The soldiers, as queasy a random selection from the globe’s hot spots as

could be managed on a helicopter’s notice, rounded the quiet corner with

mounting dread.

“Shit,” said Kielbasy in his thick, garlicky accent.

“Are we looking into it or what,” said Ben Fong-Torres, crouching

for cover. “Did I roll my 401(k) over into a granola bar?”

There, in front of them, wearing striped red and blue pants,