Adam jammed The Beast into a tight left turn. Before heading across the causeway that links Aden's Old Town to Sira Island, he glanced high up at the Fortress.

He couldn't see anybody, much too distant, but he knew Ava was up there. And he knew Ali Khan was there with her. Adam let first gear scream bloody frigging murder before slamming her into second.

The bike's front rubber didn't hit the road until Adam reached the base of the giant volcanic outcropping that is Sira Island. He shot along the roadway to the outer perimeter of the island where it meets the path leading up to the Fortress. He planted his right boot and sent out a spray of gravel and dirt as he rammed the bike into a U-turn to begin the steep climb up the winding stone trail.

This time he wouldn't give that sonofabitch, Ali, a chance to think, or move, or even piss his pants.

As Adam negotiated his way up the narrow trail, shattered panes of the images from the Somalia debacle cascaded over his mind: The honey-colored skin of Ava's neck pulsing under the blade of Ali Khan's knife; her fine black locks resting on Ali's fat little fingers; the trust and love in her eyes as she gazed into his own; and that rotten shit-hole where she'd been held captive. Each memory was a jagged-edged shard cutting into Adam's heart and soul.

He reached the Fortress entrance, eased off the throttle as he navigated through its maze of passageways. The gearing and growling of the bike was amplified as the sounds echoed off the thick stone walls.

Adam was headed for the Keep. It was the highest point in the Fortress and the logical place for Ali Khan to hold Ava. A fifteen-by-twenty-foot, open-air platform with a single entrance and exit. Ali would think it the most defensible location. That bastard has another think coming, Adam thought murderously.

But when he blasted through the entrance to the Keep, it was Adam who was obliged to think twice.