As he scanned the faces of his men, Grant felt his cynicism grow. He’d given money to the president’s campaign and his wife had actually volunteered to help get the vote out. Did that have something to do with him being there? Did the men around him have similar stories? Because this was clearly the purview of a SEAL team or Delta or some of those crazy recon Marines. Men who had trained together, who specialized in these kinds of ops, and who had experience in this kind of terrain.

Did the White House figure he was so blinded by the radiance of Anthony Cook that he wanted to get his ass shot off? If so, they needed to think again. He’d supported Cook because the entire US political system needed an enema and he was the best bet at making that happen. The man wasn’t the second coming, though. Just a politician who was maybe a little more competent and less sleazy than the others.

Or maybe not.

The vehicle began to slow, and Grant looked over the cab at the remains of something that only a few days ago had been a research facility funded by none other than Nicholas Ward. It wasn’t much more than a burned-out ruin now, but the forest behind it was barely even singed. Based on the information he had, the fire had been set in a rainstorm that kept it from spreading. It seemed likely that Chism had been inside at the time and, as far as Grant was concerned, his barbecued corpse probably still was.

They stopped in what appeared to have been the parking lot and everyone climbed out.

“This is the place,” their local guide said, raising his index finger toward the jungle to the east. “They would have had to escape to the—”

“Don’t point,” Grant said, assuming they were being watched. “Now get your gear together. I want to be out of here in ten minutes.”

He looked around him at basically nothing. There was no reason for any of the facility’s employees to return. There was nothing left that would interest looters. And the Ugandan responders had pronounced the debris free of bodies days ago. Gideon Auma’s men were still in the area, though, taking the long-shot bet that the scientists were alive and out there somewhere.

His men had donned their packs and were similarly examining the tangled forest that they were about to wade into. Grant motioned them to the other side of the lot, away from their guide.

“Are we good?” he said when they formed around him.

All looked at each other, waiting for someone to say something. Finally, a man to Grant’s right spoke up.

“What the hell are we doing here?”

“I don’t think I understand the question…” He almost said “soldier” but managed to catch himself. This clandestine bullshit wasn’t his thing.