And while he was struggling mightily with survivor’s guilt, that very survival obligated him not to waste the rest of his life feeling sorry for himself or blaming others. Jake had always distinguished himself by his ability to maintain a level head and keep pushing forward when the world around him was crumbling, and it was time to do it again. The forces of good needed him back in the fight.

He would have to be his best when he felt his worst.

It was time not only to accept that death followed him but to embrace it. If the Ground Branch men, Athena, and Pickens had to die, then so would Yaxaas and the other sons of bitches who’d made Somalia a living hell. Jake would use that energy to once again drive him forward.

All the pain. All the suffering. All the death.

It was like sharpening the sword.

SEVENTY

JAKE TOOK THE Glock off the table.

It was time to get to work.

Jake had never let hatred guide his actions. Hate was too emotional, too unfocused—more a product of internal strife than external forces. And Jake did not take lightly the act of ending another man’s life. He’d done it many times since joining CIA, but killing had never been the primary goal—it had simply been necessary to accomplish the mission.

But not this time.

He’d decided days ago that Yaxaas had to die, but that had been business—just a tactic to achieve a objective.

Now Jake wanted to see the life drain from the warlord’s face as the man took his last breath.

Graves called several times, but Jake ignored the calls. More than once it crossed his mind that Ted might have been responsible for the blast that had killed Athena. As Clap had said, car bombs were one of Ted’s specialties. But for the immediate future it almost didn’t matter whether Jake had been disavowed and targeted for elimination or the explosion was merely a coincidence. With two dead on the Ground Branch team, and now Pickens, Graves was going to shut Jake down one way or another—leaving Yaxaas free to unleash a biological weapon on the citizens of Somalia.

Jake couldn’t let that happen.

He was going to have to stop it by himself.

But first he would have to find it.

He knew Yaxaas was storing the weapon in a camp outside the city, but Somalia was a rural country, with thousands of dirt roads and too many buildings to count. Yet, like a good analyst, Jake broke the job down into manageable pieces and got to work. He began searching online satellite maps using the only other data point he had—according to the men he’d overheard while being held in the warehouse, the location was within walking distance of a river.

An hour later, he pushed back from the computer and cursed.