〃Just follow him； sir。〃 Rebound was whispering now。 〃He wants you to。〃
Schofield paused for a moment。
Then he said； 〃Do you know something that I don't； Corporal？〃
〃That I do； sir；〃 came the reply。
Montana； Snake； and Gant joined Schofield on E…deck； at title entrance to the south tunnel。 They'd all heard Rebound over their helmet inters。
Schofield looked at them as he spoke into his helmet mike。 〃All right； Rebound； it's your call。〃
Schofield； Montana； Snake； and Gant edged cautiously down the long southern tunnel of E…deck。 At the end of the tunnel they saw a door； saw the silhouette of the last French soldier disappear behind it； a shadow in the green darkness。
Rebound was right。 The soldier was moving slowly。 It was almost as if he wanted them to see him go into the drilling room。
Schofield and the others pressed forward down the tunnel。 They were about ten yards away from the door to the drilling room when suddenly a hand reached out from the shadows and grabbed Schofield by the shoulder。 Schofield spun instantly and saw Rebound emerge from a cupboard set into the wall。 There seemed to be another body in the cupboard behind Rebound。 Rebound pressed bis finger against his lips and led Schofield and the others down the tunnel toward the drilling room door。
〃It's a trap；〃 Rebound mouthed as they reached the door。
Rebound pushed open the door。 It creaked loudly as it swung open in front of them。
The door swung wide and the Marines saw the last Frenchman standing over on the far side of the drilling room。
It was Jean Petard。 He looked forlornly at them。 He was caught in a dead end； and he knew it。 He was trapped。
〃I 。 。 。 I surrender；〃 he said meekly。
Schofield just stared at Petard。 Then he turned to Rebound and the others； as if calling for advice。
Then he stepped forward into the drilling room。
Petard seemed to smile； relieved。
At that moment； Rebound suddenly stuck his arm out in front of Schofield's chest； stopping him。 Rebound had never taken his eyes off the Frenchman。
Petard frowned。
Rebound stared at him and said； 〃Le piège est tendu。〃
Petard cocked his head； surprised。
〃The trap is set；〃 Rebound said in English。
And then Petard suddenly averted his gaze and looked at something else； something on the floor in front of him； and his smile went flat。 He looked up at Rebound； horrified。
Rebound knew what Petard had seen。
He had seen five French words； and as soon as he had seen them； Petard knew that his fight was over。
Those five words were： BRAQUEZ CE C？Té SUR L'ENEMMI。
Rebound stepped forward and Petard yelled； 〃No！〃 but it was too late。 Rebound stepped through the trip wire in front of the door； and the two concave mines in the drilling room exploded with all their terrifying force。
THIRD INCURSION
16 June 1130 hours
The highway stretched away into the desert。
A thin； unbroken strip of black overlaying the golden…brown floor of the New Mexico landscape。 Not a single cloud appeared in the sky。
A lone car raced along the desert highway。
Pete Cameron drove； sweating in the heat。 The air conditioner in his rented Toyota had long since given up the fight for life； and now the car was little more than an oven on wheels。 It was probably ten degrees hotter inside the car than it was outside。
Cameron was a reporter for the Washington Post； had been for three years now。 Before that； he had made a name for himself doing features for the respected investigative…reporting journal Mother Jones。
Cameron had fitted in well at Mother Jones。 The journal has one all…enpassing goal： to expose misleading government reports。 Cover…ups。 And to a large extent； it had been successful in achieving this goal。 Pete Cameron loved it； thrived on it。 In his last year at Mother Jones； he had won an award for an article he had written on the loss of five nuclear warheads from a crashed B…2 stealth bomber。 The bomber had crashed into the Atlantic Ocean just off the coast of Brazil and the U。S。 Government had issued a press release saying that all five warheads had been recovered； safely and intact。 Cameron had investigated the story； had queried the methods used to find the missing nukes。
The truth soon emerged。 The rescue mission had not been about the recovery of the warheads at all。 It had been about recovering all evidence of the bomber。 The nuclear warheads had been a secondary priority； and they had never been found。
It was that article and the award ftiat followed it that had brought Cameron to the attention of the Washington Post。 They offered him a job； and he took it with both hands。
Cameron was thirty years old and tall； really tall…six…feet…five。 He had messy sandy…brown hair and wireframe glasses。 His car looked like a bomb had hit it…empty Coke cans were strewn about the floor； intermingled with crumpled cheeseburger wrappers； pads and pens and scraps of paper stuck out from every partment。 A pad of Post…its rested in the ashtray。 Those that had been used were stuck to the dashboard。
Cameron drove through the desert。
His cellular rang。 It was his wife； Alison。
Pete and Alison Cameron were something of celebrities among the Washington press munity； the famous…or infamous…husband…and…wife team of the Washington Post。 When Pete Cameron had arrived at the Post from Mother Jones three years ago； he had been assigned to work with a young reporter named Alison Greenberg。 The chemistry between them had ignited immediately。 It was electric。 In one week； they were in bed together。 In twelve months； they were married。
〃Are you there yet？〃 Alison's voice said over the speaker phone。 Alison was twenty…nine and had shoulder…length auburn hair； enormous sky blue eyes； and a beaming smile that made her face glow。 Pete loved it。 Alison wasn't conventionally beautiful； but she could stop traffic with that smile。 At the moment； she was working out of the paper's D。C。 office。
〃I'm almost there；〃 he replied。
He was on his way to an observatory out in the middle of the New Mexico desert。 Some technician at the SETI Institute there had called the paper earlier that day claiming to have detected some chatter over an old spy satellite network。 Cameron had been sent to investigate。
It was nothing new。 The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence Institute； or SETI； picked up stuff all the time。 Their radio satellite array was very powerful and extraordinarily sensitive。 It wasn't unmon for a SETI technician； in his search for extraterrestrial transmissions； to 〃cross beams〃 with a stray spr satellite and pick up a few garbled words from a restricted military transmission。
Those pickups were disparagingly labeled 〃SETI sightings〃 by the reporters at the Washington Post。 Usually they amounted to nothing…just inprehensible one…word transmissions…but the theory was that maybe； one day； one of those garbled messages would provide the starting point for a story。 The kind of story that ended in the word Pulitzer。
Alison said； 〃Well； call me as soon as you're done at the institute。〃 She put on a mock…sexy voice。 〃I have a thing for SETI sightings。〃
Cameron smiled。 〃Very provocative。 Do you do house calls？〃
〃You never know your luck in the big city。〃
〃You know；〃 Cameron said； 〃in some states； that could qualify as sexual harassment。〃
〃Honey； being married to you is sexual harassment；〃 Alison said。
Cameron laughed。 〃I'll call you when I'm done；〃 he said before hanging up。
An hour later； Cameron's Toyota pulled into the dusty parking lot of the SETI Institute。 There were three other cars parked in the lot。
A squat two…story office building stood adjacent to the parking lot； nestled in the shadow of a three…hundred…foot…tall radio telescope。 Cameron counted twenty…seven other identical satellite dishes stretching away from him into the desert。
Inside； he was met by a geeky little man wearing a white lab coat and a plastic pocket protector。 He said his name was Emmett Somerville and that it was he who had picked up the signal。
Somerville led Cameron down some stairs to a wide underground room。 Cameron followed him silently as they negotiated th