"What are you talking about?"
"You think I don't know?" He smirks and leans on his rifle. "I feel it, brother. The decision to retire hovers around you like a goddamn aura. Good call, by the way. You can't coach T-ball from overseas." Justin shoves a piece of gum in his mouth as he did each time we traveled. It's his way of easing tension, and although he's a figment of my imagination, his presence relieves some of mine.
I smile a bit and shrug. I've got a feeling today is going to be a good day. "Yeah, well, let's talk about that later. Right now, we have a target."
"Hoo-yah," he calls and settles in, staring straight ahead as he pops his damn Trident.
"And Justin?"
"Yeah, brother?"
"It's good to see you."
He smirks and nods. "Don't you know it."
Minutes tick by, and I slip into necessary concentration, reviewing the mission brief in my mind. After the second go 'round, Axel stands. My pulse skyrockets. A marker is given.
Thirty seconds.
Wind, a blast of heat, the night air, and one by one we drop.
It's a fast, short free fall. The chute catches, and I slow. The compound is a half-mile north from our drop-off.
Two buildings.
Six SEALs.
One ghost.
I hit the ground.
Silence.
Let's do this.
Cut the cords. Hide the chutes.
We run single file, approaching an unguarded barbed-wire gate. Garrison tugs bolt cutters from his vest. Two minutes and we're in. Gun drawn and steady, I sprint twenty yards forward. I'm flat against a mud wall, a door next to me. I signal Bear. We exchange a look, a gesture. He flicks the latch. I rush in, searching. Bear follows, squeezing off a round. A target to my right falls.
One table.
Three chairs.
Three cups.
Only one man.
I nod and we move farther in, Garrison now behind us. A shadow to my left, a slight movement. I level my gun and make eye contact with an insurgent peeking around a corner. I fire. He crumbles with a bullet between his eyes.
Axel sounds in my ear. Building two is clear. No Marik. No Lawless.
Downstairs. I glance behind me, and the figment of my imagination points to the far corner. There isn't a basement according to our recon, but Justin is insistent, charging to hover by a hanging blanket. I follow, pushing back the heavy weave to find a hidden entry.
I listen. A slight rustle could be the wind, but the garbled cry that accompanies it is not. He's here. My father is below me-I can feel it in a rush of adrenalin.
Steely resolve settles in my limbs. I unclip a knife at my hip but leave it holstered. One step, two. Bear and Garrison are close behind.
Silence.
It's pitched black, but night vision paints the scene green. A narrow flight of stairs. I slide against the one solid wall and inch down. The ground is dry dirt. The room is open.
Left side-I swing and aim. Two men. The first is bloodied and mangled. His face is swollen but one eye is open, and I would know it anywhere. Fuck. My chest constricts with the need to bolt to his side, but I hold my ground.
Marik has Dad by the neck, a gun to his head. If I fire, he fires.
God, I want to kill this asshole. Instead, I lift my hands, loosening the grip I have on my gun. It falls, thudding heavy in the dirt. I have three more strapped to my body.
"I've dropped my weapon."
"It's of no use. He's as good as dead," Marik says in accented but excellent English.
"Then you have no reason not to hand him over. We came for the hostage. Give him up, and we leave," I say, inching closer as I talk. Marik doesn't have goggles on. He'll lack details and depth perception in the dark without the technology.
Dad grunts. I glance at his ravaged face but catch his signal. It's weak, but I understand. His feet slip out from under him, dragging Marik off balance enough that he can twist and land an elbow to his kidney.
I lunge forward, ripping the knife from my belt as I go. Marik fires. Bright light. A plume of smoke. Grunted pain. Dad collapses to the floor. Marik aims. I knock away his weapon with one hand, but he rounds on me with a quick kick to my thigh. Fuck. I bite back the pain and lunge, slicing through the air. Wide-eyed, Marik grabs his neck. Blood pools around his fingers. He falls.
Breath rushes from my lungs in a whoosh. I drop to my knees, pushing Marik's lifeless body off of Dad.
One soldier.
Restore breathing. Stop the bleeding. Pack the wound. Treat for shock.
No pulse.
Pump his chest.
One, two, three to thirteen.
"Come on," I roar and pump harder.
Justin sinks beside me, and I look into his eyes.
Silence.
"No," I cry.
Dread pools in my gut.