“Switch to thermal; I want to see if we can pick up any heat signatures,” Sophie ordered.

Their visors glowed to life. Thousands of tiny specks appeared on their heads-up displays.

“Something’s not working on mine,” Saafi said.

“Mine’s not working either. I’m getting all of these little specs of red light,” Emanuel said.

Sophie studied her display. “Me too. But guys, I don’t think it’s our equipment. I think those are actually heat signatures.”

“That’s impossible,” said Emanuel. “They’re too big to be human.”

“Alexia, report on radiation,” Sophie commanded.

“Still minimal traces.”

Sophie reached up for her helmet and unfastened the two metal clips, pulling it slowly off over her head.

“What are you doing?” Emanuel cried, rushing over to her.

“Uh, you guys are going to want to see this with your own eyes,” she said, frozen in awe.

Saafi and Emanuel quickly took off their own masks, and gasped. In the distance there were thousands of glowing blue orbs scattered throughout the city, glittering like diamonds.

Saafi coughed nervously into his gloved hand. “What are they?”

“I have no idea, but we’re going to find out,” Sophie said. “And . . .” she paused to survey the tarmac again. “And that’s going to be our ride,” she said, pointing to one of the remaining black Humvees. “Saafi, I hope you remember how to hotwire a government vehicle.”

“It would be my pleasure, Doctor,” he said with a grin. “Just don’t tell NTC when they return.”

The words echoed in her helmet. In the pit of her stomach, she felt a knot growing. It told her that NTC would not be returning. Her team was on its own.

CHAPTER 10

SERGEANT Ash Overton twirled a razor-sharp throwing knife between his fingers, still remarkably fast despite being plagued with severe arthritis. A tribal tattoo followed the bulge of his veins from the bottom of his right bicep upward and disappeared under his rolled up sleeve. He studied the wall of monitors and screens, trying to piece together what was happening. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing made sense.

Behind him, Private Eric Finley fidgeted with his plasma rifle, trying unsuccessfully to remove a jammed magazine of blue pulse rounds. He placed the weapon on a metal bench and ran his hand through his blond hair. His fingers hit a bald spot, and he went back over it again to feel if he’d lost any more.

“Damn,” he said under his breath. He was only eighteen, but had the hairline of a man twice his age.

To Overton’s eyes, the Marine was nothing more than a boy—a boy forced to join the military after losing a college wrestling scholarship to a blown knee. Studying the young man’s face, Overton decided it was a good thing. His oversized ears probably wouldn’t be able to tolerate much more wrestling.

The sergeant rolled his chair back to the monitors and took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling the toxic fumes through his nose. An assortment of old data crawled across the screen from Department of Defense facilities around the world. The computer was running on an ancient analog system, which didn’t surprise him considering the age of the facility.