"The Americans are here," cried the pilot.

"Good," she said. "Take me back to the airport."

One of the troops jammed his rifle into her back. "Lower your weapon," he cried.

She glanced back over her shoulder. "I'll kill him! And then we all die, unless you know how to fly this helicopter."

He thought it over, then complied, and in one fluid motion, she turned, put her pistol to the trooper's head, and shot him point-blank. The trooper beside her grabbed her arm.

But before he could get closer in an attempt to seize her weapon, the chopper suddenly pitched forward, and cannon fire tore into the bay. Alarms blared from the c.o.c.kpit, and the pilot cried, "I've lost power!"

EPILOGUE.

Sheikh Zayed Road Near Mina Jebel Ali Two Hours Later A SEAL team had flown in from the Eisenhower Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group, and Brent had already been examined by the medics. He was about to be airlifted back to the ship when Juma shifted forward with his cousin. "Brent, I'd like you to meet Sheikh Hussein Al Maktoum. The ruler of Dubai." Carrier Strike Group, and Brent had already been examined by the medics. He was about to be airlifted back to the ship when Juma shifted forward with his cousin. "Brent, I'd like you to meet Sheikh Hussein Al Maktoum. The ruler of Dubai."

The boy, who was still wearing an environment suit identical to the Snow Maiden's, extended his hand. Brent took it. "Thank you, sir, for recovering the gold and helping my country."

"You're welcome. I do wish we could have gotten her." He glanced up to Juma. "Any word yet?"

Juma shook his head. "Her helicopter went down near Al Lisaili, but there's still no sign."

The boy released Brent's hand. "Captain, if there is anything I can ever do for you?"

Brent took a long breath. "Hold that thought. I may come looking for a favor sooner rather than later."

Hussein nodded. "Anything you need. Just let me know."

Two crew members from the chopper lifted Brent's long backboard and carried him away. At his request, they placed him beside Lakota in the helicopter's cramped bay. He reached over, took her hand, then raised his voice over the droning engines. "You did good, kid."

She sighed. "You, too!"

He raised his head and spotted Voeckler and Schleck seated across from him. They were ragged, red-eyed, exhausted.

He took a deep breath. The rest of his team who'd been riding in the pickup truck was coming home in body bags. He closed his eyes and braced himself.

The guilt burned.

And burned. And burned.

Moscow Four Days Later The Snow Maiden stood over his bed, watching him sleep. He was a pathetic old man swollen with greed and with a terrible l.u.s.t for power that had blinded him to the atrocities committed by his government. He had been schooled in the rules of success by a war hero father who'd taught him to crush those in his way, so even from the beginning there had been no hope for him. He was a schoolyard bully with a war machine at his disposal.

Her breath grew shallow as she considered shooting him. Ending it quickly. No words. Just instant gratification. Revenge served coldly, as it should be.

Instead she nudged his head with her pistol until he jolted awake.

She flicked on her penlight and shone it on her face, illuminating herself like some night creature.

"Viktoria, is that you?" he said, lifting his hand and squinting.

"Yes, General. Heinrich said you wanted to talk to me."

"We a.s.sumed you were dead. Like him."

"Another friend gave me a ride, although she's no more trustworthy than you."

"If you've come to kill me, then be done with it. I'm sixty-two and much too old to be insulted by you."

"You're fat and ignorant. And even with a gun to your head you still think you can give orders?"

"Viktoria, we didn't kill your husband. Or your brothers. You've constructed this fantasy and turned us into murderers, when we are anything but."

She jabbed the pistol into his forehead, and he groaned sharply. Then she climbed on top of him and began pressing the muzzle deeper and deeper into his flesh. "You don't know anything about me."

She began to tremble.

"Just shoot me!" he cried.

"I should," she gasped, beginning to pant, her face warming with the desire to finish him now. "But I won't. I can't."

"Then what do you want?"

"You're coming with me."

He stifled a laugh. "You're going to kidnap me?"

"Yes. I need your help."

"With what?"

"With killing the president. With bringing down the motherland. And then we will stand back and watch it burn."

"You're insane."

"Yes."

"Okay, Viktoria, whatever you say. Whatever you want me to do, I will do."

She pulled the pistol from his head and set it on the night table. "First you'll satisfy my needs, then you pack. We have a long trip ahead of us." She shoved her tongue down his throat and tore at his pajamas.

SinoRus Group Oil Exploration Headquarters Sakhalin Island North of j.a.pan Six Days Later Igany Fedorovich rose from his desk as the Snow Maiden and Izotov strode into the room. Patti entered from a side door, and all four of them took seats around a small conference table.

"Please forgive the weapons search," said Fedorovich. "But it was necessary. I'm sure you understand."

"I hope this will be brief," said Izotov.

The side door opened again, and the Snow Maiden lost her breath as in stepped Colonel Pavel Doletskaya, along with another woman, smartly dressed and at least ten years younger than Pavel. She seemed strangely familiar.

The Snow Maiden bolted from her chair and crossed to her old colleague and lover. His eyes were already gla.s.sy. He rushed to her, took her into his arms, and clutched her tightly, whispering, "There is nothing we have to say. We are together again, that is enough. You don't know how long I've waited for this moment ..."

Patti cleared her throat, and slowly, they broke their embrace and returned to their seats.

Fedorovich introduced the younger woman as Major Alice Dennison of the Joint Strike Force. She was the Ganjin Ganjin's mole, nurtured from birth and controlled while her birth parents never knew what was happening.

"My G.o.d, woman, what have you done? She works for you?" asked Izotov, his jaw hanging open.

"And so do you."

He recoiled.

"Our plan is to bring a peaceful end to the conflict, one which will be mutually beneficial to us all. We will cut the power lines of corruption in Washington, in Moscow, and in Paris in order to better stabilize the world's economy and foster the health and welfare of all human beings. And when we're finished, the world will, indeed, be a better place."

Izotov began to chuckle. "Good luck with that. I've never heard a more ridiculous and naive plan."

"When your surgery is completed, you will believe in it as fervently as we do," Patti said, raising a welltweezed brow at him.

Izotov's smile vanished. "Surgery?"

"It's painless ... and completely undetectable," said Dennison, her eyes eerily vacant. "And when it's over, you'll feel a sense of freedom you've never felt before."

A chill woke across the Snow Maiden's shoulders. Dennison's tone was unsettling, and the Snow Maiden wondered if Patti and Fedorovich were already controlling her and that everything she'd done this far was part of their master plan and that she'd never had free will. She'd been their instrument from the beginning. No, that couldn't be true.... Could it?

"All right, let's talk now about Dubai's oil reserves," Patti began.

The Liberator Sports Bar and Grill Near Fort Bragg, North Carolina Two Weeks Later It was about five P.M., and Brent sat alone in his usual corner booth. He'd been released from the hospital the day before. They'd kept him a bit longer than Lakota to perform a second surgery and had finally removed a piece of shrapnel that had been lodged in his back. He was scheduled to meet with Colonel Grey tomorrow morning, but the meeting was a formality. He was being rea.s.signed to the JFK School, and his days in Ghost Recon were over. That news had come through the grapevine and was no surprise. He told himself he was all right with it.

Thomas Voeckler had been nursing a beer at the bar and finally came over to sit across from Brent. "Didn't see you here."

"And you call yourself a spy?"

Voeckler grinned. "Half-a.s.sed. My brother would tell you."

"No, you're top notch. What you did for me was harder than anything your brother ever did."

"I doubt it."

"Did your brother ever finish a mission, knowing that he'd just lost you?"

Voeckler thought about that and shook his head.

"Point made."

Voeckler sighed, sipped his beer, then said, "It's okay that you lied about Haussler being in Dubai. I know why you did it, but you didn't have to worry. Haussler got his anyway, huh?"

"Yeah, and I'm sorry about that."

"Like I said, it's all right. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d's dead."

Schleck arrived in the doorway and caught Brent's gaze. The lanky sniper steered himself over and took a seat. "Who do I kill to get a beer?"

Brent shook Schleck's hand. "Hey, man, thanks for coming."

"Are you kidding?" Schleck drew his head back, dumbfounded, then wiggled his brows at the waitress and ordered his beer.

"Where's Lakota?" asked Voeckler.

"On her way," said Brent. "Oh, there she is now." He rose and rushed to the front door, holding it open for her as she hobbled into the bar, favoring her right leg. She'd refused to use crutches, but Brent gave her no choice when he grabbed her arm and helped her over to the table.

"Hey, guys," she said with a grin. "You clean up nice."

Once they'd dispensed with the pleasantries and each had a beer, Brent got down to the business at hand: lifting their gla.s.ses to fallen comrades. His voice cracked. But that was okay. The beer was cold, the sentiments honest. Nothing else mattered.

After an hour, Schleck and Voeckler bid their good-byes and good lucks.

"You still want to hang out with a broken old warhorse?" Brent asked Lakota.

"If you think you're getting off cheap with just beer, think again, mister. I want dinner and a movie."

"At my pay grade?"

"Yeah. And Brent, you're not an old warhorse."

He snorted, glanced away in thought. "You know, I never meant to do any of this."

"What're you talking about?"

"Truth is, I joined the Army because I thought I could take another guy's place. I thought I could live his life and make things right. So everything I've done was to try to say I'm sorry. But it doesn't matter. No one really cares. And I have to convince myself that my life wasn't his but mine. I'm the soldier, not him. I didn't live his life. I lived my own."

"That's right."

"Yeah, I can talk the talk, but the walk is ..."

"Maybe it's easier if I take your hand." She reached across the table.

He grinned. "Doesn't feel any different. Maybe if you take off your clothes."

She frowned. "Pig!"

He busted out laughing. "Come on, let's go see that movie. We'll get a late dinner. You mind driving? My car's still at the impound."

As Brent rose, his cell phone rang. Unidentified caller. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Brent? This is Scott Mitch.e.l.l."