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threw Roddy’s truck in gear and headed for Likelike. They were taking H-3; he’d take the other tunnel, ensuring his targets wouldn’t spot Roddy’s oversized truck.
    He blessed the Raptor tech who’d designed the device that could pull Dominick’s cell phone number from Colonel McCormick’s phone. But even better was the gadget that turned Dominick’s cell into a microphone. Once he had the right cell phone number, he’d locked onto Dominick’s phone. Able to eavesdrop on conversations even when the man wasn’t using the phone, he heard everything he needed to track them down. Mara’s voice was clear as day. He shook off the flicker of hesitation. He had a job to do.
    His window of opportunity at Hickam would be brief. There were so many high-level government officials involved; the base commander would give Dominick an aircraft carrier if he could.
    At Hickam, he’d be able to take Mara out with the Barrett Light 50. He’d get only one shot—the fifty-caliber round would be heard for miles—but it was the only rifle in his arsenal with the range he’d need.
    He parked in the neighborhood that overlooked the airfield, obscured by a cluster of mango trees with low branches, but with a clear sight line from the back. He climbed into the truck bed and set up the Barrett. He hadn’t used this weapon much, but he had a computerized scope so advanced the military didn’t even have them yet. The scope would make his lack of familiarity with the gun irrelevant. Soon Mara wouldn’t be his problem anymore, and his dad would get off his back.
    He’d just gotten the rifle set up and the scope mounted when Mara and Dominick stepped onto the tarmac.
    From the flurry of movement on the airfield, it became clear which jet they where heading for. Evan would have a clear shot when Mara climbed the steps. Leading as she was, when she reached the second step their heads would be at the same height. He’d already programmed the scope with her height, and it zeroed in on the exact place her head would be when she stood on the second step. Now he waited.
    She and Dominick stopped fifty yards away from the jet and spoke with an officer.
    Evan was an ordnance tech. For JPAC, he disposed of bombs, and for Raptor, he created them. Sniping wasn’t his style, and as he waited for Mara to reach the crosshairs, he was reminded why. Waiting sucked.
    Sweat broke out on his brow.
    Move.
    Finally, Mara resumed walking, Dominick next to her. Mara climbed first. In the scope, her head came into view. The height setting was dead-on.
    Evan squeezed the trigger.

C HAPTER N INE

    T HE GANGWAY ROCKED under Curt’s feet as the side of the jet suddenly sprouted a hole. An earsplitting bang followed an instant later. In front of him, Mara dropped down. He did the same, covering her body with his.
    Holy shit , what was that thing? In a flash, it had created a foot-wide hole in the jet’s fuselage. The sound had reached them after the bullet pierced the jet, meaning the damn weapon was supersonic.
    Mara groaned beneath him. He shifted his weight to his hands, which were braced on either side of her head.
    What if the bastard fired again? Hell, the sides of the stairs might conceal them, but obviously the round could pierce metal just fine. They were completely vulnerable. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
    She rolled over, and they were chest to chest. Blood covered her face. He reared back. “Mara! Did shrapnel hit you?” Over his shoulder he yelled, “Medic! She’s hurt!”
    The airman who’d accompanied them to the jet had dropped to the tarmac. Now he inched forward and rose on his knees at the base of the stairs.
    “I hit my head on the edge of the stair. It’s just a cut.” More blood spilled from the wound, staining her hair, running in rivulets down her cheek and nose, along her neck, and pooling in the groove above her collarbone.
    He cupped her face in his hands, smearing blood across her cheeks. “Promise me you’re