“You okay?” he whispered.

She stared at him wordlessly as if the question hadn’t registered. Then a shadow fell over their huddled forms. The LSV had jolted to a halt just beyond the rock, practically on top of them.

He reached out and gripped her arm again. “Are you okay?”

This time she nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Listen, Shevaun. We’ve got to surrender to these people.”

Bradley seemed astonished by the idea. She rejected it with a shake of her head.

“No, no, we can’t,” she said. “We don’t even know what they want.”

“Doesn’t matter. We want to live.”

She hesitated. “Payton . . . did you see . . . is he . . . ?”

“It’s too late for him.” Scarborough heard the LSV’s engine purring with soft, certain threat. “Giving ourselves up is our only chance. But I won’t make the call. We both need to decide this.”

She took a couple of sharp, agitated breaths.

Scarborough waited. He could hear the engine purring. It sounded like an eager jungle cat.

“All right,” she said. “I’m with you.”

He saw her start to tremble, reached out for her hand, held it. “When we stand up, put your arms above your head. And keep them there. Okay?”

Bradley nodded.

“Don’t let go of me,” she said. “I can do this. But don’t let go.”

Scarborough eased his head above the edge of the rock. The vehicle had stopped not five feet away, its crew facing him in impassive silence. Sunlight glinted off the four racked headlamps on its impact bar. He tried to keep his eyes off the machine guns positioned above them, off Payton’s limp body on the ground below. Tried to tunnel his gaze onto the man in the driver’s seat. He wasn’t sure he could continue suspending his panic otherwise.

“We’re American researchers!” he shouted. “We have no weapons!”

More silence except for the steady idling hum of the vehicle’s engine.

Scarborough swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Do you understand? We’re unarmed!”

There was another tick of silence. Then the LSV’s driver turned to the man in the passenger seat, spoke to him in a language Scarborough didn’t understand, turned back toward the outcrop.

“Move away from the rock,” he said. His English was thickly accented. “Now.”

Scarborough looked at Bradley. He could feel her fingers pressing into his hand through its double layer of gloves, and tightened his own grip.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“Ready.”

The two of them rose, slowly, their arms raised high, his right hand still clutching her left. Then they stepped out from behind the outcrop.

“Stop where you are,” the driver said, studying them. “Turn toward me.”

They complied with his orders, hands linked above their heads, sharing their strength, their courage, facing their unknown attackers together.