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Morgan stared at the cart for a moment, as if she were fishing for another option. “There’s not much room for two of us.”

She was right. The small dimensions of the cart meant they’d have to snuggle up. “You ride behind me and keep your rifle pointed straight ahead while I drive.”

“All right. Get on.”

Grant knelt on the cart and slung his rifle over his shoulder. He positioned himself so that he could operate the controls. “Climb aboard.”

Morgan squeezed on, pressing herself against Grant’s back. Her breath was hot on his neck.

“Ready?” he said.

“Just go.”

Grant put the cart in gear, and the small electric motor hummed. They rolled forward at a decent clip. Other than the threat of imminent death, the ride was quite relaxing.

“Vince hears nothing about this,” Morgan said.

“Are you telling me that you’re going to file an incomplete report?”

A beat, then, “Shit.”

“I hope you include that I was a perfect gentleman.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“What’s not to enjoy? I’m about to go into battle with a beautiful woman behind me and a gun at my side. Could I be any studlier?”

Grant wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard a faint chuckle.

They rounded the bend, and Grant saw movement a hundred yards ahead at the end of the tunnel.

“Maybe we’re not too late,” he said.

“Just a little closer and I can take a shot. All I can see are legs.”

“They’re going to be expecting one of the other guys. Wait as long as you can before you shoot. We might surprise them.”

As they got closer, Grant could hear the men speaking in Spanish. They were standing in a pit similar to the one under the Mexican house. Two pairs of knees were visible.

Neither man was paying attention to the tunnel.

The cart rolled forward, and only when they were within thirty feet did one of the men crouch down to see who was coming.

Vamanos, Carlos,” he said, sounding annoyed at his friend’s tardiness.

Morgan answered with the crack of her M4, cleanly dispatching him. She shot the other man in both legs. He collapsed in pain but defiantly drew a pistol, and she finished him off.

Shouts came from above as Morgan scrambled out of the tunnel, her rifle aimed skyward. Grant crawled after her. They stood with their backs to opposite sides of the pit, each covering one half of the rim.

This would be the tricky part. The enemy had the high ground.

“Were you ever a cheerleader?” Grant said.

She looked at him like he was nuts. “What?”

He gestured that going up the ladder was a bad idea. The men up there would have a bead on it and take her out as soon as her head rose above floor level. To surprise them, Grant would have to give her a boost.

Morgan frowned and then nodded reluctantly.

While she kept her rifle to her shoulder, Grant grabbed her around the hips and hoisted her up. Even in her full battle gear, he lifted her easily. And who said all those hours in the weight room were wasted?

He raised her until she could see over the rim.

Bullets zinged by and she returned fire.

“One down!” she cried out. “They’re in the next room. Let’s go!”

Grant dropped her and went up the ladder two rungs at a time. At the top he knelt beside the ladder and aimed his weapon at the door while Morgan climbed up. It looked like they were in a storage room of some kind of office-park rental.

As Morgan came up out of the pit, a man suddenly appeared in the door to Grant’s right, aiming a pistol at her head. Grant didn’t have time to bring his gun around.

He did the only thing he could. He jumped in front of Morgan. Two slugs hit Grant in the chest. The body armor took the brunt of the rounds, but it still hurt like hell, as if he’d been pounded by a sledgehammer.

Despite struggling for breath, Grant rushed the man and grabbed his arm, breaking it against the door jamb. The gunman screamed. Grant swung him around and tossed him past Morgan into the pit.

The man landed on his neck with a sickening crunch.

Morgan hopped off the ladder and put the rifle to her shoulder. “Thanks.”

De nada,” he wheezed, holding a hand to his battered chest.

“Where’s the Killswitch?”

Tires screeched outside in reply.

Two men in the next room shouted toward the fleeing vehicle.

Salen!

Esos pendejos rusos!

Grant barreled through the doorway while they were distracted and took each of them down with one shot.

Morgan dashed to the front door, and Grant went after her. They emerged into bright sunlight beating down on a long row of warehouses and offices.

He got out in time to see a white van tear around the corner and out of sight. They didn’t even get a shot off.

“Did you get the plate?” Grant asked.

Morgan shook her head. “Too far away. Dammit!”

She took out her phone to report their location using her GPS, but there was no way the roadblocks would be in place yet. A plain white van like that was on every other street. Finding it would be virtually impossible.

They’d lost their best chance to get the remaining Killswitch back. Now it was loose in the United States.

All Grant could hope was that Tyler had better luck.

FORTY-NINE

Still groggy from the blow to his head, Tyler took turns with Jess chipping at the wall with the crowbar. Two hours after being trapped in the tunnel between the collapsed central chamber and the bricked-up barricade, his head continued to throb, mostly from the injury but also because he was angry at himself that his plan hadn’t worked. He’d fully expected to die from the cave-in, but he thought the xenobium would have been buried with him. His wooziness made it hard to tell if he’d come up with a poor scheme or Colchev had just gotten lucky.

His only consolation was that Grant and Morgan probably had done a better job of retrieving the Killswitch.

Even so, he needed to get out of the pyramid and warn them that Colchev had the xenobium.

They’d removed twenty bricks so far. There was no way to know how thick the wall was, so they were racing to break through before the battery on their single lantern died.

Fay sat against the wall with Jess’s arm around her. A day without her insulin had made her weak, but the situation was not yet life-threatening. As Tyler hacked at the mortar, she told them about her conversations with Colchev.

“Did he say what his target was?” Tyler asked.

“He mentioned Washington, DC, and that America would be on its knees. The attack would take China down with it.”

“Nadia Bedova, his former colleague, asked me about Wisconsin Ave. There’s a Wisconsin Avenue in downtown DC. The nation’s capital is a tempting target.”

Tyler turned toward them and frowned at the scenario.

“What’s wrong?” Jess asked.

“Something doesn’t make sense about it.”

“Why?”

“Fay said she heard them say that they only had one day left, which would be July twenty-fifth, the same day that Bedova asked me about. If Colchev plans to take out DC, why does it have to be tomorrow?”

“Is something special happening in Washington?”

“Could be, but we’re past the Fourth of July. And the President’s plane is protected against EMP bursts better than any other plane on earth. Colchev would know that.”

“The gamma rays. He could be trying to kill the President.”

“But again, why tomorrow? Bedova also mentioned the Baja drug cartel and the word ‘Icarus’. Did he say anything about them?”