Chapter 2
Talon stopped moving at the knock on his metal door, put down his weapon, and walked silently to open it. Jug stood outside, sweat streaming down his forehead. Opening the door further, Talon motioned for him to come in.
“You took your comms out. Dude has been trying to get a hold of you.”
Talon frowned. He hadn’t taken out his comms. “No.” He pulled out his earpiece.
Jug pulled a small case out of his cargo pocket. “Didn’t sound like you, so I brought batteries.”
“It was just changed out three months ago.” Talon took the small device over to the desk and turned on the light for Jug as the man sat down.
“Could’ve been a bad battery,” Jug said before putting on magnifying glasses and extracting a pair of tweezers with tiny tongs at the end.
Then he pulled out what looked like a needle, but it was a screwdriver.
He carefully extracted the almost imperceptible screw and hatch, used the tweezers to withdraw the battery, and then carefully picked up another.
Without magnification, Talon couldn’t see a damn thing.
The batteries were the size of lice, tiny yet more powerful than anyone could have imagined.
After tightening the screw, Jug lifted the device and gave it back to Talon, who placed the comms back in his ear and tapped it. “Testing.”
“Ah, there you are,” Dude said. “Bosses want a secure call. Ops Center has a SCIF ready for you.”
“On my way.” He grabbed his weapon and his ball cap before glancing at Jug. “Thanks.”
“No worries, Wraith. I’ll always have your back,” Jug said as he closed his kit.
“I know.” His hand landed on Jug’s shoulder. “That’s why I’ll always make sure you make it home to Shelly.”
Jug smiled at that. “Can’t wait for the next rotation. This place is boring as hell.”
“You mean you can’t wait to get back to your woman.”
Jug looked at him. “Not going to deny it.”
“Still like being on the team? No thoughts of leaving?”
“Look, Skipper …”
Talon lifted his eyebrows, and Jug rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, I know, you’re not the skipper, and no one can fill his shoes, but, dude, your boots make one hell of an imprint, and it’s a term of respect, so deal with it.
Anyway, stop asking me if I want to quit.
Shelly is working at another refugee camp, and it’s in this region.
I’ll see her more on this team than I will if I go stateside.
This works for us. We’ve both been single all our adult lives.
When we’re together, it makes it that much more special.
Not that you’d know what that means. You haven’t had a date in a decade. ”
Talon grunted a laugh. He wouldn’t get into his nonexistent dating life with his second in command.
Since Jug had gotten married, he’d been trying to hook everyone up.
Married life was great, yada, yada. He pointed at the small dorm-room-sized refrigerator.
“Drink at least one of those waters before you leave. You were sweating like a maniac.”
“I was at the gym when Dude called me. Got to work on my speed,” Jug replied as he headed to the fridge.
Talon smiled. “Who knew it would only take you getting married to get yourself in shape?”
Jug flipped him off. “I was in shape, just not speedy.”
Talon laughed outright. “You’ve dropped at least forty pounds.”
“Meh, thirty-five,” Jug said before lifting the bottle to his lips. “Shelly likes my muscles. Can’t lose too much.”
Talon shook his head and opened the door. A blast of heat hit him full on. The small, portable metal container rooms were air-conditioned, but nothing could keep out the heat on the surface of the sun, and that was exactly where Air Base 201 felt like it was located.
Actually, it wasn't the surface of the sun. It was Air Base 201 in Agadez, Niger.
Several miles southeast of the city, the base was a hub of US military precision, carved out of some of the harshest elements on earth.
The compound stretched endlessly in all directions, surrounded by scrub desert that shimmered like a mirage under the relentless African sun.
The airstrip reverberated with brutal heat, the waves dancing back up toward the blazing sky in hypnotic patterns that could drive a man mad if he stared too long.
To the west of the barracks stood the command compound, which was where Talon was heading.
His boots crunched against the sunbaked earth as he passed concrete revetments, bunkers, hardened aircraft shelters, and the MQ-9 Reaper drones that sat beneath camouflage netting like sleeping predators.
Right now, their engines were cold, but each and every one of the drones was armed—their payloads ready to deliver death from above at a moment's notice.
As he made his way through the dust toward the modular container offices that housed intelligence analysts, drone pilots, and SOCOM liaisons, he nodded to people he knew and stopped to shake a hand or two.
The special ops teams assigned to Air Base 201 were constant fixtures.
Guardian rotated in and out, but over the course of the last year, Talon had made acquaintances and remained friendly.
But not personal. Never personal. That was a luxury he couldn't afford, not anymore.
He headed to the communications building, where the antenna masts buzzed with encrypted signals. Antennas pointed skyward, watching and listening, in constant contact with satellites and friendly nations across the globe. The technology was a lifeline in this godforsaken corner of the world.
At the Operations Center, Talon waited at the entry area for his badges to be verified and his need for entry to be confirmed.
The security protocols were ironclad—no exceptions, no shortcuts.
Once cleared, he dropped his cell phone into the secured locker and closed it with a metallic clang.
As he walked into the command center, he was greeted by ice-cold air that hit him like a physical force.
The air conditioning in this facility was state-of-the-art, a necessity dictated by the massive amounts of computer equipment that generated enough heat to rival the desert outside.
"Over here, sir," one of the airmen said to him, pointing toward one of the secure areas in the SCIF where he could speak to his command without anyone else hearing.
Talon nodded and headed straight to the room, knowing already what would be displayed on the boards and monitors covering the walls.
The region was lit up with red and blue markers, indicating active targets, drone recon paths, possible safe houses, known arms routes, and high-risk zones.
It was a digital battlefield that never slept.
From this location, the United States could strike anywhere in the Sahel region, which was basically hundreds of square miles of ungoverned territory.
Only Guardian could do it quicker. They had C-130s permanently based at 210, their pilots rotating on call duties so they were always ready to take off.
That was how they’d managed to beat the British SAS to the development location and extract the ambassador.
Guardian was quick and agile and didn't need government approval to move.
Talon shut the door behind him and picked up the phone when it rang. Ronan's voice brought a smile to his face, cutting through the tension that had been building in his shoulders.
"'Bout time, you son of a bitch. Took you long enough."
"Maybe you should quality-check the batteries you sent us. My earpiece went dead, and I didn't even know it."
Ronan was quiet for a second, and Talon could practically hear the gears turning in his former team leader's mind. "I'll have somebody double-check them. That's not a good thing."
Talon nodded, although Ronan couldn't see him. "You're right. If that had happened during a mission, I would've been screwed."
Ronan made a grunt of agreement. "Have everybody replace their batteries."
"I'm pretty sure Jug is already doing that," Talon said with a chuckle. "But I'll double-check."
"How are you guys doing?"
"Guys? You mean Wolf?" Talon asked, knowing exactly who Ronan was most concerned about.
"Yup. But curious about the other guys, too."
"Well, Jug is down thirty-five pounds, running faster than Hammer now, and is pretty damn cocky about it. But I'm okay with that."
Ronan laughed, the sound carrying genuine warmth. "No doubt. I'm glad to see he's taking his physical conditioning seriously now."
"All because of Shelly.” Talon chuckled.
"Remind me to send that woman a couple bottles of wine the next time she's in the States," Ronan said.
Talon leaned back in his chair, the metal creaking slightly under his weight.
"According to Jug, they plan on staying overseas.
They like it this way. They see each other when they rotate off and on between assignments, as well as when they're in the region together.
Anytime we're near the camp where Shelly is working, I make it a point of stopping so they can hook up. "
"Literally or physically?" Ronan asked.
" I don't want that vision in my head.” Talon laughed.
"How’s Wolf doing?" Ronan asked after they finished their chuckle at Jug's expense.
Talon's expression grew more serious. "I haven't seen anything to lead me to believe the doctors weren't right. But I'm continuing to watch. It only takes a slight hesitation."
Ronan agreed with a heavy sigh. "And Stryker? Hammer?"
"Stryker's good. Jug keeps trying to hook him up with one of Shelly's friends. Hammer fits in like he belongs here. He's a good man. Solid. Dependable."
"But you still don't trust him."
Talon wobbled his head back and forth even though Ronan couldn't see it. "More and more. There's no reason not to trust him, every reason to trust him. I just need a little bit more time."
"That's fair," Ronan said, but his tone shifted, becoming more businesslike. "But let's get down to the reason I called."
Talon looked at the speakerphone, tension creeping back into his shoulders. "And that would be?"
"We have a situation in the Gulf of Guinea. Pirates took the MV Calypso Queen."
"And this involves us how?" Talon asked as he leaned forward, his instincts already kicking into high gear.
"The cargo owner contacted us when the local governments were of no help. The ship is contracted to Shoemaker Resources. According to the ship manifest and the CEO Harlan Shoemaker, three containers of uranium are in the hold of that ship.”
“And the locals refuse to help?”
“They don’t know about the special shipment and aren’t being told. Here’s the weird thing. The pirates have had it for over a week, and Shoemaker has just now contacted us."
Talon's blood ran cold. Fucking CEOs covering their asses when shit hits the fan was a pressure point for him. He sighed and asked, "Do the pirates know what they have?"
"We don’t believe so. The manifest is coded, and unless they've opened every container, they won't have found it. It's in the center of the ship. The hold is double-lined, specifically restructured for the transport of the uranium."
Talon frowned, his mind racing through the implications. "Is it enriched?"
"No, thank God," Ronan said quickly. "Right now, it's yellowcake."
Talon nodded his head. Yellowcake was high-grade uranium ore, which, in the wrong hands, was dangerous but not immediately weaponizable.
Ronan continued, "You need to get that boat under our control. You'll be leaving in four hours. Dude has the information, location, and logistics. Take care of our team, my friend."
Talon smiled, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. "They're my team now, Skipper. And you can guarantee I'll do whatever it takes for as long as it takes to make sure they come home safely."
"I have no doubt, Talon. Do me a favor, though?"
"Anything." And Talon meant it.
"Take care of yourself, too."
Talon cracked his neck, the joints popping audibly. "Yeah, about that."
Ronan chuckled. "I'll tell your dad you said hi."
"How’s the old man doing?"
"You can call him an old man," Ronan laughed, "but he just kicked my ass in the ring yesterday. Not that I'd tell him that. I held up my chin until I got home. And then I died. Man has one hell of a punch."
"Yeah, but he has his weak spots, too," Talon said with a grin.
"Tell me what they are," Ronan said a bit too eagerly.
Talon laughed heartily. "No way, my man. You need to find that out for yourself."
"You really are an asshole, you know that, right?" Ronan said with mock indignation.
"Oh yeah. There's no doubt of that. Take care of yourself and that woman of yours."
"Will do. Guardian Operations clear."
The line went dead, leaving Talon alone with his thoughts and the weight of the mission ahead. Three containers of uranium, pirates, and a ship somewhere in the Gulf of Guinea. He stood up, his mind already shifting into mission mode. Time to gather his team and head into the unknown once again.