Chapter One Hundred Six

In flight above the North Atlantic

Thirty-five minutes ago

I stood behind the pilot, and if my fingers were dug a little too tightly into the soft leather of his seat, then screw it. I stared out of the cockpit window at the blackness of the ocean below.

The pilot said, “Captain . . . wishing won’t make this bird fly any faster.”

“It might,” I said, and he laughed.

The co-pilot tapped my arm. “You have a call coming in on secure channel two.”

I went back into the cabin and screwed my earbud into place.

“Go for Cowboy,” I said.

“The fish are in the water,” said Church. “Two minutes to landfall. What’s your ETA?”

“Bailout in twenty, then drop time.”

“Good hunting, Captain.”

“Yeah,” I said, and switched off.

Top and Bunny were ready to go, their chutes strapped on and their weapons double- and triple-checked. All of us were heavy with extra magazines, frags, and flash bangs, knives, and anything else we could carry. If we hit water instead of land, we’d sink like stones.

“Alpha Team will hit the island in under two minutes,” I said.

“Wish we were with them, boss,” said Bunny.

Top studied me for several seconds. “It ain’t my place to offer advice to an officer,” he said, “me being a lowly first sergeant and all.”

I gave him a look.

“But I’m pretty sure there’ll be enough beer left by the time we get to this kegger.”

“There goddamn well better be,” I growled.