Page 1 of Ford

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If Ford didn’t get his head in the game, they were doomed.

People were going to die.

Probably him.

And maybe his teammates, fellow SEAL operators with Team Three, right here on the rugged shoreline of the Caspian Sea in the democratic Muslim state of Azerbaijan.

The team had dropped in sometime before zero-dark-thirty, making their way toward a cluster of buildings that made up Vigeo, an international boarding school perched on the seaside cliff. By the time the sun rose, Ford was crouched in the shadows beside the gymnasium doors.

It might have been a beautiful July morning. Striations of crimson and burnt orange casting over the dark rolls of the Caspian Sea—if it wasn’t for the smoke that billowed from the still-burning chapel, the terrorists’ first stop in their takeover of the school. It soured the air, and the longer Ford waited, the more his gut roiled with the fact that children had died inside that chapel.

Twelve more children remained hostage in the gymnasium of the ancient stone and marble building.

The team’s job? Get in, eliminate the hostage takers, secure the packages, and evacuate.

A mission that demanded his full attention.

Except, he shouldn’t be here, not right now.

Right now he should be finding and extricating his sister from the clutches of the FSB—former KGB—somewhere in Russia.

So maybe his imagination had run a little wild with the wordRussia, but two days ago, CNN had reported the attempted assassination of Russian General Boris Stanislov. Providentially, the accused—still at large—shooter was caught on a fuzzy street camera, and the image looked insanely like his twin, Ruby Jane.

Right.

Not. For. A. Moment.

And sure, he hadn’t talked to her—really talked—for years, but she was atravel agent. So she’d probably taken some hapless tourists on an excursion and ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Crazy.

Still, the thought of naive RJ now missing and on the run from the FSB was enough to tangle his brain.

Where was his sister, and was she—please, God—still alive?

The question felt like enough of a basis for personal leave as anything he could conjure up, but according to Chief Nez, the last thing the US needed was a Navy SEAL running across shaky borders and into a country that was getting chillier by the moment.

So instead of rescuing his sister, Ford was stuck waiting for the go command from one Lt. General Mohammad Shanin, the leader of the Interior Guard.

Yay.

Ford had a bad feeling from the moment his SEAL team set down in Azerbaijan. First, they were told that they had to work in tandem with the brute arm of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Then, that they’d be taking their commands from Shanin.

And, finally, worse of all, although the chief had outlined the mission specs to Lt. Gen. Shanin, the general wanted to inserthisteam into the soiree.

Nope, Ford couldn’t escape the clench in his gut that children were going to die.

Chief Nez came on the line. “Delta Three, IG team is in place. Wait for Shanin’s go.”

Perfect. Hurry up and wait. And wait.

Hostage situations demanded stealth, urgency, and in his view, no negotiations. People simply couldn’t fiddle around when kids were involved.

It could have been, well, not exactly easy, but perhapsoverif Shanin had been of a mind to let the US Spec Op team actually do their job. Without interfering.

Save American citizens. At least three of the children inside the gym were children of diplomats, another two missionaries’ kids, and the final one—a ten-year-old girl—the daughter of Tyrone Stavros, Greek-American billionaire. He’d video-conferenced into their meeting right before they climbed onto the C-130. Stavros had some sort of political pull as well because the CIA had actually let him listen in to the operational briefing.

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