Page 9 of Into the Gray Zone (Pike Logan #19)

The wheels of our aircraft touched down, jarring me awake. I rubbed my eyes, raised the shade of my window, and saw a lush,

tropical landscape, the sun glaringly bright.

I turned away, saw the rest of the team rising out of slumber, and said, “What time is it?”

Next to me, with two different books on India splayed open on her lap, Jennifer said, “Ten a.m. , Goa time.”

“What day?”

She smiled and said, “Tomorrow, for you.”

I hollered up to the cockpit, “What are we looking at here?”

I saw the copilot bend around and say, “Nothing much. Simple customs check. The tower said they were expecting us, so should

be routine.”

Which meant we could do everything on the plane without leaving our seats. Sometimes it paid to have powerful people pave

your way.

Knuckles came up to me and said, “So, what’s the play here?”

“Let the customs guys come through, get our hotel rooms, and find a rum and coke. Twenty-four hours of traveling has left

me thirsty, and it’s got to be five o’clock somewhere.”

He laughed and said, “I meant weapons. We’re going to take a surveillance package, but given that last update, do you want to take weapons, or come back to the plane if we think we need them after an initial assessment of the grounds?”

Originally, we’d planned on providing security with our eyes only, simply providing early warning should we see anything amiss,

acting like tourists who just happened to find a threat and letting the RAW security take over. At our layover in Ireland,

we’d been given an update on the terrorist that RAW had captured: an attempt had been made to rescue him, leaving multiple

RAW officers dead.

It hadn’t been successful, and the terrorist had been killed in the process, but the men who’d tried to do it had escaped

and were in the wind. The only evidence that had turned up was a unique integrally suppressed Makarov pistol, something that

your average Joe on the street couldn’t have procured—especially in India. It showed they had training and the backing of

a state—in this case, given the evidence, probably the Pakistani ISI.

I turned to Jennifer. “What’s the distance between here and our hotel?”

She tapped on her tablet and said, “Looks like about thirty minutes, but it’s easy travel. No traffic time to worry about.”

“Yeah, well, that’s more than I want. We’ll take weapons. Concealed sidearms only.”

Knuckles nodded and the door opened. Two perfunctory customs officials entered and asked for our passports. One went through

the paperwork while the other moseyed about the cabin, peering behind chairs and checking the galley. We answered all of their

questions, Jennifer provided our cover documentation, signed by the government of India, and we were done. They didn’t even

ask to see our luggage.

We watched them leave, and when they were clear, I said, “Okay, let’s download the kit and get out of here.”

I left them to it and went to talk to the pilots, who had the best job in the world. All they did was fly to some exotic place, then sit around a hotel waiting to fly somewhere else. The only thing that sucked was that they couldn’t booze it up because they never knew when they’d be called for action. In this case, I could give them at least two nights of fun.

I said, “We’re heading to the resort. You guys have a place near here?”

The captain said, “Yeah, right down the road. Hope it’s not a shithole.”

I laughed and said, “Well, the good news is we’ve got at least two days of advanced force work before anything happens, so

you’re off from General Order One for two nights. After that, stand by for a call.”

The copilot blurt out, “Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about!”

He held out his fist for a bump. I tapped it and said, “Don’t go overboard here. I might need at least one pilot available

and I don’t want to be bailing you out of an Indian jail.”

I turned back to the cabin, seeing Veep and Brett removing panels in the walls of the aircraft, exposing weapons and surveillance

gear. I saw Veep pull out what looked like a 1911 pistol with an integral compensator and a red-dot sight. He said something

and Brett countered with another 1911, this one more compact, with a threaded barrel. Neither were the striker-fired guns

we had used in the past.

I said, “What are those? Where are the Glocks?”

Veep turned to me, looking embarrassed. Not for him, but for me. Knuckles said, “You shouldn’t spend so much time laying on

the beach in Charleston. They’re Staccato 2011s. We’ve gone to them as our standard firearm.”

That surprised me. “Forty-fives? We’ve gone back to old-school stuff?”

Honestly, I didn’t mind, as I’d grown up in the special operations world with a 1911 forty-five caliber. It was like pulling

teeth to get me to switch to the Glock in the first place.

He said, “No, they’re nine-mil double stacks. But they’re sweet shooting. Trigger like an icicle and a recoil impulse that is about perfect.”

I took the compensated one, racked the slide, eyed the chamber to ensure it was empty, then let it ride home. I took aim at

a screw in the wall and pulled the trigger. It was crisp. I said, “Leave this one. Take the compacts with the threaded barrel.”

Brett smiled, looked at Veep, and said, “Told you.”

Veep said, “But you won’t believe how flat this one shoots, and with the SRO, you can’t miss.”

I said, “I hear you, but we’re going for concealment over capability. And we might need to suppress.”

That ended the argument. I turned to Knuckles and said, “You got a surveillance package we can take out of here without looking

like we’re setting up for a movie shoot?”

“Yeah. Already packed. One Pelican case with a little of everything. IP cameras, Growlers, GPS tags, and Wi-Fi penetration

kits. Creed did a deep dive on the resort. It should all be plug-and-play on their own Wi-Fi system. All I need to do is log

on, according to him.”

“Perfect.” I turned to Jennifer and said, “Transportation?”

She said, “Here now. Waiting on us.”

“Even more perfect.”

I got the attention of the group and said, “This should just be a walk in the park, but as usual, we won’t treat it that way.

First order of business is to get a layout of the grounds. We’ll check in, then split up the property.” I handed out a sheet

of assignments with a map of the grounds, detailing who was checking out what. “Teams are Jennifer and me, Brett and Veep.

Knuckles, you’re on your own.”

“Why am I alone?”

“Because you’re so handsome. Work your magic on any female you see. Find out what you can.”

That brought out a laugh, but I was only half kidding. Knuckles was a man-whore of the first order, with women flocking to him for some strange reason I could never understand. He might actually find something useful by himself.

He scowled but took the assignment list without any other protest. I said, “Keep your eyes and ears open and we might just

get to enjoy this trip.”

Brett rolled his eyes and said, “If they wanted a walk in the park, they wouldn’t have asked for you.”