James Rollins - Bloodline

Tucker glanced up and down the street. Commander Pierce was nowhere in sight, and he had to do something.

Now.

Twisting around, he dove for the fence, to the gap along the bottom where Kane had crawled through. It was too small for him, but coils of razor wire blocked the way over the top. With no other choice, he placed his phone on the ground and dug with both hands into the hard-packed sand.

All the while, he stared at the phone beside him, watching the commando draw closer to Kane. He dug faster, scooping out sand, deepening the hole, bloodying his fingers.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, he squirmed his way through the gap. The loose tunic ripped on the fangs of the fence’s lower end, exposing his Kevlar vest beneath.

He reached back and grabbed his phone.

The view of the video feed stopped his heart.

On the screen, the grainy image of the commando jerked to a stop, plainly startled. And the reason was obvious. The soldier shifted his rifle and pointed it directly toward the camera.

Directly at Kane.

9:23 P.M .

Damn that fool…

Seichan moved briskly, angrily, into the tiled lobby of the Hotel Jubba.

Kowalski followed at her heels. She hated abandoning Gray and hated that it bothered her so much, but in the end, she also recognized the necessity. The pair had succeeded in drawing their tail to the steps of the building, hopefully leaving them unaware of Gray’s disappearance.

Still, she could not relax the tense knot between her shoulder blades. Gray shouldn’t have gone out there alone. If they’d taken an extra few moments to plan, some other ruse could have been calculated to fool the ones tailing them. Instead, his action had been unusually rash, even reckless. And not just here. They’d come close to losing Tucker Wayne and his dog back in Zanzibar. Not a mistake Gray would normally make.

And she could guess the cause. A deep current of fury and frustration still flowed through his core. She recognized it in the storm-gray of his eyes, in the hard set to his jaw, in the clipped edge to his conversations. There was a manic edge to Gray that she’d never seen before, and it made her nervous. Not for herself, but for him.

Maybe it was too soon for him to be out in the field.

But they were committed, and there was no retreating from here.

Kowalski slipped out a cigar and set about lighting it. A thick pall of smoke already filled the lobby, making her eyes sting. A soccer match played on a large-screen television in the hotel restaurant, drawing in a boisterous crowd that spilled into the lobby and obstructed the way toward the stairs.

Her partner nodded back toward the hotel’s entrance. “Looks like our friends are setting up camp out there. Making sure we don’t leave.”

Seichan glanced over at the trio who had followed them. They sat at a coffeehouse that offered a view of the hotel’s front steps. Clearly Amur intended to protect his investment, ensuring no other informant intruded on his territory.

A loud cheer drew her attention back to the restaurant. The match between Brazil and Germany was heating up. A group of German patrons began singing their national anthem.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, intending to return to their rooms.

Kowalski lingered, puffing on his cigar, adding to the pollution in the lobby. His eyes had drifted to the soccer match on the television. His legs drew him toward the machismo camaraderie of the live sportscast.

At least that should keep him out of trouble for the night .

She was wrong.

Within a few steps, he bumped into a harried waiter holding aloft a huge tray full of teacups and pots of steaming water. The tray went flying, crashing into the mass of men crowded at the entrance to the restaurant. Shouts and curses erupted as scalding water splashed over those closest.

Then a push became a shove, and a fist struck a nose. In a matter of seconds, bedlam broke out. The restaurant emptied into the lobby, escalating into a full brawl.

Kowalski backed Seichan in a corner as a bottle flew past his nose and shattered against the wall.

“What did you do?” Seichan scolded.

Kowalski grinned back at her, keeping the stogie crushed between his teeth as he spoke. “There’s a rear exit through the kitchen. Let me get this party going full swing, and you can duck back into the streets unseen.”

He locked eyes with her. She read the sharp glimmer buried within that dim exterior. So she wasn’t the only one worried about their partner.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded, which made his grin spread wider, a terrifying sight.

With a roar, he turned and leaped into the raucous fray, a veritable bull let loose among the others. In moments, the fighting rolled like a tide toward the hotel’s front doors and spilled out into the streets, spreading the commotion and chaos.

Seichan twisted in the opposite direction, slipping out a scarf and wrapping her head and most of her face. Kowalski bellowed behind her-sounding disturbingly happy, finally in his true element.

Now to find Gray.

She had Tucker Wayne’s call sign and last position noted on her own phone’s navigation system. That’s where Gray would be headed.

She burst out the rear door, leaving behind the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, and into the dark silence of the back alley.

Before she could take a step, a bright light speared her, blinding her.

A harsh voice with a thick British accent accosted her, punctuated by the cocking of a pistol. “Take another step, and I’ll put a bullet through your pretty skull.”

July 1, 9:24 P.M . East Africa Time

Boosaaso , Somalia

Standing by the fence, Tucker watched the rifle lower toward Kane. The grainy image on the phone set his heart to pounding. He’d never reach his partner in time.

Reacting instinctively, he yanked out his pistol, a black SIG Sauer, pointed it into the air, and fired two rounds. The gun blasts stung his ears and echoed across the empty construction site.

On the screen, the soldier’s aim shifted away as he dropped low, startled by the gunfire.

Tucker was already moving, heading toward Kane’s hiding place. On his phone, he pressed a green icon in the shape of a small ear and lifted the phone to his lips. He spoke two commands, transmitting them to the receiver behind Kane’s left ear.

“TAKEDOWN! DISARM!”

The image on the screen blurred into chaos.

Tucker continued to sprint, staying low.

I’m coming, buddy .

Kane tastes blood, feels the crack of bone under the power of his jaws. He holds tight as a pained cry pierces the night. Then a booted blow to his ribs finally knocks him loose .

The night spins, but rights itself as he rolls his legs under him .

His prey crouches, holding his limb to his chest, wrist crushed, gun on the ground. Both hunters face each other-but only for a breath .

Kane dives low, snatching cloth at the ankle and throwing his body to the side, yanking the prey’s limb from under him. The other falls, head striking broken stone. Goggles knock away, revealing narrowed eyes. Kane smells his fear, still tastes the blood on the back of his tongue .

But the other is a hunter, too .

A flash of a blade in the other hand. It stabs down-but Kane is already gone, spinning away, running low into the night .

But not without a hard-won prize clutched in his jaws .

9:25 P.M .

Gray sprinted along the barrier fencing as fresh gunfire erupted from the construction zone: the chugging coughs of automatic weapons along with the sharper blasts of smaller arms.