Page 41 of Deadly Hope
“No way,” Zara breathed, leaning forward. “That’s Bing Driscoll.”
“Who?” Olivia asked, but Axel had gone completely still, his face draining of color. He stared at the photo like he’d seen a ghost.
“Bing Driscoll,” Ronan repeated, eyes on the restaurant’s front windows. “CIA deep cover operative. The kind of guy other spies whisper about.”
“He’s not a good dude,” Axel said, voice raw. “I worked under him once when I was on loan to Team Six.”
“I remember,” Ronan said quietly.
Axel swallowed hard, eyes glued to the menu in his hand. “It was classified above top secret. A joint CIA-Navy SEAL mission that went sideways in the South China Sea. On egress, we lost ... we lost the entire team.” His hands trembled slightly. “Helo went down. I was supposed to be on it, too.”
“What happened?” Kenji asked quietly.
“Food poisoning. Of all the stupid things. Got pulled from the mission last minute. They went down in bad weather. No survivors.” Axel’s jaw clenched.
Olivia could see him struggling to maintain his composure. She clenched her hands, wanting to help, but knowing there was nothing she could do to ease the tide of emotions.
Axel continued. “The investigation got shut down in a minute, but word got out. You know how it is. It wasn’t bad weather. And Driscoll was running point on something we weren’t cleared to know about.”
Griff had gone stone-still. “So the job gets done, but the team doesn’t survive.”
The implications hung heavy in the air. She studied Axel’s face, seeing the shadows of old ghosts dancing behind his eyes. Survivor’s guilt was something she understood all too well, even more so since James’s death.
“Well,” Griff said grimly, “if Olivia’s brother found proof …”
“Or if someone like Driscoll thought he did …” Axel clamped his mouth shut on the rest of his sentence.
They all stared at the photograph, at James’s face frozenin that moment three years ago, his half-smile revealing nothing of what he might have known. Around them, the pizzeria hummed with what she imagined to be a normal Saturday afternoon chaos—waiters weaving between tables with steaming plates, children shrieking with laughter at the gelato counter, the old ceiling fans clicking in steady rhythm above. But at their corner table, the weight of unspoken possibilities pressed down on them like a physical thing, creating a bubble of silence that separated them from the cheerful family restaurant’s warmth and light.
At her elbow, the burner phone sat silent, waiting.
21
Axel’s fingerswent numb where they touched the table’s edge.
Drip.
The pizzeria’s warm air turned cold and damp. The scent of basil and garlic faded beneath the mineral tang of underground water and gun oil. His handler’s voice crackled through phantom radio static. “Team Leader, are you ready? Sixty seconds to breach.”
Drip.
He could feel the weight of his tactical gear again, hear Ronan’s measured breathing three meters to his left. The cave mouth gaped ahead, black against the Kurdish mountains. “Team Leader, confirm ready state. Fifty seconds.”
“Sir.” The word scraped his throat, past and present colliding. He wasn’t sure if he’d spoken aloud.
Drip.
“Axel?” Olivia’s voice penetrated the memory, but distantly, like she was speaking through water.
The team’s voices blurred around him as the countdown continued in his head. Forty seconds. He could hear Roberts,his old CO, checking his mag one last time. Jensen, their sniper, adjusting his night vision mount.
“... needs to respond now,” Ronan was saying, but the words warped under the sound of water hitting stone.
Thirty seconds.
The limestone walls pressed closer. He could smell the cordite from the breaching charges, sharp and distinct against the cave’s wet earth.
Their handler’s voice again: “Reinhardt, status?”
