Page 7 of Stars

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2

Libya

Africa

Three grainsof sand tiptoed down a hump in front of Ethan’s face, disturbed by his gentle exhale. “Good to go in the blind,” he barely whispered. His throat mic picked up his vocal cords’ movements more than his breathless words.

“Roger, Blind,” came the voice over the radio. “Pitcher is on the move to Ballpark. ETA, seven minutes.”

“Roger.” Ethan pressed his cheek against his rifle and peered through the scope, dialing up the visual display on the tablet mounted on his rifle casing. His gaze swept the distance.

Hamza Arfaoui’s compound, empty three days ago, now crawled with men. Security guards for Arfaoui and jihadists both. Ethan had watched them pour out of the desert, arriving in caravans of dilapidated trucks and dozens of helicopters. He’d watched them scurry to secure the compound, dropping a security cordon well beyond Ethan’s blind. Hidden in the sand and the desert scrub, he’d been invisible. For days, he’d only moved to urinate in bottles and then bury them out of sight.

“ETA in six minutes,” the radio said again. As always, his voice was impossibly calm. He’d been a rock for years. Funny, it was only now, in their second life, that Ethan appreciated that solidity. “You should be receiving signal broadcast soon, Blind.”

His earpiece crackled, static fading in and out, a radio station struggling to catch and hold. He swept his gaze across the compound, out to the empty Libyan desert.

There. A convoy of vehicles. Snakes of sand spat from rugged tires, orange blossoming behind them. “Shortstop, I see three vehicles.”

“Roger, Blind. Three vehicles. Pitcher is in second vehicle.”

The static in his ear slipped away, replaced by warm laughter. “This is an impressive drive, Mr. Arfaoui.”

Despite himself, Ethan smiled.Jack.

Hamza Arfaoui, president of the most stable, and most powerful, of the independent districts of Libya, seemed pleased. “As president, one must have a secure redoubt to escape to. You must remember your own, yes? Camp David?”

“It’s been a few years since I was in the White House,” Jack demurred. “But you never forget Camp David.”

“You seem to have done well for yourself after leaving office.”

“Being a disgraced former president wasn’t quite the career suicide I thought it would be. People pay handsomely for what I know and the access I have.”

“Perhaps after this, I will be able to see Camp David too, no?”

“We can all hope.”

Jack and Arfaoui fell into discussion about the weather, about the sand, about getting to and from the compound. Ethan kept his gaze glued to the display, tracking every rotation of the tires on Jack’s vehicle.

“ETA three minutes.”

Showtime. Three days ago, Ethan had kissed Jack goodbye and flown into the Libyan desert, landing at an oasis ten miles away. He’d hiked to the compound under the new moon and set up his blind before dawn. When his team did a flyby with their drone the next day, Ethan’s blind had blended into the sands, his heat signature melding with the shimmering desert.

All for this meeting.

Ahead, Jack’s convoy slipped through the outer perimeter of Arfaoui’s compound, parking under a copse of towering palms. The compound, structured around an oasis, seemed like a mirage, a painting of life on an unforgiving landscape.

Jack slid from the back seat after Arfaoui.

Within a heartbeat, Jack’s twin shadows appeared at his shoulders.Well done, boys.Ethan exhaled slowly, watching Blake Becker and Pete Reyes. The men stood at Jack’s shoulders, scanning the compound, the desert. They wore khaki tactical pants with twin drop holsters, and both carried shoulder-slung MP5s.

He’d spent long hours with Pete, working him up to look that badass. Hard to imagine that once Pete had been behind the press lectern in the White House briefing reporters every day, chugging coffee, with a softness to his face and his belly starting to show.

By the cut of his jaw now, he looked ready to catch a bullet with his teeth, chew it up, and spit it out.

“Come, let’s talk inside.” Arfaoui beckoned Jack toward the palatial desert compound stretching around an impossibly crystalline pool carved into the desert sands.