SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops VI - Guantanamo
want them back. They could only wait and hope.
    It was late afternoon before they heard the rattle of the key in the lock and the door creak as it swung open.
    "The Norte Americanos, come!"
    They looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. This was it, the moment of truth. Who would be waiting for them, a Colombian or an American? Two armed guards led the way, and they followed, with two more soldiers bringing up the rear. They were shown into a room that was almost as squalid and filthy as the cell they'd just left. Except instead of it being filled with prisoners, there was a rough wooden table and a long bench either side. What was more important was who sat behind the table. The first man was a major, wearing the uniform of the Panamanian military. The second man wore civilian clothes, of American cut. He jumped to his feet like an eager puppy and held out his hand.
      "Danny Evers, at your service. Pleased to meet you guys."
    He gave them a broad smile, and his handshake was firm. Nolan was skeptical. Everything about him, especially the smile, looked fake. The preppy clothes and Ivy League haircut screamed CIA deskman. A bureaucrat.
    "We're pleased you came, Evers. I'm Nolan. These men are Bryce, Rose, and Ryder. What's the deal?"
    "We've managed to reach an agreement with the Panamanian government. You won't be extradited to Colombia. Instead, we're taking you into custody."
    "Custody! But we're serving…"
    Evers interrupted, and the ersatz smile faded. "Forget it, bud." His voice had become harsh after the cheery greeting, his manner had iced over.
    I was right he first time. A bureaucrat, and that means he sees us as a nuisance, keeping him from drinks around the pool after a couple of hours at his desk.
    "Effective immediate, you're discharged from the US Navy. You'll serve out the sentence of the Colombian court in a military prison because of your previous good service, but it'll be in the US. I know our prisons are bad, but I gather the jails in Colombia are a lot worse. Think yourselves lucky. The execution order has been waived."
    Nolan looked at him for a few moments, hating him. Hating his fresh-faced, 'gee shucks' smile, his fussy, preppy mannerisms, his clean clothes while they were still dressed in prison rags. He was slim and short, like a long distance runner. Good looking, stylish haircut, and a neat mustache, probably to make himself look older, maybe more authoritative. He had a kind of naive enthusiasm, as if he'd decided to make the world a better place. They say you shouldn't shoot the messenger. He was sorely tempted with the shiny spook.
    "Think yourselves lucky," he said again.
    "The fuck you say," Brad snapped, "If that's what you call lucky, I'd hate to think what bad luck would look like."
    Evers fixed him with a hard stare. "I told you; it's the best deal we could get, and the way things are right now with our War on Drugs, it could have been worse. As for the alternative, it would have been a Colombian prison. And a firing squad." He picked up his papers and gathered them in a neat stack, "I have to leave now and make arrangements for your transfer to US custody. There's a ship moving through the canal right now, headed for San Diego. They'll take you back."
    Nolan stared at him. He'd been in plenty of situations that were bad, but this one was different. His own people were about to imprison them, for what? Obeying orders, that was all, and to satisfy the delicate political situation between the US and Colombia.
    "So that's it? We're being thrown to the dogs?"
    Evers met his gaze. "I'm sorry, I really am. There's nothing more I can do. I'm just the messenger boy."
    John-Wesley stared at him, and Nolan smiled inwardly. Evers was another man who should be careful he never came within a hundred miles of the Texan killer.
    The CIA man looked at them all and smiled. "I guess that's it then. Good luck, guys." He looked at the Panamanian officer. "Major?"
    The officer knocked on the door,

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