Austin nodded. He knew the story of the two Aleutian Is lands occupied by the Japanese. After U.S. troops were bloodied in the invasion of one island, they planned a massive invasion of Kiska, only to find the Japanese had quietly slipped away the night before.

“The same thing happened here. The chickens have flown the coop.”

The officer surveyed the twisted wreckage again and let out a low whistle. “I'd say you clipped their wings.”

Austin shook his head. “Unfortunately there was something back in that hangar they took with them. Thanks anyway for all your help, Major.”

“My pleasure. Drills are fine, but there is no substitute for a mission where people might actually be shooting at you.”

“I'll see if I can arrange that next time.”

The officer smiled a tight smile. “From the looks of that old bomber you brought into Nome, I'd say you're probably a man of your word.”

With that operation a bust, Austin and Zavala accepted the offer of a ride to Elendorf, where they might be able to catch a flight to Washington. When the planes stopped at Nome to re fuel, Zavala volunteered to use his considerable charm and the NUMA bank account to soothe the owner of the leased Maule that had been destroyed. He was coming out of the lease office after agreeing to buy the company a new plane when he saw Austin striding toward him with a serious expression on his face. He handed Zavala a piece of paper.

“This just came in.”

Zavala scanned the message from NUMA: “Gamay and Francesca kidnapped. Trout injured. Come home immediately. S.”

Without exchanging a word they hustled across the tarmac toward the waiting Talon.

NUMA 2 - Blue Gold

CHAPTER 32

Paul Trout lay in his hospital bed with his chest and nose wrapped in bandages, cursing himself repeatedly for not being more alert to danger. When he and Gamay were dodging the arrows of headhunters their survival instincts were at their sharpest. But their return to the so-called civilized world had dulled their senses. They had no idea that the eyes watching from the van parked outside their Georgetown townhouse were far more savage than any they had encountered in the jungle.

The letters painted on the van's doors, identifying it as be longing to the District of Columbia department of public works, were still tacky to the touch. Inside the vehicle was the latest in communications and electronic snooping equipment. Bent over the TV monitors and speakers that probed the brick walls of the house were the Kradzik brothers. Watching and waiting did not come easily to the twins. In Bosnia they used a brutally simple routine. They picked their target of choice. Then they and a couple of truckloads of paramilitary troops pulled up to the house in the dead of night, bashed the door in, and dragged the terrified occupants from their beds. The men were taken away and shot, the women raped and murdered, the house systematically looted.