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  “What the fuck, Dan?” Rich asked. “Any idea what the hell is going on?”

  “None.”

  Derrick glanced at his watch. “We’ve been here fifteen minutes and haven’t seen a soul. It’s almost fifteen-hundred now. Are we supposed to just stand around with our dicks in our hands?”

  Dan shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. I say give it an hour, then we can go have a beer if nobody shows up.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Thom agreed. “Maybe the Airman Fug”—he mispronounced it so it sounded like fuck— “would like to join us.”

  Dan smiled. “Be nice. Remember, she can make your stay as comfortable or as miserable as she wants.”

  “I wouldn’t mind getting some comfort from—” Derrick began but cut off when the entrance door opened.

  “Afternoon, gentlemen,” a woman said as she entered.

  Dan watched as she approached, a folder in her right hand. She was dressed in a tight, dark blue dress that showed off her curves beautifully. She wasn’t wearing heels but still stood at least five-eight, and her deep red hair was pulled back in a severe braid. She might look like a model, but she moved with constrained power and grace, like a jungle cat, her stride feminine but purposeful.

  “Anyone else seeing this?” Derrick whispered as the woman approached.

  “Thank you for joining me today. I’m Natasha Sampson, with the NSA. Let me congratulate you on being selected.”

  “NSA? The National Security Administration? That NSA? Selected for what, exactly?” Thom asked.

  “Correct. Before I go any further, I will remind each of you that what I’m about to tell you is confidential. You are bound by the agreements you signed at Fort Benning. Understood?”

  The four men nodded.

  “We are forming a team that will specialize in covert rescue and extraction. You’re the first four members and will form the first of several teams. We will evaluate you and adjust the training as necessary. You’re the prototype on which all other teams will be based.”

  “And you’re with the NSA?”

  “That’s right.”

  Thom’s eyes squinted slightly. “The NSA doesn’t use human assets.”

  She smiled. “Officially, we still don’t. You, gentlemen, don’t exist. Officially, you’re still with your units, going about your daily lives. This is to give everyone—the CIA, DIA, and the State Department—plausible deniability. The only place you will show up is in your various branches of the military.”

  “Ms. Sampson—” Dan began.

  “Call me Tasha. We’re going to be working closely together for the next six months.”

  “Tasha, I’m not sure I understand what’s going on. The military already has extraction teams.”

  She flashed another quick smile. “But no covert teams. I know you have a lot of questions. Some I can answer, many I can’t. But know that you will be doing the work that needs to be done but can’t be done through normal channels.”

  The four men looked at each other.

  “Assassinations?” Rich asked.

  “Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “The U.S. isn’t in the assassination business.” She paused as if she was thinking. “What I can tell you is you are going into places where the United States isn’t always welcome, places where we don’t have assets on the ground. You will be going in to extract people, people who need our help.”

  “We won’t be killing people?” Derrick asked.

  “I can tell you that you will never be sent in with instructions to kill someone. We don’t do that.” Her lips twisted to the side as she clearly pondered her words before speaking. “Some casualties may be unavoidable in the execution of the mission, but I’m here to teach you how to minimize that. Your job is to get in, do the job, and get out without anyone knowing you were there.”

  “Isn’t this the CIA’s gig?” Dan asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. He was getting the feeling they were being fed a line of bullshit.

  “Despite what the movies would have you believe, the CIA mostly collects information. They go in and spread a lot of money around to buy information or influence events in favor of the U.S. That’s not your function. You will be tasked with extracting targets we have no other way of getting out.”

  “Targets? Kidnapping?” When Tasha said nothing, Dan nodded. “That’s what I thought.” The stench of bullshit was getting stronger.

  “This is fucked up,” Rich muttered.

  “If you’re not comfortable with the duties, this is your out. You will return to your units and nothing will be said. You’ll be simply another recruit who didn’t make it.” She glanced from man to man, her gaze firm and unwavering. “But know this, it’s a dangerous fucking world. The bad guys are getting bolder and are better equipped. Imagine if this team had been in place and the U.S. could have put hands on Osama Bin Laden before the planes had flown into the World Trade Center. We simply made him…disappear…and nobody knew where he went or what happened to him. We might have been able to get enough information from him to shut down his entire network and save countless lives.” Again she held their gaze, as if daring them to question the truth of her statements. “Remember when Dustin Groden was taken? He was the analyst working at the American Embassy in the DRC—The Democratic Republic of Cabera. He was snatched right off the street in Kooteran last year and accused of espionage. The DRC was useless, and he was killed on live television. He was a good man. He had a wife, and two kids who are now fatherless. This team might have saved him.”

  She paused one more time and held each of their eyes. “We’re not the bad guys. We’re not going out to kill people. We have bombs for that. We’re trying to save lives. American lives. We’re going to save people that have no other chance of survival.”

  The four men looked at each other. “I’m in,” Rich said. Thom and Derrick quickly followed then everyone looked at Dan, waiting for his answer. He paused as he thought it over. This wasn’t what he wanted. It was the same shit he was trying to get away from, but he didn’t want to let the team down. He would have support this time, people to keep him from being stupid.

  “Yeah. I’m in,” Dan said softly.

  Tasha smiled. “I have some paperwork for each of you to sign. It transfers you from your various units and basically says if you so much as whisper into a lover’s ear what you do, you will see nothing but four concrete walls for the rest of your life. You know the drill. This is the blackest of black ops. If the world knows you exist, you’re useless.”

  “What’s your role in all of this?” Thom asked, his hands clasped behind his back as if he was at parade rest, but his voice was firm.

  Dan forced himself not to smile. Thom was being polite and respectful, but it was clear he expected answers.

  “I’m your trainer.” She smiled when the four men looked at each other. “We assume you already know how to kill. I’m going to teach you how to blend in, not be seen, and get the job done without killing everyone around you. Remember, this is covert. You’re used to blowing shit up—well, all but you, Dan—but you need to forget all that. If you’re blowing a bunch of shit up, you’re doing it wrong. Stealth is the name of the game. I’ll teach you that fieldcraft.”

  Derrick grinned. “So, we’re going to be like Bond but without blowing shit up? Where’s the fun in that?”

  She grinned. “You can think of it that way but without all the fancy gadgets. That stuff only exists in the movies.”

  “What about bedding the women? I wouldn’t mind meeting Pussy Galore or Octopussy,” Derrick grinned. “Of course, I’ve already got that covered. I mean, I barely made it here.”

  “Oh?” Tasha asked, a grin tugging at her lips. “Why’s that?”

  “Severe sexual exhaustion,” he said, holding her gaze with his own.

  She nodded in sympathy. “That’s okay. You can sign with your other hand.”

  The men’s laughter rang loud in the empty building.

  Natasha

&nb
sp; Tasha watched as the four men strode into the large building that had been tasked for her use. It was empty except for a table with four deadly looking rifles and a few pieces of other gear lying on it. The men had signed up yesterday, and today they were starting their training. The first thing she needed to do was find out what she had to work with.

  As they walked across the polished concrete floor, they were looking fine in their polished boots, fatigue pants, and tight Air Force t-shirts. She’d asked them to wear the t-shirts so they would blend in. Now they were just three more members of the U.S. Air Force. The less people suspected something was going on out here in the boneyard, the better. The three wouldn’t look out of place to the casual passersby on base, but they were still clearly military. That was the first thing she was going to change. With their swagger and close-cropped hair, all four positively screamed military, even out of uniform.

  Airman Fug had taken her out and showed her around last night. Tasha was based out of Fort Meade, in Maryland, and this was her first trip to Arizona. Fug had taken her to a local watering spot and they’d shared a few beers. The woman was smart and had already put together she was there for the same reason Dan, Rich, Derrick and Thom were, but she had stopped prying when Tasha had explained what she was doing was classified.

  Instead, they’d spent an hour eating Texmex, drinking beer, and giggling over the four men. Out of the forty who had volunteered, these were the top four. She’d seen their service records, and Dan’s had been particularly interesting. He’d scored off the charts on empathy. He absolutely would not leave a man behind, and he was terrific at using guile to slip away, which was exactly what this team needed. She’d hand-picked him.

  It wasn’t surprising, considering his job. He’d had a tough mission about a year ago. He’d been sent in to pull the crew out of a downed C-130, and the mission had gone to hell. His chopper had been shot out of the sky, but he’d hiked it out with the lone survivor, only to lose her at the last moment in a gunfight. It had been a shit mission from the start, but he’d nearly pulled it off.

  Not only was Dan different in temperament, he also didn’t look like the other three. All four men were between 5’11” and 6’1”, but where Derrick, Rich, and Thom looked like powerlifters or professional wrestlers, Dan looked more like a gymnast. He was well-built and toned but without the mass. Fug had a serious case of the hots for the three big men, but she preferred less bulky men, like Dan. She especially liked his green eyes because they were almost the same color as hers.

  She watched them approach. Tech-Sergeant Daniel Thames might be more her type, but goddamn, all four of these men were hot.

  She shoved the thoughts out of her mind. Time to get down to business. Yesterday, she’d been dressed to impress, but today she wore her ‘work’ clothes—a pair of jeans and a loose white blouse to help with the desert heat. She’d pulled her hair up in a ponytail for the same reason.

  Every shithole they were likely to have to go into was either in the fucking desert or the fucking rainforest, so they would train in the Arizona heat. Davis-Monthan offered them plenty of room, plenty of buildings, and plenty of airplanes to play with.

  “Gentlemen. Today we’re going to play a little game. I call it ‘hide and seek.’ Somewhere out there is Airman Fug. I borrowed her for this little exercise. She’s being hunted by a bunch of bad-asses intent on torturing her to extract information. Your job is to find her and get her out.”

  The men watched her a moment. They were far from stupid, and her lips twitched into a grin.

  “What aren’t you telling us?” Rich asked.

  “Oh, did I forget to mention the sixteen MPs I’ve tasked with being the bad guys? Their sole purpose is to hunt you down and kill you.”

  “Four to one odds?” Dan asked.

  She grinned. “Okay, I admit, that’s a little unfair. I’ve balance the odds a little. The MPs don’t know where Fug is either. Only the general area. I’d need a hundred times that amount to cover the entire boneyard, and I didn’t want to make it too easy.”

  “And you’re not going to tell us where she is?” Dan followed up.

  “Nope. But I’ve planted clues, starting right outside that door,” she said, pointing to another door on the opposite side of the room from where they’d entered. “If you’re clever, you can follow them right to her.”

  “What are these?” Derrick asked, waving his hand over the table.

  “Lipstick cameras to wear so I can see and hear what you’re doing, and evaluate your performance and your weapons.”

  Derrick picked one of the rifles up and looked it over. “What the fuck is this?”

  “A little something I had worked up for training. Think of them as paint ball guns on steroids. They hit hard enough to leave a hell of a bruise, but they won’t kill you. That eliminates the question of did you get shot or not.” The SEALs and Ranger glared at her. “I know what you’re thinking,” she continued, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “Remember, this is covert. You only use the weapons as a last resort. They have plenty of range for what you need them for. The MPs are armed similarly. So actually, you have the advantage.”

  Dan put the headset over his head. “So you can see and hear us, but we can’t hear you?”

  “That’s right. Once you walk out that door, you have an hour to find Fug and get her back here without getting her or yourselves killed. Remember, stealth is the name the game. If you get into a firefight, you lose.”

  The men donned their cameras and turned them on. “Got it,” Dan said. “When does the clock start?”

  “The minute that door closes.”

  The men picked up their weapons, looked them over, and primed them. “Let’s go find Fug,” Thom said.

  Tasha sat down at the table and opened her laptop. She could see the four cameras as the men walked across the room. They didn’t know it, but she’d set them up to fail. The best way to teach anyone anything was to have them fail, and while these men were undoubtedly warriors, she didn’t want—or need—warriors. She needed, for lack of a better term, spies. The men stepped into the sunlight, and she started the countdown timer. She picked up her walkie.

  “Go!”

  The MPs didn’t know where the men were coming from, or their destination, but they were now hunting them.

  This is kind of your gig, Hoss, Rich said, looking at Dan, his voice slightly distorted over the radio. What do we do?

  Tasha said there was a clue right outside the door. Dan’s camera whirled around. Here it is. See all these foot prints? Someone was dragged to these tire tracks. This way.

  She nodded to herself as the men started out at a trot. The first clue was obvious. She was interested in their next move.

  Four to one odds, Derrick said, their cameras bouncing as they moved in a ground covering trot. Anyone else feel like Tasha’s fucking us?

  I, for one, wouldn’t mind getting fucked by her, Thom said. Fuck! Sorry, Tasha! I forgot you were listening.

  She snickered to herself. She actually wouldn’t mind getting fucked by any one of them, but this was business, and as she’d found out the hard way, mixing business and pleasure was a bad idea.

  Shit, Thom said as they slowed. Now what?

  Give me a minute, Dan said, his camera whipping back and forth as he studied the ground.

  This was the first intersection in the road and the tire tracks were a jumble.

  This way, Dan said as he started off again at a trot.

  Company! Rich hissed.

  The men left the road quickly and ducked under an ancient B-52 bomber, using the huge plane’s landing gear to screen them. They waited until the hummer passed before creeping out again. They were on alert now, their weapons at the ready.

  Are you still going to be able to track them with the hummers fucking up the tracks? Thom asked.

  Yeah, I think so. The tracks looked like something a deuce and a half would use. Different than Hummer tires.

  Fuck me
! What are you, some kind of Indian? Thom asked.

  Dan chuckled. No. Grew up hunting with my dad. Plus, I’ve had training in how not to leave a trail, so that helps.

  Tasha smiled to herself. Dan was good. But she had one more surprise for him. She watched as the men dodged another patrol, then stopped where she’d ordered the driver of the two-and-a-half-ton truck Dan was tracking to stop.

  She’s close, Dan said as he looked around.

  Pajamas! Aren’t these the same tracks over here? Derrick asked.

  Dan didn’t even glance. Probably, but the truck stopped here, then drove away.

  How the fuck do you know that? Rich asked.

  Foot prints. Plus there’s a drip of oil, and the tread pattern is a little different here in this spot. He looked around. Someone was carrying her.

  Bullshit! How do you know that? Derrick demanded.

  Only one set of prints, but not a woman’s. Fug’s foot isn’t that big, plus his stride is all fucked up.

  Tasha smiled again as Derrick, Thom, and Rich’s cameras whipped about as they looked at each other. Dan wasn’t merely good, he was damned good. She hadn’t even noticed the oil drip where the truck had stopped, and she wondered if he was bullshitting them about the tracks being different. She decided that maybe he could tell. He’d sure picked up on the one set of prints quickly enough and guessed the right answer. Fug was only five-two, maybe five-three, and Tasha had one of the burly MPs carry her away from the truck to see if she could fox the hunters.

  So which way? Thom asked.

  She has to be close. Maybe in one of those planes. The tracks are gone out here on the hardpan. We’re going to have to search them. Dan’s camera spun as he looked around, then he crouched, the other three members doing the same, forming a firing arc with their backs to the center of the circle. Okay, let’s hit all the planes from about ten until about two, he said, pointing with his hand in the general direction the MP had carried Fug. Two-man teams. One searching, the other covering. Derrick, you and Rich, Thom, you’re with me.