“Toward Jvari.”

  “Yep.” Flame climbed into the Ural. “Means they only left one shift of guards at the checkpoint.” He leaned as far back as his seat would allow. “They’ll be tired and irritable by midnight or so.”

  “And SEALs own the night.”

  “You got it.” Flame grinned. “Wake me around ten o'clock—and brief the others on what we’re going to do.”

  ***

  Karin, not Aesop, woke Flame at ten p.m. She did it with a big, rather heartfelt, kiss. “From what Aesop tells me, this Kimberly is nothing more than a little girl,” she whispered into his ear. “I am so much more…”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Flame said, as his eyes snapped open. “And we’ll talk about it later.” He slid out of the seat. “I’ll have to have a word with Aesop about obeying his orders…”

  “Aesop is having some food with the others.” The reporter smiled. “He told me he was to wake you but I was happy to take his place.”

  “Yeah, I get it.” Flame rummaged around behind the driver’s seat for the equipment he’d need. “Did he tell you to be ready to move out in a couple of hours?”

  “He said we’d be heading for the checkpoint just after midnight.” She watched him pull on his night vision goggles and check his handgun. “I suspect you will be meeting us there?”

  “That’s the plan.” Flame finished his equipment check and turned to Karin. “See you soon.” He gave her a quick goodbye kiss—on the nose, not the mouth, and then he was gone.

  ***

  Anton Lukin was tired. As midnight struck, he’d been on continuous duty at the Georgian border for exactly eighteen hours—left alone with that duty when that lieutenant from Crimea drove away with the sergeant of the guard and his two reliefs.

  If he was lucky, someone would come to replace him at daybreak.

  Still, he knew he didn’t dare fall asleep—anyone could come up that road, including a senior officer who would send him to prison if he found him dozing on duty.

  He kept the samovar in the border control shed full and the music from Jvari loud, the combination just enough to keep him awake.

  Awake, but not alert enough to see the shadowy form that made its way through the wire fence that had been set up on both sides of the highway and crept up behind the shack.

  He was pouring another cup of tea when he heard a creaking sound behind him. He started to turn and…

  The world turned black.

  ***

  Aesop glanced at his watch then turned to the people seated here and there around him. “Time to mount up, folks.” He gestured toward the Ural. “And cross the border into Georgia.”

  “Get in, get out,” Eric’s grumbles echoed through the little camp. “We should just have gone through the Russian lines and flown home. We could still have reported…”

  “And Mr. Tytla?” Karin was right beside him, eyes flashing. “Would you have left him behind? Let the damn Russians start to put the Jews in camps?” She shook her head. “I thought you, at least, would know why we couldn’t allow that.”

  “My grandfather…”

  “Your grandfather was a Nazi bastard.” Karin spat the word into his face. “I had hoped you had not inherited too many of his genes!”

  “I…”

  “Get in the damned truck.” Karin’s tone was hard enough to cut through steel. “And shut your stupid mouth.” She saw Aesop watching and nodded at him, eyes flashing.

  Quite a girl, the big SEAL thought. I wonder why Flame doesn’t… He stopped himself mid-thought. There’s no explaining human behavior. He shut the back door of the Ural. I know that, he thought as a smile glided across his face. So why do I keep trying?

  Because there’s no explaining human behavior—even my own, Aesop realized as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  ***

  It took Aesop nearly a half-hour to retrace his way back to the highway—he went slowly and kept his headlights off. From there he turned south and kept his eyes—behind their night vision goggles—on the road ahead. He saw the lights of the border crossing from five miles up the road—and slowed down.

  Come on, Flame, he told himself. Give me the signal…

  A light flashed from beside the brightly-lit border shack. A light that blinked once, then again…

  That’s the boy! Aesop threw the Typhoon into gear and hit the gas. The way ahead was, he knew, clear.

  ***

  “They only left one guard behind—and I didn’t even have to kill him!” Flame said as he climbed into the Ural’s cab, adding the guard’s rifle to his gear. “Hell, he was so sleepy that I could have just cut off his tea and let him fall asleep on his own.” He shrugged. “I helped him along and tied him up—it’ll take him a while to get free.”

  “Can he call for help?”

  “I smashed the radio and cut his phone line.” Flame took off his night vision goggles and stowed them behind his seat. “I guess he could walk to the next town—it’s only ten or fifteen miles.”

  “We’ll be gone by then if the rest of Dana’s plan works as well as this part did.”

  “It will,” Flame leaned back and crossed his arms, relaxing for the first time in hours. “She’s really good at this kind of thing.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Aesop shrugged. “I really do.”

  “How far?”

  “About eighty miles.” The big man gestured to the map. “Most of it is on a very narrow road with the sea on one side and mountains on the other.”

  “We’ll make it.” Flame yawned. “About two hours?”

  “If it’s a real road.”

  “Wake me when we get there.”

  “One of these days I’m going to get to go to sleep and you’re going to have to wake me!”

  “One of these days.” Flame smiled at him. “But not today.”

  Moments later, a soft snore told Aesop that his friend was, indeed, sound asleep.

  ***

  “Lieutenant Rankin!”

  The portly officer frowned as he heard his voice come through Senior Sergeant Votansky’s field phone.

  “It’s for you, sir. It's Colonel Budian.” Votansky passed him the phone, holding his hand over the transmitter as he whispered: “The officer in charge of Georgian immigration posts.”

  “Colonel.” Rankin straightened up. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me why the border post below Gali is deserted!” The colonel’s voice sputtered a bit. “A highway policeman just reported it to my headquarters.”

  “Colonel, I took some of your men—on the orders of Colonel Anosov, but I did leave a man at the post. A Private…” He gestured at the Senior Sergeant.

  “Lukin.”

  “Private Lukin was on duty when we left.”

  “He is not there now.” Budian’s voice had gone hard. “And Colonel Anosov has no control over my men. I want the rest returned to the border post. Now!”

  “But Colonel…”

  “This minute, Lieutenant! That is an order!”

  “Yes sir.” Rankin’s face fell as he realized that his trap was now undone. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  He handed the phone back to Sergeant Votansky and gestured to the other men who were seated around their vehicles. “We are ordered back to the border.” He sighed. “Sergeant, please begin the move.”

  “Yes sir.” There was a hint of solicitude on Votansky’s voice. “Right away, sir.”

  Rankin nodded, uncaring. He had failed. The vehicle would not be returned. He would not be promoted.

  He would never be promoted.

  ***

  The Typhoon was less than ten miles from Batumi when it suddenly lurched, sputtered and stopped dead.

  “It’s the transmission I think,” Aesop said as he climbed out of the cab. “Might have picked up some rocks when we went off-road.”

  “It’s supposed to be an all-terrain vehicle!” Flame slapped the side panel. “What a piece of shit!”

  “What do we do?” Karin asked as Aesop crawled under the truck. “Can we walk to the border station?”

  “We can,” Flame glanced back over his shoulder. “But I think our friends from Gali might want us to cross.” He squatted down, peered underneath. “See anything?”

  “Yeah.” Aesop pushed himself out shaking his head. “It’s done.”

  “We’ve got no choice then.” Flame turned to Karin. “Get everyone out.”

  Five minutes later, the entire group was moving overland, striking out at an angle from the wrecked Ural.

  “The beach that parallels the Batumi checkpoint is here.” Flame put his finger over a point on the map. “It’s about eight miles.”

  “What do you figure…” Aesop glanced at the map. “Two hours?”

  “Three.” Flame nodded toward Tytla and his wife. “Maybe more.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “You lead them to the designated spot.” Flame pulled the last of his gear—and the Russian sentry’s rifle—from the truck. “I’ll stay back here for a while—if anyone gets close, I’ll slow them down.”

  “You’ll get caught.” Aesop shook his head. “Or you’ll start a damned war.”

  “No war,” Flame shrugged. “I promise.” He smiled. “Hell, they maybe so far back I’ll just sit here and rest before catching up with you guys.”

  “We’ve got the earbuds.” Aesop pulled his out of a pocket. “I’ll contact you when we approach the beach.”

  “Or I’ll let you know if and when I make contact with our Russian friends.” Flame put out his hand. “Been an honor.”

  “Always.” Aesop nodded, grasping his friend’s hand tightly. “Don’t wait too long to make your move.”

  “I won’t—and you’d better not get lost.” Flame patted the bigger man on the shoulder. “Now get going—and move as quickly as you can.”

  “Yes sir.” Aesop grinned. “You’re still the boss!” He turned and motioned for the others to follow him, leading them off the road and into the sandy waste beyond.

  ***

  Lieutenant Rankin moped through the entire drive to Gali. He knew that his prey had escaped—along with any hope for glory and promotion. A different man would have tried to pin the blame on the two sergeants driving with him—but Rankin would not do that. He’d been the recipient of such tactics too many times.

  “Sir.” Votansky pointed ahead. “There is the gate—locked open.”

  “And Private Lukin?”

  “Nowhere in sight.” Votansky shook his head. “I know his mother…”

  “It is my fault, Sergeant.” Rankin put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “I should have left at least two men behind.”

  “Two would have made no difference.” Votansky shook his head. “The men we are chasing are specialists—perhaps they are CIA.”

  They pulled into the tiny packed-earth parking lot that sat at an angle to the guard shed.

  “Lukin!” Votansky yelled as he opened the door. “Lukin! Where are you?!”

  There was no answer.

  “I fear the worst.” Votansky hurried to the guard shed, with Rankin a step behind. The door opened. “Lukin?”

  Rankin looked over the sergeant’s shoulder—and saw no sign of the private. “Perhaps he’s behind the desk…”

  The two men pushed into the room, almost knocking over the samovar that stood at one end of the rather worn wooden desk that was, aside from a swivel chair, the only furniture in the place.

  “Lukin!” The private was, indeed, behind the desk—eyes closed, head propped up by the pillow that had graced the seat of the swivel chair. “Are you all right?”

  Rankin looked for blood, found none. “I don’t think he’s been shot.” He and Votansky lifted the limp figure from the floor, and sat him in the chair.

  “There’s a nasty bump on the back of his head,” Rankin reported, but aside from that…”

  “Look at the samovar!” Votansky pointed at the silver-plated monstrosity that dominated one side of the room. “It is just coming to a boil!” He looked at Rankin. “Lukin must have started a new batch of tea before he was attacked!”

  “So?”

  “How long does it take for water to boil?” Votansky grabbed Rankin’s shoulder—an act that many officers would have immediately punished. “His attacker cannot be far away!”

  “We can still catch them!” Rankin nodded. “Our cars are faster than the Typhoon!”

  “Let us go!” Votansky stood, turning toward the door. “Popovitch!” He yelled toward the press of men standing around the cars. “Orloff!” He waited while the two men indicated came forward. “Take care of Lukin and close that gate!” He pointed to the border. “Slokin and I will join the Lieutenant and track down the men who have done this.” He headed for the car he and Rankin had arrived in, gesturing for the soldier he had named to enter first. “Let us go.” He opened the front door and held it for Rankin. “Let us go and finish this.”

  The lieutenant climbed in, his mood suddenly much better.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Just under two hours passed before Flame saw car lights on the road. They’re about twenty minutes away, he estimated. Aesop and the others will have more than enough time to reach the border…

  He wasn’t so sure about his own chances of making it.

  Depends on how many troops they have. He settled into his chosen position. And how determined they are.

  He eyed the crude booby trap he had prepared. I wonder if that will make a difference?

  It should, Flame told himself. He’d taken the concept and design directly from Al Qaeda’s own how-to videos. If it works for them, it should work for me.

  He’d piled all the remaining gasoline cans on the inside of the Ural, then gotten to work on a detonator. He used one of the cell phones he’d taken from the Germans for that.

  Too bad it had to be Eric’s. Flame smiled. I’m sure he’ll understand!

  He stripped off the back plate of the phone and used his knife to scrape all the insulation off the wiring inside. It should spark if a connection was made.

  Next, he suspended the phone inside the topmost gas can—one that he made sure was half-empty—and sealed it tightly inside. That should, he thought,give me some nice flammable vapor…

  As he settled back into the cover he had chosen, there was a crackle of static from his earpad—followed by a double-tap. Aesop’s at the border. Flame looked behind him. I could just head that way now. He shook his head and turned back toward the headlights. No, if they have something with four-wheel drive, they’d catch up before I reached the others. He picked up another of the cell phones—Karin’s this time—and preset Eric’s number so he could call with the push of a single button. I’ll play this out. He watched the headlights growing closer. And hope to God it stops them!

  He’d find out soon enough.

  ***

  Rankin’s eyes widened when the headlights of his car swept across the Typhoon, stopped half-across the road about a mile ahead. I have it! A smile slowly crossed his lips. I have it back! Now all I have to do…

  Suddenly, an enormous orange fireball surrounded the Ural.

  What the hell? Rankin didn’t have time for another thought. A thunderous explosion rocked the car, cracking the windshield and driving all four men inside to the floor where they huddled for a long moment until Rankin, pulling himself together, eased up for a look.

  It’s gone! Where the Ural had been there was nothing but a pile of burning, blackened wreckage. They blew it up! His eyes narrowed as he realized that whoever had done this thing had waited until he was in sight before setting off the explosion. They did that on purpose! His mouth settled into a grim line. I’ll get them for that!

  He kicked Sergeant Votansky. “Get up—get this thing going! The rest of you,” he barked, and spared a quick glare at the men in the back seat. “Get your weapons ready!” His eyes went back to the burning vehicle. “We have a thief to kill!”

  ***

  Flame smiled when the gas can exploded. Guess those Al Qaeda guys know what they’re doing! He checked the other car through his binoculars, and saw that all four men inside had ducked for cover. That should give me enough of a head start. He slid down the back end of the little rise he’d been using as a lookout and started in the direction that he’d sent Aesop and the others. I haven’t been getting enough running in anyway. He held the Kalashnikov he’d appropriated from the Russian guard at high port and started to move. He knew he should just toss it away, but… It’s a pretty nice weapon. He shrugged. And it’s not that heavy…

  He picked up his pace—dangerous while using the night vision goggles. All I have to do is follow the tracks Aesop left behind. He knew his partner would make some kind of mark to indicate a rough area, allowing Flame to move quickly over the other man’s back trail. Stay on the path and keep moving, he told himself, taking a quick glance back. And hope my Russian friends aren’t pissed off enough to call in an air strike!

  ***

  Lieutenant Rankin was the first person out of the car, his eyes fixed on the burning hulk that had once been his near-pristine Ural 63059 Typhoon. “It’s completely destroyed!” He turned toward Votansky and Normakov who were standing behind the opened doors of the car that had brought them there, nervously studying the area around them. “Ruined!”

  “Yes sir.” The border control sergeant nodded, his head moving. “Sir?”

  “What!”

  “They may still be here.” The sergeant gestured toward the dark landscape beyond. “And you’re silhouetted against that fire.”

  Rankin paused, and turned to look past the burning Ural. Anyone could be up on that rise, he realized. They could be aiming a gun at me right now…

  He dropped to one knee and struggled to draw his pistol. It was difficult as the holster had gotten bunched up in his jacket but he finally managed it. “Sergeant!”