After serving in the military for six years, she’d gotten a job contracting for the Department of Defense and worked as a translator for units all over the Middle East because she spoke all of the languages in the region without a trace of an accent. Over the years, she’d developed skills from observing interrogations, or what the military euphemistically called “tactical debriefings.” Often when she was assigned to Rick’s unit, he allowed her to take the lead. Her husband spoke Arabic well enough to get by and to guide her in the interview if needed.

Emma, whose code name became Selah after she and Peña got married, had drilled Naeem for the last two hours. The man was starting to look fatigued. Rick watched with anticipation as she changed tactics and came at Naeem from a different direction, then switched again. He couldn’t understand all her words, but he understood enough and had worked with her long enough to know her facial expressions, mannerisms, and tactics.

Rick watched the fight go out of Naeem, and he started talking. Peña perked up, and Emma nodded. Finally, she looked up at Peña and said, “I have coordinates.”

“Is it guaranteed that Gamal Khalil will be there?” Peña asked.

“He is confirmed.” Emma spoke in Arabic to Naeem, then stood up. “He says we’ve just killed his family.”

“Not us,” Rick said. “Khalil will.” He made a circling motion with his finger, and the team started packing up. “If this intel pans out, we’ll get him and his family to Jordan. That was the deal.”

She spoke to Naeem again, and he covered his face with his hands and nodded.

Rick looked at Fisher and said, “Get HQ a SITREP.”

Hanson came from the back of the room. “Old man’s back. He wants us there.”

“Roger.”

Rick’s team dispatched Naeem with instructions to collect his family and take them to the address he had given. Their contact in Jordan would help him with the relocation.

They got in their vehicles and drove through the streets. Rick couldn’t believe the destruction. Not a single building stood without at least some damage, and more than half the buildings had been bombed to annihilation. People picked through the rubble. He wondered what they searched for. Sentimental objects? Food? Clean water? Survivors?

Back at their base, they changed into uniforms, and he and Hanson met up with Colonel Jenkins.

“What time is the meeting?” Colonel Jenkins asked, looking at an aerial view of the coordinates.

“Twenty hundred hours,” Rick said. “Selah is finalizing her report. She said she’d email it to you on the high side as soon as she finished.”