“Then you’re on your own.”

“Yeah.”

“We understand how difficult this situation is for you. It’s not something we take lightly. Or forget easily.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll look forward to you getting back and starting the next phase of your career. And your life.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Try to relax, Mike. You have the most powerful weapon ever devised by nature on your side.”

“What’s that?”

“Your opponent’s trust.”

The line went dead, and Nash looked over at the phone before ripping the headphones out and throwing them against the passenger-side window.

47

SOUTHWESTERN UGANDA

AS African buses went, this one wasn’t so bad. Nash had a double seat to himself with only ten or so other passengers on board. No children, no farm animals. Just darkness and silence so thick it made it hard to breathe. In truth, he’d have welcomed a few crying kids and pissed-off chickens.

The Cessna turboprop that he’d boarded outside of Clanwilliam, South Africa, had dropped him at a dirt landing strip in a mountainous area of what he assumed was Uganda. There he’d been picked up in a Toyota sedan that had been on the road since he was in grade school and shuttled to the nearest town. After spending an afternoon being led through crowded markets and random buildings, he’d been ushered onto this bus. That had been two hours ago.

The dusty headlights caused the forest on either side to glow a deep green and he watched the trees pass from his position next to the window. Claudia had accomplished her goal with the expected efficiency. He was completely alone and off the radar now. His only possessions were contained in the small backpack in the seat next to him: two liters of water, a few energy bars, a tablet, a satphone, and a Colt M45 pistol.

Beyond that, he had the clothes on his back and a small tin of Excedrin in his shirt pocket. Nash availed himself of the latter, popping two in his mouth and swallowing without the aid of a drink. Whether they’d do anything about his cracking skull remained to be seen. Likely not.

He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. It didn’t work, though. Instead, he drifted back to his time in the Marine Corps. Fighting an enemy that could be seen and defined. The clearly delineated battle between good and evil. The strange comfort of being a piece on the chessboard and not the player hovering over it.

He should have never left. He’d been well respected and well liked. His combat record had been impeccable. He could have risen to the rank of colonel and spent his career commanding loyal operators without hidden agendas or grand plans. Just a desire to protect their countrymen and defend their comrades.