NIGER – SOMEWHERE ALONG THE SAHEL CORRIDOR – DOD RENDITION TRANSPORT – 0400 LOCAL
The C-27J Spartan bucked once in a pocket of hot air, its engines roaring against the dark. The cargo bay stank of fuel, metal, and tension. It was the kind that seeped into skin.
Krueger sat chained to the reinforced bench, wrists cuffed to a steel bar, ankles shackled, a black restraint belt cinched tight across his chest like a warning label no one bothered to read.
The two DoD handlers across from him hadn’t spoken since takeoff. Major Kallen, the senior escort, kept his eyes fixed on a tablet. Tech Sergeant Reeve sat rigid beside him, rifle angled across his lap, finger nowhere near the trigger but close enough to remind Krueger he wasn’t special cargo.
The plane jolted again.
Krueger smirked. “You boys fly like amateurs,” he drawled.
Reeve didn’t look up. “Keep talking. See what happens.”
Krueger reclined as much as the restraints allowed. “Relax, Sergeant. If I wanted trouble, I wouldn’t need a free hand.”
Kallen finally spoke, “You’re being moved per DoD directive 14-03. You’ll remain under supervision until the liaison team verifies your intel.”
Krueger’s grin sharpened. “I like the word ‘liaison.’ Sounds so… optional.”
Kallen didn’t react. “This is not optional.”
Krueger leaned forward as far as the chains allowed, eyes bright with something too close to delight. “You think you’re in control. That’s adorable.”
Reeve’s jaw flexed. “You murdered a pilot and tried to murder another. You’re lucky we don’t dump you in the Atlantic.”
Krueger tilted his head. “Lucky?” he repeated. “No. Valuable—that’s the word you’re looking for.” He tapped the toe of his boot against the floor, the sound sharp in the metal bay.
“You boys wouldn’t be flying me halfway across the world if your people weren’t scared. Scared they’ve lost the initiative. Scared they don’t understand the game. Scared the pieces have moved without them.”
Kallen’s voice stayed flat. “We don’t care about your philosophy.”
“You should.” Krueger leaned back again, eyes glittering in the dim red cargo lights. “Because the people you’re flying me to meet?” A beat. “They understand the game.”
Reeve’s grip on his rifle tightened. “What exactly do you think is waiting for you in Niger?”
Krueger’s smile turned reptilian. “Opportunity.”
Kallen lowered the tablet at that, just enough to look Krueger in the eye. “You’re an informant,” he said. “Not an equal. You’re here to give us information, not negotiate terms. You’ll be placed in a controlled site. You’ll not have unsupervised contact. You’ll be monitored constantly.”
Krueger laughed—short, sharp, humorless. “You think a cage and a babysitter are new to me? I make myself useful. People look the other way. They always do.”
Kallen stiffened. “Not these people.”
“Oh, Major,” Krueger leaned in, “especially these people.”
The plane dipped suddenly, engines throttling back as they descended. Reeve braced a hand against the wall. Kallen strapped himself in. Krueger didn’t move.
The seatbelt indicator blinked red overhead. A crackling voice came through the comms: “Two minutes to ground. Stay secured.”
Kallen double-checked Krueger’s restraints. “You will follow instructions on landing.”
Krueger’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Tell me something: do the men on the ground know what you’re delivering to them?”
Reeve narrowed his gaze. “A criminal.”
“No,” Krueger replied. “A solution.”
The landing gear deployed with a heavy mechanical groan. Heat surged into the cargo bay as the rear ramp cracked open. Outside was darkness and sand, a faint glow of floodlights,
