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  To Alex, for everything you do

  PROLOGUE

  Afghanistan, Pakita Province

  I can see the target,” Simon Kincaid said, his attention on the cluster of buildings directly below them.

  “Any movement?” Avery Solomon asked. As the commander of A-Tac, a black-ops division of the CIA, Avery was in charge of their mission. And Simon could think of no one he’d rather follow into a red zone.

  At the moment, the team was zeroing in on a suspected terrorist encampment in a hidden valley in the Afghan mountains. It had taken the team three days to hike into the hidden basin after a midnight airdrop courtesy of an Air Force Black Hawk.

  “Nothing at all. In fact, the place looks deserted. Which seems odd considering the intel.” Simon frowned, lowering his field glasses. “This would be a lot easier if we had a full set of eyes and ears.”

  “Yeah, well, the mountains block satellite access,” Avery said. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

  Simon had to admit that given the choice he’d rather have all the bells and whistles Langley’s technology could provide. But there was also a rush in depending only on boots on the ground. That and a bitter sense of foreboding. The last time he’d walked into a situation like this one, it hadn’t ended well. Simon closed his eyes, fighting memories, his leg aching in protest. The truth was that the raid in Somalia could never truly be relegated to his past. Hell, he carried it with him every goddamned day.

  “You okay?” Avery asked, his gaze probing, as usual, seeing too much.

  “I’m fine,” Simon said, fighting irritation. It wouldn’t do to snap at his boss. Besides, he’d moved on, and this was just another mission, the similarities to his past irrelevant. “Just a little concerned about the lack of activity down there.”

  “I’ll second that,” Drake Flynn said, materializing beside them. When not tasked with an operation, Drake was an archeologist by profession, which meant he was an expert at extractions—both living and dead. “Tyler and I scouted the far perimeter, and we didn’t see any signs of life.”

  “Which means they were tipped off,” Tyler added, dropping down next to Simon and lifting her field glasses. Tyler was the unit’s munitions expert. A whiz with all things ordnance, she also taught English at Sunderland, an interesting dichotomy to say the least. “Or maybe our intel was wrong.”

  “Not a chance,” Nash Brennon, the unit’s second in command, said with a frown. “More likely it’s a trap.”

  “We certainly can’t ignore the possibility,” Avery agreed. “But we’ve also come too far to turn back now.”

  Their intel had identified the hidden compound as being run by a fanatic named Kamaal Sahar. Sahar, an elusive son of a bitch, had been tied at least indirectly to several terrorist attacks occurring in the Middle East over the past five years. And, there was also intel connecting him to the Consortium, an organization seemingly bent on facilitating international terrorist agendas, most likely for their own financial gain.

  A-Tac had had its share of run-ins with the organization. Most of them before Simon came on board. But he’d been present for long enough to know that they were a viable opponent, a direct threat, not only to the unit, but to the nation. And as such, an enemy that had to be destroyed—whatever the cost.

  “So how do you want to proceed?” Nash asked Avery.

  “We go in. But cautiously. Even if this isn’t a trap, there could be civilians present.” His gaze moved from his number two to the scattered buildings below.

  There were maybe half a dozen, most of them looking the worse for wear. Living in Afghanistan, especially in this province, meant existing in the middle of a war zone. One that the majority of the world’s population most likely didn’t even comprehend.

  The village was situated around a square, a dilapidated fountain in the center. On the far side, one of the structures had a hole in the roof, the result of mortar rounds. And nearest to them, two more buildings had also been damaged. At the far end, a storefront with rooms upstairs seemed to have minimal damage and the two-story building next to it showed no visible signs of attack. Unlike the other structures in the town, it was constructed of stone, making it look out of place amid its mud-stuccoed neighbors.

  Throughout the region, U.S. forces had constructed buildings in an effort not only to shore up support for allied troops but also in a somewhat misguided attempt to improve villagers’ lifestyles. Problem was that said villagers weren’t always so keen on having their lives changed. And even when they accepted the modern additions, often the insurgents managed to take down new buildings almost as quickly as they were erected.

  “I’m thinking, if there’s anything to find, it’ll be in the stone building,” Avery continued, breaking into Simon’s thoughts. “It’s the most defensible place in the village.”

  “Copy that,” Nash said. “But to access it, we’re going to have to come in hot. Until we reach the first building, there’s nothing down there to give us cover. Which doesn’t bode well if you’re right and there are civilians.”

  “So what we need is a distraction,” Simon mused. “Something to hold their attention long enough to allow us to get into town and gain cover.”

  “I might be able to help there,” Tyler said, reaching into her bag to produce a cylindrical grenade.

  “Flashbang.” Drake grinned as he looked down at the weapon. First developed in the 1960s, nonlethal stun grenades were meant to incapacitate combatants, using sound and light to disorient. “That ought to do the trick. But how do you intend to put it into play? Even a professional ballplayer hasn’t got enough of an arm to launch that thing from here into the village.”

  “True enough.” Tyler nodded, pulling a second grenade from her duffel. “But if I use those boulders on the far slope for cover, I just might be able to get close enough. And if the grenades detonate on the far side, all the better for you guys coming in from here. If anyone’s down there, they won’t be able to formulate a coherent thought, let alone attack someone. It should buy you a few minutes.”

  “And you really think you can make it down there without being detected?” Avery asked, clearly considering the idea.

  “Yeah. Piece of cake.” She slid the grenades into pockets in her flak jacket. “And if things go south, you’ll still have your distraction.” Her smile belied the seriousness of her words. “Just give me a few minutes to get into place.”

  “You get the hell out of there as soon as you release the grenades,” Avery instructed. “Radio when you’re in place.” Avery tapped the earbud tucked inside his ear. “And if you can’t get back to us, then head for the rendezvous.”

  “Copy that,” Tyler said, already in motion.

  “All right, people, let’s make ready,” Avery said, as he watched Tyler disappear into the scrub as she worked her way over to the far slope. “We want to make sure Tyler’s efforts count for something.”

  The team moved into action, checking both weapons and gear. Everyone was silent, left to their own thoughts, and Simon felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that always accompanied a firefight. The enemy might be different,
as well as his comrades in arms, but the battle was always the same. Us against them. And no matter how many wins or losses, it seemed there was always another fight just around the corner.

  It was never-ending.

  Which was just as well, because Simon was good at fighting. Hell, pure and simple, he lived for it. A win was worth whatever losses they might sustain. It was the greater good that mattered. At least that’s what he told himself in the middle of the fucking night when his mind was filled with thoughts of the dead. People he’d loved and lost.

  Goddamn it.

  “I’m here,” Tyler said, her voice sounding hollow across the distance of the mountain basin. “Thirty seconds until detonation.”

  “Copy that,” Avery acknowledged, as he nodded for everyone to get ready.

  Below them, the little village erupted with white light and the roaring reverberation of Tyler’s flashbang.

  “Go,” Avery mouthed, his voice lost in the fury.

  Moving on instinct and adrenaline, Simon headed down the rocky slope, his feet skimming across the rock-strewn ground, his focus on the closest building. They had maybe fifty yards left to cover. A second explosion sounded below them. Tyler still at work. Somewhere in the distance, Simon thought he heard the sound of machine-gun fire.

  His thoughts flew to Tyler, but then he pushed them aside. Nothing mattered except the objective. Take the village and neutralize any terrorists they might find.

  He was the first to hit the rock fence that surrounded the closest building. A barn maybe. It was crudely built, and the roof was badly in need of repair. He slid to a stop on the left side of the building and cast a quick look over his shoulder as he inched forward. Nash and Drake were right behind him, Avery bringing up the rear. The sound was abating now, the smell of magnesium-laced smoke drifting on the air.

  As Nash slid into place beside him, Avery and Drake moved into the barn itself. After a silent count of three, Simon cautiously peered around the corner. Dust, kicked up in the wake of the grenades, swirled around the fountain. Silence stretched through the village, deep and deadly.

  Simon hesitated a heartbeat and then swung into the square. Nothing moved. “We seem to be clear,” Simon said into his com unit’s mic.

  Nash followed right behind him, Drake and Avery stepping out of the barn just ahead. The wall fronting the barn offered a modicum of protection as they moved forward.

  “Nothing inside,” Avery said. “Looks like the place has been deserted for a while.”

  “So maybe this was a bum steer,” Simon said, his attention jerking to a flash of movement on the far side of the square. “Or then again maybe not.” He nodded in the direction of the motion, only to release a breath as Tyler’s blonde hair caught the sun as she moved around the building’s edge.

  “It’s clear over here,” she said, her words echoing in his ear. “Nobody’s home.”

  Nash moved away from the protection of the wall, and after lifting his hand to signal his intent, dashed across the dusty square to join Tyler on the other side, the two groups flanking the square now as they moved forward.

  Still nothing moved, and Simon released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Maybe Tyler was right, and their intel was wrong, and this was just some godforsaken hellhole in the middle of the mountains.

  They searched the next two buildings, again with nothing to show for it. The ravages of war were everywhere, from the damaged walls and rooftops to the abandoned signs of humanity. A faded photograph, shattered china, and a child’s ball.

  Moving more quickly now, intent on exploring the storefront and the stone structure, Simon led the way, gun at the ready. Avery and Tyler came next, staying low, moving almost in tandem on their respective sides of the square. Behind them, walking backward, Nash and Drake kept eyes on the rear, making sure there was nothing to threaten from behind.

  Simon slowed as they neared the stone building, his senses going on high alert. There was still no noise, but something had triggered his attention. He motioned the others still, eyes narrowed as he swept his gaze across the windows on the remaining buildings. Nothing moved. But still he waited. And then after a slow count to ten, he took a step forward.

  Bullets strafed across the square, sending dust spiraling into the air.

  “Fall back,” Simon shouted, not bothering to use his comlink. He dove for cover, another round of fire whizzing past his shoulder as he rolled to the relative safety of a building. “We’ve got a sniper.” This time he spoke into his com unit, his eyes still searching the buildings in front of him for signs of life.

  “Looks like we were right about the stone building,” Avery said, pointing to a top window on the far left.

  Sunlight flashed on something metal, and the curtains swayed ominously.

  “Son of a bitch,” Drake growled, moving to crouch beside them.

  Across the way, Nash and Tyler were huddled behind an abandoned cart of some kind.

  “You guys got a shot?” Avery asked. “Angle’s impossible from here.”

  “Negative,” Nash replied. “Besides, either he’s moving or there’s more than one of them. The first shots came from a different window.” He motioned to a window two down from the one where they’d just seen movement. “I could try to ease my way around back.”

  “Won’t work,” Tyler’s voice replaced Nash’s. “There are windows on at least three sides. We make a move, he’ll see, and odds are, he’s got a shot.”

  “So what?” Drake groused. “We just call it a day and head back into the mountains?”

  “Not likely,” Simon said, his mind already working on the angles. “I can’t get a shot from here, but if I can make it up to the second floor over there, I should be able to take the son of a bitch out. I’ll just need covering fire.”

  “Well, whatever we do, I think sooner is better than later.” Drake raised an eyebrow, his grin at odds with the grim nature of their situation. “The longer we sit on our asses, the more time the hostile up there has to call in reinforcements.”

  Avery nodded his agreement. “Simon, you’ll go on three. We’ll hold him off, and as soon as you’re clear, I’ll follow behind you.”

  “I don’t need—” he started.

  “Help. I know,” Avery said, cutting him off with the wave of a hand. “But I can draw the hostile’s fire better from closer in. And in order to get the shot, you’re going to need me to get the asshole to engage. Otherwise he’ll just move out of range.”

  Simon started to argue again, but stopped himself. Truth was he preferred a solo act. That propensity had become his Achilles heel in the SEALs. Hell, it had probably gotten Ryan killed. He blew out a breath and nodded, moving into place as Avery held up his fist.

  One finger, two, and then three.

  Simon dashed into the opening between the two buildings, the gunman above them immediately opening fire. Nash and Drake both responded with volleys of their own, and Simon just tucked and ran, feeling the ground beneath his feet reverberating from the shots.

  In what felt like an eternal stretch of minutes, he made his way onto the rickety planking that served as a porch for the store-fronted building. There was a sporadic continuation of gunfire and then, like before, everything was quiet.

  “Everyone okay?” Simon spoke softly into his comlink.

  “Affirmative,” Avery responded. “You in one piece?”

  “Roger that,” Simon said. “Moving into place now.”

  Turning his attention to the task at hand, he made quick work of searching the bottom floor, relieved that there were no surprise residents. Then, taking the stairs two at a time, he hit the upper floor just as the shooting began again in earnest as Avery moved into position.

  Simon crossed to the window, kneeling so that his head was just barely above the sill. It took a moment to locate the gunman again. But after a volley from just below him, Simon saw the movement he was looking for—a flash as the sun hit the muzzle of the machine gun, three windo
ws closer from where they’d originally spotted him.

  Simon pulled his rifle from his pack and adjusted the scope. He’d come to A-Tac as a logistics man, but when Annie Brennon, Nash’s wife, had announced that she was retiring, he’d taken on her duties as team sniper as well. He steadied his hand and closed an eye, waiting for Avery to work his magic.

  “I’m engaging now,” Avery said, a blast of gunfire from directly below Simon underscoring the words.

  Unlike the previous window, the one the gunman occupied now was curtainless and open. All the better to take him down. Simon smiled as the man leaned into view, his gun trained on Avery.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Simon squeezed the trigger.

  The man’s eyes widened and then he fell forward, half in and half out of the window.

  “Hooah.” The cry over the comlink came from Tyler. And Simon pumped a fist in response, his gaze searching the area for anything to contraindicate the idea that the shooter had been acting alone.

  Everything was quiet, and with a sigh of relief, Simon headed down the stairs to join the rest of the team.

  “Good shooting,” Drake said as Simon stepped back into the square. “Got him in one. Don’t think Annie could have done it any better.”

  “High praise,” Simon acknowledged, his body still pumping adrenaline. “Gotta admit it was one hell of a rush.”

  “Now you sound like her, too,” Tyler said with a laugh as she and Nash joined them on their side of the plaza. “But swear to God, I don’t see the point of such a risky maneuver if you can just blow the damn target.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes you just don’t need the overkill,” Nash said, his tone teasing. “But in a pinch, I’ll take whatever works. Hell of a shot, Simon.”

  “Any chance it’s Kamaal?” he asked, rolling the body over so that they could see the face.

  “There aren’t any really clear pictures of the man,” Nash responded. “But I’d say this guy is way too young.”

  “Pity, that.” Simon nodded down at the dead man. “Would have liked to have taken him down.”