A blown mission and a dead team leave Adam Hayes the last loose thread in a tapestry of betrayal in this latest high stakes international thriller from the world of Robert Ludlum. The most pressing issue on Adam Hayes' mind is planning his son's upcoming 5th birthday party. After years of operating in the world's most dangerous spots for Treadstone, he's ready to call it quits, but the feeling isn't mutual.    Levi Shaw, Treadstone's director, calls Hayes back for one more mission. "It's a walk in the park. You don't even have to go in with the strike team. I just need you to set up the safe house. You'll be home in time to pick up the birthday cake."   But nothing is ever easy where Treadstone is concerned. When the mission is blown only Hayes is left alive, and everyone, it seems, is determined to correct that oversight. Joshua Hood is the author of Warning Order and Clear by Fire . He graduated from the University of Memphis before joining the military and spending five years in the 82nd Airborne Division. On his return to civilian life he became a sniper team leader on a full-time SWAT team in Memphis, where he was awarded the lifesaving medal. Currently he works as the Director of Veteran Outreach for the American Warrior Initiative. Robert Ludlum was the author of twenty-seven novels, each one a New York Times bestseller. There are more than 225 million of his books in print, and they have been translated into thirty-two languages. He is the author of the Jason Bourne series— The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy , and The Bourne Ultimatum— among other novels. Mr. Ludlum passed away in March 2001. 1 Grant County, New Mexico   Adam Hayes opened his eyes, instantly awake and ready. He lay there assessing the darkened bedroom, left hand snaking across the sheets, seeking the reassuring warmth of his sleeping wife, his right searching for the cold steel of the Archon Type B under his pillow.   Finding both where they were supposed to be, Hayes turned his attention to the digital clock by the television.   It was four a.m.   Might as well get up, he thought.   Careful not to disturb his wife, Hayes secured the pistol in the Vaultek safe mounted to the nightstand before easing out of bed. He got to his feet and crossed to the chair by the window, the puckered scar tissue from the bullets he'd taken in Luanda tight across his thigh.   Hayes dressed in the dark-pulling on the black running shorts, gray T-shirt, and a worn pair of Salomon trail runners he'd laid out the night before-snagged a faded beanie from the dresser, and slipped out of the room. Hayes tugged the hat over his shaggy blond hair and started down the hall. He paused to look in on his son, Jack. Seeing the boy had kicked free of his blankets during the night, he stepped in to cover him.   But he wasn't halfway across the room when Tr, the black Malinois he'd bought to protect his family, was growling at him from his spot on the bed.   "Stil," he said. Quiet.   The dog went silent but remained on guard, its eyes tracking Hayes all the way to the bed like a pair of aiming lasers. "Braaf," he whispered, giving the dog an affectionate scratch behind the ears before turning his attention to his son. Well done.   Being back with his family was the dream that had kept Hayes going during his government-imposed exile to Africa, and discovering that Jack no longer slept in a crib was one of many surprises he'd found waiting for him upon his return. When he'd left, Jack was just learning to walk; now he was on the verge of turning four. Covering the boy, Hayes couldn't help but reflect on how much he'd missed.   How much time they'd stolen from him.   "I promise I'm going to make it up to you," he whispered, kissing Jack lightly on the forehead before stepping out of the room.   The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was dark and still, the only light the pale white glow from the security panel that illuminated the weighted vest and headlamp sitting by the door. Hayes picked up the vest and strapped it to his torso, his mind already compiling a list of reasons why this was a bad idea.   It is too early and way too cold out there for this crap. Stay inside, forget about this nonsense.   Hayes silenced the chatter and typed his code into the security panel, disengaging the interior alarm and the motion detectors he'd emplaced around the house before throwing the lock on the Level 3 GSS security door.   He stepped outside and closed the door behind him, the chunk of its multipoint locking cylinders sliding into place muted by the howl of the early morning wind. With the door secure, Hayes tugged the headlamp on and stepped off the porch, cursing the cold and forcing himself into a stiff-legged jog.   Located two and a half hours south of Albuquerque, New Mexico, the Lazy A was as isolated as it was beautiful, a three-hundred-acre paradise of desert grassland, pine-studded foothills, and mesquite-tangled canyons nestled in the shadow