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aspects of his nature and turn himself into a giant teddy bear. Quinn supposed having seven young sons had given the Marine plenty of training.
    “I wish we would have, cheri ,” Thibodaux said in a quiet voice Quinn knew was capable of uprooting trees. “But the information we had said these guys would attack when everyone had formed up here at base camp. We thought they had access to a helicopter, so we assumed they’d come directly here.”
    Jarrett stared into the morning air, her breath forming a vapor cloud around her blank face. She said nothing, because there was nothing more to say. Death, especially the death of a friend, was impossible to process quickly. Quinn knew that all too well.
    “I will give you two hours, signore ,” Moretti said, hand on top of his head again. Hatred began to chase the stunned look from his eyes as he stared down the valley. “But that one killed my friends. He must not get away.”
    “Oh,” Quinn whispered, his eyes falling to a sobbing Lucy Jarrett. “He won’t get away.”
    He gave a quiet nod toward Thibodaux, letting him know it was time to move. Neither man would say it in front of anyone in the climbing party, but the massacre at Concordia was the least of their worries. No matter how much he wanted to follow Abu Khalifa all the way back to Jalalabad, Quinn’s first priority was find the Feng brothers, and with any luck avert a war with China.
    Stepping away from the others, he opened the antenna on the secure satellite phone. To locate the Feng brothers, he’d need transport, and the quickest way to get that was to call a particular wing commander in the Pakistan Defense Force. The last time they’d seen each other, Quinn had knocked out the other man’s tooth.

Chapter 2
    Khunjareb Pass
Pakistan-China Border
     
    Y aqub Feng lay on his stomach in the cramped belly of the swaying jingle bus, crammed between his brother and Jiàn Zu, the ratlike Chinese snakehead. Ehmet had taken the spot along the outside edge where he could press his face to the metal grating where he could see out and get some semblance of breathable air. Jiàn Zu had a similar position and view, but wedged in the middle, Yaqub could see only shadows and choked on the dust that sifted up through the cracks in the wooden floor.
    A riot of sound and color on the outside, the brightly decorated bus looked like something out of a gypsy caravan. Lengths of dragging chain and countless tinkling bells hung along the bumpers and painted trim of the gaudy monstrosity that had a permit to take tourists across the border with China and up the Karakoram Highway as far as Karakul Lake. It was the perfect vehicle in which to hide in order to get out of Pakistan—for who in his right mind would hide in something that already drew so much attention?
    “It would be much easier if we went out through Afghanistan,” Jiàn Zu said, sounding hollow, as if he’d been kicked in the groin.
    “My business is in Kashgar,” Ehmet muttered, still studying the situation outside the truck through tiny holes in the metal flashing. “I already told you that. It will not take long.”
    “In Pakistan,” Jiàn Zu said, “you are merely fugitives. In China you are human targets. Forgive me, but it seems foolish to walk straight into the mouth of the dragon when the Afghan border is as porous as a rusted bucket.”
    Yaqub felt Ehmet’s body tense. He lifted his head enough to turn and face the center of the truck. The sight of dried blood caking the corners of his mouth was terrifying, even to Yaqub.
    “Tell me, Jiàn Zu,” Ehmet whispered. “Did we accompany you out of Dera Ismail Khan prison, or did you accompany us?”
    “I am with you,” the Chinese man said. “And happy to be so. But it would make it much easier to do my job if you told me your final destination.”
    Ehmet’s face remained neutral, as if he was passing judgment. “You should concern yourself with our immediate destination—and that is