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, itmakes 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 thesun, 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, henodded 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."
