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“Fuck,” he said softly.

“Fuck’s the word, dude.” Spanos rolled his eyes. “Black said yup, you were all that and more.”

“Great.”

“But he also said you had a chest full of fruit salad and he knew Stuart wouldn’t want the press to somehow learn that an army officer who’d washed out of Delta Force twenty years ago had brought charges against a highly decorated Special Ops hero.”

Dec sat up straight. “What?”

Romano shrugged his shoulders. “Seems our captain and the colonel knew each other way back when.”

Dec grinned. “Go figure.”

“Exactly. Go figure.”

More silence. Then Dec looked from one of his buddies to the other. Each of them made eye contact and then looked away. He figured the question he was going to ask might as well have been tattooed on his forehead.

“Where is she?” he said softly.

Throats were cleared. Feet were shuffled. Looks were exchanged.

“Chay? Where’s Annie?”

Chay Olivieri sighed. “They never brought her here, Dec. They flew her straight to Qaram.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Unit One was on American soil less than eighteen hours later.

The five members who’d gotten out with the ambassador and his wife had reported to their captain by Skype three days ago.

Now he wanted another report. On the firefight? Maybe, but they all doubted it.

This would be about what had gone wrong on their primary mission.

Everybody knew it.

Black texted them while they were heading home. He said they’d have twenty minutes to shower, change clothes, grab coffee—whatever they could do in that time frame—and then report to his office.

He was waiting for them in the big, handsome room that had once been the library in what had once been a palatial private residence on the beach. The view out the windows was incredible: the long stretch of sand, the blue Pacific, waves lapping against the shore.

The room might as well have been a janitor’s closet for all anybody cared.

The only sound was the low hum from a ceiling fan rotating slowly overhead.

Normally, you’d stand before Black’s desk when you were summoned here. “At ease,” Black would say, or he might just wave a hand at one of a pair of chairs drawn up to the desk.

Not this time.

Black left them standing at attention.

It was impossible not to notice that half a dozen metal folding chairs were lined up before the desk.

They were lined up with precision, and, Dec knew, with intent.

This would not be a comfortable meeting.

Black was seated behind his desk, riffling through a stack of papers. Everything about him whispered command, from his neatly cropped greying hair to his crisp uniform.