Roadblock ran toward her, but it was too late. She leapt, grabbing the skid, the chip in her teeth like a golden coin.

To be continued...

“Roadblock!” Flint yelled over the comms. “The deal is going down! If that resonator hits the Gobi fault line, Beijing and Ulaanbaatar are gone in an hour!”

But the woman, Almas, heard him anyway.

02:00 HRS (Local)

Suddenly, the horses crested a dune. But the riders were not men. They were Cobra Vipers in heavy Mongolian deel coats, their masks painted like bronze death masks. Leading them was a figure wrapped in white fox fur.

Snake Eyes said nothing. He simply picked up Almas’s dropped shamshir and sheathed it. A promise.