Page 95 of Over the Edge

The four Reapers fired off a shower of lead in a loud, long volley that shredded trees and surely took out anyone standing within a few hundred feet of the cliff. He spotted Lily leaning out to slice through her rope, and then the others did the same. Good girl. Don’t leave a means behind for the bad guys to use to follow.

The other guys cut their ropes, and then the Reapers took off running up the slope toward his position.

Cal radioed, “I’m directly above you.”

“Roger,” Jojo replied, not noticeably breathing hard. The guy was in the best shape of just about anyone Cal had ever worked with and definitely the fastest. Which was why Jojo got the point position any time they had to run anywhere. He actually had to slow down for the rest of the team to keep up with him, which meant he had spare energy to look around for hostiles and to take in the general environment, while the others humped hard to keep up with him.

Jojo burst into sight in front of him and Cal raised his hat over his head so it stuck out above the rocks.

“Gotcha, boss,” Jojo radioed.

The others caught up over the next few seconds.

“Pursuit?” Cal asked tersely as they took off running toward their spare gear at his original shooter’s hide.

“Negative,” Leo reported.

They ran in silence after that—the others because it was operational protocol, him because he was in too much pain to speak without audible strain in his voice.

They packed up the gear fast, and Cal reluctantly had to ask, “Axe, can you take sniper rig?”

Axe shot him a knowing look. “No prob.” The big man lifted the sixty-pound rifle out of Cal’s hands and slung it over his shoulder. “Let’s roll. You take the lead, boss.”

He nodded gratefully at his long-time teammate. Axe had been there the night the helicopter went down and broke Cal’s back. He’d heard the medics tell Cal he would never walk again, let alone operate in the field. Axe also knew a team was only as strong as its weakest link. Cal, the slowest of them all right now, would set the pace.

Thankfully, it was a short egress, just over a kilometer, to their truck.

“To Swat Valley?” Axe asked as Cal rolled his body into the damned truck bed.

“Negative,” he ground out from between clenched teeth. “Ronan texted me the name of some village in northern Zagistan about an hour ago. It’s called Tarazan. Apparently, he thinks we should head there. No idea why, but he’s the guy with all the hot intel hook-ups.”

“Zagistan, huh? Lots of mountains to hike up and down.”

Cal turned his head to tell Axe he got the point, but even that tiny movement made him gasp in pain.

Axe dug in his pack and pressed a small baggie into Cal’s hand, muttering low, “Morphine and caffeine.”

“Thanks.”

Axe nodded in the darkness, his eyes black caves in his rugged face. “Pace yourself, brother.”

He was trying. God knew, he was trying. He just hoped he could see this mission through and save Kenny without endangering the rest of the Reapers because his back gave out. No doubt about it, in this line of work, getting old sucked.

Anna smiledin her hiding place. Trevor’s ambush set-up was simple but devastating. His brother wouldn’t know what had hit him.

“Here he comes,” Trevor murmured into her headset.

“I’m ready,” she responded. Which was to say, she was fully attired in a black burka, complete with a net insert covering her eyes. Fabric draped from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

A dusty black Hummer pulled up and stopped. As Trevor had predicted, nobody emerged right away. William and his buddies must be inside, surveying the rocks around them for the inevitable trap.

She stepped out onto the road about a hundred yards in front of the Hummer and shuffled slowly toward the vehicle. She bowed her back a little, as if she were aged or worn down by a lifetime of hard work.

Both front doors opened in front of her. Two men spun out of the Hummer low and fast with weapons at the ready. One more man came out of the back seat. Even at this distance, she could see at a glance it was Trevor’s brother. The guy’s hair was lighter brown than Trevor’s, with sun-bleached streaks in its chestnut color, but the height and build were identical. And that jaw. Made from the same mold as Trevor’s all the way.

She couldn’t see the brother’s eye color from here, but she didn’t need to. The patrician silhouette, the aristocratic bearing, the two men could practically be twins.

The two guys from the front seat whipped their weapons in her direction and she lurched to a halt, throwing her hands up. Both men lowered their weapons quickly and gestured at her to continue moving through.

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