James Rollins - The Eye of God - A Sigma Force Novel

Now she hoped he would stay far away.

9:18 P.M.

Gray ran with Guan-yin back toward the entrance to the interrogation building. Zhuang rushed ahead of them, leading the way.

“Someone must have talked back at the hotel,” Gray said.

“Or someone saw through our ruse here,” Guan-yin offered. From her stern expression, she plainly refused to believe any of her captured men at the hotel would break so soon.

Reaching the door, Zhuang looked out and waved them to his side. Looking past the swordsman’s shoulder, Gray saw the dark camp now blazing with lights. Off to the right, the North Korean guards at the gate milled around in momentary confusion. No one seemed to be paying attention to their truck or the fake guards around it.

“Our cover remains intact,” Gray said, relieved. “Still, one of your men must have let them know this was our target.”

“But not the exact details of our plan,” Guan-yin countered, defending the man who was likely being severely tortured.

“At least not yet. Still, that leaves us a small window to take advantage of the element of surprise.” Gray eyed the confusion at the prison entrance, knowing it wouldn’t last. “We need to gain control of that main gate now.”

Guan-yin understood. “And hold it long enough until my daughter can be found.”

Gray nodded. Once they acted, all hell would break loose. But they had no choice. The time for stealth was over.

He turned to Guan-yin and her lieutenant. “I need you both to rally your crew—then attack and hold that gate. The firefight should draw all eyes to you, allowing for a small team to make a fast canvass of the remainder of the camp.”

In agreement, Zhuang silently slid his sword from the scabbard over his back.

Gray pointed to the motorcycles.

“I’ll take Kowalski and two of the bikes. We’ll split up and cover as much ground as we can. Seichan is surely watching what’s happening. Hopefully, she’ll recognize our faces if we can get close enough.”

Guan-yin consulted briefly with Zhuang, who then ran out to ready his strike team. She turned back to Gray and gripped his forearm.

“Find my daughter.”

“I will,” he promised.

Or die trying.

9:22 P.M.

Seichan rolled out from under another barrack and straightened. She’d made it a third of the way across the camp, moving row by row, sticking to shadows, which grew thicker the farther she got away from the fences.

As she turned, ready to bolt for the next barrack, a huge explosion rocked the camp. She twisted around to see a column of black smoke curl through the flare of spotlights off by the main gate.

What the hell . . . ?

A rattle of distant gunfire reached her.

Could that be Gray?

Cursing him for a fool while undeniably relieved, she headed along the length of the barracks. She wanted to reach the end of the row, which offered a clear view back toward the gate.

Lights suddenly flared behind her. With the sirens blaring and her focus elsewhere, she had failed to register the threat until too late. A North Korean jeep raced around the corner of the last barrack, spearing her with its headlamps. Behind the vehicle trotted twin lines of soldiers.

Momentarily frozen in the light, she realized she was holding her pistol in plain sight.

A prisoner with a gun.

9:23 P.M.

Gray rode alongside Kowalski. Their two bikes raced away from the firefight at the gate and headed for the deeper camp.

Through his rearview mirror, Gray had watched the mortar blast take out the inner gate. Black smoke clouded the view as Guan-yin’s team ran forward to dispatch the remaining stunned troops. Zhuang’s steel blade flashed momentarily through the pall of smoke, like lightning in a thundercloud—then was gone.

Twin fiery explosions from rocket-propelled grenades took out the two guard towers that flanked the gate, turning them into blazing torches, adding to the thick smoke. Spats of additional rifle fire doused the spotlights farther along the fencing to either side, sinking the lower gate into deeper darkness.

As gunfire continued to rattle behind them, Gray waved his arm, signaling for Kowalski to split off. The big man was going to canvass the acres of barracks to the right, Gray to the left.

As his partner took off, Gray hunched over his bike and angled into the shadowy depths of the rows of barracks. He knew the attack at the gate had succeeded only because of the element of surprise. Once the camp fully rallied, their small force could not hold that spot for long.

He searched the dark rows to either side, sensing the press of time.

Where are you , Seichan?

9:24 P.M.

Seichan leaped headlong toward the cover of the closest barrack, taking advantage of the momentary shock of the North Korean troops. She twisted in midair and aimed her pistol back at the jeep. She squeezed the trigger over and over again, taking out one headlamp and driving the troops to cover.

As she hit the ground, momentum rolled her between the stilts of the closest barrack and into darkness. Gunfire peppered the dirt behind her.

She kept going, spinning under the planks and through the muck to the other side. Without pausing, she dove for the next row, rolling again under the barrack.

All the while, she tracked the troops. The jeep sped past her original position, fishtailing around the end of the row, intending to circle around and trap her. Closer at hand, the twin rows of soldiers split apart, running between the barracks, flanking wide to prevent her escape.

Her flight had bought her only a minute or two of freedom at best. The wave of soldiers would eventually overwhelm her. And with only one bullet left in her pistol, she could never fight her way to freedom.

She needed another way.

9:25 P.M.

Over the rumble of his motorcycle, Gray heard gunfire erupt to his left, along with shouts and hollered orders. He headed for the commotion, hoping for the best.

As he raced between a narrow squeeze of barracks, a figure popped into view ahead of him, wearing a muddy set of prison garb. It took him an extra breath to recognize Seichan.

Thank God . . .

Relief flooded through him, along with something deeper that warmed his heart.

She lifted her arm toward him, as if beckoning him to her side.

Only then did he see the pistol in her hand.

She centered her aim and fired.

9:26 P.M.

Seichan needed that motorcycle.

A second ago, she had heard the throaty whine of its engine and headed toward it, knowing it could be her only means of escape. With one bullet left in her pistol, she dared not fail. As she stepped into the open, she aimed for a center-mass shot and pulled the trigger.

The rider flew backward with the impact, spinning off the bike.

The motorcycle twisted and crashed into the side of a barrack. Tossing her pistol aside, she sprinted to the bike. She hauled it off the ground, mounted it, and kicked the stalled engine into roaring glory. With a goose of power, she spun the bike around.

The rider rose to an elbow and reached for his assault rifle.

I could use that , too, she realized.

She gunned forward, leaning her arm out, ready to scoop the weapon off the ground.

The rider lifted his pained face toward her.

She gasped with recognition, blinded to everything but those storm-blue eyes.

Gray . . .

She braked hard as she reached him, skidding sideways.

He stood, with a hand pressed to his bloody shoulder. “You really have to stop shooting me,” he mumbled, retrieving the rifle with his good arm. “A simple hello will do next time.”