The man’s body slumped on the stony ground. A halo of blood began to spread around his ruined head.

“Yeah,” Ed said. “Whatever you say.”

* * *

A Black Hawk helicopter hovered overhead, its basket lowered to the ground.

In the near distance, three Apache helicopter gunships patrolled the skies, moving in slow circles. Further out were more of them. In fact, the sky was black with American helicopters. Luke began to count them but stopped at fifteen, because there were plenty more than that.

If there were still Al Qaeda militants alive on this mountain, or anywhere nearby, they were not going to challenge those choppers.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Elizabeth Barrett said.

She stood facing Luke. She was a head shorter than him.

“It’s okay. I was just doing my job. That’s all any of these people were doing.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

“Who are you? What is your name?”

“Luke Stone,” he said. He thought about who he was, and how to express it. He wasn’t a soldier, a commando, a special operator anymore.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

She nodded. “Stone. I’m going to tell my father about you.”

She turned and limped to the chopper basket, two Marines helping her. They would have carried her, but she insisted on walking. Her bloodied feet were wrapped in thick bandages. Her hands were ripped up pretty badly. She walked with her back straight and her head held up.

She was a trouper.

From the low ridge where he stood, Luke could also see the remains of the Little Bird. It looked like some sort of modern art sculpture. The landing gear had bent on impact, dropping the chopper over sideways. A rotor blade had wedged itself into the ground, its opposite number sticking up, pointing skyward. And the whole chopper itself had burned. Its burnt out frame gave the impression of a human skull.

Jacob and Rachel stood not far from it, looking at the remains. Somehow they had gotten out. That was a very nice development. He wouldn’t call it a surprise, though. Those two had been surviving combat together for a long time.

Ed Newsam walked across the ridge, the M-79 over his shoulder. He had gone to keep his date with the man in the video.

“You find him?” Luke said.

Ed shrugged. “I think so.”

“Well, you can still try to beat me up, if you want.”

A light went on in Ed’s eyes. It was if he had forgotten about that, and he was glad that someone reminded him. He looked at Luke, squinted, and grinned.

“Nah,” he said.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

May 9

8:35 a.m. Arabian Standard Time (12:35 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time)

The Embassy of the United States in Iraq (aka the Republican Palace)

The International Zone (aka the Green Zone)

Karkh District

Baghdad, Iraq

“Every single time,” Ed Newsam said.