LAS VEGAS.

Stokes stared at the computer monitor, befuddled by this most peculiar turn of events. The mysterious blast had knocked two of the tunnel's cameras offline. The heavy airborne dust was making it near impossible to see anything in the pa.s.sage where Al-Zahrani had fled. What could have caused the explosion? Even a grenade couldn't cause this much damage. And he didn't recall seeing any of the Arabs holding one.

's.h.i.t.' Stokes rubbed his knotted neck muscles. A sudden dread came over him. If Al-Zahrani was killed in the blast ...Well that would prove most unfortunate. Could anyone have survived an explosion in such tight confines?

'Come on ... show me where you are,' Stokes said, grabbing at both sides of the monitor with his hands and shaking it. 'Come on you son of a b.i.t.c.h. Show yourself.'

The desk phone suddenly beeped.

A cautious voice came over the intercom: 'Randall? Is everything okay in there?'

Stokes stared at the phone, sweat beading on his forehead. 'Everything's fine, Vanessa. Just fine, thanks.'

'Okay. By the way, your wife called again and was asking what time-'

He jabbed a finger at the disconnect b.u.t.ton. His swollen hands felt like they'd been held over fire. He rubbed his raw palms on his legs, leaving blood smears on his trousers. For a brief spell, his vision became blurry with stars as a wave of nausea churned his stomach. He put his head in his hands and waited for equilibrium to return.

What's wrong with me?

Then his vision came back, crisp and focused.

Before he could give the bout of vertigo further consideration, he spotted movement on the monitor and his heart skipped a beat. Though hard to make out through the dust, a dark form was cutting swiftly through the pa.s.sage. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Nerves ablaze, Stokes's eyes moved from frame to frame hunting for the runner. 'Come on ... come on ...'

The figure appeared two seconds later, slower now. It was one of the Arabs - which which Arab was still unclear. On the periphery of the frame, the man stopped and pressed his back against the tunnel wall, panting. Stokes still couldn't make a positive identification since the man was using the tail of his headscarf to shield his mouth and nose from the dust. But with the air in this section much cleaner, he let his hand fall away and the scarf dropped to his shoulder. However, he immediately crouched and directed his eyes to the floor. Arab was still unclear. On the periphery of the frame, the man stopped and pressed his back against the tunnel wall, panting. Stokes still couldn't make a positive identification since the man was using the tail of his headscarf to shield his mouth and nose from the dust. But with the air in this section much cleaner, he let his hand fall away and the scarf dropped to his shoulder. However, he immediately crouched and directed his eyes to the floor.

'Look up ...' Stokes grumbled. 'Look at me, you son of a b.i.t.c.h.'

Then the Arab dropped to his knees and prostrated himself along the floor, hands pressed to the ground.

'What are you doing?'

Then the Arab began a familiar-looking ritual. Stokes immediately cranked up the audio level.

The chanting came through loud and clear: 'Allahu Akbar ...' ...'

Praying? 'You've got to be kidding me,' Stokes said.

Only one way to get a fast answer. Stokes clicked on the control module window, resized it to long strip, and moved it to the bottom of the screen. Then he waved the mouse pointer over a square control b.u.t.ton marked with a light-bulb icon.

'Smile,' he said. He clicked on the control b.u.t.ton.

There was a slight delay as the command bounced through satellites. Then halfway around the world, the camera's bright floodlight activated and lit the praying Arab from above.

The effect amused Stokes. The astounded Arab screamed out in fright. He seemed to think that Allah was shining his brilliant countenance inside the cave. His head snapped up and the dark eyes squinted into the blinding light.

With the runner's face now in full view, Stokes smiled.

41.

IRAQ.

'For the love of G.o.d!' Crawford yelled. 'Someone tell me what the h.e.l.l just happened in there!'

The combat engineer held up her hands. 'Everything's clear here,' she said, pointing to the PackBot's remote display.

'd.a.m.n it all,' Crawford growled, crouching to confirm her observation. Sure enough, the bot's feed remained unchanged. The cave was clear, the bone piles undisturbed.

'Sounded to me like it came from the other side of the tunnel,' Meat yelled over from the cave entrance.

Jason folded his arms and said nothing. He was tiring of Crawford's whipsaw moods.

'All right,' Crawford said. 'Let's back that lawnmower up and send it down the other pa.s.sage.'

The engineer went back to the controls, spun the bot 180 degrees, and guided it out from the cave. It took less than three minutes for it to backtrack through the winding pa.s.sage.

'Here she comes,' Meat called over. 'I can see the light.'

The engineer saw light spilling in on the screen's left side, indicating the spot where the entry tunnel joined the pa.s.sage. She kept it moving straight.

'Yeah, there she is,' Meat said, peering to the end of the entry tunnel. The bot came in and out of view before disappearing to the left. He kept reeling in the slack fibre-optic cable.

'Keep in on night vision,' Crawford instructed the engineer.

'Yes, sir,' she said.

The bot roved through the tight, rocky walls that glowed dull green in night vision. There wasn't much to see, but then the audio began to detect activity.

'Wait,' Jason said. 'Hear that?'

The engineer brought the bot to a stop. The sounds became more p.r.o.nounced.

They all listened intently. It was a voice.

'Someone's definitely in there,' she said, adjusting the audio level. 'Sounds like he's ...' She tried to decipher the singsong chant.

'He's praying,' Hazo said to them. 'He's reciting the Maghrib Maghrib. The Muslim prayer that follows sunset,' he specified.

'Well, it's a little late for that,' Crawford said. 'Let him pray all he wants. He's gonna need it.'

'Let's get visual confirmation,' Jason suggested. 'See what we've got. Use gas to root him out, if necessary.'

Crawford nodded. 'You heard the man, private,' he said to the engineer. 'Forward march.'

As the engineer advanced the bot again, a bright white light flashed from the bend in the pa.s.sage.

Then came a startled scream, presumably from the same man who'd been praying.

'Now what?' Crawford grumbled. 'Where's that light coming from?'

'Don't know, sir,' she said.

By the time the bot rounded the bend, the mysterious light had gone away. And the audio had picked up the distinct echoing of fast footfalls.

'He's running,' the engineer said. 'Should we release some gas?'

'Not yet, keep moving. And for Christ's sake, speed it up.'

On the monitor, the bot accelerated. A few metres ahead, it began sharply rising and falling over heavy debris strewn about the tunnel floor. Dense dust began swirling around the camera lens.

'It's a real mess in there,' the engineer reported.

But Crawford was tuned into the audio feed - the footsteps. They were close now. Very close. 'Keep moving.'

Then the audio picked up the sound of the man again. He was coughing.

'Forget the gas ... Seems the dust will do the job for us,' Crawford said, leaning closer to the screen.

'How's the air quality in there?' Jason asked.

The engineer peeked at the sensor readouts. 'Nothing toxic. But he's going to suffocate himself with all that dust.'

The footsteps abruptly stopped.

The coughing intensified.

Then the camera detected movement up ahead.

'I think we should stop there and shine some light,' Jason said. 'Let's see what we've got.'

Crawford told the engineer to do it.

When the floodlight went on, a figure sharpened onscreen, three metres from the camera. It was a man huddled in a fetal position beneath a pile of rubble that completely blocked the narrow pa.s.sage from floor to ceiling. He was using his headscarf to shield his mouth and nose from the dust.

'Looks like he's not going anywhere,' Crawford said. 'Is he armed?'

The engineer zoomed in on the b.l.o.o.d.y hands, down along the body. 'Doesn't appear to be armed, sir.'

'Good.' Crawford stood and called over to a pair of marines posted near the cave entrance. 'Holt ... Ramirez ... Put your respirators on, get in there and pull him out!'

42.

Tensions were high as everyone waited for Crawford's marines to emerge from the cave with the first captive.

Jason's anxiety was particularly acute. Five hostiles had gone into the cave. Only one was in the process of being extracted, the fate of the remaining four unknown.

The images staring back at him on the PackBot's viewing screen showed that the mysterious explosion had resulted in a complete collapse of the second tunnel branch. Was this an accident, or had the Arabs decided to buy more time by covering their tracks? Burying themselves in the cave seemed foolhardy. If there truly wasn't an alternative escape exit, the oxygen might not last very long.

'Miss me?' a voice interrupted.

Jason looked up. It was Camel. He was wearing a marine flak jacket and helmet so as not to be confused for a hostile. In his right hand, he gripped a night-vision monocular. 'Did you see anything up on the ridge?'

Camel spat tobacco on to the rocks and wiped some dribble from his lip. 'Nah. Walked the entire ridge. Nothin' there. Couldn't really see much on the other side. Lots of rough terrain.'

'All right. Good work,' Jason said. Where could the watcher have gone?

'Was that an explosion I heard?'

'Yeah,' Jason sighed. 'Something went off in the tunnel. Take a look.' He pointed to the screen and Camel studied the image for a few seconds.

'Did they shoot off the RPG again?'

'Not sure,' Jason said. A commotion started up behind him. He looked back and saw the snipers shouldering their weapons.

'We have visual!' one of the snipers reported.

'What's going on?' Camel asked in a low voice. 'Visual on what?'

'One of the Arabs,' Jason replied.

'We caught one of them?'

Giving Camel a shushing gesture, Jason inched forward. He considered: five went in. One's coming out. A 20 per cent chance ... He watched the snipers' weapons shift slowly upward as the target drew nearer.

'Looks like we're about to get some answers,' Jason said. He stood and crossed his arms.

'Let's give 'em some room!' Crawford barked at the snipers: 'You two ... fall back!'

Forced to the sidelines, Jason felt like a paparazzo roped off from the red carpet.

'Should've been us going into that cave,' Camel grunted. 'This p.r.i.c.k Crawford shouldn't be getting any glory.'

Then three figures emerged from the opening: two marines wearing respirators flanking a tall, bedraggled prisoner. One of the marines had a pistol pressed into the Arab's back.

At first, Jason couldn't make out the Arab's ident.i.ty since the man had his bound, b.l.o.o.d.y hands raised up to shield his face.