Bodyguard Lockdown

chapter Sixteen



The cave lay deep on the west side of the cliffs, far above the ravine.

“Here,” Sandra said, and wiped her fingers over the edge of the entrance. “My initials.”

Booker noted that the SH, while worn from the weather, still remained.

Sandra took the flashlight from her bag, flipped the switch and pointed toward the back of the cave. “There should be a ledge at the top of the wall. I tucked the thermos in a crevice nearby.”

“Let me.” Booker stepped up. He took out his knife and dug between the stone and the hole. “It’s wedged in tight.”

He pulled out a plastic bag. Wrapped inside were several cylinders. Each not much bigger than a small silver thermos.

“Don’t open it,” she cautioned. “The nanites are pressurized inside. The serum will be active. Those cylinders, together, could wipe out half of a continent.”

“So tell me again—” Booker placed the cylinders into the medical bag “—why you kept them?”

“I couldn’t destroy them,” she admitted, her voice suddenly weary. “I was so close, Booker. At the time, I couldn’t let that go. Do you realize how hard it is to let something go that might help millions of people? If I could find the solution, the nanites could attack all different types of diseased cells. Including cancer cells. It would save millions of lives.”

“Was it for that, or your father’s approval?”

“I’ve asked the same question a million times,” she acknowledged. She shoved her hair away from her face. “I think I grew up looking for some kind of recognition. From my father. From Jarek and Quamar. From the General.”

“Why, Doc?” Booker asked, honestly puzzled. “You’re smart. Beautiful.” He thought of the families she helped. “Caring. Loving.”

“My brother.”

“Jamaal?”

Sandra couldn’t hide the sadness. “No. Jamaal is the youngest. And irresponsible. He changes his profession as often as he changes clothes. It drives my father insane.”

“I don’t understand.” Booker studied her face. Noticed the paleness of her cheeks.

“I had another, older brother. No one ever talks about him. Andon was born several years before the rest of us. He died when Jarek and Quamar were very small.”

“How do you know about him?”

“My mother,” Sandra answered. “She kept some of his things hidden from my father. I came home early one day and discovered her with them. She made me swear not to tell my father.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten,” she admitted. She leaned against the wall, hugged her arms to her chest.

“Andon had always been the one,” Sandra explained. “My whole life I lived in the shadow of his ghost.”

“At eleven, right before he died, he told my father he wished to be a surgeon,” Sandra explained. “My father couldn’t have been happier.”

“Your mother told you that?”

“She broke down. One of the only times I’ve seen her that way.”

“How did he die?”

“At the hands of the Al Asheera,” Sandra replied. “They wanted my father to poison King Makrad, Jarek’s father. When my father refused, they tied him up and made him watch while they killed his son.

“My father never recovered. I think that is why most of my life he kept a wall up between Jamaal and myself. He never allowed himself to love us fully.”

“And so Jamaal reacted by being irresponsible.”

“Yes. And he does it very well.” Sandra laughed bitterly.

“And you followed in your father’s footsteps. You chose research to get his attention,” Booker reasoned. “Was it the career you wanted?”

“Yes,” she defended. “Even if I originally became a research scientist for my father, I learned to love my job.”

“And the last few years? What about those?”

“I needed a break, Booker.”

“No, Doc, you’ve been paying penance for screwing up. You came back here, stuck close to your father. Helping him with the royals, because of guilt.”

“When I first found out about Andon, I used to daydream about how my family’s life would have been so much better if he had lived. One big happy family.”

Booker finally understood. “You pursued the research on rapid healing because of your brother’s death.”

“Yes,” Sandra replied. “Logically, I couldn’t have stopped his death, but somehow I’d always wished...”

“That you could have saved your brother.” Booker sighed. “Nothing you do will bring Andon back.”

“Maybe not,” she acknowledged. “But with these cylinders, I might be able to save another family member.”

Booker’s eyes snapped to hers. “What do you mean?”

“I only told one person about my flight to Tourlay. The same person who told me Trygg had escaped.”

“Who?”

“My father.”

* * *

“YOU HAVE NO intention of destroying those cylinders, do you?” Booker demanded. “You need them for a bargaining chip with Trygg. You need to find out how deep your father is involved, and you think you can get Trygg to tell you if you promise him the cylinders.”

“He’s my father,” she said simply.

“Damn it, Doc.” Booker grabbed her arm, pulled her closer. “What makes you think Trygg will tell you the truth?”

“I have to try.” She tugged on her arm, realized she wasn’t going anywhere.

Sandra froze. She saw the anger. The icy blue eyes, the set of his jaw.

But he wasn’t surprised.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Sandra asked, her own rage making her words sharp. “You already knew my father was involved.”

Booker paused a moment. That’s when Sandra saw the flash of truth. If she hadn’t been studying him so close she would’ve missed it.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, McKnight.” Her threat came out in a hiss.

“I suspected your father’s involvement soon after I started my investigation five years ago,” Booker acknowledged. “But if my suspicion is right, he’s been involved much longer than that.”

“Longer...” Sandra shook her head, sharp jerks that showed her confusion, her fear and hurt. “Involvement in what?”

Booker noted the set of her chin, the stubborn line of her mouth, slamming it all back behind faith and trust in her father.

Brave. Loyal. Beautiful. Just like Aaron Sabra had said.

Booker stiffened. Damn it! He should have known. “Doc, does your father know Aaron Sabra?”

“No.” She thought for a moment. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“Because Aaron told me about Trygg’s escape only hours after it had happened. I don’t like coincidences.”

“Neither do I,” Jim Rayo stated from the mouth of the cave entrance.

Sandra and Booker swung around. The colonel held a machine gun, its barrel leveled at Sandra.

“Hand me the bag, McKnight,” he said almost pleasantly.

Two men stood behind him, both with matching machine guns. One keeping watch on the outside. The other staring at Sandra.



Booker stepped in front of Sandra. “You should listen to me when I tell you that you should walk away from all of this, Jim.”

“I take orders from just one person, McKnight. Now if you move again, these bullets will go through you and into her,” Rayo stated. “The only way you are going to keep her safe is to cooperate with me.”

“How did you find us?” Sandra asked. “The storm washed out any tire tracks in the ravine.”

Jim Rayo tapped the back of his head. “After my men kidnapped you, they inserted a GPS pin at the base of your skull. Under the skin.”

Booker swore.

Sandra touched the base of her hairline, remembered the cut. “This whole chase was a setup?”

“You were always meant to get away,” Jim explained. “McKnight managed to release you earlier than expected, but it all worked out.”

He glanced at the bag. “We suspected you wouldn’t give up their location easily, so we decided to let you lead us to the cylinders. Once I realized Booker came to the rescue, I sent men after you to throw off any suspicion and to motivate you to recover the cylinders. Then I tracked you here,” Jim explained matter-of-factly.

Lewis Pitman stepped into the cave, his face flushed, his breath coming in short gasps. “You could’ve waited for me, Colonel.”

“Hello, Lewis,” Sandra spat. “You should have done us all a favor and fallen off the mountain.”

“I missed you, too, Sandra,” Lewis sneered, then turned to Jim. “Do you finally have them?”

“Give me the cylinders, McKnight,” Jim ordered.

Slowly, Booker tossed the bag to Jim. The colonel caught it with his free hand. He glanced inside, then handed the bag off to Lewis. “Take this back to the helicopter.”

“Helicopter?” Sandra frowned. “But I didn’t hear—”

“They rappelled from above.” Booker nodded toward the gear that hung from the colonel’s waist.

“Always easier,” Rayo answered, then caught Lewis before he left. “Have the men check the perimeter then join you. I’ll be there in a few minutes. With our prisoners.”

When Lewis hesitated, Jim snapped, “That’s an order, Lewis.”

Lewis frowned, but said nothing. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked out of the cave.

“He doesn’t like you, Rayo,” Booker commented, smirking. “Imagine that.”

Jim’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, waited until Lewis left. “I have a few questions before we go, McKnight.”

“I see you’re still scraping and bowing to the general.” Booker’s gaze stayed on Rayo’s weapon. “I figured you would have smartened up by now. Most of those who work for Trygg end up dead. Yet he still continues to thrive.”

“Those who have died did so for the right reasons or because they betrayed those same reasons,” Jim replied. “Trygg’s vision is sound, Booker.”



“Even if his mind isn’t?”

“I don’t want your opinions—I want answers,” Jim snapped. “That day when your men died. At Osero. Why were you called away?”

“All right. Since you have the gun, I’ll go along,” Booker replied with a shrug. “I was ordered to escort Doctor Omar Haddad back to Taer. As his personal envoy.”

Sandra gasped. “My father? You were with my father?”

“Yes.” Booker’s gaze caught and held hers, willing her to leave the questions until later.

“Who issued those orders?” Jim demanded.

“Trygg.” Booker widened his stance. “Surprised me, too. So much, I verified the orders with Senator Harper.”

Jim’s fist tightened on the weapon. “That’s impossible. Leaving you alive served no purpose. If anything, it placed the operation in jeopardy.”

“I’m flattered that you think so much of me, Jim,” Booker mocked. “Trygg’s reasoning might not make sense to you, but then again, Trygg isn’t known for sharing all aspects of his strategies. It’s not his style. You know that better than anyone.”

When Jim didn’t answer, Booker took advantage of the silence and shifted forward. Jim lifted the machine gun to his shoulder. “I’m surprised, McKnight, not stupid. You take another step and I will kill you.”

“Just wanted to hear you better.” Booker raised his hands, but his feet stayed planted. “Trygg played you from the beginning, Jim.”

“That’s a lie.” Jim spoke low, clipped each word off with a razor-sharp edge.

“He undermined your self-confidence, taking advantage of the one mistake you made when you were twenty-two years old.”



“He saved me from my mistake.”

“He set you up.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve had it with your theories, McKnight—”

“I’ve had five years. That’s a long time to learn about one’s enemies,” Booker reasoned. “And if you know anything about me, you know I’m thorough.”

Jim waved his gun toward the cave entrance. “We’re done here—”

“Did you know that the man you killed at the bar was there with a friend?”

“Yes,” Jim said abruptly, his features slanted with the uncomfortable memory. “The friend testified against me. Gerald Ivers. He was the prosecution’s main witness.”

“All arranged by Trygg.”

Jim snorted. “Trygg wasn’t interested in me. Hell, at the time I’d only been in his outfit for a month.”

“Don’t fool yourself. Trygg requested you.” Booker glanced back at Sandra. “Just like he did with the doc here. You’d only been military for a few short years, yet you were catching the eye of the upper brass.”

“I was a damn kid,” Jim argued, but doubt clouded his blue eyes.

Booker pressed his advantage. “Do you remember any of it? That night at the bar?”

“I remember all of it,” he answered, his voice hollow now, his pain unconcealed.



“Gerald Ivers picked the fight. Got you so heated up, you drew your knife. When you swung at him, he caught your hand holding the knife, brought it down, sidestepped, then drove it into his buddy’s stomach. With your help, of course. Then he testified later that you’d intentionally stabbed his friend.”

“You’re wrong,” Jim snapped. “You weren’t there.”

“No, but one of the waitresses witnessed the attack,” Booker explained. “She was too afraid to say anything to the authorities, but had no problem telling me. Especially after she heard about Gerald Ivers.”

“What happened to Ivers?”

“He died a week after you were sent to prison.”

“It doesn’t matter. I stabbed Ivers’s friend,” Jim argued. “I was drunk. They were standing so close. I didn’t realize the knife was in my hand until...”

“You were drugged,” Booker stated. “Pretty much the same way you drugged Sergeant Tom Levi the night before you liberated Trygg from that military prison truck.”

Jim stiffened. “How the hell did you know that?”

“It’s typical Trygg style. Set the victim up with a friend. In Tom’s case, it was Sergeant Harold Coffey. Then Trygg kills the friend, too.”

“Coffey was a disgrace to the uniform. A lowlife—”

“They usually are,” Booker interrupted. “Gerald Ivers, a few weeks after he testified against you, ended up dead in the Potomac. He went swimming drunk one night and drowned.”

“Ivers’s death doesn’t change the fact that I killed his friend.” Jim shook his head. “I’d just lost my wife in a car accident. She’d taken a curve too quickly. I was grieving. Angry. Out of my mind.”

“Jim,” Booker said softly. “Your wife had a perfect driving record. She had driven that same route to work a thousand times. Why do you think, on that particular night, she took that curve too quickly?”

“She was a nurse. She’d worked a double shift—”

“How many times had she worked a double shift in her career? A hundred times? A thousand?”

Anger festered with the doubt. “You’re lying. The coroner’s report said it was accidental—no toxic substances were found in her blood—”

“Do you remember who performed the autopsy?”

He tried, but the memory was fuzzy. He’d read it at the bar, after he’d started drinking. “No.”

“It was the same doctor who performed my wife’s autopsy,” Booker stated flatly. “And we both know Emily didn’t die of a miscarriage.”

* * *

LEWIS STEPPED UP ONTO the ridge and unclipped his harness, disgusted. Enough with the walk down memory lane.

Another reason Jim Rayo did not deserve the respect General Trygg bestowed on him.

Lewis had his own plans. And they didn’t include General Trygg or Jim Rayo.

“You and you.” He pointed at two of the men standing guard by the Black Hawk helicopter. “Help the colonel escort the prisoners when he’s done with his conversation. I will have the pilot relocate down at the base of the ravine and meet you all there.”

“Yes, sir.” Lewis watched the two men disappear over the ledge, then climbed up into the helicopter.

“Let’s go.” Lewis slid on his radio earphones, then raised his hand and pointed down. “Take us to the ravine.”



“Yes, sir.” The pilot flipped the ignition switches and then hit the button to set the blades in motion.

A moment later, the radio beeped in Lewis’s ear.

“Pitman.”

“Lewis, it’s General Trygg. I need to speak with Colonel Rayo. He isn’t answering my transmission.”

“He isn’t available, General.” Lewis kept the satisfaction from his tone. Just.

“Have you obtained the cylinders?”

“Yes, sir. We have,” Lewis answered. “But our flight back has been delayed.”

“Delayed?” Trygg snapped. “What’s the problem?”

“The colonel is interrogating McKnight and Doctor Haddad,” Lewis responded. “I am to meet them at a pickup point down at the base of the ravine when he is done.”

“Interrogating?”

“Yes, sir.” Lewis leaned back in his seat, pictured the frown on Trygg’s features. “The colonel was questioning McKnight regarding some information on a bar fight several years back.”

“I see,” General Trygg replied before pausing a long moment. “You have the cylinders in your possession, Lewis?”

“Yes, sir.”

Another pause. “When they return to the helicopter, I want Doctor Haddad restrained. Then I want you to dispose of Booker McKnight. I don’t want him found, Lewis. Understand me?”

“Colonel Rayo won’t like—”

“That’s an order, Doctor,” Trygg snapped.

“Yes, sir,” Lewis answered. “And if Colonel Rayo objects?”

“Tell him to report to me when you land,” General Trygg said. “I’ll take care of any objections.”

The trip down to the base of the ravine took mere minutes. Beyond the windshields lay an ocean of loose sand and rolling dunes. A good place to dump a body. Give the vultures a day, and no one would ever find McKnight.

After all, he had his orders. Lewis’s lips twisted. But very few carried as much satisfaction.

“Let’s go,” Rayo yelled from the edge of the ravine, catching Lewis’s attention.

The men prodded Booker and Sandra up into the helicopter. Lewis grabbed a set of handcuffs from a nearby bag, tossed them to the nearest guard. “Cuff her.”

“What are the handcuffs for?” Jim demanded.

“General Trygg’s direct orders, Colonel. He wants Doctor Haddad and McKnight restrained,” Lewis sneered. He glanced at the man nearest the doctor. “Do it.”

Sandra winced when the handcuffs clamped around her wrists.

“A waste of steel, right, Rayo?” Booker’s eyes narrowed as the guards handcuffed his wrists in front of him. “I won’t be finishing this ride, will I?”

Jim looked at Lewis, who shrugged and turned back in his seat. “Take it up with the general, Colonel.”

The pilot pulled back on the throttle.

The floor jolted under Sandra’s feet, tossing her off balance. She grabbed for the nearest beam with both hands.

Suddenly, bullets ripped across the windshield, over the outside of the helicopter.

“Hold on!” the pilot yelled, then jerked the throttle, banked the helicopter around.

Equipment flew against the walls, through the open door. Men scrambled against the tilt, slammed into the back of the helicopter.

Booker shifted, catching himself on a hanging strap, his eyes on Lewis.

Lewis grabbed the wall, raised his pistol.



“No!” Sandra gripped the beam harder, swung her legs up and kicked Booker square in the back.

“Grab McKnight!” Rayo yelled. But the warning came too late.

Booker flew through the open doorway and dropped two stories to the desert below.

“Make sure she doesn’t cause more trouble!” Lewis ordered.

Sandra spun around saw the pistol gripped in one of the guards’ meaty fists.



Pain exploded in her temple and then she fell.

Into a deep, black void.

* * *

BOOKER BLINKED, FORCING his eyes to open against the glare of the sun, the sharp stabs of pain as his body woke.

She shoved him out of the helicopter!

Booker focused, spit out the grains of sand, then raised himself up on his hands. When he got ahold of the doc’s beautiful neck, he’d wring it.

He took a quick inventory of his injuries. Sprained wrist, twisted shoulder. When he shifted to his knees, pain jabbed his side.

Bruised ribs.

“Well, well.” The voice drifted over him, prodded him between his shoulder blades with the barrel of a machine gun. “That was quite a free fall you took, McKnight.”

“I told you he survived, Boba.”

Booker turned over, took in the Contee brothers standing a few feet away. “You were the ones who fired on the helicopter, weren’t you?”

“Guilty.” Madu Contee smiled lopsidedly through a fat bottom lip, revealing a fresh gap in his teeth. “Although, we were just trying to damage it enough to force a landing.”

“We stopped when we saw you falling,” Boba added. “We weren’t allowed to shoot you.”

“That was orders. This isn’t.” Without warning, Madu kicked him, catching him in the stomach.

Pain ripped through Booker’s gut. He rolled over, sucking in oxygen.

“That was for wiping out all my merchandise at the warehouse, McKnight.” He dragged Booker up by the collar, putting them almost nose to nose. “A half million dollars of weapons...gone.”

“And a few of your teeth it seems.”

“More than that,” Boba commented, his brow creased, his tone serious. “The office chair shot back and hit him in the crotch—”

“Shut up, Boba,” Madu warned. He dropped Booker and advanced on his brother, his fists tight.

“What did I say?” Boba put his hands up, confused. “You screamed loud. I heard you over the ringing in my ears—”

“Damn it, Boba!” Madu slapped his brother upside his head. “You just never know when to stop talking—”

“I don’t have time for family squabbles, boys.” Booker maneuvered himself to his knees, then stood. “Either kill me or take me to Minos.”

* * *

TAER’S HOSPITAL AND MEDICAL offices occupied one of the city’s tallest buildings. Twenty-four floors to be exact.

Although Doctor Omar Haddad had worked on all twenty-four floors at one time or another, the basement was where he preferred. Where he found his solitude.

Alone with his thoughts, his equipment and the dead for company.

The vault was what most of those who worked with him called the coronor’s lab.

A long, wide room of tiled white flooring and concrete walls covered half the length of the hospital wing. Its farthest wall was little more than a bank of mortuary refrigerators, large enough to house fifty bodies.

Omar Haddad stood in the middle of the room, amidst the ten examining tables, all of which were empty except one.

He stared down at the man on the table. Senator Keith Harper. Once a friend, a colleague—who turned on his country at the whim of his daughter and her greed.

Senator Harper, a man in need of the love of his daughter. Until her need for money destroyed her, and in its aftermath, him, too.

The other man groaned, and his eyes blinked open, clearing the haze of the drug away.

“What the hell?” Harper focused on Omar. He struggled to rise. For the first time Omar saw fear and panic in his friend’s features.

“You told the wrong person that you were coming after me.” Omar reached over to his surgical tray and grabbed surgical gloves. With deft fingers, he snapped the gloves over his hands. “Minos owed me a favor. He told me you were on your way. You are a creature of habit, my friend. Something you learn not to be when you work as a spy. It took very little effort to arrange for your hotel water to be drugged.”

Harper looked down the length of the table, realized he’d been strapped in across the chest, arms and legs. Still, he struggled against the bindings.

“Save your strength for what’s coming. You’re going to need it,” Omar ordered. “You aren’t going anywhere, Keith. Not until you tell me what I want to know.”

“You killed my daughter,” Keith spat out. “What makes you think I’ll help you?”

“Trygg killed your daughter before I could stop him,” Omar corrected. “I should have never told you the truth behind her death. If I’d let you believe she died by accident—”

“But you didn’t,” Harper sneered. “And now you know how it feels to lose a child to Trygg.”

“I’ve already lost a child, Keith. Years before I even knew you. I watched my little boy, Andon, die in front of my eyes, because I refused to kill a good friend of mine.” Omar picked up a thin scalpel. “I won’t make that mistake again. Sandra will not pay the price for the choices I’ve made in my past, like so many others in my family.”

“If you know Minos, you have the coordinates to Trygg’s camp.”

“He’s moved his airbus.”

“Which means he has your daughter,” Keith taunted. “I’m not going to help you save her, you son of a bitch.”

“Oh, I think you will. Pain is a great motivator, Keith.”

“I’ll die first.”

Omar’s face hardened. “No. You’ll just wish you had.”

* * *

THE TENT WAS RED. Bloodred. A beacon amidst the bland brown of the sand it sat upon.

Arrogant.

They’d traveled by jeep. Over two hours of listening to the brothers’ bickering. And when that got old, they enumerated the virtues of their new leader, Minos.

Once they got to camp—a camp surprisingly clean, with families crowding the sand, watching—hundreds of eyes stared at the men from over red scarves.

“One big happy family,” Booker murmured, then stretched the cramps out of his shoulders and arms. He slipped the shim back into his wristwatch, then strained against the unlocked handcuffs, applying just enough pressure so as not to raise the brothers’ suspicions.

“My family,” Madu snapped, and raised his rifle butt. Pain exploded between Booker’s shoulder blades. He fell to his hands and knees, then gripped the sand, held the grains in his fist until the pain eased.

“Get up.” Boba grabbed him by the arm, dragged him to his feet. “The boss is done waiting.”

He shoved Booker through one of tents at the edge of the encampment.



“McKnight.”

Booker jerked around to the sound of laughter. His hands tightened around the sand still in his fist.

Black eyes crinkled at the corners, the only feature visible over the red scarf.

“Minos.” Booker’s spine went rigid. “I’m glad I amuse you.”

The Al Asheera leader glanced from Booker to the brothers then back again. “I have to say when Madu called his find in, I was a little surprised. I didn’t expect you’d be so easy.”

“He’d been thrown out of a flying helicopter,” Boba responded, smirking. “Knocked him stupid.”

“How did you know how to find the helicopter?” Booker asked.

Minos shook his head. “First my questions.”

Booker glanced around the tent, noted the bar, the leather recliner, the pillows and curtains and bed in the corner. “Terrorism seems to pay well these days.”

“Yes, it does,” Minos replied evenly. He pulled out a 9mm Glock from his robes, pointed it at Booker’s chest.

“I need to have a talk with our friend here, gentlemen.” Minos’s gaze locked with Madu’s. “Run that errand for me. The one we discussed earlier.”

Booker watched the brothers leave. “So now that we are alone...” He turned back toward the other man. “You can lose the scarf, Sabra.”

Aaron laughed, then tugged the cloth from his face. The gun stayed on Booker. “Quamar said you were smarter than you looked.”

“You’re sure he didn’t say I was smarter than you?” Booker took a step closer, tightened his fist.

“He might have, but don’t let it go to your head.”

Without warning, Booker dropped the cuffs off his wrists, then heaved the sand at Aaron’s face.

Aaron swore, lowered the gun, grasped his eyes.

Booker grabbed the other man’s gun and slammed his fist into his jaw.

Aaron hit the floor, stunned. He lay there for a few seconds, blood flowing from his lip. “Damn it. I should have seen that coming.”

Before he could move, Booker shoved the pistol under the other man’s jaw and jammed it up until his head locked back. “I should kill you right now.”

“First tell me how you figured it out.”

“It wasn’t hard. The fact that you knew about Sandra’s flight out of Taer. And how much you care for the Al Asheera.” He nodded toward the chair. “The first recliner I’ve seen in a tent.”

“Picked up on that, did you?”

“I also picked up on the red tent. I bet it went a long way in establishing your authority with the Al Asheera. You thumbed your nose at discovery from your enemies. Defied anyone to stop you. Most would have been worried about satellites spotting your location. But Taer doesn’t own satellites and the United States—the only other country that would be interested in your activities—already knew of your location. In fact, they approved. Or should I say, the President approved.”

“Impressive, McKnight.”

“You’ve yet to see impressive.” Booker shoved the gun barrel a little harder. “I want to know how you found me and where Trygg took Sandra. Or a bullet will go through your head and the floor will match your tent.”

* * *

“WAKE UP, Doctor Haddad.”

Sandra heard the voice, felt the thumb and finger clamp down on her chin.



She opened her eyes, forced them to focus.

Trygg smiled at her, leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on her lips.

Sandra tried to shove him away, but didn’t have any feeling in her arms. She looked up, saw the handcuffs looped through the chain. Bile slapped at the back of her throat.

“I see you remember being in this exact situation in Taer a few days ago.”

“You ordered me to be restrained this way.” The words came out in a dull disbelief.

“I guess I’m not the father figure type, after all.” Trygg stepped back and laughed. A dry, wicked laugh that left Sandra’s insides tight, nauseated.

“You disgust me.”

“Lucky me,” Trygg added. “Otherwise I might have found myself flying out of a helicopter. Isn’t that what you did to your last lover?”

“McKnight isn’t my lover, General. My reaction was instinctive,” Sandra lied. Hoping to distance herself from Booker. “Pitman was going to shoot McKnight at point-blank range. On your orders.”

“So you saved him, by kicking him out of a helicopter going forty miles an hour and a hundred feet in the air?”

“I don’t like the sight of blood,” she quipped. This man deserved no more of her fear, only her contempt. “Except maybe yours.”

“Not very doctorlike, Sandra.” Trygg’s own anger surfaced.

“We both know what kind of doctor I am,” Sandra observed. “And what kind of man you are.”

“And yet...” He pointed through the tent window. “We are on the precipice of my success.”

The airplane sat in the flats of the Sahara. A makeshift runway, a long snake of asphalt, lay in its path. The white hull gleamed in the sun, its netting now piled in a mound nearby.

No camouflage meant Trygg was no longer hiding. “I won’t help you kill innocent people,” Sandra insisted.

“Jim Rayo gave Lewis Pitman the cylinders,” Trygg replied. “And the doctor has had five years to study up on CIRCADIAN.”

“It would take him five lifetimes to understand my equations,” Sandra scoffed.



“He barely has one lifetime, actually,” Trygg responded dryly.

She understood then. “You’re going to kill Lewis, too, aren’t you?”

“Like I said, I have the cylinders. And there are many greedy research doctors in the world.”

Instinctively, she pulled against the handcuffs, strained away from the pole.

“You’re hurting yourself for no reason.”

Harsh red rivulets trailed down her arms. The pain was minimal, her arms numb.

“I thought you were smarter than that.” Trygg grabbed her arm, smeared the blood with his thumb. “How would the nanites react to your organs, Doctor Haddad?”

Sandra jerked her arm away. “I’m smart enough to know you won’t get away with this, Trygg. Booker will stop you—”

“Not before I kill your family and your friends.” The glint in his eye, the insanity of it, made her sick with fear. “You see, I don’t fear death, Doctor Haddad. I’ve been at war long enough to understand that I might end up a casualty.”

“This isn’t about the serum, is it?”

Trygg put his thumb and finger together, leaving a small space between. “It is a little bit.”

“This is about me. And revenge.”

“You betrayed me.” The evil filled his features, slanted them into ugly fury before sliding into a wicked smile. “You and your father. I cannot let that go unpunished.”

“My father?”

“Your father was my associate. He arranged for you to work with me on the project. He helped Senator Harper obtain the supplies and equipment for Lewis Pitman.”

“No, he would not have—”

“You have no idea what your father is capable of,” Trygg mused. “Right now, I find it more satisfying not to enlighten you. Maybe later.”

“I’ll make sure you never live that long,” Sandra promised through tight teeth. “So help me, God.”

“You forget, I pretty much am God,” Trygg reminded her. “You and Booker McKnight will never change that fact.”

“I don’t need him to stop you.”

“Brave words,” Trygg mused. “Of course, McKnight could have died falling out of that helicopter. So you might be on your own. Not something you’re unfamiliar with, correct, Sandra?”

“He’ll be here.” The jab hit deep, like it was meant to. “It would take more than that...or you...to kill him.”

“I hope so, Doctor Haddad.” Trygg’s smile cut across his face in a vicious twist. He took out his knife and grabbed her hair. “I hope it takes the whole Sahara Desert.”

“What do you mean?” She pulled away until he tightened her hold, made her cry out.

“I think it’s time to play a little hide-and-seek with your boyfriend.” He jerked her head forward, then dug the tip of his knife in at the base of her scalp.

Sandra bit her lip, refusing to cry out at the hot, searing pain.

“This tracking device will help.” Trygg held up the bloody microchip. “You might be surprised to learn that I found a similar tracking device in my plane. Of course, I left it at my old camp.”

Trygg’s gaze narrowed on hers. “I don’t suppose you know who planted it there, do you?”

“Pitman,” Sandra lied. “He wants the glory. I’m guessing he made a deal with the Al Asheera.”

Trygg’s mouth twisted into a vicious grin. “Clever, Doctor Haddad. But you and I both know Lewis doesn’t have the courage or intelligence to take me on.” He placed the microchip in his pocket. “It doesn’t matter. Right now, I’m jamming both signals.”

“Booker will come, Trygg.”

“But will he find you or the plane?” He tipped her chin, his gaze locked with hers. “My bet’s on you.”

* * *

“I WANT TO know how you found us, Sabra.” Booker stepped back and motioned with the pistol for Aaron to stand.

“So you can go after Sandra half-cocked and get yourself killed?” Aaron rubbed his jaw and got to his feet. “I don’t think so. I’ve got a lot of money tied up in your survival, McKnight.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Read this.” Aaron grabbed a file from the bar and tossed it at Booker’s feet. “Then decide if you want to do this on your own.”

Booker dropped to the papers to the ground. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because it holds the truth.” Quamar stepped through the opening in the tent. “I have read the file.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Aaron demanded. “You were supposed to find Sandra’s father.”

“Omar Haddad is nowhere in the city,” Quamar answered, his tone matching Aaron’s. “He has gone rogue.”

“Why don’t you both enlighten me, Sabra?” Booker held the gun steady. “And we’ll move this meeting right along.”

“Let us treat this as a civilized meeting.” Quamar walked over to his friend and placed his hand on the gun.

“I love Sandra as I would a sister. You are not the only one who is afraid for her safety, Booker. But you need to hear everything,” Quamar stated. “Then you can react with anger.”

Booker forced his body to relax. He lowered the gun. “I’m listening.”

“About thirty years ago, Omar Haddad inadvertently started the chain of events we’re dealing with today.” Aaron walked over to the bar, poured himself two fingers of whiskey, then turned back. “With one bad decision. A decision he based on the death of his eldest son, Andon.”

“The doc told me about her brother. How the Al Asheera forced Omar to watch while they killed him.”

“She told you that?” Quamar asked, surprised.

“Yes. She found out when she was ten. Why?”

“She never told me or Jarek or anyone else, for that matter,” Quamar responded. “I find that interesting, considering she does not like you, Booker.”

Aaron snorted, but made no comment. “Andon Haddad’s death started a series of events that included the death of Jarek’s parents and Quamar’s mother.”

“And now Sandra’s life is in jeopardy.” Booker glanced at the giant. “How long have you known?”

“I read the file several hours ago,” Quamar answered. “But it makes no difference. Omar is not my enemy. The Al Asheera killed my mother. No one else was responsible.”



“Explain that to Omar.” Aaron downed the whiskey in one gulp. “Omar hired Trygg over thirty years ago to kill the head of the Al Asheera. The man responsible for Andon’s death. In return, he promised Trygg government secrets. Trygg agreed and killed the man.”

“Unfortunately, my youngest uncle, Hassan, wanted Taer’s crown. He secretly stepped in as the new Al Asheera leader,” Quamar explained. “Once Hassan established himself as the leader, over the next several years, he arranged for the murder of Jarek’s parents. And many others loyal to the crown.”

“Omar blames himself for their deaths,” Aaron explained.

“And the government secrets Trygg gained from Omar?” Booker asked, but he already knew the answer. “What were they?”

“Everything the United States had on rapid healing serums.”

“Super Soldiers,” Booker commented, understanding. “Omar introduced Trygg to the concept.”

“Exactly,” Aaron replied. “Which only adds your men to the list Omar feels he is responsible for.”

“At some point, after my mother, Theresa Bazan’s, death, Omar came clean to Jon Mercer.” Quamar crossed his arms. “Jon was the Director of Labyrinth at the time. He convinced Omar to become a double agent.”

“But Trygg turned out to be a slippery bastard,” Aaron added. “Mercer couldn’t get anything on him—not without implicating Omar—until Trygg got himself placed on the research committee for CIRCADIAN several years ago. By then Trygg had maneuvered himself into a four-star general position and accumulated enough money for leverage to get what he wanted.”

“And Sandra? Why would Omar agree to her assignment to the research?”

“When Trygg heard about Sandra’s research, he called Omar and threatened him. Omar called Mercer. Mercer convinced Omar that Sandra’s research could bring down Trygg. Omar had no choice. Not after Jon managed to keep Omar’s involvement under wraps. Mercer promised Sandra safety from Trygg by placing Kate MacAlister-D’Amato in charge of the research. At the time, Mercer had considered bringing her on board with Labyrinth.”

“But Kate didn’t stay assigned long enough to even be briefed on the situation,” Booker guessed. “Trygg wanted her removed almost immediately.”

“To make matters worse, Omar helped Trygg cover up the death of Jim Rayo’s wife several years before.”

“It was part of the original deal,” Quamar added. “Omar would offer his medical services, off the radar, for Trygg whenever he needed them.”

“Trygg contacted Omar and hinted at the possibility he might need him to sign another death certificate.”

“Kate’s,” Booker guessed.

“Right,” Aaron answered. “Mercer had Kate reassigned. And protected. Trygg brought in Lewis Pitman.”

“And eventually Sandra turned on Trygg,” Booker concluded, understanding.

“Yes,” Aaron responded. “Once Trygg went to prison, Mercer found me at Leavenworth. I was to get on Trygg’s good side, join his ranks. It took me a long time, a couple months, but I managed to earn Trygg’s trust. Then one day I got jumped in the yard by a stoned-out psychopath with a homemade knife. I spent six months in the infirmary recovering. My opportunity was lost. Trygg didn’t want anything to do with me afterward.”

“So Mercer sprung you and set you up as the Al Asheera leader?” Booker asked the question.

Aaron shrugged. “Wasn’t hard. A few years ago, King Jarek destroyed the tribe, brought down the last leader, a woman, who was trying to take over Taer’s new oil supply. Jon Mercer arranged for me to have money. From a private source. The Al Asheera were near poverty, in hiding and desperate for help.”

“Private source?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aaron explained. “With the money, Mercer helped me get government equipment to Trygg—equipment Keith Harper couldn’t get his hands on without putting him under suspicion.”

“Aaron has been working with Senator Harper and Colonel Rayo for over the past year,” Quamar added. “As Minos.”



“How is this history going to save Sandra now?”

“I received the frequency codes to the tracking device Rayo’s men planted on Sandra.”

“Madu and Boba found us at the helicopter through the doc’s tracking device,” Booker acknowledged.

“Madu would’ve been there earlier, but the storm slowed them up. Also, we didn’t have access to a helicopter. Trygg does.”

“Where did you get the frequency code?”

“I found Senator Harper, dead, in Omar’s private office.” Quamar sighed, then placed his hands on his hips. “And he did not die quickly. Omar tortured him.”

“Harper went there to kill Omar. The man had no combat skill, easy pickings for someone with Omar’s experience,” Aaron inserted. “He got the frequency code for Sandra’s tracking chip. Left it with Keith Harper’s body.”

“Did Harper know that Trygg captured Sandra in the cave? That he has the cylinders?” Booker asked.

“No,” Aaron said after a moment. “Harper had a meeting scheduled with Omar last night. I warned Omar that Harper might try to kill him. And that Harper had the frequency codes. He’d given me the one to Trygg’s camp. But the frequency has been jammed. And the camp has been moved. The men I left to watch were discovered and killed.”

“Why didn’t you just kill Trygg when you had the chance?” Booker demanded. “You’ve been dealing with him since his escape.”

“I was under orders from President Mercer. I wasn’t allowed to take him into custody until I had evidence that the cylinders were contained and not left somewhere to detonate,” Aaron answered. “I wasn’t about to let my people get caught up in this mess, either.”

“Your people.”

“You have a problem with that statement?” Aaron demanded. “Because they are the same people your girlfriend cares for.”

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.”

* * *

“GENERAL?” JIM RAYO 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.”

* * *

IT 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.”