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Chapters (88)
  1. Titles by Mark Greaney
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. CONTENTS
  7. Epigraph
  8. CHARACTERS
  9. PROLOGUE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. 49
  59. 50
  60. 51
  61. 52
  62. 53
  63. 54
  64. 55
  65. 56
  66. 57
  67. 58
  68. 59
  69. 60
  70. 61
  71. 62
  72. 63
  73. 64
  74. 65
  75. 66
  76. 67
  77. 68
  78. 69
  79. 70
  80. 71
  81. 72
  82. 73
  83. 74
  84. 75
  85. 76
  86. 77
  87. 78
  88. EPILOGUE

He went inside, flipped on a light, and began looking around. Zack followed him in. They walked between several shelves packed with a large collection of more esoteric equipment. Microdrones, robot cameras, even a heartbeat detector for tactical teams that looked useful to Court until he tried to lift it, then decided he’d rather check back in a few years when the eggheads got it miniaturized into something he wouldn’t have to schlep around like a medicine ball.

They read the tags and printed material attached to several other different pieces of equipment. Hightower said, “I don’t think you and I are smart enough to figure all this shit out.”

But Court knelt down over a black watertight case and pulled a laminated instruction booklet out of an attached plastic pouch.

Hightower walked over to the unit and bent down to see what had Court so engaged. He read the label on the case, then he read it again. Then he shook his head. “Hell no.”

“Hell yes,” replied Court.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“You’re a hero, dude. But you’re not a superhero. That right there is a one-way ride to hell.”

“I can make it work.”

“You’re gonna die.”

“Gotta die of something.”

“Shit, man, die of something else.”

Despite continued protests from Zack, Court lifted the twenty-five-pound case and lugged it out with the rest of the gear they would take back with them.

Zack followed him out. “Seriously, Six, what the hell are you thinking about doing? It’s eight dudes in a house. We go in, hit it, and quit it.”

Court said, “I’m planning ahead. I’m going after Denny.”

“Fuck that. Denny’s untouchable. Hanley would never sanction it.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t work for the CIA. I’d probably get written up or something.”

—

Just after nine thirty a.m., a small blue and white helicopter flew low over the trees at the west end of Harvey Point, and then it slowed to a hover over a grassy field just south of the SAD storage facility. Zack and Court stood next to all their cases and packs of gear and watched the helicopter land.

The aircraft powered down and Chris Travers climbed out of the right seat, then walked directly over to the two men.

There was no greeting. He just said, “I hope you dumbasses don’t think you are taking all that shit on board this helo.”

Zack said, “We weighed it. Two hundred forty-five pounds of kit. That’s a Robinson R44 you’re flying there. You can carry this, us, and more.”

Travers did not press the issue; even though Hightower was nearly fifteen years Travers’s senior, he was still an intimidating character.

The three men loaded the aircraft, then they climbed in themselves. Travers took off into a sunny morning and flew the men to the north.