Rook nodded, steeling himself for the worst—a shipment of weapons, drugs, or other contraband. But when they entered the cargo hold where the two passengers and their package spent most of their time, Rook was decidedly unprepared for what he saw. His eyes arced around the space, taking everything in. Then he turned his eyes to the floor, careful to not meet the harsh stares of the two men.

As Dashkov explained who Rook was and what he would be doing, Rook thought about the two men. They had the distinct look of old KGB agents—thick skin; cold, deep-set eyes; and battle scars to boot. They were killers for certain. But it was the third person in the room who had fully captured his attention. The woman, perhaps in her early thirties, sat bound and gagged in a metal chair. A gash over her eye dripped blood over her face. The wound was straight and thin, delivered by a razor blade.

As the two men grunted in acknowledgment of Dashkov’s explanation, Rook chanced a look up. The woman caught his eyes. She silently pleaded with him for help, but he glanced away quickly. In that moment when their eyes met, there was a flicker of recognition, but he couldn’t place it. Something about her was familiar, yet he knew he’d never seen her before in his life.

He followed Dashkov to the deck and then to the pilot house. He wanted to apologize to the man in advance, but stayed quiet. Speaking his mind would only upset him and Rook needed to maintain the status quo until they were far out to sea.

Once they were on the high seas, they were at the mercy of Mother Nature. Anything could happen.

Anything.

It was normally impossible to predict what that might be, but Rook knew exactly what was going to happen. Dashkov be damned, he could not look the other way.

Not this time.

Chapter Seventy-Seven

SEVENTY-SIX

Pontus, Turkey

WITH NO TIME to prebreath for a HALO jump during the short flight from Iraq to Turkey, the team would attempt a new kind of drop. The Crescent, flying at thirty thousand feet, would descend rapidly. Its stealth technology made it practically invisible to radar and other detection methods, but to the naked eye, the black croissant-shaped plane was easy to spot. So its insertion into Turkey’s airspace needed to be done quickly. Upon reaching five thousand feet, the Crescent would pull up, beginning a strenuous downward arc before going vertical again and dumping the team from its backside three thousand feet from the surface.