Resolving to keep an eye on him, Rowan trashed the coffee mug and the rest of the roll. He gathered his gear and, with a nod to his men, dropped to a crouch as the boat bumped into the muddy slope of the riverbend to let them off. The others followed, one by one, until all seven of them stood hip-deep in green, watching the boat as it reversed out into the current.
“Change into cammo, and let’s roll,” Rowan ordered. They moved into the cover of the canopy where they couldn’t be seen from the riverbank. He knelt and ran a quick GPS ping to mark their position for Theo. When he glanced up, gone were the tourists heading for a trek into the Amazon. In their place stood a team of Operators, armed to the teeth and ready for war.
Let’s do this.
Get in. Check.
Next checkpoint. Get her.
“Okay, Seahorse, radio check.” Every time he used their chosen call sign, he got a kick out of it. He’d been searching for a call sign that would tie into Stronghold, and Seahorse fit the bill to a T. His men answered in turn.
As always, Gael was first to thumb his radio. “Seahorse two here.”
“Seahorse Three, on deck.” Colson was a split second behind his brother.
“Seahorse Four has you loud and clear, Seahorse One.” He could always count on Dawsyn banking his usual snark when tasked with the responsibility of a mission.
“Seahorse Five is all painted up and ready to dance, boss.” Jericho spread his arms out wide and approached Bronx.
“Keep your fucking twinkle toes over there by Three.” Bronx shoved Scout in the center of his chest, causing their tracker to take a giant step forward. “Seahorse Six requests permission to punch this dumbass on the nose.”
Rowan snorted. If his men weren’t throwing down snark at this point in a mission, something was very wrong. “Denied. Behave, Five, or I’ll make you wait here for the Lancha to come back, and you can find your own way home.”
“Seahorse Seven, locked and loaded.” Calloway.
“All present,” Gael confirmed.
“Okay, boys,” Rowan whispered into his mic, “we’re at the jump-off point. Stand by to move to your pre-assault positions. Seahorse one, out.” Then he keyed his other radio, the one that connected him to their support net.
“TOC, this is Seahorse One. You with us, over?”
“TOC is standing by and in position. We also have Ghost TOC, aka G-TOC, laying up fifty mikes at a fast run from your primary extraction site, over.”
A wave of relief swept over Rowan. Their extraction team was in place just as they’d planned. Had it been otherwise, Theowould have told him. Still, it was comforting to know there were friendlies nearby. He was going to owe Rock and Grif big time for this one. “Good to have you with us, TOC. We are on target and moving to our pre-assault positions. Is our bird airborne, over?”
“The bird and Ghost’s Skillet is airborne, Boss, and headed your way. G-TOC is standing by for any local intel you need to send their way. Good hunting, sir. TOC out.”
Thank fuck for that.
Somewhere out here, Enya Moore was hopefully still alive, and if so, there was nothing in this jungle that was going to stop him from bringing her home.
CHAPTER NINE
Rowan had forgottenhow much he hated working in a jungle environment. He hated how everything felt wet, heavy, and was thick with heat that didn’t just cling to his skin but soaked straight through to his bones.
This fucking sucks.
Every step was a fight against roots and vines. He and his men had worked themselves down a trail that was a mess of mud and fallen limbs, but they kept moving. Their slow and deliberate bootsteps muffled by rotten leaves and God knows what else.
I’m never bitching about the humidity in Kentucky again.
Ever.
But he knew that was a lie. How many times had he muttered the same thing over the years? Too many, yet when it hit the hundreds in July, he knew he’d plant his ass in a chair on the porch and mutter about the price of fans and the electricity they were using.
The critters in the jungle had long ago gotten used to their presence and kept up their songs, buzzes, and went about their daily routines as if his team had as much right to be there as they did. The second the sound cut off, Rowan raised a fist and froze mid-step. His team stopped instantly. There was no need for questions or to ask what had happened.
Gael slid up beside him. The warpaint on his face was streaked with sweat. He kept his weapon low but ready. He tilted his chin east, toward the dip in the ground where a narrow animal track cut across their route. Rowan nodded, adjusted his grip on the MK18, and crouched. He didn’t need to check if his men would do the same. He knew they would. He cocked his head to one side as the sound of voices drifted toward them.
