Chapters (96)
- Cover
- Berkley titles by David Ricciardi
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- CHARACTER LIST
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EIGHTY-FIVE
- EIGHTY-SIX
- EIGHTY-SEVEN
- Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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“I suppose I was.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw someone strong, and kind, and generous.”
Athena smiled and they walked in silence for a few minutes.
“Would you like to join us for Christmas,” she said, “or are you going back to America?”
Though he loved his country and loved what it stood for, there was no one for Jake back in the United States.
“I’d like that very much.”
They stood in the sand as the breeze blew her hair across her face.
“When do you think you’ll get him?” she asked.
“The pirate?”
She brushed her hair back into place and nodded.
“As soon as I get the order.”
“How do you deal with all the treachery, all the duplicity?”
She’d meant a career in espionage, but Jake’s guilt from working with Yaxaas rose quickly to the surface.
“I believe in what I’m doing—protecting those who can’t protect themselves—but it comes at a cost. Sometimes I miss normal life.”
They walked to the water and stood with their feet in the surf.
“You should be thinking about your future.”
He looked at her in the moonlight, with the breeze ruffling her hair and the surf washing rhythmically over their feet.
“I should be getting back.”
FORTY-ONE
THE SUN WAS high in the Somali sky, with only a few cottony clouds floating in the upper atmosphere, when the four SUVs turned off the cracked pavement and onto a dirt road. Barely more than a pair of tire tracks, the path wound through steep hills for almost a mile until it reached a rural camp about the size of a football field. It was set in the middle of a valley with a winding river on its western edge and the narrow road was the only way in or out.
The two-year drought had parched the life from the countryside. The grasses in the hills and lining the riverbank were withered and brittle and the river was nearly dry except for the few feet of muddy water that snaked down the middle of its wide banks. The skeletal remains of several animals littered the dry riverbed, picked clean by scavengers and bleached white by the sun.
The camp’s gate slid open and a tall man, wearing a sleeveless shirt and bandoliers of machine gun ammunition draped across his chest, met the four vehicles in the center of camp. Camp workers unloaded the trucks while the man with the bandoliers led the newly arrived men into one of the camp’s crude buildings.
Yaxaas was waiting inside.
Though the warlord had no formal education, he was a student of history.