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free hand and mentally worked through potential plans of action. She couldn’t just blow the compound to hell and back as she had the first one she’d found in the Middle East. Thomas Kunz’s surrogate and the GRID operatives would die, but so would the hostages—if any of them were here—and detonating biological-laced weaponry wasn’t something she would willingly do. Not in this lifetime.
    She thought on it some more, certain she could find something to better her odds…Even if the explosives werestrategically positioned and fitted out with remote detonators, they could cause a collapse in the cave. Percussion alone could kill anyone inside. Water was a hell of a conductor, it would amplify the effects.
    Every way she looked at it, a person attempting to escape would face insurmountable odds, including her. And she’d have to be in the cave to relay the remote or the signal wouldn’t penetrate. There were alternative devices that could be used, but she couldn’t get them down here to use them. Not without help.
    She played with a few more possibilities, but none were feasible much less wise, which left her with only one viable solution: to return to the outpost and draft a plan enlisting the aid of Douglas’s commander.
    What was his name? Forest? Framer?
    Forester. That was it. Forester. Nathan Forester.
    Conditions wouldn’t improve substantially with his tactical help, but Kate would have slightly better odds of rescuing any hostages and surviving with—
    Something slammed into her back.
    Hard and huge, it knocked her off her feet, hammering her into the cave wall.
    Her head collided with the saw-toothed surface. Her breath gushed out. The jagged rocks dug into her face and shoulder, slicing through her wet suit and skin, tearing her flesh. Salt water invaded the wounds, burning like fire. Seeing spots, her head swimming, she gasped for air. Focus or die, Kate. Focus or die!
    Warm blood washed down her face and arm, and she forced herself to stay conscious.
    Focus or die!
    Pulling on reserves, she harnessed her energy and fought until the spots started to subside and the truth dawned.
    The wise move was no longer an option.
    Blocking out the pain searing her face, arm, chest and thigh, she regained her footing and reacted on pure instinct. Choking the handle of her knife, she turned and swiped the air.
    The fight had begun.

Chapter 2

    T he knife slit a man’s neck, laying it wide open.
    His thin lips pulled back in raw pain, revealing an extreme overbite. Definitely GRID. When held captive, Amanda had tangled with him. Though she’d had no name to attach to the man with the overbite—GRID had been very circumspect about identities—her description fit him perfectly.
    A gurgle started in his throat. He palmed the wound as if pressure would help.
    It wouldn’t; his jugular had been severed.
    Pulsing blood spurted through his fingers to stream over the sleeve of his yellow wet suit and splash into the water.
    His eyes widened in surprise. He reached for her and his knees collapsed. Bleeding out, he sank into the water and submerged.
    “Hold it.” Another man shouted, more distant, from behind her. He leveled a .45-caliber pistol on Kate.
    Seeing him in her peripheral vision, she stopped dead in her tracks, tucked the knife into its sheath below the waterline, then raised her hands just above her waist. This man, too, had been previously identified as a GRID operative, right down to his crew cut, thick neck and large ears.
    Looking satisfied, the man Amanda had dubbed “Beefy” adjusted a mike and spoke into it. “Intruder at the gate. Repeat, intruder at the gate. Female.” He spotted her gear bag. “She looks American.”
    Kate rolled her eyes, making sure he saw it. With luck, she’d instill a little doubt about that.
    “Professional or recreational?” A man’s disembodied voice rippled through the cave, proving Maggie had been right. The damn thing was wired with surveillance gear. But