to get static on the satellite line. Must be sunspots."

"Pray our boy is safe," she said.

"I might do more than that," the man said as the call ended.

Michelle replaced the receiver in its cradle and sat back. Her ex-beau

was not one to show worry or fear. Still, his concern for his son had been

palpable and personal. She could only hope his worry was misplaced, and

that Chris would come home soon.

Rising from the desk, she walked toward the artist. "Tell me you

have something good," she said easily.

"Outside in the van," the artist said, "and I think you'll like it."

FOUR HOURS AFTER sunrise, one thousand feet higher up the ridge

from the camp where they had spent the night, Hunt's platoon met a determined

enemy. The fire came from a series of caves just above and to

the east. And it came all at once. Rifle fire, rocket-propelled grenades,

mortars, handgun fire rained down. The enemy dynamited the mountain

to create rock slides, pelting the ground below, and they had mined the

ground where Hunt's troops sought refuge.

The enemy's goal was to wipe out Hunt's team all at once-and they

would come close.

Hunt had taken refuge behind a series of boulders. Bullets were ricocheting

off the rocks to all sides, sending chips flying through the air

20 CLIVE CUSSLER

and striking his men. There was nowhere to hide, no way to advance,

and their retreat had been cut off by a rock slide.

"Radio," Hunt shouted.

Half his team was twenty yards ahead, another quarter ahead and to

the left. Luckily, his radio operator had stayed close to the lieutenant.

The man edged toward Hunt on his back to protect the radio. For his

effort he received a wound to his kneecap when a bullet grazed his raised

knee as the man pushed himself closer. Hunt dragged him the rest of

the way.

"Antencio," Hunt shouted to a man a few feet away, "take care of

Lassiter's wound."

Antencio scurried over and began cutting away the radio operator's

pants. He found the opening was not deep and began to wrap a bandage

around the knee as Hunt flicked on the radio and adjusted the dial.

"You're going to be okay, Lassiter," he said to the radio operator.

"I'm going to get us some help in here posthaste. Then we'll have you

medevaced."

The fear in the soldiers' faces was obvious. For most of them, as for

Hunt, this was their first time in battle. As their leader, he needed to take

control and form a plan.

"Control, Control, Advance Three," Hunt yelled into the microphone,

"need positive support, grid three zero one eight. Taking heavy

fire."

"Advance Three," a voice said immediately, "report situation."

"We're pinned down," Hunt said, "and they have the high ground.

Situation critical."

Hunt glanced up as he was talking. A dozen bearded men in flowing

robes were starting down the hill. "Get some fire up there, men," he