TWENTY

Annamite Mountains—Vietnam

AFTER TEN MINUTES of crawling on hands and knees, King wondered if he’d picked the right tunnel after all. They had paused for only a moment when the whole mountain shook and a blast of air shot through the tunnel. Despite being concerned about the cause and whether or not the others were in trouble, there was no time to waste on finding out—or even wondering about—what happened. Whoever took Sara had only a minute or two head start, and they were dragging a prisoner. They should have caught them by now. King stopped and turned back to Queen. He was about to have her backtrack and follow one of the other tunnels when he heard a noise.

No, a voice.

The words were impossible to discern. They weren’t English or any of the other four languages King and Queen spoke—they were Vietnamese. King recognized the tangy sound of the language. He also recognized the hurried tones of the two men speaking. They knew they were being followed.

A new sound filled the tunnel. A loud swooshing sound that faded into the distance. Then another. And finally a third. They were sliding. Sara and two others. King rushed forward through the darkness until he reached the source of the swooshing sound. The tunnel turned downward at a forty-degree angle. The bottom was nowhere in sight and the sound of their quarry faded as they descended the tunnel.

Queen’s hand gripped his shoulder. He looked back at her. She pointed to the floor next to the drop-off. Through his green-tinged night vision goggles, King saw a block of C4 and a timer counting down. He barely had time to register the number on the display—00:15—when Queen shoved him from behind.

“Go!”

King dove into the tunnel alongside her. He counted down the seconds in his mind while he formulated a plan. The two men carrying Sara were probably not alone. They’d leave one or two men behind to make sure no one escaped the tunnel after its destruction, but wouldn’t hang around to risk losing Sara.

Ten seconds.

King looked ahead as he continued gaining speed down the smooth tunnel. A tiny speck of light revealed the tunnel’s exit far ahead. “Lose the goggles,” King said as he took his off and discarded them. They were about to be plunged into daylight. The goggles would blind them and seal their fate.

Queen took off her goggles and tossed them behind her. “Any ideas?”

Five seconds.

The exit grew larger quickly. They were going to be spewed from the earth a second too soon.

Three seconds.

“Play possum!” King shouted before going limp.

Their bodies slid out of the tunnel, fell four feet, and tumbled to a stop on top of a bed of leafy ferns. By all accounts, the pair appeared dead. A quick roll would have spared them a jarring landing, but their bodies simply crashed to the forest floor, contorted and still. The two men left guarding the exit approached slowly, weapons raised. They weren’t fearful, but they weren’t stupid, either.

A muffled whoop sounded from deep inside the tunnel and a light vibration rolled out through the forest floor.

The two guards stood over King and Queen. They cocked their weapons. King fought the urge to grimace. These guys weren’t taking any chances. C’mon, King thought, just another second.

Then it happened.

A plume of dust rocketed out of the tunnel, filling the air and the guard’s lungs. The men gagged and choked, waving their hands in front of their faces and stepping back out of the cloud. When they saw the two apparitions emerging from the brown haze it was too late.

King buried his KA-BAR knife into the throat of the first man, while the other faced Queen’s arms. His neck snapped a moment later. The two bodies slumped to the forest floor. It would have been easier to shoot the guards, but the men carrying Sara would have heard the reports and doubled their efforts.

King withdrew his knife from the man’s neck. As he wiped the blade off on a fern, he looked at the uniforms of the dead men. Dark brown and black tiger-striped camouflage patterns were printed on the uniforms, perfect for blending in with the rotting forest floor. But a red patch sewn onto the men’s shoulders, featuring a skull inside a large golden star, revealed them as Death Volunteers.

King sheathed his knife and searched for tracks. He found them leading into the jungle. He readied his M4 while Queen slid her UMP off her back. They looked each other in the eyes. Both knew they were about to face a special forces unit of unknown size with only two weapons and a heap of guts to help them win the day.

“Let’s make this a fast-food run,” King said. “Grab and go. I don’t want to be around when the rest of them show up.”

She nodded and started off into the jungle. King stopped her.

“Queen, if Sara is K.I.A., our objective becomes her backpack.” He hated himself for saying it. But getting the job done sometimes meant being a cold, heartless bastard.

She could see he didn’t like issuing the order, but she knew it was the right thing to do. They both did. Queen flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, King, we’ll get your girl back.” She took off into the jungle, running fast. King followed close behind.

“What do you mean, ‘my girl’?”

Queen looked over her shoulder as she ran. “You stopped calling her Pawn.”

“Shit.” King realized she was right and picked up the pace. Not knowing the size or skill level of the force they’d be up against when they caught up with Sara’s captors didn’t bother him. He was used to that. This new unknown that had snuck up on him like an assassin bothered him most. Sara. He didn’t know a damn thing about her. Hell, Rook knew her better. But Queen pegged him. Something about Sara had caught his eye and he’d be damned before letting her become another missing American in the jungles of Vietnam.

Two minutes later King saw the head of the first Death Volunteer as he carried Sara through the jungle. He raised his M4 and took aim.