over.
“Score!” Luke said, leaping to his feet. They no longer worried about noise discipline now that their cover was literally blown to bits.
“Time to haul ass,” Gage said, and hustled out from behind the rocks. After a quick check to ensure that nooverly large missile fragments remained, they bugged out, making the two-mile trek to the pickup point in less than fifteen minutes. They exfiltrated using a different route from before, just in case the enemy had somehow discovered their tracks and set up an ambush.
Ten minutes later, they were on a helicopter headed back to base, grinning at one another like a bunch of kids who’d just won a baseball game.
Mike slouched back against the side of the helo. “I’d give my right arm for a mile-high stack of Flo’s pancakes.”
Gage’s stomach growled in response. Flo’s Diner near base was a popular breakfast spot. He and Kelsey had gone there on more than one occasion to fuel up after a marathon night.
“Cowboy omelet,” Luke said, and passed Gage a spare T-shirt to wipe off his greasepaint. “You in?”
“I’m in,” Gage said, pushing away thoughts of Kelsey. He didn’t want to believe that her broken engagement had anything to do with his good mood. And he damn sure didn’t want to think it had anything to do with his recently rediscovered ability to do his job well. This wasn’t about her. It was a good morning, simple as that. With any luck, it might end up being a good day, and maybe even a good week. Gage watched the first rays of sunlight hitting the San Bernardino Mountains and felt a lightness in his chest that had been missing for a long time.
The team was still talking about breakfast when they landed at Coronado. The base was alive with activity as new recruits grunted it out on the hard top doing morning PT. Lines of flush-faced men did sit-ups andpush-ups. SEALs in training clawed their way up the sixty-foot cargo net on the obstacle course. Not a good place to lose arm strength.
Derek slapped Gage and Mike on the back as they jogged across the base. “Let’s make this quick. I’m starved.”
They hustled to the SEAL building, where they took off their helmets and weapons and stowed them in lockers. They still had to debrief and downstage the rest of their gear before they could have so much as a cup of coffee. On the way to the briefing room, Gage turned a corner and nearly crashed into Jeff Hallenback, his new CO.
“Vaughn. Dietz.”
“Sir,” they said in unison.
“Where’s Jones?”
“He’s in the head, sir.”
“Find him and get to the briefing room, ASAP.” The CO’s gaze landed on Gage. “Brewer, come with me.”
Gage straightened his shoulders as he followed his commanding officer back across the hard top. His mind raced. The op had been flawless, but the expression on Hallenback’s face told him something was wrong.
Gage followed him inside the base’s main headquarters and down an air-conditioned corridor lined with black-and-white photographs of aircraft carriers. Gage had never been in here before, but the ball of dread forming in his gut far outweighed his curiosity.
Hallenback stopped outside a closed door and turned to face him.
“Some people here to see you.”
“Sir?”
“They’re with the FBI. Be direct. Be brief. And don’t hesitate to stop the meeting if you want legal advice. I’ve got someone I can call.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to Gage. “Clean up your face before you go in there. I’ll be down the hall.” He nodded curtly and walked away.
Gage took a second to process the orders. His ears were still ringing from the helo ride and he was covered in grime. He wiped his face and stepped through the door.
Two civilians stood in the windowless conference room. In dark suits and white shirts they looked like his-and-hers ads for Brooks Brothers.
The man stepped forward and offered a handshake.
“Lieutenant Brewer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take a
“Score!” Luke said, leaping to his feet. They no longer worried about noise discipline now that their cover was literally blown to bits.
“Time to haul ass,” Gage said, and hustled out from behind the rocks. After a quick check to ensure that nooverly large missile fragments remained, they bugged out, making the two-mile trek to the pickup point in less than fifteen minutes. They exfiltrated using a different route from before, just in case the enemy had somehow discovered their tracks and set up an ambush.
Ten minutes later, they were on a helicopter headed back to base, grinning at one another like a bunch of kids who’d just won a baseball game.
Mike slouched back against the side of the helo. “I’d give my right arm for a mile-high stack of Flo’s pancakes.”
Gage’s stomach growled in response. Flo’s Diner near base was a popular breakfast spot. He and Kelsey had gone there on more than one occasion to fuel up after a marathon night.
“Cowboy omelet,” Luke said, and passed Gage a spare T-shirt to wipe off his greasepaint. “You in?”
“I’m in,” Gage said, pushing away thoughts of Kelsey. He didn’t want to believe that her broken engagement had anything to do with his good mood. And he damn sure didn’t want to think it had anything to do with his recently rediscovered ability to do his job well. This wasn’t about her. It was a good morning, simple as that. With any luck, it might end up being a good day, and maybe even a good week. Gage watched the first rays of sunlight hitting the San Bernardino Mountains and felt a lightness in his chest that had been missing for a long time.
The team was still talking about breakfast when they landed at Coronado. The base was alive with activity as new recruits grunted it out on the hard top doing morning PT. Lines of flush-faced men did sit-ups andpush-ups. SEALs in training clawed their way up the sixty-foot cargo net on the obstacle course. Not a good place to lose arm strength.
Derek slapped Gage and Mike on the back as they jogged across the base. “Let’s make this quick. I’m starved.”
They hustled to the SEAL building, where they took off their helmets and weapons and stowed them in lockers. They still had to debrief and downstage the rest of their gear before they could have so much as a cup of coffee. On the way to the briefing room, Gage turned a corner and nearly crashed into Jeff Hallenback, his new CO.
“Vaughn. Dietz.”
“Sir,” they said in unison.
“Where’s Jones?”
“He’s in the head, sir.”
“Find him and get to the briefing room, ASAP.” The CO’s gaze landed on Gage. “Brewer, come with me.”
Gage straightened his shoulders as he followed his commanding officer back across the hard top. His mind raced. The op had been flawless, but the expression on Hallenback’s face told him something was wrong.
Gage followed him inside the base’s main headquarters and down an air-conditioned corridor lined with black-and-white photographs of aircraft carriers. Gage had never been in here before, but the ball of dread forming in his gut far outweighed his curiosity.
Hallenback stopped outside a closed door and turned to face him.
“Some people here to see you.”
“Sir?”
“They’re with the FBI. Be direct. Be brief. And don’t hesitate to stop the meeting if you want legal advice. I’ve got someone I can call.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to Gage. “Clean up your face before you go in there. I’ll be down the hall.” He nodded curtly and walked away.
Gage took a second to process the orders. His ears were still ringing from the helo ride and he was covered in grime. He wiped his face and stepped through the door.
Two civilians stood in the windowless conference room. In dark suits and white shirts they looked like his-and-hers ads for Brooks Brothers.
The man stepped forward and offered a handshake.
“Lieutenant Brewer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take a
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