Temple

Such a theory failed to give Lauren any credit. She wouldn't have married anybody she didn't want to marry—which really meant she wouldn't have married anyone who didn't advance her own career.

It was then that another image leapt into Race's mind.

The image of Lauren and Troy Copeland standing in the Huey two nights ago, kissing like a pair of teenagers before Race had stumbled onto them.

Lauren had been having an affair with Copeland.

'Marty,' he said quickly. 'Listen, she's going to betray you—'

'Shut up, Will.'

'But Marty—'

'I said, shut up!“

Race fell silent. After a moment, he said in a low voice, 'What did the Army give you to sell out DARPA, Marty?'

'They didn't have to give me much,' Marty said. 'My wife simply asked me to do her a favour. And her boss, Colonel Nash here, offered me an executive posting in the Army's Supernova project. Will, I'm a design engineer. I design the computer systems that control these devices. But at DARPA that makes me nothing. All my life, Will—a//my life—all I've ever wanted was recognition. At home, at school, at work. Recognition of my ability. Now, finally, I'm going to get some.'

'Marty, please, listen to me. Two nights ago, I saw Lauren with—'

'Drop it, Will. Show's over. I'm really sorry it had to happen like this, but it has and I can't help that. Goodbye.'

And with that Frank Nash stepped in front of Race—cutting off his view of Marty—replacing it with a view down the barrel of Nash's SIG-Sauer.

'It's been a pleasure, Professor, really it has,' Nash said, squeezing the trigger.

'No,' Van Lewen said suddenly, stepping forward—in between Race and Nash's pistol. 'Colonel, I cannot allow you do this.'

'Get out of the way, Sergeant.'

'No, sir, I will not.'

'Get out of the fucking way!'

Van Lewen straightened as he stood before the barrel of Nash's pistol. “Sir, my orders are clear. They came from you, yourself. I am to protect Professor Race at any cost.'

'Your orders just changed, Sergeant.'

'No, sir. They did not. If you want to kill Professor Race, then you're going to have to kill me first.'

Nash pursed his lips for a moment.

Then—with shocking suddenness—the SIG in his hand discharged and Van Lewen's head exploded, showering Race all over with blood.

The Green Beret's body fell to the ground in a heap, like a marionette that had just had its strings cut. Race stared down at Van Lewen's fallen frame.

The tall, kind sergeant had sacrificed his own life for his—had stared down the barrel of a gun for him. And now, now he was dead. Race felt like he was going to be sick.

'You son of a bitch,' he said to Nash.

Nash re-aimed his gun at Race's face. 'This mission is bigger than any one man, Professor. Bigger than him, bigger than me, and definitely bigger than you.'

And with that, Nash pulled the trigger.

Race saw the flash of brown shoot across in front of his face before he even heard the whistling sound.

Then, just as Nash pulled the trigger on his pistol, a miniature explosion of blood flared out from the Army colonel's forearm as it was penetrated by a primitive wooden arrow.

Nash's gun-hand was knocked sideways and the SIG dis charged wildly to Race's left. Nash roared with pain and dropped the pistol just as a volley of about twenty more arrows rained down all around them, killing two of the Army crewmen instantly.

The wave of arrows was quickly followed by a blood curdling battle-cry that ripped through the early-morning air like a knife.

Race spun at the sound and his jaw dropped at the sight that met him.

He saw all of the natives from the upper village all the adults, fifty of them at least—-charging out from the trees to the west of Vilcafor. They were shrieking wildly as they rushed forward, brandishing whatever weapons they could muster— bows, arrows, axes, clubs—and they wore on their faces some of the angriest expressions Race had ever seen in his life.

The charge of the natives was nothing short of terrifying.

Their fury was intense, their anger almost tangible. Frank Nash had stolen their idol and now they wanted it back.

Abruptly the crack of M-16 gunfire rang out from somewhere close behind Race.

A couple of the helicopter crewmen had opened fire on the Indians. Almost instantly, four of the natives at the front of the rushing horde were hit. They stumbled and fell, crashing face-first in the mud.

But the others just kept on coming.

Nash—now with an arrow lodged in his right forearm, complete with a ragged piece of his own flesh dangling from its point—turned instantly and, with his people behind him, abandoned the village and made for the two Army choppers.

Race hadn't even moved. He just stood there in the centre of the street, rooted to the spot, staring dumbstruck at the horde of charging natives.

Then suddenly someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

It was Renee.

'Professor, come on!' she yelled as she dragged him toward the empty Super Stallion on the other side of the village.

The Army people reached their choppers.