Silent Shadow of Betrayal

WE QUICKLY break down our gear and go down a trail we hadn’t used before because any repetition will get you noticed. Santiago is in the lead, Jordan is in the middle, and I’m Tail End, Charlie.I look at my watch once more. Analog, old-fashioned, reliable. It will never need a battery at the wrong time, doesn’t beep to give away your position, and has no electronics to fry in case somebody tosses a nuke into the air someday. It doesn’t tell me the date, which is fine, because I know it’s May 22.The path we are on is narrow—broken rock and gravel—and seems too rugged even for goats. Yet we move with confidence and speed toward the safety at the other end of the trail. Like me, Santiago is carrying his MP5 in his arms, head always moving: left, right; left, right. Jordan has his pistol out and is doing the same. As the one bringing up the rear, I have to move and look over my shoulder at the same time.Jordan says, “This sun is starting to fry me. Where are all the cedar trees? I thou

He laughs and the rest of the men—except for the old man sitting against the wall—laugh as well, then Farez comes forward and punches Jeremy squarely in the face. Jeremy gasps more in surprise than pain—the code word and acknowledgment had been used!—and staggers back as Farez quickly removes his AK-47 and drives it into Jeremy’s abdomen.He lets out a cough and he’s on the ground, and so is Ollie, and the kicks and the blows from the automatic rifles rain down, and he squirms and tries to curl into a ball to protect himself as much as possible, but the handcuffs and ropes make that impossible, and he’s drifting into unconsciousness, knowing it’s all gone wrong.ONCE UPONa time I had been a captain in the U.S. Army, serving as an intelligence officer, but a series of unfortunate and bloody events had led me to the precipice of a dishonorable discharge and a life sentence to the Army prison in Leavenworth until a heavily tanned man working for the Central Intelligence Agency had offere

I’m racing as hard as I can, what gear I need bouncing around my waist and back, and Santiago is right next to me as we approach the low courtyard. From behind I hear the quick, flat shot of Jordan taking his first shot. He commonly shoots with a sound suppressor, but not now.I want the tangle of gunmen before us to terrify and disperse, and they do. Santiago and I kneel in front of the low, stone wall, and it’s over in a matter of seconds, the gunmen holding up their weapons and spraying round after round in our direction, the recoil kicking back and making the bullets whistle over our heads.But Santiago and I keep low, keep our cool, and in careful, three-round bursts, we kill them all.“Cover,” I say to Santiago. I go through the open wooden gate and run over to Jeremy, who’s struggling to get up. His clothes are torn, dusty, and bloody. His face is also bloody and one eye is nearly swollen shut. I kneel, withdraw my Kalmar knife, and cut the ropes around his ankles. He kicks fr

AT THE second thirty-minute mark of our slog up the narrow and winding trail, I call for a break.It’s been a long, grueling hike, and I think fondly of growing up in Maine and going with my parents for weekend tramps in our stretch of the White Mountains. Here there’s nothing but rock, fissures, boulders, and the occasional winged creature flying overhead, and the distant bare ranges covered with snow and ice.Jordan has Ollie’s weapon and is taking the lead, and Santiago is now bringing up the rear. I’m in the middle with Jeremy, and he’s been one closed-mouth son of a bitch ever since leaving the farm and his dead comrade.His clothes are a mess, one eye is swollen, he’s limping, there’s dried blood on his face—a mixture of his and Oliver’s, I’m sure—but I’ve yet to hear, “Thanks for saving my ass back there.”Which isn’t surprising. Special Forces soldiers and sailors operate on a different plane than us regular grunts. They are incredibly competitive and have tremendous enduranc

I HEAR the hum of an approaching helicopter and take out my binoculars for a look-see. Even though we’re minutes away from the pickup, we haven’t let our guard down. Each of us is responsible for a compass quadrant of 90 degrees, so we’re lying down, weapons out, making sure nobody comes up and surprises us.My left ear is still throbbing from the quick and brutal radio exchange I had a few minutes ago with a CIA communications officer overseeing our operations in this part of the world. If one cuts out the code words and phrases and obscenities, it reminds me of the fights I used to have with Dad back in Maine.You were supposed to be back at eleven! It’s almost midnight!Something came up. It’s the truth.And what was so important that you didn’t come back at eleven like you promised?Dad…I have an idea that when I get back to the States, I’m going to lose a lot more than just my driving privileges.The sound of the helicopter grows louder.So what?I got Jeremy back. And to my bos