"Hey, sir," said Brown, moving his lips as though tasting something very bad, a symptom of a head wound. "I'm okay."

"Me, too," said Hume.

"Marcus, I'm so sorry," said Diaz.

"Forget it. I know if you wanted to kill me, you wouldn't have missed."

"We'll talk more later," she said.

Mitchell tensed. "All right, listen up. We'll be on that last guard in a minute. He's rolled over and is trying to free his truck with a winch. I don't want to leave any loose ends--particularly a military witness like this guy, so I plan to take him out."

"Sounds good to us, sir," said Nolan.

"There's something else, something you have a right to know. That guard's name is Fang Zhi. He's from Taiwan. He was a captain in their army, and I worked with him in the Philippines, doing some joint training back in '02. We got ambushed, and he wouldn't order his team to attack. He said our orders were unconscionable. I lost a lot of good men because of that man."

"Sir, are you serious?" asked Diaz.

"I am. When the drone was deployed, I got a good look at him."

"Whoa, what the hell's he doing here?" asked Hume.

Mitchell sighed. "I heard he got busted out of the army. He must've defected to China. But that doesn't matter. All I'm trying to say is, you guys come first."

"Sir, the rumors have gone around," said Diaz. "He's the guy who gave you that scar, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"Then, sir, you tell me where to pull over." Diaz's tone darkened. "We'll go down there and take care of business."

"No. I won't risk you guys for that. You give me five minutes. If you don't hear from me, I'm dead. You come down, get my body, and get to the coast. All right, this is close enough."

As Diaz slowed, she shook her head and raised her voice: "Sir, we have no intention of collecting your body. You're going to kill that bastard. And maybe you don't want us with you, but we can still help."

Mitchell climbed out of the SUV, gave her a curt nod. "Okay. Stay in touch."

When Fang's Brave Warrior had slammed onto its side and skidded down into the mud, he'd just sat there, stunned. He'd thought, That drone . . . it has to belong to the Americans.

After snatching up his rifle and loading his last magazine, he'd slung the weapon over his shoulder and had crawled his way out of the truck through the back door.

Once on the ground, his gaze had swept across the dark sky for the drone. Was that its engine humming lowly in the distance? Maybe. Maybe it was retreating.