Hostile Contact. Gordon Kent

       Prologue

      “This adventure appears to have got us nothing, Mister Craik!” Admiral Pilchard’s face was grim. “You get shot up, Special Agent Dukas takes a bullet, we engage two Chinese aircraft and shoot them down for you—and you bring back nothing! Do you know what the Director of Naval Intelligence has to say about that?”

      His voice faded in Alan Craik’s head as it all came back: Pakistan, night, blood…

      When a shot from the darkness severed the sniper’s spine, they were sprayed with blood. Mike Dukas crouched next to Alan and then moved a step, and the Chinese officer spun and fired his pistol into Dukas’s chest from five meters away, knocking him back. Alan raised his good arm and brought the sight down one-handed, leaning forward as Dukas recoiled. He shot once and the officer stumbled back and caught himself against the ruined Islamic prayer screen; he raised his own gun again and then flew forward as a rifle shot from the darkness hit him.

      Dukas staggered up and forward. He fell to his knees beside George Shreed, the traitor they had chased all this way…

      The admiral’s voice stabbed through the memory: “Mister Craik, I’m sorry for your injury, but what in the name of God did you think you were doing?”

      Alan grunted, more an acknowledgment that the admiral had been speaking than a reply. He sat there like a whipped dog, his uniform rumpled, his head down, his injured left hand a white mitten of bandage—two fingers gone. And, as the admiral said, for what?

      “We caught a spy, sir. A damned important spy. A traitor.” Alan’s tone was flat.

      “Yes, and I understand he’s been comatose since you brought him back and he’s going to die within twenty-four hours, and he hasn’t said a word! Craik, you can break the rules when you bring back the gold ring, but when you come back empty—!” When Alan didn’t respond, Pilchard looked at a stone-faced officer who had come over from ONI to sit in on this chewing-out, then back at Alan, and he said almost kindly, “Didn’t this guy Shreed say anything while you had him, Commander? Nothing?”

      Had Shreed said anything? Alan had desperately wanted Shreed to say things. He had felt