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hangar where agents Martinez and Dobson were being held.

God, I hope they’re still alive.

She knelt down, seeing the outline of a person with a rifle near a cluster of water barrels to the left of the hangar. Carter fixed her sights on the center mass, seeing it was a woman. As she steadied her finger on the trigger, she saw the shooter send a controlled burst of rounds downrange, dropping two mercenaries near the corner of the structure.

The woman paused, doing a reload then catching sight of Carter. She gave her a hard stare then waved her over.

Shit, she’s on my side, I think.

Carter kept her AR rifle at a low-ready as she crouch-trotted towards the water barrels, squatting down next to the dark-skinned woman.

“Who the hell are you?” said Carter.

“Name’s Viper.”

“Of course it is. You one of Shepard’s people?”

“Or maybe he’s one of mine.”

“Christ…are any of you capable of just answering a fucking question head-on?”

Viper smirked. “Is that rhetorical?”

“Very funny. My two agents were inside there as of last night. Have you seen them?”

“No, been too busy plinkin’ the wildlife around here.” She glanced down at Carter’s rifle. “I need you to provide suppressive fire while I head for the other corner of the hangar. There are two more goons inside.”

“I’ll go—the agents in there are my responsibility.”

The woman looked her over, slinging her rifle and removing a Glock 19. “These guys are all wearing some serious body armor. You used to doing multiple headshots during a fifty-yard dash?”

Carter looked at the other dead bodies in the distance, seeing that nearly all of the long-range shots were single rounds through the skull.

Damn!

“Alright, but what makes you think you can trust me?” Carter kept her weapon trained on the shadows to the far right.

“Because Cal does, and that’s enough for me.”

Viper hopped up, bounding along the rear of the hangar then disappearing around the corner. A second later, a burst of gunfire erupted, followed by silence. Carter’s heart was nearly punching through her chest at the thought of whether her agents were still alive.

“Clear!” came Viper’s voice from inside the building.

Carter crept around the backside then entered the hangar, taking a long sigh when she saw her agents being cut loose from their bonds as Viper stood near the two dead shooters.

How the hell am I ever going to write this one up in the books?

59

After sprinting across the east end of the main grounds, Shepard stopped before a row of rusted fuel barrels. The twin turboprop plane was slowly making its way towards the narrow tarmac.

Shepard lay the SCAR along the barrels, fixing his sights on the engine panel behind the left turboprop. Steadying his breathing, he followed the plane as it began speeding up then squeezed off three rounds, which punched holes through the engine manifold. The plane swerved to the right then fishtailed before coming to a stop on the edge of the runway.

Shepard was already bolting across the blacktop, slowing as the pilot’s door burst open. Montoya stepped out, raising up a pistol just as Cal fired a flurry of rounds. Two of the bullets tore through Montoya’s left shoulder and upper pec. He backpedaled against the fuselage, sinking to the ground as he shrieked.

Cal kept his rifle trained on the man as he walked up, kicking aside the 1911 pistol then pointing the SCAR down at the squirming mercenary.

Montoya grimaced, trying to sit up as blood streamed from his wounds. “It is best this way…dying at the hands of another soldier.”

Shepard narrowed his eyes. “A soldier fights for a cause beyond himself. Your life has only been about furthering your own interests.”

“We are the same, I think…both trained by our governments to be efficient killers then cut loose when there was no longer a war to be fought.”

“As long as there are sociopaths like yourself on this earth, there will be wars.”

Shepard squeezed off the remaining rounds into the man’s chest then flung the rifle down on the ground.

He expected some sense of resolution to wash over him, but there was only emptiness.

The completion of a mission had always meant he could go home. That there was a separation between the horrors of the battlefield and the place he was fighting to protect across the world.

Now, there was no home to return to and no one to embrace.

Shepard looked out at the open desert that extended to the horizon, feeling the hot breeze drifting over him as he contemplated what to do next. He heard footfalls behind him and swung around, removing the Glock from his belt.

Ernesto Rimaldi froze, raising his hands. “I was just coming to check on you.”

Shepard lowered his weapon, looking back into the cockpit at the two large briefcases that he was sure were filled with money.

“Sure it’s not to track your packages?”

“To be fair, it was both. I saw you run after Montoya. He is…” He glanced at the dead man beside Shepard’s boots. “He was a war criminal, and I was horrified to find him working for Roth and Hunley.”

“So, you got into bed with the wrong people. From what I know about you, you don’t seem that stupid, just willing to be led.”

“I had hoped a life in politics would be different in my country than what I’ve witnessed in yours. You wake up one day and realize that you have allowed yourself to be fitted with blinders. In the beginning, you think that you will only have them on for a few hours each day, until you discover that they are becoming a permanent extension of your being.”

“I’ve watched your speeches—you have the brains, passion and the following that your country needs. Maybe you can find another way to still fulfil your vision without losing your soul along the way.”

“Perhaps.” He rubbed his chin, looking at the cobalt sky. “I’m sorry for what those men did to you…to your wife and your friends. In politics, it is to be expected that you will have others waiting

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