Kemel landed and rolled and stayed down, lying flat with his arms over his head, pressing himself into the cold hard earth.

And then it was over.

Kemel shook his head as he rolled over and rose to his knees. He could barely hear through the high-pitched hum that filled his head. He looked around and saw burning bits of wreckage strewn about the yard. The mercenary who had been behind the truck with him was a still dark form on the lawn. He was sure the wounded Briggs and the one called DeMartini were in a similar state on the other side of the smoking hulk.

But someone was moving. Baker… returning from the side of the house, shaking his fists at the night. Kemel could see the rage in his face, and knew from his wide-open mouth and the bulging cords in his neck that he was screaming into the night.

But Kemel could not hear him. And he was glad of it.

He looked back to the road and noticed that the white car they’d followed here was gone.

Kemel lowered his head and prayed. It was that or burst into tears.

19.

19.

Yoshio found himself laughing aloud as he watched from his car.

Tonight had been a thing of beauty. When he had heard shots from within the house, he had assumed the worst: That Muhallal and his hirelings had killed the Clayton woman’s ronin. But when Yoshio had seen figures hurrying from the house and taking up position behind the wrecked truck in the front yard, he had expected a firefight to follow.

But how could there be a firefight when Alicia Clayton and the ronin were slipping into their car across the street?

The explosion had made everything clear. A small explosion—or the impending threat of a larger one—had driven everyone from the house to the supposed safety of the outdoors. And what better place to shield one’s self from flying debris than behind the oh-so-conveniently located truck rusting in the front yard?

But the house was not rigged to explode. Why destroy a perfectly good house when you can drive out invaders with a fake bomb and induce them to cluster around the real bomb?

And as the debris from the derelict truck was still flying though the air, the ronin’s white car had begun moving, rolling down the street with its lights out. Slipping away into the night.

Yoshio clapped his hands. So simple. So elegant. Bravo, ronin-san!

Fortunately, Muhallal had survived. Yoshio wanted the Arab alive. He was the only one besides the Clayton brother who knew why the Clayton house was so valuable.

He watched Baker rage at the night as the remaining man he had sent to guard the rear raced back to the front yard. Yoshio rolled down his window to hear what Baker was screaming.