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common than I thought.”
    “Oh?”
    “I know those vehicles, my friend. Not police, not military. They are government, possibly secret police.” Latif spit on the ground.
    “We could leave,” offered Isnard, pointing to the darkness beyond the road.
    Latif shook his head. “I like you, my friend. Something tells me that I would gain more by helping you than turning you in. The government pays little for criminals, the secret police even less. Tell me, would you return the favor?”
    “On my honor as a United States Marine,” said Isnard, putting his hand out.
    Latif’s eyebrows rose, but he took Isnard’s hand in his, even covering the clasp with a second hand.
    “You are a long way from home, Marine. Come, let us see how we can get out of this mess.”
    Nods from each man. Just as they went to join the others, there was shouting from the front of the convoy. Andy saw that one of Latif’s young guards was pinned against a truck, his weapon lying on the ground. Andy knew what had happened before snippets of the yelling made it to his ears.
    The interrogators, four men in suits, turned as the hoisted teenager pointed to the back of the convoy. Every one of them turned, their eyes locking on to Latif, Isnard and Andy.
    Isnard grabbed Andy’s arm. “Time to go.”
     

Chapter 14
    Enroute to Kandahar, Afghanistan
    8:02pm AFT, August 24 th
     
    Another surprise waited Cal and the rest of The Jefferson Group after lifting off from Charlottesville. The first came in the form of recently retired Chief Warrant Officer Benny Fletcher, USA. Fletcher had the boyish features of a college cheerleader, not a retired CWO-3. He greeted them all formally like a general’s steward.
    “I met Benny passing through Fort Campbell last month,” explained Jonas Layton. “I got turned around and he offered to show me the way back to my conference. I returned the favor with lunch and one thing led to another.”
    “Fort Campbell? What did he do before retiring?” asked Cal. He was familiar with Ft. Campbell, having spent much of his adulthood in Nashville. Ft. Campbell is approximately an hour from downtown Nashville.
    “He was a Night Stalker.”
    The “Night Stalkers” are formally known as the 160 th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne). They first cut their teeth in Grenada in the 1980s and soon built a reputation for their night flying abilities, hence their name. They’d been used extensively since 9/11 in special operations roles.
    “Really? And you hired him as a flight attendant?”
    “Not exactly. I learned a long time ago that when you run into talent, like top notch talent, you hire them first and figure out the rest later. Benny said he’d be happy to help until we found him something better suited for his skill set.”
    It was the same way Cal’s father ran SSI. Find the good ones and never let them go.
    “Besides, it never hurts to have a third pilot,” said Jonas.
    “Where’d you find the other two?”
    Jonas turned his head toward the galley. “Hey, Benny, you mind taking over up front? Send the brothers back?”
    “No problem, Mr. Layton.”
    “You’re gonna have to cut the mister crap if you want to stick around this motley crew.”
    Benny smiled, even blushing. “Okay…Jonas.”
    Cal leaned over and asked, “Brothers?”
    Jonas put up a finger indicating that the answer was forthcoming. A minute later two men walked out of the cockpit. Cal watched them, curious. You could tell they were brothers, same chestnut hair, all-American good looks, probably six foot. Not twins but familial features for sure. They could’ve been military aviation poster models in their TJG monogrammed polo shirts.
    “Cal, I’d like you to meet Jim and Johnny Powers. Gentlemen, for all intents and purposes, this is your boss, Cal Stokes.”
    Cal stood and shook their hands. Firm grips. Military, a cautious look from Jim and a mischievous grin from Johnny. Cal noticed a thin scar running the length of