Chapter One Hundred Eighteen

Aghajari Oil Refinery

Iran

June 16, 6:23 a.m.

John Smith lay prone on a catwalk and tracked a dark-clad female figure with his scope. He had crosshairs on her the entire time. His finger lay along the outside curve of the trigger guard.

Without moving he said, “Company’s coming.”

In his earbud, Top said, “One of theirs or one of ours?”

Before he could answer, a second figure leaped out of a place of concealment and landed right in the woman’s path. The second figure moved unnaturally fast and he whipped out a long, curved dagger.

One of them.

John Smith slipped his finger into the guard, but before he could wrap it around the trigger, the woman ducked under the swing of the knife and there was a flash of silver in each of her hands. The Red Knight seemed to disintegrate into a cloud of bloody mist. Part of him landed on the catwalk, the rest fell into the steam below.

“One of ours,” said John Smith. “I hope.”

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