Riley hid his smirk behind his coffee cup and lowered his gaze to the dark liquid within. He did feel somewhat sorry for the guy; sounded like the blockade had gone up soon after Riley had passed through the same area.

An hour later, and that might’ve been him slumped on that stool, strung out and overtired. Minus the waitress-ogling, naturally. He idly wondered why the military had blocked the highway. Wasn’t much out there that might be of interest.

They were probably looking for me, McClane said, so casually it didn’t sink in at first. Riley merely nodded, busy giving the polished black shoes the evil eye as they started up their little jig again. Then the words penetrated and Riley dropped his coffee cup. Or would have. His passenger picked up the slack and caught it before it could actually slip from their grasp.

What? McClane asked, going from laid-back to fully alert in an instant when he sensed Riley’s alarm. They put the cup on the table

carefully, Riley too freaked to care about McClane blatantly manipulating his body, McClane not even aware he was doing it in his sudden anxiety.

Riley, what’s wrong?

They were looking for McClane. People other than Riley were aware of McClane’s existence. Military people. With guns. Hunting the stupidly oblivious alien presently riding Riley’s bones. This was bad.

TWENTY-FOUR

“ETA?”

Young knew it was the military equivalent to whining “Are we there yet?” but didn’t give a damn under the circumstances.

“Ten minutes,” the pilot informed him calmly.

Young confirmed and surveyed his troops again. He had three fire teams in each of the accompanying helicopters, two with him. Forty men total. It was probably overkill; this was a fight that wouldn’t be decided by numbers but by armament. Each squad was equipped with both stun and concussion grenades. A sniper was coolly checking his rifle as Young watched. The snipers had instructions to disable, not kill, and unofficial permission to do whatever the situation required. Young didn’t think they’d be able to take out the alien with a head shot, not when it was in full combat mode, but who knew? They might get lucky. Their main purpose, though, was to herd the thing to where they wanted it: away from any civilians in its proximity and into a corner somewhere.

Young would’ve felt better if the teams had had a Spitfire each as well, but the AT-742 was still an experimental weapon and not readily available. Young had brought two missiles with him when he’d flown out to New Mexico and another was waiting for them at Fort Bliss. He hoped it’d be enough in case his Plan A failed.