Griffin swore under his breath. Surely Cal wasn’t busting up a simple supper between him and Sherri. He knew his boss was deeply suspicious of Griffin’s feelings for Sherri. But he was allowed to talk with his trainee from time to time, wasn’t he?

Griffin hurried for the door with Sherri on his heels. He asked Ken tersely, “What’s up?”

“I don’t know. Boss told Jojo and Trevor to head down to the airstrip and put out flares. And then he called for an emergency briefing. Apparently, there’s a plane arriving in the next hour or so.”

Disgust exploded in Griffin’s gut. “Please God, tell me it’s not some congressional delegation coming to check out the progress of the golden girls.”

Kenny answered as the three of them sprinted for Kettering’s office. “Nah. Something’s happened downrange. Cal’s laptop exploded with message traffic when I was having a drink with him. He took one look and started spouting orders.”

Normally, SEAL platoons were texted several hours before the show time for a mission brief. Not only the operators but also the full support team that would be sent out with them were all briefed at once.

What could be so important that he and the other Reapers were being brought into the loop so urgently? They might be training future women SEALs, but the operative word there was training. Their whole platoon was down for a training rotation. For the next three months, it was not their turn at bat to deploy.

Kenny and Sherri entered the conference room attached to Kettering’s office ahead of him. Cal was already seated at the table, looking even grimmer than usual. Not good. Actual alarm started to buzz in Griffin’s gut. Something bad was afoot. Something Cal didn’t like. And that man’s instincts were never wrong.

Over the next few minutes, Sam, Axel, and the other women joined them. Pregnant silence settled. No one engaged in the usual chatter as they waited to find out what crisis had exploded and where.

Jojo and Trevor burst into the room, and Kettering ordered tersely, “Close the door, gentlemen.” Cal stood up and said without preamble, “A few hours ago, Abu Haddad was sighted by an American drone in the Kirdu province of Pakistan.”

Abu Haddad? Griffin swore silently and violently. Haddad was only the most wanted terrorist on the whole planet.

“Is he dead yet?” Griffin asked tightly. Haddad, a tribal terrorist leader who’d risen to power at the highest levels of the Taliban, had been a pain in the U.S. military’s ass for the past decade. The bastard was responsible for the deaths of hundreds, possibly thousands of Americans, soldiers and contractors, good men and women all. He’d been at the top of the SEAL hit list for a while.