propaganda—that bullshit they wallowed in each and every day. That’s when a turned agent became dangerous. Just because an operative was vetted for a covert assignment didn’t mean he had the brains and balls to keep his mind-set together and stay on mission.
In Ru’s case, it didn’t seem that he had been planted long enough to go nuts. But within only a couple of years, the hidden agenda had come to light and the body count could not be denied.
The U.S. had planted him. Now it was SEAL Team’s job to take him out.
Dan’s head emerged briefly. He slowly drew in air and slid back below the water. The last time he had been in this country, it was to gather Intel from a different person. A mission had gone horribly wrong when the enemy shot Sandra Niang as she reached out for him. Dan had been tasked with keeping her safe. Even now the memory was seared into his senses: The crack of the shot being fired. The way it impacted her body…and the blood. Her lips moved…providing the urgent Intel. Even in death she’d been loyal.
The memory slipped through his mind and out again without causing his focus to waver.
When the orders had come down that they needed a Team to go in-country on a covert jaunt and that the repercussions of being discovered included torture and possibly the next world war, SEAL Team THREE’s Platoon 1-Bravo—nicknamed the Ghosts of the Teams—was tagged for the job.
He was grateful to be back. Maybe this time he would get a hint of who had ordered Sandra’s death, and they could avenge her. Not that a vendetta was part of their mission, but it would feel great to him. He wanted to protect those who fought and sacrificed for the USA, and revenge seemed to honor that memory. It was one of the reasons he had been given this task, aside from the fact that he abhorred traitors.
In sync, the Team emerged from the water, guns held at the ready. Everything was clear.
One by one they left the wet depths and moved in the forest, taking up positions prior to infiltration. Moving soundlessly, they headed forward like an oddly shaped serpent. Their path took them deep into a forest and finally toward a small vine-covered house.
A sweep of the area showed that no other soldiers or guards were lurking in the shadows as Dan, JC, and Hammer slipped inside. Being the first into the room, JC found Ru asleep in a chair, listening to a recording of some kind of discordant symphony. Next to him was an empty bottle of Irish whiskey and a crystal glass. On his wrist was a shiny new Rolex encrusted in diamonds, and a large opal in a gold setting gleamed on his forefinger.
To Dan, it didn’t seem like enough to betray the USA. But what did he know? He was just as happy eating Spam as he was eating steak. What luxury could fill the void, when you gave away your integrity and your honor for it? That soul-sucking forfeit had the means to torture you forever.
The room was lushly decorated in silk fabrics and what looked like original art and antiques.
On the couch across from Ru was a sleeping woman. She was short of stature, native to the country, and her long white robe gaped open, revealing her naked body. There were marks around her throat and wrists, most likely from recent rough interactions. White powder clung to her nostrils, and more cocaine was laid out in rows on the table next to her.
JC signaled him and then moved ahead, pulling from his belt a locally crafted, traceable blade specially garnered for this mission. He clamped his hand over Ru’s mouth and slid the knife swiftly and efficiently across his neck, severing the carotid. When the body stopped its spasms and the life had drained free, JC tossed the knife gently to a spot on the carpet near the woman.
Dan glanced briefly at the traitor. This turncoat wouldn’t be sharing any more secrets…with anyone.
The betrayer’s eyes were open and his mouth was wide. No sound came out. Blood had sprayed dramatically along the wall and chair,
In Ru’s case, it didn’t seem that he had been planted long enough to go nuts. But within only a couple of years, the hidden agenda had come to light and the body count could not be denied.
The U.S. had planted him. Now it was SEAL Team’s job to take him out.
Dan’s head emerged briefly. He slowly drew in air and slid back below the water. The last time he had been in this country, it was to gather Intel from a different person. A mission had gone horribly wrong when the enemy shot Sandra Niang as she reached out for him. Dan had been tasked with keeping her safe. Even now the memory was seared into his senses: The crack of the shot being fired. The way it impacted her body…and the blood. Her lips moved…providing the urgent Intel. Even in death she’d been loyal.
The memory slipped through his mind and out again without causing his focus to waver.
When the orders had come down that they needed a Team to go in-country on a covert jaunt and that the repercussions of being discovered included torture and possibly the next world war, SEAL Team THREE’s Platoon 1-Bravo—nicknamed the Ghosts of the Teams—was tagged for the job.
He was grateful to be back. Maybe this time he would get a hint of who had ordered Sandra’s death, and they could avenge her. Not that a vendetta was part of their mission, but it would feel great to him. He wanted to protect those who fought and sacrificed for the USA, and revenge seemed to honor that memory. It was one of the reasons he had been given this task, aside from the fact that he abhorred traitors.
In sync, the Team emerged from the water, guns held at the ready. Everything was clear.
One by one they left the wet depths and moved in the forest, taking up positions prior to infiltration. Moving soundlessly, they headed forward like an oddly shaped serpent. Their path took them deep into a forest and finally toward a small vine-covered house.
A sweep of the area showed that no other soldiers or guards were lurking in the shadows as Dan, JC, and Hammer slipped inside. Being the first into the room, JC found Ru asleep in a chair, listening to a recording of some kind of discordant symphony. Next to him was an empty bottle of Irish whiskey and a crystal glass. On his wrist was a shiny new Rolex encrusted in diamonds, and a large opal in a gold setting gleamed on his forefinger.
To Dan, it didn’t seem like enough to betray the USA. But what did he know? He was just as happy eating Spam as he was eating steak. What luxury could fill the void, when you gave away your integrity and your honor for it? That soul-sucking forfeit had the means to torture you forever.
The room was lushly decorated in silk fabrics and what looked like original art and antiques.
On the couch across from Ru was a sleeping woman. She was short of stature, native to the country, and her long white robe gaped open, revealing her naked body. There were marks around her throat and wrists, most likely from recent rough interactions. White powder clung to her nostrils, and more cocaine was laid out in rows on the table next to her.
JC signaled him and then moved ahead, pulling from his belt a locally crafted, traceable blade specially garnered for this mission. He clamped his hand over Ru’s mouth and slid the knife swiftly and efficiently across his neck, severing the carotid. When the body stopped its spasms and the life had drained free, JC tossed the knife gently to a spot on the carpet near the woman.
Dan glanced briefly at the traitor. This turncoat wouldn’t be sharing any more secrets…with anyone.
The betrayer’s eyes were open and his mouth was wide. No sound came out. Blood had sprayed dramatically along the wall and chair,
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