{"product_id":"gemini-cell-isbn-9780425269640","title":"Gemini Cell","description":"\u003cb\u003eMyke Cole continues to blow the military fantasy genre wide open with an all-new epic adventure in his highly acclaimed Shadow Ops universe—set in the early days of the Great Reawakening, when magic first returns to the world and order begins to unravel… \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUS Navy SEAL Jim Schweitzer is a consummate professional, a fierce warrior, and a hard man to kill. But when he sees something he was never meant to see on a covert mission gone bad, he finds himself—and his family—in the crosshairs. Nothing means more to Jim than protecting his loved ones, but when the enemy brings the battle to his front door, he is overwhelmed and taken down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat should be the end of the story. But Jim is raised from the dead by a sorcerer and recruited by a top secret unit dabbling in the occult, known only as the Gemini Cell. With powers he doesn’t understand, Jim is called back to duty—as the ultimate warrior. As he wrestles with a literal inner demon, Jim realizes his new superiors are determined to use him for their own ends and keep him in the dark—especially about the fates of his wife and son…\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eGemini Cell\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Intense and explosive--Cole tells a hell of a story.\"--Mark Lawrence, author of \u003ci\u003eKing of Thrones\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Character-rich and action-driven--a Molotov cocktail of human weaknesses and superhuman abilities.\"--Robin Hobb, author of \u003ci\u003eFool's Assassin\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eShadow Ops: Breach Zone:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Cole's managed to cover a hero's journey story, a quest story, and now a running battle interspersed with a romance. It works spectacularly.\"--\u003ci\u003eio9\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A tense and action-packed ride...full of desperate, back-against-the-wall combat scenes.\"--Tor.comAs a security contractor, government civilian, and military officer, \u003cb\u003eMyke Cole\u003c\/b\u003e’s career has run the gamut from counterterrorism to cyber warfare to federal law enforcement. He’s done three tours in Iraq and was recalled to serve during the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. He recently joined the cast of the TV show \u003ci\u003eHunted\u003c\/i\u003e on CBS as part of an elite team of fugitive hunters. All that conflict can wear a guy out. Thank goodness for fantasy novels, comic books, late-night games of Dungeons \u0026amp; Dragons, and lots of angst-fueled writing. Myke is the author of \u003ci\u003eJavelin Rain\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eGemini Cell\u003c\/i\u003e, prequels to his Shadow Ops novels, which include \u003ci\u003eBreach Zone\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eFortress Frontier\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eControl Point\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eACKNOWLEDGMENTS\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAUTHOR’S NOTE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePROLOGUE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sarah has been working for four years to get this show.” Though Biggs was his lieutenant, James Schweitzer didn’t call him “sir.” They didn’t stand on formality in his corner of the navy. “I thought we were stood down. This will kill her.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe glanced over his shoulder at his wife. Sarah had noticed the call but was doing her best to keep the irritation from her face.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That was before I got word that our ship might be coming in.” Lieutenant Biggs sounded grim. “Now, suit up. We’re mustering.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Might be coming in, or \u003ci\u003eis \u003c\/i\u003ecoming in? Damn it, she’s already on her last nerve with the pace of operations. Do you know how hard it is to get an art showing in Norfolk? There are critics here from every paper in the Tidewater. She needs me. I can’t leave unless it’s going to count.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBiggs was silent a moment. “Still waiting on the intel watchstander. If this is the right one, we’re going.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Then call me when you’re sure it’s the right one.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“God fucking damn it, Jim, I am not—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m a fifteen-minute drive from Station. I can be there before you finish boat checks. Call me when you know.” Schweitzer killed the call and stuffed the phone in his pocket before Biggs could say anything else.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer took a deep breath, willing the knot in his stomach to settle. This was Sarah’s first show in Norfolk, and she was nervous as hell. Hopefully, the watchstander would be slow in confirming the target, or Biggs was wrong altogether. Schweitzer turned, putting on a smile, shaking his head as he walked to where his wife leaned against the art-gallery door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Everything okay?” she asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Biggs dug himself another hole. This is the thing about junior officers, they need us to keep them from walking off a cliff. It’s fine.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe frowned at him, her dark eyes narrowing beneath her bright pink bangs, the two purple streaks framing her face, so beautiful she still made his breath catch after all these years. “If he needed help, why didn’t he go to Chief?” she asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer winced internally, struggled to find words.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Jim.” She spoke as if to a little boy. “Do you know where liars go?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“To the movies?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“To the couch for the night. Without getting any.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You are a coldhearted woman.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I am a beautiful angel who can see through your bullshit like it’s clean glass.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer sighed. Lying to her was a necessity of his job, but he knew better than to think it would ever work. “You need to focus on your opening. We can talk about it when we get home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe drew her lips into a hard line and breathed out through her nose. “So, that means we’re going home together. As in, you’re staying for the whole event.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We’ve only got the babysitter until eleven. You know Patrick isn’t really going to sleep until you come in and kiss him good night.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe grimaced. “Oh, right. Let me call before we go in.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe touched her elbow. “Babe, you called her ten minutes ago.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe looked up at him. “I did? I did.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe pressed his forehead to hers, inhaled her rosewater perfume. “You know what you’re doing?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re trying to get your mind off this opening by worrying about something else. That’s fear talking. Mission first. Focus.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mission first.” She was smiling now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mission first,” he said, “and people always. You are a fantastic mother and a better wife than I could ever hope for. I love you so much it hurts. Now, get in there and show them what I see every day.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Love you, too,” she answered. Her face composed, the smile smoothed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey turned together and stepped into the gallery.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe crowd inside applauded as Sarah entered. Her paintings lined the walls, hanging from clear line, looking as if they were floating amid tastefully arranged sprays of white orchids. Schweitzer caught himself scanning the crowd for threats, noting the exits and blind corners. \u003ci\u003eStop it. You’re not at work. This is for Sarah. Be present.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sarah!” squealed a tall woman wearing diamond earrings likely worth more than their car. She stretched her arms to embrace his wife, and Sarah returned the hug with precisely the correct blend of affection and forbearance, turning to Schweitzer as they parted. “Jim, this is Bethany Charles. This is her gallery.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer smiled, extending a hand. “Thanks so much for hosting us.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBethany dragged the proffered hand until Schweitzer was wrapped in a tight hug. Her pale neck smelled like oranges and alcohol. He met Sarah’s eyes over Bethany’s shoulder and made a face. Sarah rolled her eyes and grinned.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sarah’s told me all about you,” Bethany said when she finally released him. “She says you’re in the navy, but absolutely will not talk about what you do! I’ve been in Norfolk long enough to know how it is with you intel folks.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer let her error pass as she put the back of her hand to her mouth and spoke in a stage whisper. “Your secret’s safe with me!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA man approached out of the crowd. He wore too-thick glasses and a beard that rivaled Schweitzer’s own. “Ms. Schweitzer,” he began.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSarah took a step toward him and shook his hand. His smile froze at the close contact. Schweitzer winced internally. Guy was the shy type, liked more personal space. Sarah immediately released his hand and took a step back, smiling as if that was her intended approach all along. “Sarah Schweitzer, nice to meet you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe man’s face relaxed, and his smile turned genuine. “Leo Volk, I write for the \u003ci\u003eVirginian Pilot\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oooh,” Bethany whispered to Schweitzer as Sarah and Leo spoke. “That was a good save. He’s not one you want to disappoint.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer shrugged. “She’s a natural. She should have joined the navy. We could have used her in intel.” He smirked internally. No harm in perpetuating Bethany’s assumption.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well, one sailor per family is plenty.” Bethany gestured to Schweitzer’s chin. “Don’t they give you grief about letting your beard grow?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer smiled. “I’m on leave,” he lied. “I’ll shave it when I get back to base.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBethany followed Schweitzer’s gaze to his wife. “She really is quite socially adroit.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“She’s had a lot of practice.” It was a gross understatement. The practice was born of years of dedication to her craft and the networking that surrounded it, until it had become as natural as breathing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSarah wrapped up her conversation with Leo and headed into the crowd. She looked over her shoulder at Schweitzer, cocked an eyebrow.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou’re good,\u003c\/i\u003e he mouthed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI know, \u003c\/i\u003eshe mouthed back, gave an exaggerated wink.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe missed Bethany’s next question, intent on Sarah, circling and smiling and engaging with such ease that you’d never know this was her first big show, her “coming-out” in the Mid-Atlantic arts scene. The stakes were high.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut that was when Sarah Schweitzer locked on. When it mattered. She was a professional.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLike him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m sorry?” he asked Bethany.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I was asking if you like art?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Depends on what you mean by ‘art.’ I like her paintings,” he answered. \u003ci\u003eAnd I love the painter.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSarah was speaking to another man now, Schweitzer recognized him as an art critic from one of Sarah’s magazines. She was matching his style effortlessly, leaning in at the same angle, nodding recognition at a point he was making. He laughed like an old friend, put unconsciously at ease by her smooth reading of his signals. Sarah looked lit from within, like she was having the time of her life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut Schweitzer caught a glance out of the corner of her eye, then another. She was looking to see if he was still there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe could stare down a gun barrel. He could run until his lungs burst. He could always find a way. But to give Sarah what she needed, he’d have to stay, \u003ci\u003ereally\u003c\/i\u003e stay. And that would mean giving up the one thing that made him as powerful as she was.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSarah was approaching him now, her hand on the elbow of a man in his midthirties, a mop of Dylanesque curly hair hanging in his face. He wore a corduroy jacket and an expression of cool boredom. “Honey, do you remember the sculptor I was telling you about?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer did, the man made scale replicas of major monuments entirely out of gun parts. His work was amazing. What was his name . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSarah was smiling as the man’s hand came up to shake Schweitzer’s. “This is my husband, Jim.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe pride in Sarah’s eyes sounded in her voice. She wasn’t just showing off for her husband, she was showing her husband off. Schweitzer blinked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ve heard great things about you. My name is . . .” the sculptor began.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer’s pocket buzzed. The bosun’s pipe ringtone sounded.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSarah’s expression changed as Schweitzer lifted his phone to his ear, sliding from shock to recognition to hurt to anger and back to composure in an instant.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m sorry, baby,” Schweitzer said as he hit the ANSWER button, his stomach doing somersaults.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s fine,” she was saying, the professional mask already back in place. “Do your job.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer big night. The one she had worked four long years to get.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer prayed it was a wrong number, or the babysitter calling to say Patrick wouldn’t go to bed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s our ship,” Biggs said. “We’re going.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s fine,” Sarah said again, reading Biggs’s words in Schweitzer’s expression.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut it wasn’t fine.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt wasn’t fine at all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAn impossible shot, and a risky one. Schweitzer took it anyway.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe small boat rocked beneath him. His target paced the cargo deck of the freighter, rolling with the swells, obscured by darkness and fog. The man was just a speck at this distance, at the limit of Schweitzer’s effective range, with five hundred meters of heaving water to cover.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut Schweitzer’s boat would cover that five hundred meters in short order, and deliver the SEAL team to the target. And that man couldn’t be left alive to sound the alarm before they arrived.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePetty Officer First Class James Schweitzer closed his left eye. The Night Optical Device mounted to his helmet turned the world into a shifting haze of green witchlight. NODs bent shadows, distorted depth perception.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey made it harder to hit what you were aiming at.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe squeezed the broom-handle grip under his carbine’s barrel, and a pencil-thin beam shot across the intervening distance, visible only to those wearing NODs. The boat’s modified engines turned soundlessly underwater. The silence and darkness rendered the craft nearly undetectable.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe distance was too great. The beam diffused far short of the target. Schweitzer breathed deeply and relied on his training. \u003ci\u003eLead the target. Fire between breaths. Slow, steady squeeze to the rear. Don’t anticipate the recoil. Let the shot break.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe carbine was silenced, but if he missed, there was nothing he could do to stop the noise of the bullet slamming into the freighter’s metal hull, or the side of one of the stacked shipping crates behind the man making his way along the cargo deck toward the superstructure. That noise would inevitably raise the alarm. Up close, the man might look like an ordinary seaman, part of the freighter’s deck crew, but Schweitzer knew that he was a hardened enemy operator. A killer, not so different from Schweitzer himself.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer was a professional, a product of years of rigorous training. Shooting people was what he did. But even professionals had to step out on a ledge and take a chance sometimes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe man stepped clear of the last container. Nothing but open air behind him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe exhaled, waited half a moment, then pulled the trigger.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis rock-steady frame absorbed what recoil wasn’t already mitigated by the carbine’s padded stock and weighted bolt. The gun barely moved.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe bullet rocketed across the intervening distance, racing toward his target at thirty-one hundred feet each second.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt would be the greatest shot of his career if he didn’t miss. Behind Schweitzer, the four other SEAL operators held their collective breath, straining into their scopes to keep an eye on the bobbing speck that was Schweitzer’s target.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe speck hovered for a moment, stiffened.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen fell.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSEAL teams were meant for foreign warfare. They could only conduct operations in American waters when there was a qualified terrorist threat. While the “nexus to terrorism” made the operation legal, Schweitzer’s skill made it possible. He’d been a mediocre student, of middling looks. He’d never been a good hand at painting or music.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut out here, he was an artist.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChief Petty Officer Ahmad let out a breath, the slight shudder in her exhalation the only indicator that she’d been nervous. “Okay, so you can shoot.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer lowered the carbine and allowed himself a moment to face her and the rest of the team. Ahmad never smiled, but Chang’s balaclava looked lumpy at the corners, the black fabric barely concealing his grin. “That was fucking amazing, dude.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Secure that,” Ahmad said, glancing down at her watch. “We’ve got another . . . fifteen minutes without air cover. Stay locked on. Watch that deck.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t like this vague-ass target,” Chang groused. “Shipping container full of what? Bad guys? Explosives? Aliens? What’s in there?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We don’t get to pick the target,” Schweitzer answered. “You’re not the lieutenant, Steve. You want to call the shots, rank up.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAhmad jerked a thumb in Schweitzer’s direction. “What he said.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChang shook his head and was silent.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAhmad looked at her watch again. “Fourteen minutes to air cover.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEven so, they had time before they reached the target. The kill had earned them precious breathing room, taking down the only eyes on the freighter’s starboard beam. The enemy didn’t know the team was coming. Schweitzer’s shot ensured it would stay that way. Chang ceased smiling and returned to overwatch, sighting down his carbine’s thermal scope at the deck. Schweitzer released his carbine and let the sling take the weapon’s weight as he folded down the ruggedized minicomputer mounted to the front of his body armor. Compact and useful, the minicomputer would do double duty slowing an enemy round before the armor’s interceptor plate had to do its job.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer propped up his NODs as the screen flashed into low light, showing the specifics of his target. The computer reeled off details of the Body Farm’s operations, from drug smuggling in Southwest Asia to trafficking sex slaves in Eastern Europe. But the vast majority of the hits were the kind that called for Schweitzer and his team, attempts to bring terrorists into the country:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNOV 13—0843z—MINI-CONEX DROPPED BY PARACHUTE (INTEL DRVN.)—CNT. 2 MANPAD ANTIAIR SYSTEMS.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNOV 29—1117z—SCALLOPER WITH HIDDEN COMPARTMENT (K-9 ALERTED)—3 PAX—ALL 3 MILITARY-AGED-MALES (MAMS)—ALL WATCHLIST HITS (CLICK FOR DETAILS).\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIntel could never prove that those missiles were meant for those men or what their target might be. Frankly, Schweitzer didn’t care. His last op had been smoking-gun conclusive—terrorists being smuggled into the country. It resulted in a chain of follow-on raids, and the skipper had waived crew rest regs, working him nonstop for a month. Sarah had put up with it stoically, but he could tell it weighed on her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut follow-ons were normally rare, and provided there wasn’t one here, Schweitzer could finally put the burden down, at least for a little while.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAhmad was looking at her own computer, NODS up, no doubt frantically checking in the hope that the air cover would be available sooner than expected. She caught Schweitzer’s glance and misread its intent. “I’ve got you, shipmate,” she said. “I’ll pull Landry if there’s a follow-on. You get leave after this. All you’ll be responsible for is the after action and passdown.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer was embarrassed that Ahmad had caught him. He \u003ci\u003ewas\u003c\/i\u003e thinking about getting off duty. \u003ci\u003eUnsat. Focus. Missions fail because operators lose the bubble for a split second.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut the thought wouldn’t be denied. The past month of constant work was just one of many months like that, over a long string of years. Sarah had endured it all, filling her lonely days with Patrick and painting in the makeshift studio she put together, avoiding the gossip of the navy wives who wondered why she wouldn’t come to their socials, to church, to anything. But even Sarah had her limits. She hadn’t gotten married to be alone. Ducking out in the middle of her big show hadn’t helped.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith her pink hair and sleeve tattoos, Sarah wasn’t navy-wife material. She was a rare bird, maybe even a unique one.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhich was why Schweitzer loved her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“She won’t put up with it, Chief,” Schweitzer said. “She’ll split.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis hand went to his chest, pushing against his body armor. Beneath it, he could feel the set of dog tags pressing into his chest. They were engraved with an image of his wife and son, and pressing his armor until he could feel their comforting pressure against his chest had become a ritual every time he suited up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I know,” Chief Ahmad said. “I’ll keep my word. After this, you stand down.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLast op. No follow-ons. He would be home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t sweat it, Jim,” Chang said. “If you get zapped this run, I promise to marry Sarah.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Fuck off.” Schweitzer smiled. In his heart of hearts, he knew that if the worst ever came to pass, Chang wouldn’t hesitate to look in on her. But Chang didn’t know Sarah like he did. She didn’t need looking in on.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hey man, the Somalis do it all the time. Brother goes down, the other brother marries the widow. All SEALs are brothers, right?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You want to go back to Mogadishu, I’ll make it happen,” Ahmad said. “For now, shut the fuck up.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChang winked at Schweitzer. Schweitzer shook his head, but he still felt comforted. Because in a sense deeper than biology, Chang really was his brother. His six was covered. Sarah’s, too, whether she needed it or not.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer swallowed a knot of emotion and toggled the screen of the minicomputer, switching to the air-assets heads-up. It was blank. Radar showed the freighter growing larger on the horizon as they sped toward it. Their own radar-dampened support craft were out of range, but ready to respond if the enemy fled or the mission went south. He craned his neck skyward, taking in the thick, roiling cloud cover that had swept in just after their boat launched, leaving the skipper with a choice, scrub the mission or accept that air cover would be stymied. Skipper had risked the mission like Schweitzer had just risked taking the shot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eProfessionals knew when to make the hard calls.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Last look,” Ahmad said. “Confirm your target. There are a lot of conex boxes on that deck. Be sure we’re moving to the right one.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer glanced back down as the computer brought up a layout of the deck, illuminating one of the conex-box shipping containers, a forty-foot steel rectangle at the bottom of a stack of five that soared fifty feet off the rolling freighter’s deck. Intel had managed to secure images of the thing, which displayed it from all angles, showing every scratch, dent, and patch of rust. The Body Farm labeled all its freight containers with the same front-company logo: a stylized face of a grinning Asian child, the word SHAN written underneath. Intel was vague as to what was in it, but if this was anything like past ops, it would likely be anywhere up to five bedraggled and stinking men, exhausted and half-starved, ready to build bombs or sling rifles after they’d been released into the country.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOr it could be bricks of explosives, vials of nerve agent, maybe even canisters of materials that would set off the radiation detector clipped into a pouch on his body armor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer wasn’t a fan of Chang’s giving voice to his doubts, but he couldn’t deny the truth behind them. In his entire career, he’d never had a targeting package this vague. Just a shipping container with no indication of what was inside. They were going in blind.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer looked for obvious cracks in the container’s sides, screened “drainage” pipes. Years of running these ops had trained him to recognize such anomalies as disguised air vents, indicating living cargo. He didn’t see anything, but the images weren’t exactly clear.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Everybody got it?” Ahmad asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer didn’t have to look behind him to know that everybody did.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Body Farm has this ship,” the chief said. “The able seamen on there aren’t able seamen. You treat them as hostile.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer’s training had long since taught him to dispense with stupid notions of fearlessness. Professionals acknowledged fear, tipped their hat to it, and got the job done anyway. As with every op, Schweitzer felt fear’s slow crawl from his balls to his belly. He swallowed, noting its presence, letting his training compensate. His body was rock steady as the boat surged forward.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe bulk of the freighter rose before them, a black wall lifting out of the pitching sea. Dan Perreto, the Coast Guard rep with the team, chucked Schweitzer’s elbow, but Schweitzer ignored him, closing up the computer and picking up the Jacob’s ladder from the bottom of the boat. Ahmad finally lowered her NODs and joined the rest of the team in covering him as the boat closed the rest of the distance and drew up alongside the freighter’s starboard beam, where the deck dropped low enough for the ladder’s hooked top to reach.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAhmad whispered their position into the radio mic suspended over her mouth while Schweitzer extended the ladder, hooking it to the ship’s side and deploying the narrow netting that would serve as rungs. The loose black fabric was a challenge to climb, doubly so with all their gear, but the SEALs were professionals.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer came last, swarming up the ladder as if he were floating. The coxswain, Petty Officer Martin, was a religious fanatic whose preaching made Schweitzer’s hackles rise, but he kept the boat perfectly alongside the freighter, keeping pace with the vessel’s slow swing around its anchor line.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer took a knee on the deck, covering their six while the rest of the team got their bearings. The deck stretched off into the darkness, the stacks of conex boxes shrouded in the gloom, moon and stars blocked by the thick cloud cover. Schweitzer squinted up at it. The blanket of clouds looked unnaturally regular, as if painted on by some divine hand. He looked back down. A foot farther on, his target lay in a spreading pool of blood, folded over his dropped assault rifle. He wore a faded T-shirt and jeans, the colors washed into pale green by Schweitzer’s NODs. He’d been blown out of his flip-flops, which lay on the deck about a foot distant. Schweitzer’s round had tumbled, utterly pulping his head. The bullet looked like it had entered through the ear, leaving a ragged pit of an entry wound. The long distance and the impact with the body had attenuated most of the bullet’s force. If the tumbling trajectory had struck the superstructure after leaving the man’s head, it had done so quietly enough.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate his work. Hell of a shot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAhmad made certain the team was in place before flashing a hand signal and moving toward the bow. They’d be moving directly under the windows of the bridge tower, which rose at least five stories off the deck, but the towering stacks of conex boxes worked with the darkness to screen them from view. The goal was to ensure the target conex was in the specified location and verify the contents before unleashing hell.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCommand wasn’t interested in dealing with the inevitable public scrutiny and legal wrangling that would surely accompany a counterterrorism operation in US territorial waters. Not to mention the lost opportunity to gather critical intel. That meant quiet, and quiet meant Schweitzer’s team. It was riskier this way, but if they were spotted, they could always call in the helos early.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf the cloud cover ever broke. The combat weather team had assured them it was passing, but a quick glance at the sky showed Schweitzer a thick sheet of black cotton. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure the team was moving, then rose to go with them.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was the clunk of a wheel spinning. The watertight hatch on the superstructure’s side opened and light flooded out behind a figure. He stepped out, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark. His first step put him on the deck, the second slid in the slowly spreading gore from Schweitzer’s kill.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe man lost his balance, grunted, went to one knee, eyes widening as he took in his fallen comrade. A military-grade shotgun hung from a sling around his torso, banging against the deck. Ahmad was right, able seamen didn’t carry weapons at all, let alone the sleek black killing tool this man bore. They were accurate, deadly. Expensive.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd loud.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo close to his target, the superstructure behind the man would ring like a bell if Schweitzer took the shot. Instead, he raced across the intervening deck, grateful for the nonskid surface that gave his boots traction and increased speed. The man was just drawing breath to yell as Schweitzer closed, leaping over the corpse and dropping onto the palms of his padded gloves, kicking out at the man’s knees. The bottoms of his boots connected perfectly, popping the man’s joints sideways and sending his head banging into the superstructure with a resounding crack. It was louder than Schweitzer would have liked, but it stunned him, keeping him from crying out as he fell to the deck, rolling in the blood and fumbling for his weapon. Schweitzer pinned it with one hand, then pivoted off it, bringing his elbow down to impact the man’s throat. The firm flesh yielded, folding inward under the pressure of the elbow guard, closing his windpipe. The man flailed, clawing at his neck, eyes bugging out, making choked, gurgling sounds.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer rolled over on top of him, smothering him with his own body, smelling the blood of the corpse beside him, still warm, feeling it soak into his uniform. The man shuddered beneath him. Schweitzer covered him with his bulk, letting the weight of his body armor, weapons, and gear hold him in place, crushing his forearm down on his opponent’s throat, making sure the airway stayed closed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer saw movement in his peripheral vision, glanced up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnother crewman, this one unarmed, had emerged from the stacks of conex boxes and was staring at him in wide-eyed horror.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer didn’t even bother going for him. He’d never make it before the man had a chance to raise the alarm. Better to stay on top of this target until the job was done, then face this new threat without an enemy in his backfield.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe crewman crouched to run, turned toward the superstructure.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTime slowed. Schweitzer could see the crewman’s chest rising, jaw dropping open as he gathered the air to shout a warning.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nope,” Perreto grunted, passing a garrote around the crewman’s throat and pulling the wire tight. The scream didn’t even have time to shift into a choked gurgle, and the only sound the crewman made was the dragging of his feet across the deck as Perreto pulled him into the shadows of the conex stacks and finished the job.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSchweitzer gave silent thanks and returned to his own target, pressing down until, at long last, the trembling stopped with a sigh, and his enemy lay still.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAhmad’s voice came through his earpiece. “Schweitzer, quit fucking around over there. 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