Thirty yards away, in a pocket surrounded by hills, acacia, and Borassus palms, captured in a circle of trampled grasses, sat a small compound of terrorists. The Abu Nidal jihadist group. And imprisoned in a dirt building without windows at the south end was their target, journalist Rowen White.

Only not a journalist, but a member of the CIA and a senator’s younger brother, which was the problem.

Too many secrets in Rowen’s head for him not to be rescued. Or executed, which wasn’t an option, at least not for Colt’s team leader, Ace. Which was why they’d hunted Abu Nidal soldiers for a week, in and around local villages. Why they’d snatched one, dragged him into their safe house, and employed some pressure. The young man had spit out the location of the nest almost too easily.

That thought sat in Colt’s gut even as he listened to Elvis humming through the coms. “Are you lonesome tonight . . .”

“Cut the serenade,” Ace said, tucked into the darkness on the other side of camp. He led the assault team, with Elvis, Nuggsy, Batman, Irish, Leroy, Rags, and Nelson. “Sam, you ready?”

“Ready.” Colt found his feet. Vader nudged in behind him. The green of his NVG illuminated his path over to the prisoners’ hut.

“Marsh, you got eyes on the target?” Ace asked one of their overwatch snipers, tucked somewhere in the hills behind them. Across the camp, watching the west end, was Nuggsy, a youngster who’d only recently joined the team.

“They just brought White out to relieve himself. He’s back in the nest now,” Marsh said.

From the intel of Ahmed, the young man they’d nabbed, they’d learned the strength and rhythm of the camp.

And that they were running out of time. White was due to be sold any day.

Then the fun and games would really start.

“On my word, we go,” Ace said.

It should have been easy. According to Ahmed, only a handful of soldiers remained in camp. But even as Ace’s command hissed into the coms—Execute!—as Colt ran forward, toward the edge of the camp, he felt it in his gut—no, his chest.

Something wasn’t right.

Gunfire burst from a location on the east side of the camp, Ace’s team, keeping them occupied.

Colt and Vader scurried along the edge of the handful of huts, staying low, headed for the building that held White.

The compound came alive with soldiers, now swarming out of their huts. The acrid bite of propellant, shouts, the peppering of gunfire smoked the air. In the chaos, he and Vader edged toward the prisoner.

“Entering Primary,” Colt said as he confirmed—no guard—and kicked in the flimsy door.

Vader peeled into the opening, gun out. Colt stepped in behind him, even as Vader yelled. “Sam—ambush!”

A shot, and everything inside Colt seized as Vader dropped, a shot to his head.