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uniforms. Tom sprawled flat on his stomach, covering his head with his hands. Kate shielded the boy as debris fell around them, peppering the ground. Cracks of rifle fire echoed around the houses, each shot making Kate flinch with fright. She thought she heard Hajji shout something but didn’t dare raise her head.
    Silence. “Tom, are you OK?” Kate couldn’t conceal the tremble in her voice.
    “Yes. Are you?”
    “Uh-huh.” Kate turned her head. Her ears rang from the blast. She gazed at the burning remains of the truck. Bodies littered the ground.
    From doorways and rooftops, and from gaps in the compound’s mud-brick walls, Taliban fighters emerged. Kate sat up and saw Hajji lying next to her, his throat cut. She shrieked and looked up at the figure standing over her. Amin — the man who had carried the boy to them — held a knife in his hand, its blade was covered in blood. Confused, she looked down at the boy.
    Hassan opened his eyes and leaped to his feet.
    As Tom tried to stand, Amin grabbed him around his neck and held the knife against his throat. “Don’t move, infidel.”

    In seconds, Kate and Tom were surrounded by Taliban fighters. Some carried heavy machine guns and ammo belts, others were just wearing trainers and dressed in dusty pirhan tonban . A man pressed through the circle and grinned toothlessly. He was the Taliban leader, Masud. “Well done, young Hassan.”
    Hassan tore off his tattered shirt in disgust. It smelled horrible, and felt cold and clammy against his skin; Masud had used goat’s blood.
    Amid chants of Allahu Akbar Masud issued orders to his men. “Gather weapons and strip the jeep of anything useful.” He pointed at Kate. “You will come with us. Amin, tie her hands.” He then turned to Tom. “You, infidel, will return to Kandahar with a message. Here, give this to the American general.” He pressed a piece of paper into Tom’s hand. “These are my demands. One million dollars if you want to see the woman again, alive.”
    “Take me instead,” Tom pleaded. “Let her go.”
    Masud shook his head. “She is worth ten times more than you. We know she is the daughter of an American senator. Tell the general he has one week, or she will die.”

CHAPTER TWO
Taliban trap
Central Afghanistan
    The following day and several hundred miles further north, Major Nathan Connor and his Delta Force team were on a reconnaissance mission. They were driving to a new hydroelectric plant and dam. A mile behind them was the main convoy, which included a small party of American politicians and the head of Central Command, General Patterson.
    Taking point duty, Delta Force opted for their Ranger Ground Mobility Vehicle. The GMV was a version of the Humvee stripped of its doors to enable instant access and use of small arms from inside. Connor had a grenade launcher mounted on top, as well as a heavy machine gun. He was confident they would be able to handle Taliban resistance. Plus there were two Black Hawk helicopters circling above the main convoy. Just as long as the track is clear of IEDs, we should be OK, Connor thought.
    The road was dusty and heavily rutted. Sergeant Sam Wilson was at the wheel of the GMV next to Connor. Sam pulled the GMV off the main track, up a steep climb. The road wound in a series of tight bends towards the dam. Connor felt a tap on his shoulder. “What’s up, Sparks?”
    “CENTCOM says they’ve lost contact with the dam construction site, sir. Visual feeds from high altitude drones have detected suspicious movement on the mountainside above us.”
    “Right. Try to call the site staff yourself, and inform General Patterson. In the meantime, I guess we’d better check it out. Sam, put your foot down.”

    As they approached, Connor ordered Sam to pull over. Dozens of temporary buildings — home to the construction workers and their families — had created a small town. They overlooked the half-built dam on both sides of the road. The site office was