“Why? I’m off this week. I have to do revisions on the chapter on—”

“That can wait.”

“But it’s important.”

“Not as important as this,” said Mr. Church.

Circe sighed and considered smashing the phone against the wall.

Then Mr. Church said, “Bring Dr. Sanchez with you.”

Before she could ask a single question, he disconnected.

All of the phones went silent.

“What?” asked Rudy, and Circe told him. Then she buried her head against his chest.

“I hate this,” she growled. “I hate that he can just pick up a phone and ruin a perfect moment for me.”

“I expect,” said Rudy, “that he hates it too.”

She looked at him for a moment, reading his eyes. She sighed again and nodded. “Damn it.”

Five minutes later they were in Rudy’s Lexus breaking speed laws all the way to the Warehouse.

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Warbah Island

The Persian Gulf, Near the Mouth of the Euphrates River

Kuwait

June 15, 8:57 a.m.

Top Sims sat on the edge of the open door of a stealth helicopter. The helo was a model Top had never seen or heard of before last night—a Nightbird 319, a prototype variation on the OH-6 Loach used by the CIA during Vietnam but updated with twenty-first-century noise reduction technology, better construction materials, and radar-shedding panels that made the craft look like it was coated in dragon scales. The Nightbird had skimmed a few yards above the sand as it crossed the Iranian border, flying well below radar and inside the bank of total darkness provided by the rocky landscape. Almost totally silent beyond two hundred feet, it used special rotor blades that thrummed out a much softer vibration signature than that used by regular helicopters. If the pilot had not sent Top a locator signal, the two cars would had driven right past them in the night.

Echo Team abandoned the cars and crammed themselves and the rescued college students into the chopper, but then they had to endure a terrible two minutes of waiting and praying as a phalanx of Iranian Shahed 285 attack helicopters came sweeping across the star field above. Top was very familiar with those birds. Each Shahed was rigged with autocanons, machine guns, guided missiles, antiarmor missiles, air-to-air and air-to-sea missiles. Seriously badass, and Iranian helo pilots were no fools.

However, the helicopters swept past and then split into two groups, heading north and south along the border, their surveillance systems looking right through the bird on the ground.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” breathed Bunny. The three former hostages were panting like dogs. Khalid was murmuring prayers in Egyptian.

Top felt every one of his very long, very hard years settle over him as he exhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“We’re clear,” said the pilot over the intercom. The rotors spun up to a higher whine—though still eerily quiet—and the Nightbird lifted off. “Next stop Kuwait. First round’s on me.”