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All things considered, I had very little to complain about.

“Wanna answer a question for me?” I asked, turning to Randall. “One that Holden keeps avoiding?”

He smirked a little, still looking out the window. Watching the beautiful Greek countryside go by.

“Shoot.”

“Why are you guys after Kyrkos?”

I saw Marcus’s eyes shift a little. He still kept his nose pointed at the road, but now one ear was cocked.

“That’s easy,” said Randall. “He wiped out half our platoon.”

I blinked a few times, in stunned silence. It wasn’t at all the answer I expected.

“Xander Kyrkos did that?”

“Indirectly,” nodded Randall. “Happened twenty-two klicks outside of Belgrade, towards the Romanian border. We were on a routine raid. Grab one man, a simple in-and-out. Only Kyrkos found out about it, because he’d bought one of the SAJ’s.”

“SAJ’s?”

“Serbian Special Anti-Terrorist Unit,” explained Randall. “This one fucker on that team sold us out. Tipped off the fighters before we got there, so they were all set up and ready for us.”

The way he talked was so casual, so nonchalant. Like he was describing a movie he saw, or a favorite restaurant he visited.

“We lost half the platoon in under a minute. M84 fire, raining down on us from three different positions.” He took a long breath before continuing. “Cut us up real bad. Lost the captain and the chief straight off, then Holden took over…”

He trailed off, still looking out the window. But his face remained impassive. Unchanged.

“W—What happened then?”

“Holden took command

,” he replied. “Charged one of the Zastavas, took it out, and used it to take care of the other two.”

“Damn,” swore Marcus.

Randall nodded. “Trust me. It was even more impressive actually being there.”

The truck bounced over a slight rise. Randall finally looked back at us.

“So yeah, we took on eight KIA’s, five wounded, two critical. But Holden got us out. We fought like demons, behind him. If not for him…” He shrugged.

“He blames himself,” said Marcus abruptly. “Doesn’t he?”

Randall nodded. “And that’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it. He even refused his commendation. Begged our commander to stop pursuing it.”

“I could see that,” said Marcus.

“Anyway, turns out the whole thing was all over Kyrkos,” said Randall. “Somewhere in the past, our unit had crossed him. The whole clusterfuck turned out to be punishment for our involvement in some foiled drug connection, all wrapped up in Indigo. Cost the organization a small fortune. But it cost Kyrkos more in terms of his reputation…”

It was the end of his story, apparently. Even so, I could put the rest of the pieces together. It was one thing to be wracked with survivor’s guilt, which was something I knew about, to some extent. But knowing that the source of your pain was still out there somewhere? Laughing and breathing and living his life?

Well I knew all about the hell of that frustration, too.

We reached town not long after that, Marcus guiding the truck along without the benefit of a map or GPS. He knew exactly where he was going. And wherever it was, we were along for the ride.

Not ten minutes later we were parked before a large, electronic gate. Marcus punched in a series of numbers and it began rolling slowly back, on a rusty chain.