Night bled across the dunes as Bravo Team moved in staggered formation through the ravine, NVGs glowing faint green. Dust still hung in the air from the earlier blast, drifting in slow spirals through the twisted rocks.
Ford was out front with Sean Paulsen, breathing hard, every step a fight not to break formation and sprint blindly ahead. They were heading toward a villa in the distance.
“Heat signatures?” Paulsen asked.
“None,” Sabra answered over comms. “But we’ve got tracks.”
They came to the narrow choke point where the pass had collapsed. And stopped dead. The ground told the story.
There was scattered blood, boot prints from multiple fighters, and scuff marks from someone being dragged forcibly across stone. And on the ledge, Ford saw it: a stark handprint. A scar in the palm. Dante’s.
“Jesus,” Buck whispered behind him. “They dragged him out of here.”
Sean crouched. “Direction?”
Friend swept a light, scanning the disturbed sand. “North. Toward the wadis. That’s a Krueger corridor.”
Ford’s chest tightened, pressure rising like a vise. His head pounded from the RPG blast.
Sabra said it, her voice low, sickened, “Ford… you need to see this.”
He moved before she finished speaking, boots slipping on loose rock. She reached into a crevice and pulled out a half-buried glob of yellow tape, a hazard symbol etched on it. A radiation warning label.
Ford stared at it. He knew exactly what it meant. “There’s another device.”
Sean swore under his breath. “Dante was trying to signal us before they moved it.”
Ford swallowed hard, fighting the punch of guilt.
“If they moved another nuke through here…” Buck started.
“Then Krueger isn’t running one deal,” Ford finished. “He’s running multiple.”
Sean stepped back from the prints, jaw clenched. “We’ve got a location. Villa complex north ridge. Five klicks out. Too fortified for Bravo to take alone.”
“That villa is part of Khalil’s wife’s dowry,” Ford panted.
“That’s where we head. Everyone drink some water and eat a protein bar,” Sabra said.
Ford spun toward her. “We need to go. Now.”
Paulsen caught his arm. “No. We wait for Crescent 1. Nine operators can’t take that villa alone.”
Ford tried to yank free, but Sean didn’t let him. “We charge that villa alone, we die, you die. Dante dies. We lose another nuke. We lose everything.”
Ford’s breathing fractured. “He bought us time. He saved us. And they’re likely beating him to death right now.”
Sean lowered his voice, steady but heavy. “I know. I know, Ford. But we don’t lose him by impatience.”
Ford’s hands shook as Red scanned the perimeter. “Crescent 1 is four hours out. We dig in. Watch the villa. No one leaves without us knowing.”
Ford stared northward, the direction Dante was dragged, until his vision blurred around the edges. He whispered, more promise than prayer, “Hold on, brother. Just hold on.”
Behind him, Bravo fanned out into defensive positions and moved toward the villa.
THE VILLA
The chains were unhooked from the overhead beam, and for a moment, Dante thought he might fall. But the guards were there, their grips like iron clamps on his biceps, holding him upright. His legs, useless and trembling, buckled beneath him. They didn't let him fall. They dragged him, his boots scraping a pathetic trail in the sand and grime toward the center of the room.
