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CRACK!

The pool balls scattered abruptly in a dozen different directions. I saw at least three balls sink their way into three separate pockets, as the ones still on the table slowly rolled to a halt.

“We’re military contractors,” Gage said simply, not even looking up. “As for what we do…”

He lined up his next shot, pushed smoothly through it, and sunk the thirteen ball in the opposite corner. The look on his face was pure satisfaction.

“I guess we’re stripes,” he smiled.

I glanced to Devyn, who seemed to be watching me more than the pool table. Eventually it was his turn, then mine, then Maverick’s as we alternated through the playing order. Everything the guys did seemed to happen effortlessly, and that didn’t just apply to the game, either. The way they talked to each other, even the way theymoved— it was all very practiced, yet very natural. There was a sense of them being a team, of acting together as one. And right away, I knew it went back a lot further than a few games of 8-ball.

Music started up, and somewhere along the line wine got poured. In the meantime, the game progressed. Gage and I were handily ahead of the others, leaving him with enough bragging rights to mercilessly tease his friends. I on the other hand was able to kick back, relax, and enjoy watching the dynamic between them.

At one point Devyn bumped me playfully out of the way to take his shot, then smirked back at me as he leaned on his stick. I noticed the silver chain around his neck was finally outside of his T-shirt. A single dog-tag dangled from the bottom. It wasn’t flat, though. It was far from perfect.

No, this one was twisted violently. Maybe even blackened…

“Your turn.”

I was still calculating whether I needed the bridge for my next shot, when all of sudden the guys put their sticks down. It happened quickly, silently, without explanation. To my dismay, the trio wandered off in perfect unison, leaving the game room altogether.

What the—

I followed after them, still clutching my pool cue. They walked through the next room, through a pair of glass doors, and out onto a giant stone patio that stretched across one side of their entire side yard.

It should’ve been warm. It wasn’t. The sky had gotten evendarkersomehow, though it was still early in the afternoon.

“Guys?”

Their faces were tilted upward, fixated on the sky. They looked like cult members under group hypnosis. Or like experienced ghost hunters, sensing something that only they could see.

And then Iheardit: a slow, rhythmic thump, somewhere off in the distance. It grew louder, the rhythm faster, as whatever it was drew nearer the house. And then slung low in the sky, I could see it too.

A helicopter.

Eleven

JULIANA

The military helicopter swung in fast, its twin rotor blades sweeping in opposite directions as it maneuvered our way. Devyn had his hands on his hips. Gage and Maverick were shielding their eyes with their hands, while squinting at the dark shape in the air.

“That one’s not based at Luke,” I heard Gage say. “It’s from Ventura. Or maybe Los Alamitos.”

The chopper grew louder, the shape even more distinct as I tracked it through the sky. Not far away, the guys shifted in their positions.

“A Chinook,” Maverick said. He clapped Devyn on the shoulder. “This one’s all you. One hundred-percent.”

If Devyn heard him, he didn’t even flinch. He only stared ahead as the helicopter flew straight toward us. Eventually it swung its tail around, hung in the sky for a moment, then flared smoothly before landing. The rotors slowed, the whine of the twin motors dying down as the machine whirred to a halt.

The guys lowered their arms as the chopper’s side door rolled open. A man in full uniform hopped out and ran immediately over to Devyn.

“Commander Bishop!”

Devyn returned the man’s salute. As I watched, Gage and Maverick exchanged a twenty-dollar bill behind their backs.

“You’re to come with me immediately, by order of—”

“Save your breath,” Devyn interrupted, turning back toward the house. “Just give me five minutes to gather my gear.”