The words were designed to break him. To strip away hope. Steele knew the tactic. Had been trained to recognize it. Didn't make it any easier to hear.
Nazari stood and walked to the door. "My wife and son are gone because of you. Because you chose to help them escapeinstead of completing your mission. I want you to spend your remaining time contemplating that choice. Wondering if it was worth it."
Steele met his eyes. Held his gaze for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice low and steady despite the pain. "That what you did to them? Your wife and son? Keep the bruises where no one could see? Make sure they knew their place but looked perfect on the outside?"
The slap came fast. Nazari's hand connected with Steele's face hard enough to snap his head to the side. The split lip reopened and fresh blood ran down his chin. But Steele turned back slowly, looked Nazari in the eye, and smiled through the blood.
"Hit a nerve, did I?"
Nazari's jaw was tight. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment, Steele thought he might actually lose control. But then the mask slipped back into place. "Tomorrow," Nazari said quietly, his voice dangerously soft. "Tomorrow the Syrians will come. And I will personally ensure they understand exactly how much suffering you deserve."
"Looking forward to it," Steele said, though his heart was pounding.
Nazari stared at him for another long moment. Then he turned and left. The guards followed, and the door slammed shut.
Steele was alone again with nothing but the buzzing light and his thoughts.
He tested the splint on his arm carefully. Solid work. The pain was still there but manageable now that the bone was set properly. His leg throbbed with each heartbeat but the worst of the infection heat had already started to diminish. The antibiotic was working. Nazari had made a mistake. A small one, but a mistake nonetheless. He'd made Steele healthier. Stronger.More capable of fighting or running if the opportunity presented itself.
The door opened again and a different guard entered with a tray. Rice. Chicken. Bread. Water. Even some kind of fruit. More food than Steele had seen in two days. The guard set it down and left.
Steele ate slowly, mechanically, forcing himself to chew despite the pain in his jaw. His body needed the calories. Needed the fuel to heal and stay strong. Each bite was an act of defiance. Each swallow was preparation for whatever came next.
He thought about his team. Wondered what they were doing right now. If they were planning something or if they'd been ordered to stand down. He thought about the woman from the compound. The one with the dark eyes who'd looked at him like she was trying to decide if he was worth saving. He'd assigned her a name in his head though he had no idea what she was actually called. Wondered if she ever thought about him. Wondered if she'd made it home safely.
Tomorrow the Syrians would come. Tomorrow everything would change. Tomorrow the window would close completely and whatever hope he had left would die with it.
But today, right now, in this moment, he was still Logan Reed. Still Sergeant First Class. Still a Delta operator who didn't quit and didn't break. Still a man who'd made a choice to help a kid and his mother escape a monster.
He closed his eyes and tried to rest. Tried to conserve his strength for whatever came next.
One more day. He just had to survive one more day.
Somewhere out there, maybe someone was coming. Maybe his team had found a way. Maybe the woman with the dark eyes remembered him.
Or maybe he was alone.
Either way, he'd hold the line. Because that's what soldiers did.
Erbil, IraqSame Time
Hawk checked his watch. 0100 hours. One hour until insertion. His team was ready. Had been ready for hours. But ready didn't mean calm. Ready didn't mean the waiting was easier.
Bulldog was checking his breaching charges for the third time. Making sure the det cord was properly connected. Making sure the timers were set. Making sure everything would work perfectly when he blew the north entrance and sent Delta Force into Nazari's building like the wrath of God.
Risk had his medical kit organized to the point of obsession. Every piece of equipment staged for instant access. Every drug pre-loaded. Every bandage ready. When they found Steele, Risk would have seconds to assess and treat. Seconds that could mean the difference between life and death.
Ghost monitored communication frequencies, looking for any sign that Nazari's people knew they were coming. Any spike in traffic. Any change in guard rotation. Any indication that the operation was compromised before it even started.
Joker sat in the driver's seat of the lead vehicle, engine idling, ready to move the second they got the call. His hands drummed against the steering wheel in a rhythm only he could hear. Nervous energy looking for an outlet.
Hawk understood. Felt it himself. The tension that came from knowing your team leader was in enemy hands and you were about to do something that could either save him or get everyone killed.
His radio crackled. Mara's voice, calm and professional. "Shadow Veil to Delta Six. We're ten minutes out from target position. Moving into final staging now."
"Delta Six copies," Hawk replied. "We're ready on your mark."
Ten minutes. Then they moved. Then they found out if three days of planning and coordination would be enough to pull one man out of hell.
