Page 146 of The Savior

They didn’t have long. Both men needed to make a move.

“You stole my daughter,” Pham accused.

He knew if he gave a single lie, he would never see Chelsea again. “In war.”

“Your wars are cowardly.”

“In my position, our wars are not mine to judge.”

“Al-jihad fi sabil Allah— for I strive to walk in the path of God.”

“I bet your God hates when you use him as an excuse.”

Pham growled. Liam could make out the helicopter drawing near. The interior light of his Explorer flicked on as he heard the sound of his hatch door opening. Dammit, they’d get their hands on his munitions.

One of the men pulled a large case from the trunk and opened it. The other men exchanged rapid-fire shouts. Even Pham let them steal his attention, and Liam turned. A rocket-propelled grenade launcher? What the fuck did he have in there?

The men gestured to the incoming chopper and hastened to put it together.

Liam’s stomach dropped. “No!”

Pham and his men jerked their weapons at him. Liam thought about the helicopter and the men and women who would be aboard, carrying out a crazy mission at the behest of a power-hungry politician.

Liam gaged a shootout. They’d kill him if he dove when the launcher fired, but surrounded, they might just kill each other too.

That was the only thing he could do—stand, ready to sacrifice his life for the chopper, ready to pray that a bullet would slice through Tran Pham.

He edged forward. Sweat dampened his chest and back. His mind raced for Chelsea and wept for the chopper.

Foreign words demanded he remain in place. Barrels were pointed at him and jammed in his face. The circle tightened.

One of the men hoisted the RPG to his shoulder. He flipped on the optics and activated the laser targeting. A light glowed green, as though it had a lock on the chopper, but that didn’t make sense. Liam racked his mind. He ran every piece of equipment like that he’d ever used. Nothing built like that RPG should’ve lit as though it were a guided system, ready to control.

The helicopter dove low and close enough that Liam could almost make out a team ready to drop in. He had a split second to decide if Zulu Actual had control over the RPG—and he stood down, believing that Black must.

The RPG fired. The blast shrieked. Its fire burned. The helo pulled upright. If Liam was wrong, escape would be futile.

Impact was imminent. His heart slammed. His pulse screamed.

Then, the red-and-yellow streak jerked. The trajectory arched and angled, and the grenade fired off-target, white hot as it climbed for the heavens.

He hadn’t been wrong! Sorenson’s chopper aborted their air assault. Pham and his men shouted in disbelief and anger. High above, the grenade blew like a firework in the moonless night sky.

That had to have been Black and Westin. No other possibility existed. They had armed him for every possible situation, controlled everything they could orchestrate, and guided that missile to safety.

The realization was short lived. Pham’s men slammed Liam to the ground, disarmed him, then bound his hands and feet. He’d become a captive, and the plan was finally coming into focus.

Pham snapped orders, and men lifted Liam and placed him in the back seat of Pham’s vehicle. The three SUVs slowly drove away as if the men hadn’t shot up his Explorer and shot off an RPG.

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