ECHOES OF THE TERMINAL FLOOR

Mark leaned down, his lips brushing the base of Rex's ear. "Rex. Left flank. Take the long gun. Hit."

The dog didn't bark. He exploded from behind the generator housing like a missile, his paws barely skimming the wet concrete. In the blinding rain, the German Shepherd was an invisible shadow until he closed the thirty-foot gap in less than two seconds.

Rex launched himself through the air, his jaws locking with bone-crushing force onto the right forearm of the guard on the left. The guard let out a muffled scream of agony as he was slammed into the muddy gravel, his weapon skittering across the concrete.

The second guard swung his rifle around, but Mark was already clearing the corner. Mark fired two double-taps: two center-mass impacts that slammed the second guard back against the tent's aluminum frame before his finger could find the trigger.

Inside the tent, chaos erupted.

"Contact!" Marcus roared, drawing a heavy revolver from his shoulder holster as he kicked the tent flap open.

Mark stepped directly into his path, his sidearm leveled at Marcus's forehead. "Drop it, Marcus! Drop it now!"

Marcus froze, his revolver halfway out of its leather casing. His eyes flicked to the dead guard on the ground, then to Rex, who had pinned the first contractor flat in the mud, teeth bared millimeters from the man’s throat.

Inside the tent, Aris dropped the silver briefcase and reached into his wool coat for a small automatic pistol. Mark pivoted smoothly and fired a single round through the vinyl wall, striking Aris in the shoulder. The man shrieked, stumbling backward into the metal supply cart, sending surgical tools and saline bags crashing to the wooden floorboards.

"Vance, stop!" Marcus shouted, holding his empty hands high, his revolver dangling by the trigger guard from his index finger. "The sniper on the tower! He's got the thermal scope!"