“Roger,” Base said. “All units close in on A-2, but hold at least fifty feet out from intruder, then report when in position. Five, you have ground command.”
“Roger,” five said.
The first “in position” came forty-five seconds after the order was given. The last, a minute and a half later.
“Close to twenty-five feet,” five said.
Silence.
“Hands in the air!” five called out, his voice booming from the receiver.
It was followed in quick succession by similar calls from the other guards.
Tucker waited for the sound of gunfire, but there was none.
“On your feet,” one of the guards called out. Tucker had lost track of who was who. “On your fucking feet!”
“Get up! Get up!”
“Drop your backpack to the ground, and put your hands on your head!”
“On your head, goddammit!”
“Four, six, search him.”
“I’ve got a gun,” a guard said. Six? “Spare mag in his pants pocket.”
“Backpack?” Tucker recognized the voice this time. Five.
“A couple more mags. Surveillance equipment. Some rope.”
“Use it to tie his hands.”
“Left hand down.” Several seconds passed, then, “Now your right.”
“Intruder secured.” Five again, his calmer tone denoting that this message was meant for Base and Tucker.
“Who is he?” Tucker asked.
“Name!” five shouted.
There was silence.
“I said give me your goddamn name!”
More silence.
There was a loud thwack. Tucker knew the sound well, rifle stock against flesh.
“Get the fuck back on your feet and tell me your name.”
Silence, then another smack.
“Doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, sir,” five said.
“Take him to the guardhouse and put him on the camera,” Tucker said. “I want to see his face.”
“Roger,” five said, then to the others, “Let’s move.”
Ten feet from the top of the hill, Quinn heard yelling coming from the other side.
“Nate?” he said.
No response.
He scrambled to the crest on all fours, crawling over the rocks and stopping only when he had a shielded position from which he could see what was happening.
At the base of the hill was a fifty-foot-wide gap of scattered boulders and sand. And standing in the middle of it were five men. Five armed men, Quinn noted. They stood in a loose circle around a sixth man who lay on the ground.
“Nate?”
Still nothing.
Quinn pulled out his binoculars and aimed them at the group. It was apparent the guards were not happy with the guy they were surrounding. Several aimed their weapons at him.
“Get the fuck back on your feet and tell me your name,” the guard closest to the man’s head yelled.
As the man stood up Quinn trained the binoculars on him, knowing what he’d see.
Only he was wrong. The captive wasn’t Nate.
“Nate,” Quinn said. “Where are you?”
The response came in two short, low bursts. “Can’t. Talk.”
Quinn swept the binoculars back toward the hill he was on, but didn’t see anything. He tried again, this time turning on the thermal-imaging overlay first. Unlike before, this time two small ovals stood out. They were poking out of the back of a crevice created by a couple of the large rocks that were leaning together.
“Tap your toe,” Quinn said.
