He needs me as much as I need him, so he raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t force youtocome.”
“Might as well have,” I grumble under mybreath.
Despite his massive frame, he moves with a lithe grace as he weaves around large metal storage crates that hide a wide open area complete with a boxing ring, free weights, climbing wall, and salmon ladder. “Training forAmerican NinjaWarrior?”
“You know as well as I do that you’ve got to be ready for anything in the field.” He jerks a thumb towards the climbing wall. Built that after we lost Paulie a year ago. Dude broke his back trying to scale a three-story building inKandahar.”
“Get ready for mandatory workouts twice a week,” a soft-spoken woman with hair the color of rich mahogany says as she rises from a folding chair at the edge of a make-shift kitchen area and then extends a delicate hand. “InaraRuzgani.”
“West.Sampson.”
Her slight frame belies the strength of her grip, and her gray eyes don’t appear to miss a single detail as she looks me up and down. “Navyman.SEAL?”
“Hooyah,” I reply automatically, earning me a slap on thebicep.
“This is Cooper Yarrow,” Ryker says, gesturing to the man next to Inara. Cooper mutters his own greeting, then crushes my fingers in a brief handshake. “Coop spent nine years as a flyboy before goingprivate.”
Water drips somewhere to my left, and the vague scent of a recent hard workout lingers underneath the aroma of motor oil. No one speaks for several minutes, the other three watching me like they expect me to sproutanotherhead.
“Well,” Inara begins as she gestures to the boxing ring, “let’s see whatyou’vegot.”
* * *
Sweat stings my eyes.I swipe the back of my hand over my brows and come away with a streak of blood. Inara rushes forward, driving her shoulder into my solar plexus, but I foil her attempt to knock the wind out of me by grabbing her as I fall back, controlling my descent until I flip her onto her back and land on top of her. Before she can react, I’ve got my hand around her throat, but she uses my own favorite technique to break my hold, and throws me totheside.
I roll to my feet, and Coop tags in and grabs me. He’s stronger than I am, but I maneuver my arm between his legs, hook his thigh, and send him down tothemat.
“How…many times…do I need to beat your asses?” Knees loose, arms slightly raised, I take my defensive stance and wait for one or the other to come at meagain.
“Up the wall, Sampson,” Ryker orders. “You’ve got thirtyseconds.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.Despite my exhaustion, I vault the ropes surrounding the ring, sprint over to the climbing wall, and take a deep breath as I scan thesurface.
“Twenty-six!”
Letting him rattle me isn’t an option. One hold, two, three, and I’m climbing. Halfway up, he’s put in a trick hold, and the damn thing pops out of the wall, sending meswinging.
“Thirteen seconds, wonder-boy,” Coop taunts frombelow.
“Fuck off.” The words escape on a grunt, and I use my momentum to reach a hold three feet to my left. With four seconds to spare, I slap a red square at the top of the wall, and I’m rewarded with a rappelling line dangling in frontofme.
Ryker whistles as I land in front of him, then sends me up the salmon ladder. At the top, I dip my hands into a bowl of chalk powder, then leap to a pole to slide back down to the ground, and the three waiting mercenaries staring at me with respect. Ryker extends his hand. “Six years as a civvie hasn’t tarnished your skillsatall.”
“You know what I do for a living. What, exactly, was the point ofallthis?”
Inara hands me a bottle of water, and I crack the seal as Ryker gestures to a makeshift living room—a couch and two beat-up recliners surrounding a large television—in the far corner of the warehouse. Once we’re all seated, the screen flickerstolife.
In a dingy room, a bare, yellow bulb spotlights a steel chair bolted to the stained cement floor. Two uniformed officers enter the frame, dragging a thin, bloodied man between them. Once he’s tied to the chair with loops of black cord around his wrists, ankles, and chest, one of the officers grabs his greasy black hair and tips his face to thecamera.
Holy fuck.“Is that who I thinkitis?”
“Columbian President Aquliar’s son, Ernesto.” Ryker meets my gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line. “If we don’t get him out in the next seventy-two hours, he’s dead. Given the terrain, it’s a four-man-op. We’re going with or without you, but if you want in, we leaveat0700.”
13
Cam
One solitary desklamp illuminates the outer office. Computers sit silent and dark. The scents of coffee and stale Mountain Dew hang intheair.
