“Easy, Tex. Why you always in a hurry? It’ll all sort itself out soon enough. It always does,” said Charles Davis, the remaining operator on the team and Noah’s best friend. Whereas Noah was intense, driven, and aggressive, Charles was as cool as a summer breeze, to the point that Noah was convinced the African American from Atlanta had been raised by a Zen master from the Tibetan monks. Unlike Noah, Charles had found his way to SAD by the traditional route—the military via the Navy SEALs as a chief petty officer.

It wasn’t Tibetan monks, but an honest, decent, and hardworking man named Earnest Davis who’d actually raised Charles, ensuring the smart, athletic boy had every advantage that Earnest could afford from his high-paying blue-collar job as a welder. Charles had never met his mother, who’d died in childbirth, but his father considered him a blessing for surviving the delivery. He’d provided a steady, nurturing environment, moving from an apartment in the Old Fourth Ward to a blossoming suburb and better schools. Charles had thrived, excelling at school and sports, particularly wrestling and basketball, although he was only five foot ten. He’d always intended to go to college, but plans—as he’d later learn in the SEAL teams—never unfolded the way they were visualized at inception. His father had died of a sudden heart attack, a widow-maker that he’d had no chance of surviving, the week after Charles’s high school graduation. He’d been devastated, and he’d stayed with his wrestling coach, who’d been one of his father’s closest friends. Hours of informal mentoring and talking had led Charles to make a decision he’d questioned initially but eventually would be convinced had been the right one—to forego college and join the navy. He’d felt lost without his dad, and the military structure called to him in his darkest hours. Nine years later, after multiple tours in Iraq and the Philippines and an encounter with a case officer hunting Islamist terrorists in the Philippines, Charles had left the teams for the clandestine world of the CIA with no regrets.

“Give me a break, brother. We’ve been here a month, and we’re minutes from showtime. Are you seriously telling me that after weeks of preparation, you’re not a little bit eager to get this show on the road and take these two down?”

Charles smiled as he put four duffel bags down on the hardwood floor. “Did I say that? That’s what you heard. I’m ready to go, but there’s no rush. The bullets and Band-Aids always come in due time. Enjoy the ocean air while you still can.”