"Get out of the car!" screamed Beasley from the backseat. "Out, fat man! I'm driving!"

"Huang?" shouted Buddha, ignoring Beasley. "What is it?"

Huang waved and continued running toward the SUV, where he saw Buddha turn back and once more scream at the men inside. The pistol was tucked into Huang's pocket.

He had seen Fang escape in the Brave Warrior that was supposed to be Huang's.

He had watched the men climb into Buddha's truck and knew he was going to drive away, leaving Huang with nothing.

Fang had lied and made false promises.

Buddha had lied and broken his promise to kill Fang.

Huang must save face. He must.

"Buddha! Wait! I have something for you."

The exhaustion, lack of sleep, and the high humidity had all taken their toll on Buddha, who was slow to realize what was happening.

Huang did not have some last bit of information for him.

He had a bullet.

The scrawny old man reached into his pocket and produced a pistol.

Buddha reached for his weapon, even as the back door slammed open and one of the Ghosts burst outside.

But it all happened too fast for old Buddha. And there was a strange sense of resignation that took hold, that feeling just before he fell asleep after a long day.

Huang's pistol flashed.

The first round sliced through Buddha's neck just as Ramirez fired past Buddha's face.

The second round struck Buddha in the head, and while he should have died quickly, there was, it seemed, just enough time for a final thought, nothing profound, just a simple line from the Dhammapada, one he often repeated to calm himself: "Here shall I dwell in the season of rains, and here in winter and summer."

Smith flinched over his wounded arm, but he still managed to leap from the SUV, and, one-handing his MR-C, cut down the scarecrow with the pistol.

"Get Buddha out of that seat! Get him in the back!" shouted Ramirez, who then added. "Jesus, I'm hit, too!"

Beasley and Jenkins were out of the truck, rushing to the driver's side to haul out Buddha and load him into the cargo compartment. Smith figured they'd call higher to find out what they wanted to do with the bodies of the CIA guys, but it'd be unwise to leave them behind.

Mitchell was still calling for a SITREP over the radio, and Beasley filled him in while Smith ran back around the truck to check on Ramirez, who had been lifting his arm when that first shot had passed through Buddha's neck. The round had continued on to strike him in the right shoulder, near his upper chest.

"Hey, least you got shot by a bad guy," groaned Ramirez. "That old man got me."

"Yeah, kind of embarrassing."

Ramirez snorted. "Shut up."

"Kidding." Smith checked for an exit wound, found one. "All right, it passed right on through. I know it hurts. We'll tape you up for now."