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Prologue

JSOC mission… Undisclosed location

“Beckett.”

Major Foster Beckett nodded at his copilot, Sean Hansen, before banking the Pave Hawk over as the next burst of machine gun fire whizzed past the chopper, lighting up the darkness behind them. “I know, buddy. This guy just won’t give up.”

He tipped the machine farther forward, picking up speed as he skimmed across the top of a ridge then dropped the bird down the other side. Barely missing a crumbling wall as it materialized out of the night.

One of his four teammates groaned in the rear cabin. Whether it was from the way Foster tossed the helicopter around or because they were on the verge of bleeding out, he wasn’t sure. But if he didn’t lose the bogey on his tail, it wouldn’t matter.

They’d all be dead.

Sean made a wet, gurgling sound, and Foster nearly plowed the machine into the ground as he snapped his attention toward his buddy, wondering how it had all gone sideways so fast.

The damn spooks.

Once again, the CIA had screwed them over.

Because Foster bet his ass the agency knew two of their agents were dirty.

That they’d set up Foster and his crew as bait when their supposed rescue mission had turned into a shootout minutes into the return flight.

Calm, cool extraction one moment, an all-out attack the next with Agent Stein and Agent Adams leading the charge.

The one scenario his teammates hadn’t counted on.

Not when they’d been working with the bastards for the past six months.

Men they thought could be trusted. Would have their backs.

Discovering they were the ones selling intel…

Foster should have recognized the signs over the past few weeks. The beads of sweat along their brows. The slight twitch in their hands. Their increasing reluctance to look Foster or his buddies in the eyes.

And now, his brothers were paying the price.

He banked again, narrowly avoiding the next round of gunfire. “Hang in there, Sean. Once I lose this asshole, we’ll be back on course.”

Sean panted, lifting his arm and jabbing his finger at the only nav screen still working — leaving a bloody smear across the surface. “Here.”

Foster frowned, dodging up and over another ridge before following the hill around to the right. Hugging the surface to the point dirt and stones kicked out behind him in twin eddies. “I realize we’re desperate but even I think that’s crazy.”

Not that it stopped him from altering his course.

Heading for that speck on the map glaring at him from beneath the smear of blood.

Rain splattered across the bubble, flashes of lightning giving him fleeting glimpses of the landscape.

A bulging rock face on his right. A lone tower on his left.

What might be his saving grace when damn near every other navigational aid was dead.

Even his night vision had gotten damaged, leaving him with nothing more than that one flickering nav screen and twenty years’ worth of experience.

Foster hit the winding gulley leading to the narrow opening going as fast as the aircraft could handle.

More than it could handle based on the how the controls vibrated in his grasp, the odd alarm chirping to life.

He divided his attention between the screen and the walls quickly closing in on him, mentally counting down the distance.

He was about twenty feet back when he banked the chopper hard to the right, holding it steady as the sluggish controls fought to respond — definitely a hydraulic leak hampering the inputs.

The gap appeared in front of him like an abyss spiraling into the rock.

The utter darkness drawing them in. He hit the tunnel going some insane speed, the controls still shaking as the engine whined from the strain.

Any hint of light cut out. Even the nav blinked off for a few moments before he shot out the other side, a welcomed flash of lightning saving him from flying the machine into the side of the cliff as it curved around in front of them.

He cranked the helicopter over, trying to get more distance between them and the opening when the chopper surged forward as the sky lit up behind him, the force of the explosion spinning the aircraft.

Flames erupted from the fissure, parts of the other chopper whizzing through the air.

Something hit the back end, pitching them sideways as a shrill whine echoed through the cabin.

It took a few moments to get the bird stabilized, the controls like lead weights in his hands, with the last impact claiming what little hydraulics he’d had left.

Sean coughed, splattering blood across the window as he met Foster’s gaze. “Hooyah.”

“I got lucky. Nothing more.”

Sean shook his head, his mouth pursing tight as he tapped his chest pocket. “My letter…”

Foster grunted, wishing he could move his arm enough to punch Sean in his thigh. “No. No talking about that damn death letter we’ve all written. You’re going to be fine. You just have to push through.”

“Beck…”

“I mean it Sean. Don’t you dare give up…” He cursed under his breath, giving Sean a nod when his friend managed to reach out and leave a bloody handprint on his arm. “I’ll get it to Cheryl. I promise.”

Sean nodded, closing his eyes as a shudder raced down him, blood seeping through the bandages around his neck and ribs.

He’d taken the brunt of the attack when Stein had opened fire, lunging over to cover Foster after Foster had gotten hit twice in the shoulder.

Their pararescue medic and Foster’s best friend, Chase Remington, had done what he could to minimize the bleeding once he and his other buddies had dealt with Adams and Stein, but it was obvious it wasn’t working.

Foster huffed. “Stay with me, brother. I’ve got this baby turned around. I’ll have you on the ground and into a surgical room within fifteen. Ten, if I can get more speed out of her.”

Sean chuckled, the raspy sound fading into that eerie gurgling noise as his head lolled back and he slumped against the window.

“Sean! Damn it, Chase, I think he’s coding.”

Chase popped into view, his hands covered in blood. “I need a minute, Foster.”

“Sean doesn’t have a minute.”

“Neither do Zain or Kash. I can only spread myself so thin.”

“We’re not dead yet, dumbass.” Zain Everett — their SAR specialist, sniper and all ‘round badass. Though it sounded as if he was even worse than Chase had hinted at. “Take care of Sean.”

Chase pursed his lips, fisting his hands for a moment before vanishing then reappearing with an armful of supplies. He checked Sean’s neck, looking back at Foster before applying more bandages and giving the guy a shot of something.

Chase turned to face him, mouth pinched tight. Eyes shadowed. Blood oozed from a gash on his forehead, more soaking the hem of his shirt. What looked like multiple hits to his vest.

Chase had been with Foster from the start. Had been the one constant throughout his career — until they’d met Sean, Rhett, Zain and Kash a dozen years ago. The six of them had fallen into sync on their very first mission, and they’d fought hard to stay together since.

Chase tugged on the tape holding Foster’s shoulder together, muttering obscenities under his breath. “Your damn shoulder’s a mess. I’m not sure how you’re even moving that arm. Everything’s shattered.”

Foster would have shoved him off if he’d had the strength. Instead, he merely nodded toward Sean. “How is he?”

Chase glanced away, making it look as if he was getting more supplies out of his bag. “He’s lost at least two liters of blood, and I’m out of saline and plasma.”

“But if I get him back…”

“You just focus on staying conscious as long as possible. Try to get us as close as you can to the base. Okay?”

“Chase…”

“I’m just a medic, buddy. I can’t raise the dead.”

Foster looked over at Sean. He hadn’t moved in the past few minutes, his skin so damn white he swore it was see-through. “No. It can’t end like this. You have to do something. That should have been me. My blood. My sacrifice. He’s got a wife. Kids. I have to…”

To what? Save him? Because Foster knew if Chase couldn’t save Sean, no one could.

Chase packed more gauze around Foster’s wounds, adding another layer of tape. “Let me check on the others, then I’ll be back. Do what I can to help keep you awake.”

“You worry about Zain, Kash and Rhett. I’ll be okay.”

“No, you won’t.” Chase cut him off. “You’re bleeding through the clotting powder. Your face is nearly as white as Sean’s and your good hand is shaking so bad, I’m surprised the damn chopper isn’t vibrating through the air.”

“My hand’s shaking because I’ve lost hydraulics. Go. I’ll shout if I’m gonna pass out.”

“Right, because self-preservation has always been first on your list. Just, don’t fucking die on me.”

“Says the man who’s bleeding worse than me. And yeah, I noticed. How bad are you hit?”

“Enough I’m extremely pissed.”

Chase disappeared, Zain’s groan sounding above the engines a moment later.

The fact Foster hadn’t heard their flight engineer, Rhett Oliver, utter so much as a sigh since his team had finally overpowered Stein and Adams meant the guy was either dead or unconscious.

Just like their dog handler, Kash Sinclair.

The engine chugged, dropping the bird several feet before it stabilized. They couldn’t afford to land. Not while they were fifty miles from safety with Foster’s entire team struggling to hold on.

Which meant, milking every ounce of speed out of the aircraft.

Taking it as close to the edge as possible without actually blowing the engines or killing the transmission.

That fine line between all-out and too far.

One he’d skirted on more occasions than he should be proud of.

But the mission and his team always came first.

Not team. Family. That’s what they were to him. Brothers. Men he’d kill for. Or die to protect. The only reason he’d made it through twenty years without losing his sanity.