral damage.”

“In the past, all collateral damage were military men. Recruits. Their families received honorable compensations,” Jim argued.

“So after all these years, you’re questioning my judgment. Right at the precipice of our biggest triumph.”

“Sir, we’ll lose civilian—”

“We’ve lost civilians before,
damn it!” Anger flashed deep in Trygg’s eyes, maybe a hint of insanity.

Jim ignored both. He saw nothing but the image of his wife, her broken body. “My wife was one of those civilians, wasn’t she, General?”

Trygg’s gaze snapped to Jim’s. In that moment, Jim understood that everything Booker had told him about the bar fight and his wife had been true.

“I had nothing to do with your
wife’s death, Jim.”

“And Emily McKnight’s? Or her unborn child’s?”

“We’ve been over this before, Jim. Emily and her child were unknown factors in an otherwise sound equation. Her death wasn’t preventable,” Trygg explained. “You understand every mission does not go smoothly. It’s expected. She was unexpected.”

“I don’t believe she was, General. I believe you brought her into the
equation on purpose.”

Trygg laughed and shook his head. “Like I said, we’ve known each other too long, haven’t we?”

“I’m beginning to think I don’t know you at all, sir.”

“You’re right, Jim.” Trygg spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I did allow Emily McKnight access through the gates. But it was necessary. She had too much control over her father. It had become a problem when
she broke through the gates.”

“So you killed his daughter,” Jim stated. It was no longer a question to him, but a fact.

“It was necessary.”

Trygg slid open the drawer of his desk.

Jim caught the look. The one that had been growing in the back of the general’s eyes since the rescue. A madness.

Jim grabbed his gun, pointed it at the general. “Keep your hands where I can
see them, sir.”

“I was reaching for a cigar.”

“You killed my wife.” Jim kept his hand level, his eyes pinned on the general. “Why?”

“All right. We do this your way.” Trygg sighed, let his hands drop onto the desk, palms spread. “Your wife would have held you back from greatness. I needed you more than she did.”

“You son of a bitch.” Jim’s finger tightened on the trigger. Suddenly,
a gun fired from behind him. Pain exploded in Jim’s back, took him to his knees. His stomach burned. Jim pulled his hand away, saw the blood coating his fingers.

Lewis stepped around him.

“Meet your replacement, Jim.”

Lewis kicked Jim’s gun across the tent.

“I told the general here about your conversation with McKnight, Colonel,” Lewis explained. “From the moment he talked
about your wife, you changed sides. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jim tried to get his feet under him, but the strength wasn’t there. “Sandra Haddad. Where is she?”

“At the runway,” Lewis taunted. “We’ll be taking care of her real soon.”

“You won’t get away with...” Jim drew a haggard breath. His back burned, but his legs and arms moved.

“With this? But I already have, Jim.
I have to finish great tasks. While all you have left to do is die.” Trygg stood behind his desk, pulled a gun out of his desk drawer and placed it in a side holster beneath his jacket. “Try to do it quickly.”

Jim slumped to the floor in a pool of his own blood. He dragged in desperate breaths, breaching the pain that raged in his chest.

“It’s time to take care of Doctor Haddad.” Trygg
stepped over him, then paused. “Give your wife my regards when you see her.”

* * *

I
T
HAD
TAKEN
THEM
three hours to reach the tracking device. Three hours the body lay in the sand. Vultures circling, until the roar of the helicopter chased them away.

“Just for the record, I am not comfortable out in the open like this, McKnight.”

Booker jumped from the helicopter. He noted
the body had been dumped on the low ground. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Does to me,” Aaron muttered, then followed Booker a few yards to the body, his rifle raised. His eyes were on the dunes around them.

“It’s not Sandra.” Booker flipped over the body. Instantly recognized the sand-covered features. “It’s Jim Rayo.”

“Hell.” Aaron squatted next to Booker, examined the extent of the wound,
the dried blood. “He’s been dead for a few hours. Maybe half a day.”

Booker grunted. “He was shot in the back. The bullet exited above the abdomen. But he didn’t die right away. They dragged him out here and let him suffer a bit.”

“My bet is that they shot him at their camp,” Aaron said. “Which means we’re close.”

“Close means nothing in the Sahara.” Booker let the body roll back,
angry over the kind of man Rayo could have been if Trygg hadn’t interfered with his life.

“Our position is risky at best.” Aaron scanned the perimeter, stopped twice on their helicopter. “Too many dunes around us. We’re sitting ducks down here.”

Booker patted down Jim’s shirt pocket. “I’ve got something.” He pulled out the small microchip. “There’s blood on it.”

“Sandra’s. Which
means she could be alive,” Aaron reasoned. He did a quick check of the pants pockets, then stopped. “Hold on.”

Aaron grabbed Jim Rayo’s left arm. “I’ll be damned.”

“That goes without saying,” Booker quipped, then followed Aaron’s gaze to Jim’s outstretched hand.

Aaron turned the left cuff inside out. Booker recognized the numbers written in blood. “They’re geographic coordinates.
Rayo must have written them down before he died.”

“In his own blood.”

Bullets ripped across the hull of the helicopter, striking the windows. Pinned them down with nothing but the body for cover.

“Trygg’s men.” Aaron squinted at the horizon, trying to find the snipers. “Damn it, I knew this was a trap.”

Another wave of gunfire ripped through the tail of the copter. All it took
was one round to hit the gas tank, and the bird exploded, sending balls of fire and metal shards through the air.

“Quamar is not going to like that.” Aaron swore and raised his rifle. “He’s going to kill you.”

“From the looks of things, he’ll have to take his turn in line.” Booker raised his rifle, fired at a distant movement among the bushes. A cry echoed across the sand. “There’s too
many, and they have the high ground.”

Aaron took down another sniper and fired shots at two more who were quick enough to duck behind some boulders.

Suddenly, bullets ripped up the ground above them. The mercenaries scattered, screaming as their ranks broke under the barrage of gunfire.

“What the hell—” Military gunships rose over the dunes, opening fire on the rest of Trygg’s men.
Within moments, the gun battle ceased.

Aaron swore. “Who—”

“Wait.” Booker raised his rifle. Two helicopters settled on the ground a few yards away. “They might not be friendly.”

Cain MacAlister, dressed in full desert military fatigues, jumped from the nearest helicopter. A moment later, Jarek Al Asadi followed, wearing identical fatigues.

“I’ll be damned.” When Booker stood,
Aaron joined him. Three additional helicopters approached from the farthest ridge and landed by the others.

Military personnel—both Taer and U.S.—poured from the birds.

“Secure the area,” Cain shouted to the nearest men. “Then watch the ridge in case more show.”

Half the soldiers climbed the dunes; the others stayed to guard the helicopters and the King of Taer.

“How in the
hell did you know where we were?” Aaron asked.

“Omar Haddad called the President,” Cain admitted. “He informed Jon that Keith Harper was no longer a threat to national security. Then he gave him the frequency on the microchip. Omar led us to believe we were tracking the airbus.”

“Omar wanted you to save his daughter,” Booker stated, understanding. If Omar had the frequency to the airbus,
he’d want to stop Trygg himself.

“We found Senator Harper, dead, in Omar’s medical offices,” Jarek explained. “Cain and Kate arrived in Taer earlier today. When Jon called Cain with the microchip frequency, I offered my assistance.”

“I believe, Your Majesty, the exact words were, ‘Either I help you, or you rot in my dungeons,’” Cain remarked.

“Quamar took my men,” Aaron stated.
“He’s following the original frequency, possibly into a trap. We need to bring them back.”

“Your men?” Jarek demanded. “Who are your men?”

“He’s Minos,” Booker stated. “Your new Al Asheera leader.”

Aaron ignored Jarek’s surprise, then anger. “The Al Asheera are heading to the southwest area of the Sahara. We need to warn them.”

“Quamar is with the Al Asheera?” Jarek looked
at Booker. “You approved of this plan?”

Booker shrugged, enjoying Jarek’s bewilderment. “Not until the Contee brothers offered to act as Quamar’s second lieutenants.”

“What—”

“Let’s go,” Cain insisted. “We can radio Quamar, turn him back, then head to the correct coordinates. Booker and Aaron can give us a situation report on the way.”

“This is Colonel Jim Rayo.” Booker nudged
the body with his toe. “Trygg’s first in command. He left us geographic coordinates. That’s where we’ll find Trygg and Sandra.”

“How can you be sure it’s not another trap?”

“I know Trygg,” Booker explained. “He sent us on a wild-goose chase. Then laid a trap. But the man is arrogant. He thinks he outmaneuvered us. And we’ve been taken out of the equation. If so, he’ll leave himself vulnerable,
just because he thinks he’s indestructible now.”

“You hope,” Jarek added.

“Didn’t I just say that?” Booker smirked. “No other alternative has presented itself.”

“Then you sold me.” Cain turned to one of his men. “Get on the radio.” He nodded toward Aaron. “He’ll give you the frequency and the camp coordinates. Inform Quamar Al Asadi that they need to head back. Tell him where.”

Chapter Seventeen

“They’re there,” Cain observed, then adjusted his scope. The dunes sloped and rose under the moon and stars in waves of shadows. “Thermal imaging shows maybe fifty men.”

Booker followed Cain’s line of vision, noting Trygg’s men were moving to the eastern outer boundary of the camp. “It looks like they’re taking up positions to protect the airplane.”

Cain’s satellite phone buzzed. He grabbed it from his belt and punched a button. “MacAlister.”

A moment later he checked his watch. “Got it.”

“Quamar is an hour out with the Al Asheera, Jarek,” Cain said, putting away the phone.

“So,” Jarek acknowledged. “We wait.”

“You wait,” Booker stated. He checked his pistol, holstered it, then shoved additional clips into his pocket. “I’m
going in to find Sandra.”

“We’re going to stop him, Booker.” Jarek gripped his arm, stopping his friend. “And find Sandra, too. But the fact remains that Trygg plans on releasing CIRCADIAN on my city. That’s fifty thousand people. We can’t risk tipping our hand too soon.”

“You and I both know he’ll kill her first,” Booker stated, then yanked his arm free. He grabbed his rifle from the
helicopter. “I’m going in, and I’m bringing her out.”

“Hell,” Aaron bit out. “I don’t get my payoff unless Doctor Haddad walks away from this relatively healthy.”

Aaron lifted his machine gun, checked the clips. “I’ll go with him.”

Jarek nodded. “You have an hour to get her out of there. By that time, Quamar is going to be here. And we are going to flatten that camp and everyone
in it.”

* * *

B
OOKER
SCANNED
THE
PERIMETER
, his gun raised, his stance ready. He studied the airbus less than a hundred yards away. “But I don’t like it.”

Aaron took a step away from the nearest tent, then froze. “Booker, look at the netting by the plane.”

Two guards lay unmoving, tangled in the web of rope.

“Omar,” Booker bit out.

Omar Haddad, dressed in full military
gear, stepped over another body and made his way to the steps into the airplane.

“Looks like Senator Harper gave him more than the frequencies for the microchips.” Aaron pulled out his binoculars, thumbed them into focus. “He must have given Omar the new camp location.”

“Tent,” Booker commented, annoyed. “Another dead soldier.”

“Doesn’t he know he’s too old for this?” Aaron whistled,
his eyes still on Omar. “Hell, we’re too old for this.”

He pressed the button, zoomed in on Omar’s name patch. “The uniform is Harper’s, too. Not bad, put on a helmet and face shield, step into the plane and they think he’s Harper.”

“We need to stop him.”

Aaron’s gaze swung to the airplane. “Don’t suppose we could just shoot the tires and call it a day.”

“Shooting the tires
won’t stop Trygg from releasing the poison. Or killing Sandra.” Booker observed the situation through the scope of his rifle. “We need to get on board, change course and destroy the cylinders.”

Omar pulled a package from his backpack.

Aaron swore. “He’s got C4 explosives. He’s going to blow up that plane.”

“Damn fool,” Booker snapped. “He must not realize Sandra is on board.”

“What are you going to do? We can’t reach him in time.”

“Shoot him.” Booker adjusted the scope, bringing Omar’s image closer.

“He might be your future father-in-law—”

“Better injured than dead.” Booker squeezed the trigger.

Omar cried out; his right leg went out from under him.

“If we survive this, you’d better tell him exactly why you shot him,” Aaron warned, running
after Booker, gun raised. “Quamar told me what he did to Harper.”

Both men sprinted to the aircraft. Aaron knelt beside the doctor.

Omar swore, his hands gripping the bullet wound. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving you.” Booker lifted the backpack, checked the contents. “There’s no timer. You were going in as a suicide bomber?”

“Trygg has loaded the plane with the
best military technology available. Including an EMP shield. An electromagnetic pulse shield will kill any jet or missile instruments within five miles of the airbus.”

“I know. I delivered it to him,” Aaron muttered.

“You what?” Omar and Booker asked in unison.

“Under orders, damn it,” Aaron snapped. “We couldn’t sabotage it without blowing the mission. It’s fully functional.”

Booker swore. “Did you leave us any advantage in your undercover work, Sabra?”

“I got you the girl, didn’t I?”

“What girl?” Omar’s eyes narrowed. “If you mean Sandra—”

“Later,” Booker said, his voice terse. “We have more pressing matters right now.”

“All right.” Omar nodded stiffly. “Jarek’s missiles will never get close enough to bring Trygg down before he reaches Taer,”
he insisted. “The only way to destroy the cylinders is from the inside. The heat of the explosion will burn off the serum, disrupt the nanites’ sensors.”

Quickly, Aaron probed the injury, ignored Omar’s grunt of pain. “You missed the artery, but caught the bone.”

Omar’s gaze snapped to Booker. “
You
shot me?”

“You turned at the last moment,” Booker clarified, “Otherwise I would have
missed the bone, too.”

“He shot you to keep you from making a stupid mistake,” Aaron added. “Your daughter’s on board that plane.”

“Sandra?” Omar grabbed Booker’s shirt, brought him in close. “I should kill you now. You were supposed to keep her safe.”

“I’ll save your daughter. Then I’m going to kill her,” Booker answered, then pulled away.

“Kill her?” Omar tried to stand.
“Get the hell out of here, both of you.”

“He wouldn’t really kill her. He’s just mad that Sandra pushed him out of a helicopter,” Aaron answered, then put his hand on Omar’s chest to keep him in place. The older man’s face paled to a pasty gray. “Stay down. I haven’t got the bleeding under control.”

“Have you both lost your mind?”

“He has,” Aaron commented, then put pressure on
the wound with both hands. “He’s in love with her.”

“Shut up, Sabra.” Booker studied the perimeter. “Where are all the guards, Omar?”

“Gone. There were only the three,” the older man bit out. “Did Sandra’s tracking chip lead you here?”

“Trygg placed the chip on Jim Rayo’s dead body,” Aaron finished, his hands bloody. He ripped off his belt and placed it as a tourniquet on the leg.

“So you don’t know she’s there for sure.”

“She’s there. I know Trygg. He’ll want Sandra to watch the deaths. Then he’ll kill her.” Booker slung the backpack over his shoulder. “I promise you, once I find Sandra, I’ll place the explosives for you.”

“We need to get him out of here, Booker.” Aaron’s tone was low, grim. “Now.”

“Let’s go.” Booker hooked his shoulder under Omar’s
arm, and waited until Aaron did the same.

They sprinted, with Omar between them, to the tents nearby.

When they stopped, Omar grabbed Booker’s arm, held fast. “I don’t want to lose another child.”

“You won’t. That’s why I have to get on that plane.”

Aaron checked the leg. Blood saturated the pant leg. “He’s losing too much blood.”

He glanced at Booker. “If we leave him
here, he’s a dead man. He’s not going to make it out of here on his own.”

“Then get him out of here.” Booker slipped out from under Omar’s arm. “Make your way to the west side of the camp and into the dunes. Find Jarek. Tell them what happened. It will take Trygg’s plane a little over an hour after takeoff to reach his target zone over Taer. I’ll have the doc out in one hour.”

“That’s
cutting it close, McKnight.”

“Check your watch. Not one minute before. If Trygg suspects anything, she’ll be the first one to die.”

Aaron glanced at the dial, then turned and hoisted Omar up over his shoulder. “Sixty minutes. Check.”

The aircraft’s engines roared to life.

“Like I said, it’s going to be close,” Aaron commented. “They’re taking off.”

“Tell Jarek and Cain
I need that hour.” Booker dropped the rifle to the ground, shoved his pistol into the backpack. “Then use surface-to-air missiles. If I don’t blow the plane with the explosives, I’ll disable the EMP shield.”

“Here. It’s a one-button remote trigger.” Omar reached into his pocket and pulled out a small electronic remote. “For the C4. You flip the safety, press the button.”

Booker shoved
it into his pocket. “Seems simple enough.”

* * *

B
OOKER
MANEUVERED
UNDER
THE
belly, and found the supply hatch. He raised his gun, fired point-blank at the lock and jerked the door open.

He jumped, grabbed the edge and felt it cut into his fingers. Quickly, he hoisted himself up.

Hydraulic cables moved, gears clicked as the plane picked up speed. Booker scrambled in, dodging
crates, following the lighted path of the elongated compartment of wires and storage units.

Pistol in hand, Booker maneuvered to the small steel ladder at the end of the compartment. He swung up, then held on when the airplane slanted steep in its takeoff.

At the top lay another hatch. Slowly, Booker pushed it open, saw a walkway. He climbed through, checked the perimeter for guards,
then stopped. Just beyond lay thousands of square feet filled with Plexiglas, sterile areas and computers.

“A moving lab,” he murmured. “Why not?”

* * *

S
ANDRA
TUGGED
AT
THE
handcuffs, her gaze focused on the computer nearby.

“Looking for something?” Lewis Pitman laughed. “No one is here to help you, Sandra. We’ve cleared out the plane. I’ve set the computers to automatic.
Even my lab technicians have been dispensed of by Trygg’s men. It’s me, the pilot and Trygg.”

“He killed all of the lab people?”

“Cut them down with guns just beyond one of the dunes.” Pitman shrugged. “We couldn’t risk one of them developing a conscience when we drop the canister over Taer. Better this way.”

“And what are you, Lewis?” Sandra scoffed. “What makes you think he won’t
get rid of you, too?”

“What makes you think I’ll give him the opportunity?” Lewis scoffed. “The computer has my key code. Nothing works without my authority. That’s my security measure. He needs me.”

Then she saw it, the look, the snide, arrogant twist of his mouth. “But you don’t need him. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” Lewis agreed, smiling.

* * *

“H
EADING
IS
LOCKED
in,
General. The autopilot is engaged,” the pilot stated, satisfied.

Trygg shifted in the copilot’s seat and glanced at the young man. His newest recruit. A young kid with close-cropped blond hair and acne still on his cheeks. No more than twenty-five. Barely passed puberty and barely shaving.

“Good job, son.” Suddenly, Trygg felt old. And angry. Jim had left him no choice. But killing a
friend never sat well with Riorden.

“Thank you, sir,” the young soldier replied, then eased back into his chair. “We’ll be over our target in fifty-seven minutes.”

Trygg took his pistol from beside his seat and stood. “I am sorry you’re going to miss it, son.” He leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger.

* * *

B
OOKER
HEARD
THE
BULLET
pop just one deck above.

He took the
circular stairs two at a time, his pistol up, his heart racing. With quiet steps, Booker made his way into the galley—a gourmet kitchen of steel and black carpet.

A door stood close to the edge of the galley. A storage unit. Booker turned the knob.

A first-aid kit, a portable oxygen tank with mask, several extinguishers. Two parachutes hung from the hooks.

He searched the shelves
above, found blankets and pillows. Goggles.

No weapons.

Booker made his way across the tile to the other end of the galley. Slowly, he peered around the corner.

The cockpit door stood ten feet from him on the right. Booker paused. The choice was simple: land the plane or rescue Sandra.

Booker swore, then stepped down the short corridor to the cockpit. He pulled the latch, eased
the door open.

The pilot lay slumped back in the seat, dead. Blood saturated his shirt.

“Welcome aboard, Captain.” Trygg stepped from the corner, his pistol raised.

* * *

T
HE
PLANE
JERKED
,
then slanted. Booker opened his eyes, blinked the blood away.

“Booker,” Sandra whispered. “Are you all right?”

Relief filled him. There’d been a small sliver of doubt that he wouldn’t
reach her in time. He tugged on his hands, found them cuffed above his head. “How long have I been out?”

“No more than five minutes,” Trygg answered. “I didn’t want you to miss anything.”

“We’re about twenty minutes out, General.” Pitman sat at a nearby computer. “All systems online and focused. I’m loading the weapon.”

A missile lowered from the top of the lab, into the floor.

“A bomber bay.” Booker swore under his breath. “They built a bomber bay.”

“It’s more than that. It’s aerodynamic dissemination,” Sandra whispered. “He developed a smart bomb that has the capability of controlling the release of the nanites into the air. Think of it as a crop-dusting bomb. One that follows a preprogrammed flight pattern.”

“Very good, Doctor Haddad,” Trygg commented,
coming down the stairs.

“So why not shoot us?” Booker prodded. He glanced around, noting Omar’s backpack shoved against the nearest console.

“Oh, I will, if I have to, but I’d much rather let you experience the full effect of what I’m trying to accomplish.”

“Let me go, General, and we’ll experience it together. Side by side.” Booker pulled on the handcuffs, rattled them violently
and slipped his finger over his watch, finding the shim.

“So you can kill me?” The general laughed. “You are the hero, aren’t you? That’s why I didn’t recruit you years ago.”