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The noise of the growing mob outside swelled louder. A muted roar made by hundreds of angry voices chanting one of the only Urdu phrases he knew.

Death to America.

Hunter Phillips checked his weapon one last time and turned in a crouch to face the six other men now trapped with him in the burning Interior Ministry building. Three of his security contractor teammates, and three international diplomats who were scared out of their fucking minds and visibly struggling to hold it together.

The sound of more breaking glass shattered the tension in the room. Another fire alarm blared to life from down one of the hallways, signaling that the flames were spreading fast. Already the smoke was thick enough to make his eyes sting. “We’ve got a minute or two, max, before they scale the wall,” he said to the man on his right.

Scottie, the team leader and Hunter’s best friend, scanned their darkened surroundings, but they both knew there was only one way out. “Call again for an emergency exfil,” he told Hunter. “Tell them we’ll stay in the building as long as possible.”

It was their only option, since the place was completely surrounded by angry Pakistanis. Trying to escape out any of the emergency exits would result in them being shot or beaten to death, and their bodies dragged through the streets by the enraged mob.

“Fire’s spreading from the north side,” Gage, the retired Special Forces master sergeant reminded him as Hunter got back on the radio to stress the urgency of their situation. “All exits and staircases on that side are out.”

“We’ll have to get to the roof and wait there,” Scottie answered.

“What’s the story on that bird?” Hunter demanded to the man on the other end of his radio, shoving his finger into his other ear to hear the response over the chaos.

“Working on it, sir.”

Not good enough. “We’ve got two Pakistani officials and the American ambassador with us, and we’ve only got a few more minutes before that mob gets inside.” He and his teammates had already spent the last thirty minutes fighting their way through the rabble to get inside the place and secure the surviving diplomats. Getting out was going to be way harder.

Rounds started slamming into the window above them. Spider webs formed

around the impact sites. Dozens of them. He ducked instinctively when the so- called bullet resistant glass finally splintered. They all hit the deck and covered their heads with their arms as chunks of it rained down. A split second later a hail of bullets peppered the far wall behind them, a few feet over their heads.

The roar outside intensified instantly. Two firebombs flew through the shattered window, hit the floor and exploded into a wall of flame. Hunter didn’t get a chance to hear what the man was saying to him over the radio. From the sudden rise in volume of that terrible roar, he knew the crowd had finally cleared the wall and were about to storm the building.

Fucking hell. He grabbed his rifle and rolled back into a crouch as the wall of noise pulsed against his eardrums. They were about to be overrun, and all because some dickhead preacher back home had decided burning the Quran would be a great publicity stunt to show how much he and the rest of America hated Islam. The incident had not only angered the Muslim world, it had already cost the lives of more than a hundred innocent people caught in the crossfire. Including an American philanthropist the Taliban had captured and killed in the tribal region of Pakistan for trying to promote female education. Then they’d used the Quran burning incident to justify the man’s brutal murder and incite the general populace to attack American interests in the country.

“Go,” Scottie shouted over the confusion, grabbing the white-faced American ambassador by the upper arm. He hauled the man toward the closest hallway, filled with hellish orange light from the fires while the other two team members took charge of the Pakistanis.

In a running crouch Hunter followed behind, covering their six. A few yards into the hallway the smoke was already noticeably thicker, making them cough as they raced to find a stairwell that would take them to the roof. They turned right and stopped short at the sheet of flame licking the walls and ceiling ahead of them, blocking their exit. Veering left, they ran blindly down another hallway just as the enraged mob breached the building.

Hunter could hear the shouts and pounding footsteps closing in on them, moving closer with every heartbeat. Shots rang out behind them, way too close. Whirling, he went to one knee and brought his M4 up, fired at the shadowy shapes that appeared around the corner. He dropped three of them before he jumped to his feet and raced after his teammates’ hazy silhouettes as they disappeared into the smoke down the corridor in front of him.

“Over here! Hurry!”

He spun and followed Gage’s shout, staying low to keep out of the worst of the choking, toxic smoke. Thirty yards in, the air began to clear slightly. He could just make out the doorway at the end of the hall and ran straight for it. But

he wasn’t fast enough.

More attackers spilled into the corridor behind them and opened fire. A burst of rounds plowed into the wall next to Hunter’s head. He whipped around and returned fire, dropping two and wounding another. To his right and slightly above him he could hear his teammates’ thudding footsteps as they rushed the diplomats toward the roof. He chased after them, turning every few seconds to shoot at the men pursuing them.

The dim emergency lighting in the stairwell flickered on and off, casting eerie shadows everywhere. His lungs burned from the smoke, his heart slammed as he raced up the concrete steps. Two floors. Three. And the mob was still coming after them.

At the fourth—and top—floor he turned the corner on the stairs and came to a skidding stop when he saw his team gathered next to a steel exit door. Gage was staggering back from it, swearing and sweating, rifle held tight in his hands. Someone had already put a round through the lock mechanism, which was still holding somehow. When Gage moved aside Scottie backed up a step then slammed his boot repeatedly into the ruined lock. Even with the bullet hole and the ex-SEAL’s considerable muscle, the goddamn door didn’t budge.

Scottie looked back at him, his expression tense. “Get down to the third floor and try another stairwell.”

There was nowhere else to go. “They’re right behind us,” Hunter warned. “Go,” Scottie ordered. “I’ll watch our six this time.”

Not wasting another second, Hunter turned and ran while the others followed him back down the stairs. He careened around the corner, through a door, and tore down another hallway that led to the opposite side of the building. Distant shouts echoed up from below. His teammates were a few strides behind him. In the thinning smoke his gaze locked on the steel door at the end of the hall. Only steps away, he heard the horde coming.

He dropped to one knee in firing position as his teammates escorting the diplomats rushed passed, and waited. The moment the first attacker cleared the corner he fired, hitting him in the chest. The guy fell, arms outstretched, knocking back the man behind him. Hunter shot him in the head and didn’t pause to watch him hit the floor.

He sprang to his feet and made a desperate charge for the door. Scottie saw him coming and stepped aside in time for Hunter to smash the lock with the sole of his boot. As the punishing impact traveled up his leg he felt the door gave way. One more well placed kick and the heavy door flew open to crash into the concrete wall. The stairwell to the fourth floor—and hopefully the roof—was clear.

The stairwell below them was going to be full of enraged attackers any moment now.

As the clean air rushed past him Hunter moved aside and glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his team with a nod. Two of them shoved the shaken diplomats through the doorway and followed up the stairs directly behind them to provide protection while Hunter and Scottie guarded the doorway.

Scottie stayed on one knee beside him, weapon up, his gaze trained down the hallway where the enemy were about to rush them when a door suddenly clanged against the wall somewhere below them. More men were coming up the stairs at them from the second floor.

Shit. “Let’s go,” Hunter shouted over the blare of the alarms, the rising shouts from behind and beneath them. The rest of the team were already up the stairs. Hunter started ascending. He could hear someone kicking at the door to the roof up there. Please open. “Come on!”

Scottie was too busy to respond. He fired a double tap in one direction, then swiveled and took aim down the stairwell to the second floor.

Hunter cursed and turned back. He was halfway to Scottie when his friend looked back at him with a pissed off glower. “Go! You’ve got the only working radio. Get everyone on the roof and onto that chopper.”

“Fuck that.” No way in hell Hunter was leaving him here to fend off the attackers alone.