ina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Should I be worried,” she said, “that Grady’s alone, in the other room, with Molly, right now?”

Max shook his head. “I don’t think he could really do it. I think he was trying to see—if it came down to it—whether I’d be willing.”

“ ‘Kill my wife for me, will ya?’ ” Gina shook her head. “That’s nuts.”

“No, it’s not,” Max said as he gazed out the window through the binoculars.

In just a short amount of time, the sun had climbed into the sky. It was already incredibly warm, and getting warmer.

“He’s lived through something awful,” Max continued, still not looking at her. “Really unbearable, I think. He was talking about it, just a little, and... I don’t know for sure, but I think it hurt him more to watch other people being tortured than it did to be tortured himself. I think his captors knew that and used it against him. I’ve heard some really chilling stories about the prison he was in. Stories about men being forced to watch as their wives and children were systematically raped and murdered.” He looked at her. “I can relate, to some degree.”

Gina reached for him, and he took her hand. But then the walkie-talkie crackled.

“Grady Morant,” a voice said through the static. “How nice of you to come all this way to talk to me again.”

Max keyed the button. “Is this Colonel Subandrio?”

“You recognized me, you foul shitrag, did you?”

There was name calling and then there was name calling. Gina made a face at Max, trying to pretend that she was freaked out by the colonel’s nasty compound word, rather than the fact that she could well be listening to the voice of the man who was going to kill her.

Painfully.

While Max was forced to watch.

“Do you hear that sound?” the colonel continued. “That is the sound of the approaching tank that is going to blow you to hell.”

“I don’t hear it,” Gina said. “Is he bluffing?”

“Listen,” Max told her. “It’s a low pitched rumble.”

Oh, God. There really was a tank.

“For the record,” Gina told him, “I’d rather take my chances with the torture. As long as we’re alive, there’s a chance that we’ll stay alive. If you—”

Max kissed her. “I know,” he said. “I’m with you on this. Now, shh. Let me talk to this guy.”

He hit the button.

“Sir,” he said. “My name is Max Bhagat, I’m an American citizen and a top-level team leader in the FBI. We’ve never met, but I was told by my superiors that you would be coming here to discuss the situation regarding Heru Nusantara and Grady Morant. Right now, sir, I’m going to have to ask you to hold, because I’m receiving an incoming radio message from President Bryant.”

He cut the connection.

Wow. “Liar, liar, green pants on fire,” Gina said.

“Speaking of pants,” Max said, “I need mine. I don’t care if they’re still wet. Will you get them for me? And see if Emilio has a jacket and shirt that’ll fit me. Oh, and a tie without hula girls on it. Now, please.”

Gina scrambled. And as she went down the hall, she heard Max shouting for Molly and Jones.

Jules was the new hero of the day.

Apparently, the discovery of Emilio Testa’s dead body meant it was party time in Dr. Ernalia’s house.

Her brothers had towed Emilio’s battered car into their yard, and were already starting to strip it down so they could sell the parts. It was their final act of revenge against a long-despised enemy.

“I need to get to a telephone,” Jules said again. “And I could use something to wear.”

The doc said something to the three brothers who were still inside the house, and they all started taking off their clothes.

“Okay, whoa,” Jules said.

But the young woman was already stopping them—after taking her youngest brother’s Hawaiian print shirt and her mustached brother’s black shorts. She issued a command, and the other brother took a knife to the shorts, cutting them so Jules wouldn’t have to pull them on over his splint.

The doctor and her youngest bro helped him into the shirt and pinned the shorts onto him, while mustache went into the other room and returned with a pair of crutches.

“My brothers think the nearest phone is down at the harbor, at the police station,” she informed him. “And we also think if that phone isn’t working, you could rent a seaplane and head for Soe or Kupang. My brother, Daksa, suggests that you avoid Dili. Rexi’ll give you a ride to town in his Mini.”

God, his head was still pounding. Standing up was a challenge, forget about balancing on crutches.

But he’d already wasted far too much time unconscious.

Jules started for the door, but two of the brothers came back inside, shouting about something. And holding...

“I know you’d prefer a telephone,” Dr. Ernalia said, “but would a radio do? Umar found this shortwave in Emilio Testa’s car.”

“We’ll need rope,” Max said as he straightened his tie.

“I saw some in the kitchen,” Gina said, and thundered down the stairs.

“Hey,” Jones called after her. “New York, I’m not done with your lesson here—”

Molly took the submachine gun from his hands. “Always keep the muzzle pointed down and away from other people,” she recited as she did just that. “Do this... and... pull the trigger. Fire out the window, down into the street, not up into the air because someone might get hurt. Don’t fire in the house. It’s not just bad luck, like opening an umbrella, but the walls are reinforced so the bullets will bounce off and we could end up like Max did, with one in our butt. Or worse. Extra ammo’s in the backpack. Fire the weapons for a count of four, no more, then get the hell down.” She gazed at him. “Hon, if I’ve got it, Gina’s got it.”

What a crazy sight—Molly, cradling a firearm. Jones resisted the urge to check out the window to make sure that it wasn’t snowing. It wasn’t quite July, but that cold day sure seemed to have come early. As far as hell freezing over went—he prayed he wasn’t going to get the chance to verify that. At least not for a long time.

He turned to Max. “I still think they should go into the escape tunnel until it’s over.”

“Excuse me,” Molly said, waving. “This half of the they you’re talking about is standing right here. We’re ready and willing to help, although I’d like to point out that usually when group A opens fire on group B, group B tends to turn around and shoot back. Isn’t that a problem since you’re going to be standing right in the middle of the square?”

Max had been fixing his hair, but now he pushed the mirror back into place. “Actually,” he told her. “The very first thing they’ll do is dive for cover. From what I can tell, there’s only one person invested in this operation, and it’s Colonel Subandrio—who’s definitely working for Heru Nusantara. Everyone else is far more interested in not getting killed.” He turned to include Jones in his pep talk. “We’re going to use this to our advantage.”

“Here’s the rope.” Gina was back.

“Good,” Max said. “Cut it into three pieces. Tie one around each of Grady’s wrists and loop the third around him loosely—we want it to look as if he’s tied up, but we don’t want to make it hard for him to get his hands free, okay?”

He put on Emilio’s suit jacket, checking all the various weapons he had hidden in his pockets and at the small of his back as Jones held his hands out.

“Let’s talk tank,” Max said.

Jones had had an opportunity to examine the tank in question through the binoculars. “It looks like it’s something that might’ve been made in Russia in the late 1980’s. The crew definitely has a limited visual of what’s going on outside. They rely on radio contact for both directions and orders.”

“Good,” Max said.

Molly put down the weapon and helped Gina with the rope. She caught Jones’s eye. “Admit that you’re enjoying this—two women tying you up...?”

“I’m too scared to,” he told her. “But after this is over, if we live, would you mind very much doing this again? Just the two of us, though. I mean, Gina’s cute, but if we invite her, we’d have to invite Max and that would kind of ruin it for me.”

Molly laughed, but there were tears in her eyes. Probably because she knew how goddamn hard it was for him to make a joke about any of this.

“We’ll need something that looks like blood.” Max was either not paying attention or purposely ignoring their conversation.

“I’ve got it handled,” Jones told him, turning the knots to the inside of his wrists.

“There’s catsup in the fridge,” Gina volunteered.

Catsup not only looked like catsup, but it smelled like catsup. That wasn’t good enough. If this was going to work, if they expected to fool Ram Subandrio, it had to look real. Subandrio had seen a freaking river of blood in his life.

“Do you want me to get it?” Gina asked him.

“Oh,” Jones said. “No. Thanks. We’ll have to go out that way, so... Might as well keep it fresh.” He looked up to meet Max’s eyes. “Let’s do this.”

Molly stood there, looking significantly less ferocious without the weaponry. She was so worried she was practically wringing her hands. But still, she managed to smile for him. “Thank you for loving me enough to take this chance,” she told him.

“Yeah,” Jones said. “Well.” He didn’t want to tell her, but he and Max had a backup plan that she would’ve hated, had she known about it. “If something goes wrong, hide in the tunnel. Maybe they won’t find the entrance.”

“If the baby’s a boy,” Molly said. “I think we should name him Leslie.”

“What?” This was only the first of all the disasters they had to survive, but she was already thinking of names for the baby? But, shit, surely she could come up with something a little more... normal. When he was growing up, he’d always wished for a name like John or Jim. Tom. Dan.

She was smiling at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking—which, come to think of it, she probably did.

Jones realized she’d started a little early with that diversion she was supposed to create, pulling him out of a future where he was dead and she was hiding in that tunnel, and into one where they had a baby who needed a name. “I’ve always been fond of David,” he said, because he wanted that second version of the future so badly he could almost taste it.

But then, across the room, Max picked up the walkie-talkie. “Here we go.”

Max was one heck of a talented liar.

Gina watched him as he spoke into the walkie-talkie, as he ordered the interpreter to let him talk directly with Colonel Subandrio.

Wearing a tie and jacket with that crisp white shirt, he looked more like the Max she’d first met four years ago.

Although a jacket and tie with jeans and sneakers—that was something she never thought she’d live to see. But Emilio’s pants didn’t fit him.

He caught her looking at him and, as he waited for the Colonel, he said, “I wish I had a real suit.”

“You look good.” Gina tried to smile through her fear. “Please don’t die today.”

“That would be bad,” he agreed, and then the colonel’s voice came through.

“We’ve picked up no radio signals from this area,” the man said, just jumping right in. “If you think—”

Max held down the talk button, and the walkie-talkie squealed.

“Colonel,” he said, when the squealing stopped. “Surely you know that the United States’ latest comm system doesn’t use conventional radio waves. It was down for a while, but we managed to get it back up and running. I’ve since spoken to President Bryant, as well as his top advisors in Indonesian affairs. I have been briefed on this situation completely. I understand fully why the matter is of utmost importance to Mr. Nusantara, and why it’s in need of being handled immediately.”

Max didn’t take a breath. “I’ve apologized to the President, and I wish to do the same to you, sir. When I became involved in what seemed to be a mere kidnapping, I didn’t realize Grady Morant was wanted on so many different counts, both by your government and ours. Please pass along my apologies as well to Mr. Nusantara, and reassure him that President Bryant and the United States of America remain in full support of his candidacy. We believe he’s the best man to lead this country, despite his past indiscretions. President Bryant, and myself as well, are prepared to do whatever we can to ensure Mr. Nusantara’s election.”

And still, he allowed no opportunity for the colonel to get in a word edgewise. “With that said, sir,” Max continued, “please be advised that I’ve been ordered to sidestep the American embassy, and surrender Grady Morant directly to the Indonesian authorities, of which you are their representative. Are you prepared to take him into custody, Colonel, or do you need to make arrangements to transport him off the island?”

Max released the talk button, and Gina held her breath.

“Here’s where we find out,” Max told her, told Molly and Jones, too, “if Nusantara really is behind all this.”

But there was only silence from the other end.

Jones had the binoculars. He was looking out at the tank. “No movement,” he said. “They’re just sitting there.”

“Why is he taking so long to answer?” Gina asked.

Jules’s head was throbbing as he attempted to communicate to the moron at the CIA office in Kupang.

“Yes, I know everyone’s on standby,” he said, “but isn’t this why they’re standing by? To be ready to help in the event of a situation?” Enough already. “Let me talk to your superior. Over.”

“I’m it right now. We’re stretched thin. Are you reporting a terrorist situation? Over?” The voice on the other end of the radio suddenly sounded as if he’d woken up.

“Affirmative.” When Jules died, he was going to hell. He’d cinched it now by lying. Except maybe this wasn’t really a complete lie. “I’ve had numerous reports of a terrorist cell pinned down in the mountains here on Pulau Meda. Are there any aircraft carriers in the immediate vicinity? Over.”

“Sir, these airwaves are not secure. I can’t disclose that information, over.”

Yeah, as if every hostile government around the world didn’t have access to satellite images pinpointing every American naval vessel on the planet.

“I need at least three choppers filled with Marines to meet me here on Meda Island, ASAP,” Jules said. “Can you please get that for me? Over.”

There was a pause. It was the kind of pause that came in front of a negative response.

And crap, he’d started bleeding again. No wonder he was so dizzy.

The radio crackled. And here it came... “I’m sorry, sir. Can’t do it. Over.”

“Very good,” Max said. “Thank you, Colonel. I’ll bring him on out.” He turned off the walkie-talkie.

It was the moment he’d been praying for. And dreading, at the same time.

Molly was crying, but only because Jones had already gone downstairs. He’d stood up the moment that the colonel had announced he was ready to take Grady Morant into custody. He’d asked Molly to stay up here, and he’d kissed her goodbye, then he’d gone into the kitchen to make himself look dead.

Now it was Max’s turn to go.

Gina was fighting hard not to cry, too.

“Keep the door closed,” Max told her, holding her close. “It’ll lock when I shut it behind us. Don’t open it for anything.”

She nodded. “Except for you. I’ll open it for you.”

“Not even for me,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m going to have to say to the colonel to convince him we’re on the same side. If Jones is right about him, he might demand that you and Molly be arrested, too. And we definitely don’t want that. So don’t open the door for me.”

“How about if we have a code?” she suggested, her fingers in his hair, her body soft against him. “If you say it, then I’ll know it’s okay to let you in.”

“Do you know that one of the things I love the most about you is that you’re really smart?” Max told her.

Gina smiled, but he knew that it was forced. She wanted to stand here, holding him forever. He knew, because he wanted that, too.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t an option.

Max kissed her and she clung to him because she knew this was it. Neither of them had dared to say it, but they both were well aware that this could be their last kiss.

Ever.

“The code is an Elvis song,” she pulled back to tell him. “Any Elvis song. You sing me an Elvis song and I will open that door. If not...” She shrugged.

Max laughed. “You just want to hear me sing.”

“Absolutely. And if you dance, too... Well, there’s no telling what’ll happen after that door is open.” She pushed him into the hall. “See you in a few, Wild Thing.”

As Max went down the stairs in search of Jones, he realized he was grinning his ass off.

And instead of worrying about the coming face-to-face with Colonel Subandrio, he was mentally reviewing all of his favorite Elvis songs, trying to figure out which one was going to make Gina’s smile the widest.

It was possible he was enjoying himself a little too much.

Christ, he was a twisted mess.

But it didn’t matter. He knew that Gina loved him anyway.

The gunshot from the kitchen startled Molly.

She’d been waiting for it, dreading it, but it still made her jump.

Gina reached over and took her hand. “This is going to work,” she said.

“I know,” Molly said, trying to sound as if she believed it, too. “I trust Max. He was incredible, talking to that colonel. I almost believed him—that he was willing to hand over Grady.”

She crawled closer to the mirror, angling it so she could see the street in front of the house.

They both heard the door shut, and now Gina came over to look, too.

“Oh, Lord,” Molly breathed.

Max was carrying Jones in a fireman’s hold, over his shoulder.

Jones’s head was hanging down, and as Max moved slowly away from the house, she caught a glimpse of his face.

It was covered with blood, his hair matted with it.

“That’s not catsup,” Molly said, panic rising. “Dear Lord, Gina. What did Max do?”

Max reached the halfway point.

He’d mentally marked a spot in the square that was almost exactly equidistance to both the house behind him and the barricade of jeeps, trucks, and that massive tank in front of him.

The fact that he’d made it that far without being filled with bullets was at the very least, a small victory.

Add the fact that, in addition to Jones, he was also carrying a compact little.22 caliber pistol. It was right in his hand, in full view of his entire audience.

Of course the range on that thing was similar to a peashooter.

He kept moving forward.

Walking was challenge enough with his bullet wound, forget about adding 190 pounds of dead weight into the equation.

But he was moving. He was getting the job done.

Except, so much for the suit and tie—he’d already sweated through it. Jones, the bastard, had also bled all over it.

The morning sun was ridiculously hot. It had rained last night, but the moisture had evaporated hours ago.

Max could see Colonel Subandrio, peering out from behind the tank, looking much as Jones had described him. A short, heavyset man, with one of those faces that seemed to swallow his neck and puffy cheeks that went all the way down to his shoulders.

Max kept going, one painful step at a time.

Gina followed Molly into the kitchen.

“That was blood,” Molly said. “Max shot Grady!”

“No, he didn’t,” Gina said, even though she wasn’t quite convinced that he hadn’t. Was this what the two men had been discussing, so quietly and seriously, while they’d sent Molly and Gina down to the weapon pile, to select guns that they felt comfortable holding?

What if there had really been two plans—one that Max and Jones told Gina and Molly, and one in which Max actually did deliver Grady Morant to the colonel?

“Oh, dear Lord,” Molly breathed. There was definitely blood on the kitchen floor, on the table, smeared on the knob of one of the cabinets.

Blood even tinged a bowl of water that sat near the sink.

As if someone had rinsed their hands after committing a grisly murder.

“Grady said they had to make it look real,” Gina reminded Molly, reminded herself.

Max wouldn’t do something like this.

Would he?

Molly broke down into tears. “I’ll kill him,” she sobbed. “I’m going to kill him!”

“Molly, wait. Where are you going?” Gina called, as Molly turned and ran for the stairs.

“Halt.”

The order finally came, and Max was nowhere near close enough. But he stopped, because the last thing he wanted was to piss off the colonel.

The man was still peering at them from the far side of the tank, about twenty yards away, standing among several other officers.

“Drop your weapon.” The order came from the man who’d been in command of this debacle before Colonel Subandrio arrived, courtesy of the interpreter.

“We’re all on the same side,” Max reminded them. “Morant wasn’t keen on a reunion with you, Colonel. He resisted, and... Well, I was told he was wanted, dead or alive, so I decided to make containing him easier on everyone.”

Gina dashed up the stairs after Molly. “Whoa,” she said, going into a crouch as she entered the room. “Wait. You don’t know—”

But there, out the window, she could see Max tossing Jones onto the dusty ground.

He landed completely bonelessly, absolutely lifeless.

Dear God...

“It’s an act,” Gina told her friend, told herself. “He’s not really dead. They’re just trying to convince the colonel. Mol, lookit, there was a knife downstairs. I think he used it to cut his hand—see, he’s got something wrapped around his palm. And if Max had shot him, there would have been a spray of, you know, blood. On the wall or... somewhere...”

Max was talking. She could see that from the way he was standing.

She could see the ugly little colonel, unwilling to come out from behind the shelter of that tank, probably because Max was holding a gun.

And then she saw Max turn away from the colonel. He pointed that weapon at Jones and...

Boom!

The gunshot echoed, and Gina and Molly both crouched there, stunned.

And then Molly completely lost it.

Holy Jesus!

Max, that motherfucking psycho, had actually shot him.

Right in the fucking leg.

Jones had to use every ounce of self-control he had—and some he didn’t know he had—not to shout or scream. He didn’t so much as move.

The pain was like a flame, and he focused on breathing shallowly and slowly. Colonel Subandrio would definitely notice if the dead man started gulping for air.

“He’s dead,” he heard Max tell Subandrio. He heard the sound of velcro, too, as Max holstered the.22 and buddied up to the man. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Colonel. I’ve heard a lot about you. You’ve certainly caught President Bryant’s eye. He mentioned meeting you in Jakarta.”

“We’ve never met,” the man said, in that oily voice that Jones still heard in his nightmares.

“I must’ve misunderstood him,” Max covered effortlessly. “He mentioned a trip to Jakarta—it must be something he’s planning. He mentioned your name—it must’ve been that he wanted to meet you. Forgive my confusion. It’s been a rough couple of days, tracking Morant down and...” He laughed. “I’m sure you know what that’s—”

“Max! You bastard!”

What the fuck? Jones discovered new reserves of control as he stayed completely still. That was Molly’s voice. Thin and distant, but completely clear.

“I’m going to kill you!” she shouted. “I’m going to kill you! You promised you wouldn’t hurt him! You promised!”

Did Molly actually think...?

“Molly, come on, stop it! Get back from the window.”

But Gina took a step back as, sobbing uncontrollably, Molly picked up one of those submachine guns that Jones had showed them how to fire.

“Okay,” Gina said to the least violent person she’d ever met in her life. “That’s enough. Put the gun down. Right now. Molly, look at me. Look at me. Have faith in Max, okay? You’ve got to have faith in Max!”

“That was his wife,” Max explained to the colonel. “I had to knock her out before getting hold of Morant. I guess she regained consciousness.”

Colonel Subandrio bought it.

Max didn’t know whose idea it was to shout like that from the window, but it was beautiful.

Because it made the colonel come out from behind the tank.

The spineless CO was right behind him, eager to prove that he wasn’t spineless. The interpreter, clutching the walkie-talkie, was behind him.

Max nudged Jones with his foot. “Grady Morant doesn’t seem so dangerous anymore, does he?”

“He was guilty of some terrible crimes,” the colonel said. “He won’t be missed.” He came closer, glanced across the square at the house. “Well, except for his... wife, you say?”

Ah, shit. This was the type of game where information was never willingly volunteered, and he’d just tossed Subandrio one hell of a bone.

Jones didn’t move, but Max could feel his anger, radiating upwards.

Meanwhile, the colonel moved closer. “He usually doesn’t marry them. He usually just kills them when he’s through with them. At least that’s what he did with my sister. We never found her body.”

The lying sack of shit.

Jones didn’t move. He didn’t jump up shouting about shit-eating liars, and that the first place he’d look for the asswipe’s dead sister was in Subandrio’s own flower garden, beneath the roses.

But here was a dark thought: It was possible that Max might believe Subandrio. A colonel in a fancy uniform, versus a confessed former associate of a murdering drug lord... What if Max actually thought...

But Max was making the proper condolence noises, as the man Jones had watched torture children in front of their weeping parents brought the conversation back to Molly. “I’d like to meet her, this wife of Morant’s.”

It was going to be hard for him to do that—from hell.

Max skillfully segued away from the topic. “I don’t think we’ll convince her to come out until the helicopters arrive,” he said.

His words weren’t quite a lie. Max had simply omitted the fact that they hadn’t yet contacted the Marines who flew those choppers. But they would—as soon as they got their hands on a radio.

“Helicopters?” Subandrio inquired.

“Standard procedure,” Max told him. “They should be here any minute. They’re coming from a carrier just east of Meda Island. Is that east?”

Jones’s eyes were closed, so he didn’t see Max pointing up toward the mountain, but he knew he’d made the gesture.

It was their signal. And sure enough, Molly and Gina opened fire from the window of the house.

As Jones erupted back to life.

“Look out!” Max shouted, as he tackled the CO. His shoulder connected with the man’s chest, and they both went down, down into the dirt. He scrambled to restrain him, his weapon drawn—not the wimpy little.22, but a limb-ripping.44—while making it look as if he were shielding the CO from an attack.

Jones was on top of the colonel, like some kind of zombie gone mad. The whites of his eyes stood out in his blood-covered face, as he dragged Colonel Subandrio with him at gunpoint, so that his back was against the tank. Good plan.

“Hold your fire,” Jones shouted as the shooting finally ended.

Max scrambled to his feet beside him, using the CO as a shield, side-arm at the man’s throat. “Hands where I can see them,” he ordered. Jones told the colonel the same thing in more colorful language.

The interpreter was flat on his face in the street, and Jones kicked a spray of dirt in his direction. “Hey, you! Tell them to hold their fire, or I’ll kill him and then I’ll fucking kill you, too!”

Fire the weapons for a count of four, no more, then get the hell down. Jones’s voice rang in Gina’s ears, along with the ringing that came after four solid seconds of high-decibel destruction.

She pulled Molly down with her, beneath the window, their backs to the wall.

“He moved, did you see that?” she asked Molly, who nodded, tears still streaming down her face.

“I thought he was really dead.”

“I know,” Gina said, holding tightly to her friend. “He’s okay. They’re both okay.”

So far.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Colonel Subandrio was playing the disdainful courage card, while Max’s hostage had definitely wet his pants.

“I should have known better,” the colonel told Jones. “You don’t really think you’ll get away from me, do you? Two men against hundreds?”

Jones pressed his weapon beneath Subandrio’s chin as he went through the man’s pockets, tossing a knife, a billfold, and a pearl-handled revolver onto the street. “Where’s the radio to contact the tank?”

“I don’t have it,” the colonel said, although his gaze flicked briefly to the interpreter.

Okay.

“And if you think—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jones moved his gun up to the colonel’s ear.

“Order your troops to stand down,” Max ordered Subandrio. “Order the tank personnel to open the hatch and evacuate. Now.”

“I will not,” the colonel scoffed. “Drop your weapons or I’ll order the tank to fire on the house. All I have to do is give the command to—”

Max looked at Jones.

Who didn’t so much as blink as he pumped a pair of bullets into Subandrio’s head.

He lowered the former colonel almost gently to the ground.

Max focused his attention on the CO, who may have soiled his pants yet again. “Order your troops to stand down. Order the crew of the tank to open the hatch and evacuate. Quickly.” It was just a matter of time before one of the hundreds of soldiers surrounding them decided to play hero.

The CO stared down at Subandrio’s body and then up as Jones stepped closer.

“Do it now,” Jones said.