“FLASH, REPORT.”

“In position,” Ryan said.

Beside him, Fiddler and Iceman gave the same answer in response to the question. They’d arrived twenty minutes ago. First, they’d taken trucks out into the desert as far as they could go, and then they’d crossed on foot, silent and determined, until they came within sight of the village.

There were lights on in the town, but they didn’t want to walk into the middle of it. The Freedom Force would know they were there within moments if they did. No; instead, they took a course that brought them to the western edge and the compound that intel had identified.

The schematic for the facility appeared in their Hawkeye night vision goggles. These NVGs were new and wicked cool. Not only did they allow for advanced vision in the dark, but they were capable of thermal imaging and had an onboard targeting system that worked like a video game to enable the person wearing them to walk into any structure as if they knew where they were going.

Every man wore them, and every single one could bust into that compound and know where he was immediately.

They’d split up when they left the trucks, but now they were converging again, getting ready to storm the facility. Two men would target the generator while the others worked on neutralizing the opposition. There were ten men with weapons prowling around the compound. There was a woman in a room by herself, and another room on the lower level with thirteen people inside.

Ryan and his companions were going for the woman alone because that was Emily.

As soon as the team infiltrated the compound, Matt would give the order for the Blackhawks to come. They’d trucked in, but they’d fly out because they had no idea what the medical status of the prisoners was. And getting thirteen people—fourteen when you counted Emily—to run through the desert and make it to the trucks without anyone getting hurt or killed wasn’t exactly a cakewalk.

“You hear that?” someone asked.

Ryan strained his ears against the night. And then he heard it—the sound of a helicopter’s rotors beating the air.

“Fuck,” Matt said.

“Is that our guys?” Ryan asked. “Because it’s too fucking soon.”

“No, it’s not our guys.”

The helicopter moved toward them, growing louder and louder in the night air. And then it came into view, a civilian craft that swung over the compound and began to descend in the courtyard.

“Fucking hell!” Big Mac said. “This is a problem. Everybody stand down until we get some info.”

---

Emily didn’t eat the food a man brought in and set down in front of her. He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t ask any questions. He was gone again quickly, and she jumped up once more and went to the window. She was on the second floor, and she thought if she could get the window open then maybe she could crawl out and drop.

But the window wouldn’t open, and smashing something through it wasn’t an option. Her captors would hear the sound and come immediately. Instead, she searched the room for something she could use as a weapon.

Other than throwing a chair at somebody, she couldn’t find anything. This room hadn’t been used for much probably, as there was nothing in it except chairs and a table.

She went back to the window, but it was dark out now and she could see nothing except a few village lights here and there. She stood for a long time—and then she heard a sound, a slight, rhythmic thumping.

And then it grew closer and she realized it was a helicopter. Her heart shot skyward. It was HOT! It was Ryan, come to get her. Relief flooded her even as she prepared to do battle with her bare hands. Soon her captors would realize they were being invaded, and they would come for her.

But as the helicopter drew closer and no one burst into her room, she began to realize she must be wrong. No one came—and there was no panic, no shouting inside the compound.

As she scanned the night sky, the helicopter appeared, its lights beaming down on the courtyard outside the window. It sank down like a bee kissing a flower, landing softly on the concrete pad she’d noticed earlier but ignored as unimportant.

The rotors slowed and the door opened. A man in a dark suit and a kaffiyeh emerged. And then a woman, dressed in a white abaya. Jewels sewn into the fabric caught the light and glittered as she walked. She was small, delicate. But her head was bowed, her hair covered in a hijab, and Emily couldn’t see her face. A wife, no doubt. She was dressed too richly not to be.

But was it a wife she’d met before?

She chafed her arms as the chill in her heart seeped out into her limbs. The couple disappeared, and she turned away from the window. Soon voices echoed throughout the structure, and she knew the couple had come inside.

She went over to the door, straining to hear—and the voices grew louder. There were footsteps on the stairs, and she darted back to the other side of the table, instinctively wanting to keep it between her and whoever was coming.

The door opened, startling her even though she’d expected it. Malik walked in, and the man from the helicopter. He had narrow, beady eyes, and they watched her with undisguised dislike.

Then the woman entered, and Emily’s breath caught. She was beautiful, delicate featured, and with a natural grace that most people didn’t possess. She walked past the two men and came over to the table, making a great show of studying the chair for cleanliness before she sat.

She’s in charge here. That thought hit Emily like a dip into ice water. And then she had another thought: Raja.

This woman was Raja. There could be no other explanation. She traveled in a helicopter and she commanded these men. They deferred to her. It was obvious, and shocking as well in the patriarchal world of the Freedom Force.

“We finally meet, Light of Zaran,” she said in a musical voice that sounded more appropriate for an opera singer than a terror leader. “I have looked forward to it.”

“I-I’m not sure I can say the same. Who are you?” Because she didn’t know for certain and because it didn’t help to appear to know things before you were told. Not with these kind of people.

“You may call me Raja.”

“Why did you want to meet me, Raja? I am no one.” She spread her fingers, trying to look as meek as she could.

Raja laughed. The sound was like tiny bells tinkling. “Ah, but you have spent much time in Washington DC, and much time with the evil men who tried to bring down this organization when they kidnapped Al Ahmad. I am interested to know everything.”

A fresh chill rolled down her spine then. This woman knew she’d been in DC? Knew about HOT? That was alarming in more ways than one.

“I have nothing to tell. I was not involved in any way. I was taken from the camp when my husband was killed, and returned to the United States. Beyond that, I know nothing.”

Raja snorted. “Such a good liar, Emily Royal bin Yusuf. It took time to find you, but find you we did. And we watched you. I know who you are and who you care for.” Raja’s eyes grew black with fury then. If there had been a candle in the room, it would have guttered. “Someone is going to pay for taking our leader. I’m starting with you—but it won’t end there, you can count on that.”

She stood and stalked toward Emily. Emily didn’t dare move, though Raja looked delicate and feminine rather than menacing.

“You will hand over the money beneath your abaya. And you will come with me. We have much to discuss—and it will not happen here.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Raja’s eyes flickered. “To Qu’rim.”

Sweat sprang up on her palms, between her breasts. “What about the hostages? What do you plan to do with them?”

One of Raja’s perfectly arched eyebrows lifted. “We will behead them, of course. Unless your government cooperates with our demands.”

Emily’s throat squeezed tight. Mustafa had been so wrong about this woman not approving of the hostages being taken. “They won’t. America doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Raja shrugged. “Then perhaps they might like to start.” She jerked her head at the man in the suit. “Get the money and bring her. We’re going.”

---

“We’re a go. Repeat, we’re a go.”

It had been ten minutes since the helicopter had landed. A tense ten minutes in which HOT waited to find out how many new people had arrived and where they were going. The heat signature said it was two men and one woman. The pilot remained onboard the craft, and a man and woman went inside. After a brief conference with another man, the three of them went up to where Emily was being held.

The prototype NVGs displayed the heat signatures of the people inside when switched to thermal mode. Emily hadn’t moved since the three people entered her room, but the woman sat down while the men remained standing. A few seconds later, she stood.

That’s when Matt gave the go order.

Ryan and his teammates shut off the thermal switch, enabling the real-time targeting feature for an accurate schematic of the building. They surged toward the compound in a wave, silent, deadly, and determined. The tangos hadn’t been expecting anything apparently, because the door was easily breached. The lights switched out then as Cade Rodgers and his team reached the generator.

In other quadrants of the compound, men would be scaling the walls and kicking in windows. But Ryan, Fiddler, and Iceman ran for the central building where everyone was being held. Their task was to go in the front door, up the stairs, and extract Emily. Another team would get the hostages.

Ryan reached the door first, whirling to put his back to the wall on one side. Ice was on the other and their gazes met. Fiddler lifted his gun and kicked in the door. Then he tossed in a flashbang and waited.

The noise was deafening. The accompanying flash of light shone as brightly as a lightning strike on a pitch-black night. They entered and began sweeping the area for tangos, taking out four men who tried to regroup and attack them.

Then Ryan bounded for the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he reached the top, he dashed for the room where Emily was being held. Ice and Fiddler were on his heels, and they breached the door in a split second.

But the room was empty. Emily wasn’t there. The two men and the other woman weren’t there.

“Fuck.” Ryan whirled and headed for the stairs again. Outside, gunfire rattled the night. And then the buzzing sound of a helicopter preparing for takeoff cut through the battle noise and speared right into Ryan’s ears.

He took off at a run, Fiddler and Iceman with him. They practically jumped from the top of the stairs to the bottom, landing hard but running anyway. Through the building, toward the courtyard, heart pumping, head throbbing, chest ready to explode. There was no one in their way, no movement through the NVGs. He couldn’t switch to thermal because he’d lose the real-time targeting for the building.

But it didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to reach her. They came to the door and kicked it open. The helicopter was already lifting into the air, the rotors whipping the night. Sand swirled in a vortex, grazing their exposed skin, abrading it. He flipped the switch to thermal.

“Don’t shoot the chopper,” Ryan shouted into his mic in case anyone was planning on bringing it down. “For God’s sake, don’t shoot. They’ve got Emily.”