Balan’s phone, which sat in Middleton’s pocket, rang. He pulled it out. On the screen: Nombre Inconnu. He said to Balan, “You’re going to answer it. If it’s Sikari, tell him you’re a prisoner and I want to negotiate.” He handed the phone to Petey Wetherby, “Let him talk. Tell me exactly what he says.”

“Sure, Colonel.” Wetherby did so.

The prisoner said something in Hindi.

“He’s saying a greeting,” Wetherby said to Middleton as he retreated. “It’s the normal way to answer the phone in—”

Then a huge orange fireball erupted next to Balan’s ear. A deafening crack of an explosion.

Knocked to his knees, Middleton squinted away the stinging dust and smoke and realized that much of the prisoner’s neck and shoulder was gone, and blood was spraying in random patterns on the sand. Petey Wetherby’s arm was missing as well, blown into tiny bits. Wide eyed, the soldier gripped the wound and fell to his knees as his spurting blood pooled with Balan’s.

“No,” Tesla cried, running forward and ripping off her belt to make a tourniquet for Wetherby. But the bomb in the phone had been so powerful that there was not enough arm left to bind.

Middleton shouted to the other French officer, “Call for backup. And medical!”

Connie Carson paid no attention to the torn-apart bodies. She grabbed the MP-5 again and did exactly the right thing, crouching into a classic defensive shooting position, sweeping the gun in the direction from which attackers might come. Lespasse snatched up a pistol and covered the south side of the beach. The other NATO soldier, holding his .45, covered the north.

Then from the hills came the sound of gunshots.

Middleton knew exactly what happened. The accomplice had slipped out of the van to spy on them, then made the phone call and, when the phone was near Balan’s head, had detonated the bomb in the phone, then returned to the van and killed the French officer.

This was a nightmare.

Middleton was staring in shock at the carnage. Wetherby was now unconscious, his face white. Miraculously, Balan was still alive, though he was losing blood so fast he couldn’t survive long.

The colonel crouched. “Tell me! Where is Sikari? Don’t let any more innocents die.”

The prisoner glanced at him once with fading eyes, then did something curious. He lifted his hands as far as the shackles would allow and bent down his head. He kissed the copper bracelet. Muttered a few words. And then went limp. He stopped breathing.

Middleton stared for a moment then glanced down at his feet and saw a tiny bit of cell phone.

A thought stabbed. He turned quickly to Lespasse, who stood at the printer next to Balan’s computer. He cried, “JM, the computer! Hit the deck!”

The former soldier was programmed to follow orders instantly. He dove to the ground.