Pulse

EIGHT

King stared at his reflection in the chrome goggles of the masked man pointing one of the world's most lethal handguns at his head. He was happy to see his face didn't reflect any of the surprise he felt at finding himself caught completely off guard.

He quickly counted five men, all dressed, head to toe, in black, liquid-cooled suits — nicer than anything the U.S. military provided. Their eyes hid behind reflective goggles that blocked sun and dust; the remainder of their faces were covered by metal masks that supplied clean air and water to each man. He recognized the suit technology. It was similar to a prototype he had tested, that had yet to receive final approval — funding — for field use.

"Jack Sigler, call sign, King," said the man holding a pistol to King's head. His voice sounded electronically distorted, like a more metallic Darth Vader. "You're a day early."

King really had to work hard at hiding his surprise now. His call sign as a Delta operative was classified information. Not even Pierce knew he was Delta. Only his team and a handful of government officials had access to his information.

"I would have baked cookies if I knew we were having company," he said. He scanned the area quickly, ignoring the gun hovering in front of his face. Three of the dark-clad men were putting the kneeling excavation crew into zip-tie handcuffs. He fought the urge to curse when he saw the driver, Atahualpa, helping them. No wonder he was so nervous when I drew my gun, he thought, he thought I was on to him.

A fourth man held a Metal Storm handgun on Pierce and McCabe. Two pulls of the trigger would tear them apart. The artifact-laden satchel lay on the ground between them.

King's mind sprinted through his options. The gun still tucked into his belt buckle held enough rounds to kill all five men if his shots were accurate — and he had no doubt they would be — but by the time he'd killed the man next to him, three bullets would no doubt be fired into Pierce or McCabe. With taking action on the back burner, he decided to pursue the next best strategy: information gathering. "What do you want?"

The man's trigger finger twitched ever so slightly.

"They're after the artifact," McCabe shouted, kicking sand at the man guarding her and Pierce. She'd stood up to enough brooding men in her life to not back down because of a threat.

"Settle down, lady," the guard said, taking aim at her head.

"Go to hell," she said. Pierce took her arms and held her still as she tried to rush the man.

King admired her fight in the face of overwhelming odds, but knew it would get her killed. The situation had to be resolved quickly, even if it meant letting these guys get away. "Just take what you came for and go."

The man standing over him knelt down and, with a low growl, said, "I intend to." He stood and stiffened his aim at King's head. "Take Dr. Pierce. Leave the others to roast. And shoot the bitch."

"No!" King shouted. For a fraction of a second he moved forward, out of the tunnel, but his instincts told him to duck back inside. Had he ignored his instincts the three bullets fired from above would have struck his head instead of the tunnel wall.

Drawing his Sig Sauer, he moved back to the entrance. He'd start dropping bodies as soon as one crossed his path. But the only thing he saw through the tunnel exit was a grenade. It bounced to a stop two feet inside the four-foot tunnel, pin pulled and about to explode. He dove away from the tunnel, covered his ears opened his mouth and pressed himself against the cave wall and two mummified corpses.

Three rapid-fire gunshots echoed through the tunnel just a moment before the grenade exploded, sending a plume of dust and a wave of pressure into the small chamber. The force smashed King's head against the hard-packed earth, knocking him unconscious.