Page 9 of Reclaiming Izabel

Viktor sighed. “She’s coping as best as she can.”

“I need more than that.”

“Your buddy Hank flew out to see her. I assume Izabel knows him?”

I gave a brief nod. “How many days have I been in here?”

“Five.”

“You can let me out.”

Viktor scrutinized my countenance and his slight smile indicated he liked what he saw.

A stone-cold killer.

chapter

three

Three yearslater

Drake

That night’sop was the most important one of my life.

I reassembled my automatic rifle. Cleaning my weapons was a way to focus my mind on a mission. The years had transformed me into Viktor’s lethal shadow operator.

Task Force Deadly Spear (TFDS) was born when Washington’s bureaucracy and politics all but crippled the special operations community, rendering the CIA ineffective and leaving the United States vulnerable to terrorist attacks.

Years of TFDS intelligence work yielded a series of small surgical strikes that chipped at the terrorist network responsible for the biggest loss of life on a single day in special operations history.

Maharib Altanwir was a secretive terrorist organization led by Youssef Hamza—known as the “Warrior” or Maharib. He lost his entire family in Sudan—caught in the crossfire between a terrorist group and operators from Fire Team. I rememberedthat mission. The terrorists had used civilians as shields. Among them were Hamza’s wife and three daughters.

Hamza had a tight inner circle. He never did his own dirty work, but planted chatter in terror networks, manipulating their members into suicide missions through enlightenment propaganda. The day Fire Team was lost, suicide bombers blew themselves up. It took a couple of months for TFDS to figure out that other terrorist networks were being manipulated by a single mastermind.

Youssef Hamza and his Warrior of Enlightenment organization would meet its end that night. Viktor’s analysts uncovered the location of Youssef’s lair.

After three years, I could finally return to Izabel.

Izabel.

Fuck.

Hank had warned me to avoid social media. He created an account for me, pretending to be an architect whom Iza had met at a convention. Catfishing was a new low, but it had been my link to her. My way of looking in on her. I didn’t obsess about it and checked on her maybe once or twice a month. I rarely had downtime anyway. Hank maintained my social media updates, making sure that posts and pictures came from a U.S. location.

About a year ago, Izabel had opened an account on an online dating website. I had lost my shit. That was the one fucking time social media cracked the walls I’d built around my emotions. Hank assured me he’d do everything in his power so Izabel wouldn’t find a match. That calmed me down a bit, but my friend had no control when the interest came from a coworker.

A hotshot new architect from Iza’s firm had tagged her in a post and she looked…happy.

My heart rolled painfully. I gripped the barrel of the rifle and imagined that punk’s neck between my fingers. Surely, Iza couldn’t be attracted to that shithead.

I squeezed my eyes shut and replaced the image of Izabel with that of my dead comrades, letting cold fury seep into my veins.

I cleared my mind until one directive remained.

Get Hamza.

Harran,Turkey

---