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saw no one on the beach.

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.

A second booby trap-inside the computer-exploded in an even larger ball of flame, showering the area with bits of plastic and metal shrapnel.

Connie Carson ran to him and helped him up, keeping her eye out for other attackers.

“You all right?” Middleton asked.

“I guess.” Lespasse winced as he massaged his arm and neck. He joined the others.

Her voice choking, Tesla nodded at Wetherby. “He’s gone.”

Middleton was furious with himself. He should have anticipated the devices would be sabotaged. Now the cheerful, young officer was dead, all because of his carelessness…

But he didn’t have time to dwell on the tragedy. He was looking at the hillside. The white van was speeding away. He glanced at Carlson, who was aiming the MP-5 at it. But the woman shook her head and lowered the gun. “Too far.”

They’d give the information to the French but he knew that the van would soon be abandoned and the driver long gone.

And who was that partner?

The sour residue of chemical explosives smoke hung in the air and stung their mouths and noses.

Middleton then noticed Tesla, who was looking at Balan’s shattered body. Something was on her mind, he could tell.

“What is it?”

“Something’s odd here.” She held up her notebook with her jottings from her conversation with the Interpol officer. “Kavi Balan’s been with Sikari for years. He was his number-one triggerman, been on hundreds of jobs. Sikari was his mentor and he was grooming Balan for high places in his organization.”

Nodding, Middleton said, “Sikari was so worried about us finding out something that he killed his favorite protege to keep him quiet?”

“Exactly.”

“What is it, do you think?”

Lespasse said, “Might have a lead or two.” He gathered up some sheets of paper he’d just printed out and that had flown to the ground when the computer detonated. “I managed to beat the pass code and print out three emails before it blew. Two of them are street addresses. One’s in London, and one in Florida. Tampa.”

Middleton looked them over. Were they residences? Offices? “What’s the third email?”

The young man read, “Kavi, I am pleased that you like your present. Wear it forever for good fortune. When your project in the south of France is finished and you send me the information on the American, you must leave immediately. Time is very short. You recall what I have planned for the ‘Village.’ It has to happen soon-before we can move on. We only have a few weeks at the most. And be constantly aware of the Scorpion.”

Lespasse looked up. “It’s signed, DS.”

Devras Sikari.

“Destroying an entire village?” Leonora Tesla whispered. “More ethnic cleansing?” She frowned. “And where is it? Kashmir?”

Middleton shrugged. “It could be anywhere. And it’s in quotes. Almost as if it’s a code word for something else altogether.”

Lespasse said, “And what does he mean by ‘before we can move on’?”

Carlson said, “Something we damn well better find out… And the Scorpion? Sounds like a person. But who?”

Many questions, no answers.

Tesla asked, “Should we call the powers that be?”

The Volunteers had no governmental authority. Their efforts had to be coordinated through the International Criminal Court, the European Union Force, NATO, the U.N. or local governments. Sometimes all of the above, and that took a lot of time and a lot of red tape.

Middleton was gazing at the body of young Petey Wetherby-the young man they’d gotten to know over the past few days. He recalled the times they’d laughed and drunk wine together, talked about sports and politics back in the States.

“We’ll call ’em after we have Sikari handcuffed and in a plane headed for The Hague,” Middleton muttered. He stabbed a finger at the sheets of dusty paper in Lespasse’s hand. “Who wants Florida and who wants London?”

Silence for a moment. Then in her sexy Texas drawl, Carlson said, “Not sure how good I’d fit in over in Piccadilly, don’t y’all think? Damn, looks like I’m stuck with Tampa.”

“You’ve got it. JM, you go with her. Nora, looks like you and I are packing bags for London.”

Though what, or whom, they were searching for in either of those places was a complete mystery.

Lespasse was looking over the third email again. “Wonder what Sikari gave him as a present.”

“I think I know.” Middleton recalled Balan’s curious last gesture-kissing the copper bracelet. With a napkin he carefully removed the jewelry from the man’s wrist. He examined it closely, making sure not to dislodge any physical evidence that might be contained in the intricate etchings. Around the edge of green-streaked copper was delicate lettering, probably Sanskrit or Hindi. And on one side, where the bracelet swelled into an oval, was an exquisite carving of an elephant. The animal was lifting its trunk and spraying water into the sky, toward the sliver