Page 4 of Broken Oath

No bomb maker waiting in the mountains.

Just brothers talking about daughters and fishing trips.

Rook looked at the photograph.

Six years old.

Missing front teeth.

A smile that could light up a room.

The kind of smile men like them fought to protect.

Tex folded the picture and tucked it back into his vest.

“I’m taking her fishing.”

“You already said that,” Hammer told him.

“I’m saying it again.”

“Because if he says it enough, maybe it’ll actually happen.”

“It’ll happen,” Tex said.

His voice carried absolute certainty.

Rook hoped he was right.

The laughter slowly faded. One by one, the men settled back into mission mode.

Weapons were checked.

Night-vision mounts were adjusted.

Straps tightened.

The familiar ritual before stepping into the dark.

Rook glanced toward the open side door.

Black ridges rolled beneath them. Ancient stone scarred by decades of war.

Somewhere down there, Farid Rahman was waiting.

Whether he knew it or not.

The helicopter hit a pocket of turbulence and dropped several feet.

Hammer grabbed the seat beside him.

“Damn thing’s trying to kill us before the enemy gets a chance.”

“You say that every flight,” Ghost said.

“Because it’s true every flight.”

Another laugh moved through the cabin.