Heir of Honor (Guardian Security Dynasty #5)

Chapter 1

“No error,” Talon said quietly over the comms. Everyone knew the score.

He didn’t need to say the words, but as Panther team leader, it was his responsibility to ensure each of his men made it back from this mission.

Each checked their gear, and then one by one, they inspected each other’s.

This was a surgical mission. Get in, extract the target, and get out.

To his right, Juggernaut, his second in command, double-checked the risers, then turned and gave Talon a firm nod.

“Good to go,” Jug said calmly. Stryker, their comms/entry/medic specialist, stood at the back and moved his head from side to side, cracking his neck.

It was a superstitious habit the man had developed.

Hammer stood loose and ready. He was solid and had taken the empty slot when Ronan, their old skipper, had started leading a desk instead of a team.

Talon turned to look at Wolf. It was Wolf’s second mission since being cleared to come back to work.

The man had been through hell after having a concussion that caused some serious issues, but the doctors had said he was clear to come back to the team.

Talon was withholding judgment on that call.

Trust but verify. He was watching closely and would continue to keep an eye on his friend.

He fucking wanted the guy to be solid and functioning at one hundred percent, but the slightest hesitation could get them all killed.

“I’m good, Wraith,” Wolf assured him after the prolonged stare. Talon acknowledged his teammate’s words with a nod. He lowered his polarized visor over the clear shield where his heads-up display was projected.

The red light to his right over the ramp flipped on.

“One minute,” Talon said, lining himself up to jump first. He didn’t have to check.

He knew his team was doing the same behind him.

The loadmaster moved forward and became visible in his peripheral vision.

Talon watched as he held up his hand with five fingers and counted down.

Five, four, three, two … Air slammed into the hold of the aircraft. It made a sound that reminded him of a sharp knife severing heavy fabric. Talon watched the light above the open maw of the rear of the C-130. It lit green.

Talon stepped into the vacuum of darkness and emptiness.

The rumble of the aircraft stopped for just a moment.

Then, as his body dropped at one hundred and fifteen knots and he broke through the atmosphere, his ears were filled with the distinct scream of that violent fall.

Talon tightened his muscles until he was angled, legs slightly spread, arms held firmly at ninety degrees, his head down.

The ground didn’t exist yet. He focused on the heads-up display on his visor, the faint green digits rolled.

29,000 feet … 27,000 feet … Talon glanced past the display and took in the grandeur of the view.

A burnt orange brush stroke painted the horizon far to the west. There were no city lights, no landing zone indicators.

The land below was nothing but ungoverned and jagged terrain.

His heads-up display flashed blue now. Drop Zone Confirmed.

Talon glanced at the altimeter. 18,000 feet.

The cold seeped through his Nomex flight suit beneath his body armor.

Beside him, other silhouettes fell into his vision.

Jug, Stryker, Hammer, and Wolf right beside him.

“Now,” he said and tucked slightly, increasing his speed.

He knew his team had done the same. 12,000 feet …

10,000 feet … Talon drew a deep breath, steadied his heartbeat, and grabbed the ripcord.

The sound of the deploying chute snapped through the wind, sounding like a rifle. The snap jolted his body as air filled the canopy. His gear tightened hard across his parachute’s straps. His legs swung forward as he grabbed and gripped the toggles, stabilizing his descent.

He glanced above him. One, two, three … He twisted and found the fourth black chute above him.

With relief, he glanced down and feathered the toggles in his hands to guide the chute to the coordinates on his display.

The land below him was now visible. Rock outcroppings, a distant outline of an abandoned mining complex, and dry ravines were clearly visible through the infrared that engaged when he hit 8,000 feet.

“Thermal readings are minimal.” Jug’s voice came over the comms.

“Stable surface crosswinds from the northwest,” Dude said. His deep voice was a constant in their lives.

Adjusting his pitch, Talon guided his chute to the preselected landing zone.

A small depression behind a ridge, just four hundred meters from the mining camp.

The ground came up fast. Talon raised his legs, bending his knees, and hit the ground, rolling over hard-packed ground and coming up in a low crouch.

After a second, he unhooked his chute. The movement was practiced and done instinctively, and he was up and moving a breath later.

He scanned the ridgeline, where an attack, if they were seen, would come from.

“Rally on me,” he commanded. There wasn’t any time to waste.

The mission had been hurried from the start.

Panther team was at U.S. Air Base 201 in Agadez, Niger, when the British diplomat was reported missing.

Intelligence sources worked together, and by some miracle, they caught a break.

Hayden Pierce, the British Ambassador to Burundu, was seen being pushed into the back of a vehicle by a recently installed camera system down the street from the embassy.

Guardian was tapped on the shoulder due to ready assets in the area.

The diplomat had been missing for five hours, and they were on the aircraft with a mission to extract him.

Talon dropped the backpack and quickly assembled the drone.

When complete, it was no bigger than a soup can.

He pulled out the small handheld remote, and it lifted off.

Only the slightest of hums could be heard from the device as it launched.

He glanced at the screen as his team gathered around him.

“Weapons check,” he said as he moved the drone over the land they’d cover to get to the place where the diplomat was being held.

“Good to go.” He heard the words four times. They each carried a suppressed MK18 and a Sig 226.

“Optics, Dude,” Jug said as Talon elevated the drone. The small machine’s feed suddenly played on the heads-up displays of their clear visors.

Talon’s eyes narrowed. “Two on the watch tower at the southeast corner. Wolf, if they twitch, take them out.”

“Copy.” Wolf dropped his pack and started to assemble his marksman rifle.

Talon flew a wide berth around the watch tower and then elevated it directly above the compound. He slowly turned the device in a three-hundred-sixty-degree move.

Dude’s voice came over the comms. “Nine heat signatures, counting the tower.” He had a comprehensive view of the area, whereas they were limited to what they could see on the smaller screens.

“Satellite?” Talon asked.

“Not for another two hours, and that’s jumping on another country’s asset.”

Talon concentrated the drone over the building behind the walls and gate.

“That has to be him,” Jug said as they saw three heat signatures, one alone in the corner of the area and the other two standing a considerable distance away.

Talon would agree, but he double-checked the area to ensure no one else was present as a solitary figure. No, the others were free moving.

“Secluded,” Jug said, nodding his head again. “Got to be our diplomat.”

“Concur. Located and confirmed,” Talon said as he guided the drone back to where they huddled.

It took him only seconds to disassemble the drone and stow it in his pack. “Let’s go,” he ordered, and the team moved out. Talon adjusted his grip on his weapon, his gloved finger ready on the trigger as they moved over the shrub-covered landscape.

“Wolf,” he said as they approached the highest point outside the compound. Wolf peeled off and made his way up the slope. Talon led the other three toward the perimeter fence. “Wolf?” he whispered.

“Standby, they’re looking your way.” Wolf’s hushed words came through the comms.

Talon glanced at his team and then back at the gate. He lifted his infrared binoculars and stared inside the fenced area. “Movement far right-hand corner. Two bodies, the engines are still hot on the vehicles, maybe more I can’t see.”

“Move,” Wolf said, which launched them forward in formation. They became shadows as they slipped through the fence line where it sagged next to a post that had broken. Talon moved through the gap first, his rifle sweeping in smooth arcs as he entered the compound.

“Team inside,” Talon relayed the information to Dude. Hammer followed him in, and they advanced with Jug and Stryker moving as a team behind them.

They startled the first sentry. He was leaning against a fuel barrel, smoking, when they turned the corner, Talon high and Hammer low.

Startled, the man stood up and grabbed for his rifle.

Two suppressed rounds stopped him in his tracks.

One in the neck, one in the head. The man hit the ground with a muffled thud.