Hostile Contact. Gordon Kent

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       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?”

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